bluehourbucky

[bluehourbucky]

sobbing

Milestones

Summary : Bucky feels guilty for missing three months of his baby’s life while on a mission.

Pairing : Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!reader (she/her), You have a baby named Jamie.

Warnings/tags : little bit of angst, Hurt/Comfort, domestic!Bucky, Baby Jamie, Tower fic! Lots and lots and lots of fluff!!!!

Word count : 5.4k

Note : This could be read as a sequel to Elevator, Baby! Or on its own as a one shot. Enjoy!

You stood at the base of the jet ramp, your heart in your throat and Jamie in your arms, bundled in a little blue jacket with bear ears on the hood. Bucky had been holding it together all morning—packing, checking gear, getting briefed—but the second he turned around and saw the two of you standing there, it all fell apart.

His eyebrows relaxed, lips parting just slightly as he took you in—your tired eyes, your little smile, the way Jamie was chewing on his tiny mitten.

“C'mere,” Bucky said, voice already threatening to break.

He pulled you both into his arms in one sweeping motion, pressing you against his chest, his metal hand cradling the back of Jamie’s head. He kissed your forehead, then Jamie’s cheek, then your lips, then Jamie’s nose—over and over, like he was trying to memorise the feeling.

This mission was unavoidable.

A Hydra remnant had resurfaced— and the team decided on a stealth op, one man in, one man out. No comms except for daily status checks. It had to be someone with experience, someone who knew Hydra, someone who could disappear without a trace and still come home.

It had to be Bucky.

But it killed him to go.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “So much. You take care of Mama, alright?” he said quietly to Jamie, who blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You tried to smile, even as your eyes blurred. “We’ll be right here, Buck.”

Bucky kissed your lips again and lingered there, forehead to forehead afterward. “You’re my whole world,” he said quietly. Then he pulled back, crouched to Jamie’s level, and pressed a hundred tiny kisses to his son’s chubby cheeks.

“Love you, Jamie,” he cooed. “I’m so proud of you already,” he whispered, his voice cracking just a little. “Don’t grow up too fast while I’m gone, okay?”

Jamie laughed, squeezing his father’s vibranium fingers with his mittened hands.

Bucky kissed him one more time. Then you.

Then he stepped away— like if he turned around too quickly, he wouldn't want to go.

—

You and Bucky had a cosy little house in the suburbs just outside the city on a quiet street with a fenced-in backyard and a nursery Bucky had painted himself in. It was your dream place to raise Jamie. But when Bucky got called in for the mission, he insisted that you and the baby stay in the Watchtower while he was gone. 

“It’s safer,” he had said with his hand on your back. “Security’s tighter. You’ll have people around if anything happens. Please, honey,” he had puzzled into your neck, placing gentle kisses there, “It’ll help me sleep at night.” 

You couldn’t argue. With Yelena and John both on recovery, Bob always nearby, and even with Ava and Alexei in and out on missions, you wouldn’t be alone. There was always someone to lend a hand, and the reinforced security systems at the Tower made your alarm system look like a toy. So, for Bucky’s peace of mind—and maybe yours, too—you agreed.

But you were only supposed to be here for four weeks.

That’s what Bucky said—“Just a month, sweets. They won’t even know I was there.” He had smiled when he said it, trying to hide how hard it was to leave you. “It'll go so fast.”

It didn’t.

The days passed like honey, slow and sticky. Jamie was teething, waking every couple of hours with red cheeks and a heartbreaking whimper. Every time you soothed him back to sleep, you whispered stories about his daddy—how brave he was, how much he loved him, how every mission he ever went on was just so he could protect you both.

The New Avengers had your back. Bob made you meals, even when you weren’t hungry. John insisted on installing baby gates. Yelena would hold Jamie when your arms got tired. Alexei insisted he remembered how to swaddle (he didn’t), and Ava had access to the baby monitor— because realistically, if there was an emergency, she would get there the fastest by phasing through walls.

And every night, at exactly 2200 hours, the comms come to life with a single message from the field. 

“Alive.”

That was all you got. Nothing more. You weren’t allowed to respond, couldn’t ask if he was warm, if he’d eaten, if he missed you—though you knew the answer.

Then, at the 30-day mark, a second message came.

“Need more time. One month.”

You had to sit down. Your heart beat so loud and quick it muffled the silence that followed.

John placed a hand on your shoulder. “You’re doing great,” he said. “And he’s gonna be okay.”

But you didn’t feel great, though. 

—

Around week six, it happened.

You’d just finished changing Jamie into his footie pajamas—the yellow ones with little moons and stars—and were placing him on the playmat in the middle of the living room when he surprised you. He’d been trying for days, wobbling like a baby penguin with a mission, always toppling sideways or collapsing onto his belly with a frustrated huff.

But this time… he did it.

With a determined little grunt and a proud scrunch of his brow, Jamie pushed himself upright—his pudgy hands planted firmly on the mat, his legs bent in just the right way—and he sat…. unassisted.

You froze, blinking in disbelief for a full second before the joy hit you like a wave.

“You sat up on your own, Jamie!” you squealed, your voice high and overwhelmed with pride. You rushed forward, scooping him into your arms and covering his chubby cheeks with rapid-fire kisses. “You’re so clever!”

Jamie laughed a delighted giggle that made your heart explode—and you clapped for him like he’d just graduated from college. You kissed him again and again, whispering praises, brushing his hair back, watching how his eyes lit up from your joy.

But then you looked up— just for a second.

Your eyes flicked instinctively toward the doorway, half-expecting to see Bucky there leaning against the frame. You could practically picture it—the way he’d whisper "Atta boy..." 

But the doorway was empty.

Oh, right. He wasn’t here.

Still, you held Jamie close to your chest, rocking him gently as his small hands gripped your shirt. “Daddy would’ve loved that,” you whispered into his hair, kissing the top of his head. “He would’ve clapped louder than me.”

—

It was around week seven when it happened— a quiet afternoon in the nursery, rain pattering against the Watchtower’s windows, and you were in the other room folding laundry while Yelena played with Jamie on the floor. You heard her voice, delighted. “Wait—wait, wait! bozhe moy—he’s doing it!”

You dropped the stack of baby onesies and rushed in just in time to see Jamie, your seven-month-old bundle of determination, wiggling forward on his hands and knees, his little face scrunched in focus as he crawled for the first time— straight toward his favourite stacking rings.

Yelena already had her phone out, camera rolling, grinning like a proud aunt. “Look at this strong little soldier,” she said, laughing. “He has places to be!”

You dropped to your knees beside them, your hand over your mouth as laughter and tears bubbled up all at once. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Jamie,” you whispered, scooping him into your arms as he squealed, triumphant. “You did it, baby. You did it!”

Later that night, after Jamie had drifted off in his crib, you sat in the Watchtower kitchen surrounded by avengers and half-drunk mugs. You played the video again (complete with Yelena’s commentary, Jamie’s babbling giggles, the sound of his tiny palms slapping the play mat) as everyone gathered around—Ava and Bob peering over your shoulder, John and Alexei leaning against the fridge.

“He did this today?” Ava said, visibly impressed.

You nodded. “He just… took off.”

“Bucky would lose his mind,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. “He’s been waiting for this.” You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, glanced toward the nursery monitor on the table.

“He’s growing up so fast,” you said softly. “Too fast.”

And though no one said it aloud, you could feel it in the way Ava gently touched your shoulder, in the way Yelena squeezed your hand, in the way even John stayed silent for once— Bucky was missing moments he would never get back.

—

Around week eight, the daily message finally came through on the Tower comms, blinking with the same buzz it always did. You dropped what you were doing and hurried over, hoping that today would be the day he said he was on his way home.

But the screen displayed:

“Need more time.”

That was it.

No follow-up and no time estimate. 

You stood there in the dimmed hallway light, heart sinking into your stomach. You pressed a hand to the monitor screen like it might somehow pass through, like it might reach him— like it might let him know how much you needed him now.

You hadn’t realised just how much hope you’d pinned on hearing something different today.

After you got Jamie down for the night, you sat in the rocking chair by the window in the nursery. You clutched one of his worn t-shirts to your chest—washed too many times but still faintly smelling like him—and glanced at the small framed photo on your nightstand.

It was a candid shot of Bucky holding Jamie the day after he was born. His metal hand was cradling Jamie’s head so delicately, his human hand around his little body.

You looked at it every night— and lately, you’d started talking to it.

“I swear, Buck, he’s got your attitude,” you murmured with a smile. “Fights nap time like he’s trying to break out of a prison transport. He’s teething now, too—two little teeth on the bottom. He bit my shoulder today and then laughed.”

You laughed to yourself, but it was tired. “And he crawled up two stairs today. Alexei nearly had a heart attack. I’m fine. Totally fine. Totally not freaking out.”

You rested your head against the back of the chair, tears burning your eyes as you looked over at the crib.

Jamie was sound asleep, arms spread, a tiny fist curled around the edge of his blanket. You got up and tiptoed over.

“Wanna say goodnight to Daddy, sweetheart?”

As part of your nightly routine, you’d started showing Jamie a few photos of Bucky—his favorite was the one of Bucky grinning with sunglasses on and Jamie strapped to his chest in a carrier.. You’d hold it up and say, “That’s your daddy. He loves you so much.”

Then you’d pull up the recording Bucky had made weeks before the mission of him reading Jamie’s favourite bedtime story— Goodnight Moon. It had been his idea, something he insisted on recording “just in case.”

As his voice filled the room—“Goodnight comb and goodnight brush…”—Jamie stirred, but only to sigh and snuggle deeper into the mattress, soothed by the sound of the man he hadn’t seen in more than three months.

—

By the time week twelve rolled around, the days had started to blur into each other. You weren’t sure if it was Tuesday or Saturday, or if you’d eaten lunch or just forgotten again. Your life was just Jamie’s routine and the single nightly message from Bucky.

“Alive.”

That was all he was allowed to say. It wasn’t much, but it was everything to you.

But then came the night the comms didn’t crackle at all.

You’d finished Jamie’s bedtime routine—bath, bottle, story—and sat in the control room with the monitor nearby, watching the clock tick past the usual transmission window. You waited one minute. Then ten. Then twenty.

Just as your chest began to tighten, Ava appeared in the doorway, still in half of her mission gear.

“Delay in transmission,” she reassured. “There’s been some disruption on the line. It doesn’t mean anything bad. Happens sometimes.”

You nodded, even though your stomach had already sunk halfway through the floor. “Thanks.”

But sleep didn’t come that night. You tried to lie down, tried to close your eyes, but your body was on high alert.

So instead, you padded barefoot to the nursery and lifted Jamie from his crib. He stirred in your arms, but didn’t fully wake— just tucked his head against your shoulder the way BUcky often did when you cuddled, tiny fingers curling into your sleeve like he knew you needed him as much as he needed you.

You curled up in the rocking chair with him, forehead pressed against the fuzz of his hair.

“Daddy’s okay,” you whispered, rocking slowly,“He’s coming home soon. Any day now, sweetheart. He promised.”

—

One night, while you rocked Jamie through the tail end of another teething fuss, the Tower’s main comm crackled to life.

You weren’t expecting much— maybe the usual “Alive”, maybe nothing at all. But then you saw it.

“On my way back. ETA: 2 hours.”

You stared at the words for a second, blinking once they sank in.

Oh.

Oh. Oh my God.

Your heart started racing, hands trembling around Jamie’s warm little body. You pressed a kiss to his hair, eyes filling with tears. “He’s coming home, baby,” you whispered to him.

Two hours later, almost to the minute, the Watchtower’s hangar doors hissed open with a mechanical sigh. The team had decided to give you privacy, so you were the only one there. 

Still, your lungs had forgotten how to work the second you saw him.

Bucky.

He stood at the top of the ramp, his tactical gear scraped and worn, smeared with dust and bloodHis hair was tied back, a little longer than when he’d left. His face was gaunt with fatigue—like he’d lived a lifetime in the past three months—but none of that mattered.

Because his eyes were on you.

And then he ran.

You barely had time to react before he barreled into you, boots slamming against the floor, arms wrapping around you in a grip so tight it stole the breath from your lungs. His body collided with yours and you stumbled back a step, arms coming up around his shoulders like muscle memory.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you—” he whispered into your neck, his voice cracking. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your back, your hair—frantic and tender.

You curled your fingers into the rough fabric of his jacket, fisting the front of it. He smelled like dirt and ash, but beneath it, he still smelled like home. You closed your eyes and breathed him in like oxygen.

“I made sure Jamie was napping,” you murmured, “Wanted to have you all to myself first.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you. He cupped your face in both hands, gently brushing your cheekbones with his thumbs, as if you were something precious and fragile.

“You did?” he chuckled playfully.

You nodded, eyes wet. 

“Sweetheart…” His breath hitched. “God, I missed you. So much.”

You pressed your lips to his in a kiss— and there was no rush, no frantic edge— just pure love, poured from the cracks in your heart into hisYou melted into him, every part of you screaming finally.

“I don’t care what Val says,” he whispered against your lips. “No more long missions. I don’t care if I have to clean the Tower bathrooms with a toothbrush— the longest I’ll ever go without you is a weekend. That’s it.”

You smiled through your tears, resting your forehead against his.

—

Later, once the team greeted him for a debrief and he got checked up in the medical bay, Bucky walked through the corridor to the nursery, your hand in his. You stopped just outside the door, letting him step in first.

The glow of the nightlight spilled across the room like moonlight, Jamie was fast asleep in his crib, one tiny hand curled near his cheek.

Bucky stood in the doorway.

For a long time, he didn’t speak. He just stared, glassy-eyed.

“He’s so big…” Bucky whispered, voice breaking. His metal hand tightened around yours just slightly. “I mean, I knew he would grow—but…”

“He did,” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist. “He grew up so much.”

Bucky leaned down, resting his chin atop your head, eyes never leaving his son.

“I missed him,” Bucky murmured. “I missed everything. His face… He’s changed.”

You nodded, pressing your cheek against his jacket. “He looks more like you now.”

Bucky gave a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, still watching Jamie’s chest rise and fall. “I wanna hold him so bad,” Bucky said. “But I should shower. Get the dirt off me before I touch either of my babies.”

“He’ll be up in the morning. He’s become a morning person, like his dad,” you whispered, “But I don’t mind the dirt.”

Bucky finally turned, pulling you into his arms again, a bit more relaxed now. “Don’t you, now?” he chuckled, dropping a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw.

You grinned, fingers curling into his jacket as he leaned in closer.

“I missed this,” he said, lips brushing the shell of your ear now. “Missed you in our bed. Missed the sounds you make. Missed waking up with you. Missed touching you—loving you.”

Your breath caught as his hands traced your sides. “Bucky—” you whispered, heart racing.

“Let me love my girl,” he said, eyes burning into yours. “Let me come home to you properly.”

You nodded.

He took your hand in his, and with one last glance toward the crib before closing the door as he led you to your shared tower bedroom.

—

The hum of the baby monitor filled the bedroom — until it didn’t. You heard a faint rustle, the scrunch of fabric, and a sleepy little sigh followed by the unmistakable pat-pat of tiny hands against the crib mattress.

You stirred beneath the blanket, blinking awake. “He’s up,” you whispered, barely a breath.

But Bucky, excited to finally see his son, was already halfway across the room.

You sat up as he disappeared into the hallway as you followed behind watching him pause outside the nursery door.

He reached for the handle and then he opened the door.

The morning light spilled across the floor, filtering in through the curtains, and there—right where you'd left him—was Jamie. Blinking drowsily, legs kicking beneath, his cheeks still warm.

“Hey, buddy,” he said gently, crouching down beside the crib. His voice was rough, quiet—like reverence wrapped in gravel. “There’s my boy.”

Jamie blinked once before a high-pitched squeal erupted from his little body, his whole face scrunching into a gummy, delighted grin. He kicked hard, flailing his arms like he might fly right out of the crib.

Bucky let out a laugh that sounded half a choke, half a sob. “You remember me, huh?” he whispered, almost amazed.

He scooped Jamie up with both arms, holding him against his chest like he was made of spun sugar.

You leaned against the doorframe, a smile tugging at your lips. “Of course he did.” 

Bucky pressed a kiss to Jamie’s hair and shut his eyes. “God, he’s heavier,” he said.

Jamie babbled something unintelligible, tugging at Bucky’s collar like he had a lot to catch up on and no words to say it.  

The three of you curled up on the couch not long after—Jamie nestled in Bucky’s lap, clutching his bottle with sleepy fingers while Bucky held him close, murmuring nonsense. Jamie giggled, tugged gently at his hair, and babbled like they were resuming a conversation that had never ended.

You sat beside them, then you pulled out your phone.

“Here,” you said, shifting closer until your thigh brushed his. “You missed a few things. I saved everything.”

Bucky glanced at the screen as you pulled up the first video.

It was Jamie crawling. Wobbly and determined, launching himself forward from the rug to the couch as you cheered and Yelena laughed in the background.

Bucky’s breath caught. “Look at him go,” he whispered, brushing Jamie’s hair back. He kissed his son’s temple.

You smiled and swiped to the next.

This one was Jamie sitting up all by himself, beaming proudly, clearly so proud of himself.

Bucky’s smile was gentler this time.

Clip after clip, moment after moment—Jamie waving at Bob for the first time, babbling nonsense as Alexei tried to teach him the Russian word for “banana” — These were three months worth of milestones, one after another.

You were too busy watching the screen to see the way Bucky’s teeth clenched, the way his metal hand flexed against his thigh.

“And here,” you said, “this was last week. He figured out how to hold the bottle himself.”

You tapped the video: Jamie lying on a blanket, gripping his little bottle with both hands, gurgling contentedly between sips. It was three days ago.

“That’s… that’s great,” he whispered, barely audible.

You turned your head to look at him, resting your hand on his thigh. “You okay?”

He met your eyes with a sad smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m good, sweetheart. Just… taking it all in.”

You nodded, comforted by the answer, and turned back to the next video..

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on the screen long afterwards, the way his hands tightened around Jamie’s. 

He kissed Jamie’s cheek again.

Because while you saw memories, Bucky only saw his absence from an entire chapter of his son’s life that he could never get back. And even as Jamie cooed against him, Bucky couldn’t help but think—

I should’ve been there.

—

That night, sometime past 2 a.m., the baby monitor crackled to life—a fizz of static followed by the most heartbreaking cry.

You stirred beneath the covers, still half-asleep, but before you could even lift your head, Bucky was already sitting up, one hand brushing your thigh.

“I got this, honey,” he reassured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Go back to sleep.”

You gave a groggy hum of thank you and rolled over, already sinking back into the mattress.

Bucky moved down the hallway and into the nursery, easing the door open. 

Jamie was wriggling in his crib, face red and scrunched, little fists clenched tight as he let out another frustrated cry— the particular pitch that could only mean one thing.

“Hey, hey, alright, buddy,” Bucky soothed, already reaching in. “You mad about the diaper again? I get it. Nobody likes soggy pants.”

He changed him on the table— hesitant at first, but it came back to him like muscle memory. Tape, wipe, fresh diaper, blanket with the faded cartoon stars— he one Jamie always settled best in.

“There we go,” Bucky whispered, swaddling him up with care. “Better?”

Jamie hiccupped, then let out a sleepy little sigh. His eyes drooped.

But neither Jamie nor Bucky headed straight back to bed— it was as if they were both awake and in this together now..

So, he drifted into the Watchtower’s common room, where the city lights bled in through the windows and walked around the kitchen tower. He reached and pointed to the fridge, most likely for a bottle.

“You hungry, too, huh?” he asked. He quickly warmed up the bottle before slipping it gently into Jamie’s hands.

And Jamie… gripped it. He adjusted it and found the rubber nipple on his own like it was second nature.

Bucky didn’t help anymore, he didn’t have to. Jamie had it handled.

Tears pricked his eyes as he sank into the couch.

“You’re so good at that now,” he whispered, voice cracking as he brushed a hand over Jamie’s brown curls. “You don’t even need me to help.”

Jamie drank peacefully, his little hand patting absently at Bucky’s chest.

“I should’ve been here for that,” Bucky continued. “Should’ve helped you figure it out. And now I come back, and you’ve already moved past it.”

He looked away, wiping at his face, “What kind of dad misses that?”

“Someone who is trying,” came a gravelly voice behind him.

Bucky twisted to look behind him.

Alexei stood in the doorway, travel-worn, duffel bag still slung over his shoulder, just coming home from a mission. He smelled like pavement and engine grease, and he was careful not to get too close to little Jamie.

“Hey there, malen’kiy medvezhonok,” he greeted Jamie. Then, with a smirk, he said, “And bol’shoy medved,” he added, nodding to Bucky with dry amusement— his long-standing nickname for Bucky’s bear-like devotion to fatherhood.

Jamie made a sleepy gurgle and blinked up at him, unimpressed.

Bucky sighed. “He figured out the bottle on his own.”

Alexei nodded, stepping inside and collapsing into the nearby armchair with a grunt. “Babies do that.” he said, dropping his bag, “But I think my girls skipped it and went straight for knives.”

Bucky huffed a chuckle, but it faded quickly.

“Be honest with me, Alexei.”

Alexei raised a brow. “Always.”

“Am I a failure of a father?”

Alexei blinked, frowning like Bucky had asked whether water was optional for survival.

“What? No.”

“I missed him crawling, sitting up. All the big firsts. I keep telling her I’m fine, that I’m proud, but I’m already behind and he’s not even one. How do I even begin to catch up?”

Alexei sat on an armchair. Then he leaned back, stretching his legs with a groan. “You want truth?”

Bucky nodded.

“You are not failure. You are a man who had to leave but came back.” He gestured vaguely. “That alone makes you better than ninety-nine percent of men I’ve known—including my own father. It makes you better than me for most of Natasha and Yelena’s lives.”

Bucky frowned. “But—”

“Listen to me.” Alexei held up a hand, interrupting him. “I used to think I could fix everything with fists. I thought if I hit enough bad guys, it made me good by default. But then.... I stay— and Yelena likes me better now. We need to keep coming back, even when you feel like you don’t deserve it.”

He paused, then added, “John —he is not perfect. He missed much of his child’s early life. Now he gets weekend and playground visits. But he shows up. He tries. Do you think he is bad father?”

“No,” Bucky admitted, remembering when John’s kid got a tour of the tower, giggly and happy, “Not anymore.”

“Exactly,” Alexei said, “And John left for a year. You? You are holding your son and feeling bad about a bottle.”

Bucky looked down. Jamie was dozing now, the bottle half-full, his hand curled in the fabric of his shirt.

“You think he’ll forgive me?” Bucky asked.

Alexei snorted. “He is baby. He will forgive you before breakfast.”

That drew a real laugh from Bucky. He buried his nose in Jamie’s hair and closed his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said.

Alexei stood with a stretch. “I go find food. Or shower. Or both. In whatever order I hit first.” He gave Jamie a parting glance. “Good baby. Sleeps better than little Yelena.”

And with that, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Bucky and Jamie alone again.

—

The light of morning spilled across the Watchtower’s windows. The city below hummed—cars drifting like whispers on distant roads, the sound of turbines blending into birdsong. Inside, the common room was warm and quiet.

You sat curled on the long couch, a travel bag at your feet and Jamie balanced in your lap, his tiny body still warm from sleep. He wore his little bear-print onesie, his cheeks smudged pink, fingers lazily wrapped around the last bit of his morning bottle. He blinked sleepily up at you, eyelashes fluttering like they were too heavy.

It was your last morning at the Tower, Bucky had just finished debriefing everyone he needed to and doing all the official paperwork. You’d be back often, of course—visits, Bucky’s (hopefully shorter) missions, and dinners with the team—but today, you were finally going home. Back to your own kitchen, your backyard, to your birdfeeder. Back to your quiet street and your swing and the scent of fresh coffee in your own kitchen. Back to your bed that no longer felt too big, because Bucky was coming with you.

He’d slipped out earlier, promising to pack up your things while you focused on Jamie. “Let me do something useful, sweets,” he’d said, pressing a kiss to your temple. He was still carrying this guilt in small ways— over-packing the diaper bag, refolding clothes you’d already folded, checking three times that Jamie had socks on.

And you let him.

Because this was how he stitched himself back into your life.

Jamie finished the bottle and gave a small, sleepy grunt. Then he kicked around, accidentally knocking your empty breakfast plate from the coffee table. 

CLACK!

It clattered to the ground with an echo that felt so much louder than it should have been.

Jamie flinched.

His whole body jolted as his eyes went wide, mouth pulling down hard. And then— like a dam cracking open— the cries began— the kind that came with a startled fear only babies felt, when they didn’t understand the world enough to explain it.

“Oh, baby—no, no, it’s okay,” you whispered, immediately rocking him. “Just a sound, it’s alright. Just a noise. Mama’s got you—shhh…”

But he was inconsolable. His tiny fists curled tight against your collarbone, whole face turning red as he wailed.

That was the moment the door slid open.

Bucky stepped into the room, a suitcase in one hand and a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, brow furrowed from some conversation he’d just had with John on the comms. “Hey, I found the monitor and that book you always—oh—”

He froze, watching you frantically try to calm little Jamie down

“What happened?” he asked quickly, dropping the bag before you could answer.

“He scared himself,” you explained. “He knocked the plate off the table and made a loud noise.”

You didn’t need to explain more. He was already reaching.

“Come here,” Bucky said, his voice a particular tenderness he reserved only for you and Jamie. “Come to Daddy. Daddy’s got you now.”

You passed Jamie over, and Bucky drew him in tight— one hand cradling the back of Jamie’s head, the other rubbing soothing circles across his little spine. His voice dropped to a hush. “Shhh… It’s alright now. Just a dumb plate, huh? Didn’t mean to scare you. We’ll kick its ass later, huh?” he said, and you playfully slapped his shoulder for saying a bad word. “Plates are overrated anyway.”

Jamie’s cries had quieted into little hiccups, no longer frantic. He clung to Bucky’s shirt, burrowed in under his chin like.

And then it came in his small, raspy voice “...Dada.”

Bucky stopped moving. You blinked.

And then, slowly, Bucky pulled back just enough to look at Jamie’s face. “What… What did you say?” he whispered in disbelief.

Jamie blinked up at him as a chubby hand reached up and curled into Bucky’s beard.

“Dada,” he said again, clearer now.  

Bucky’s knees almost buckled.

His mouth opened, but no words came out at first.

“Is this—has he...?” he asked, barely turning his head toward you.

You were already nodding, tears burning in your own eyes. “It is,” you whispered, kissing Jamie’s forehead. “That’s his first word.”

Bucky let out a stunned laugh, his voice cracking.  “That’s me. That’s me, Jamie. I’m your Dada.”

He kissed the top of Jamie’s head over and over again, before kissing you— gentle and sweet. 

Jamie giggled at the sight of his parents showing affection to each other, delighted with himself, babbling nonsense now and again, but punctuating it with another firm, proud “Dada.”

You smiled, burying your face in Bucky’s shoulder.

All those nights you’d shown Jamie picture after picture of his father—telling him over and over, “That’s your Daddy. He’s coming home.” All those times you’d held your breath hoping Jamie wouldn’t forget him… It had all paid off.

Bucky kissed your forehead without even looking, still half in shock, like he couldn’t believe this little boy—this squishy miracle—was his. And yours.

And that his very first word had been Dada.

Jamie wiggled and tucked his head beneath Bucky’s chin, pressing close with a little hum of contentment. “Dada,” Jamie said again, sleepily this time. 

Bucky leaned down and whispered, “That’s me, buddy.”

—end.

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[bluehourbucky]

WHEN IS IT MY TURN😭

Hi! You’re one of my favorite writers on here :3 I was wondering if you could do a fic about Joel giving birthday sex? (Totally not filling my birthday fantasies)

Birthday Sex

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, pinv, praise kink, pet names, oral f!receiving, fluff

„Look at you. Like a present from god, and it‘s not even my birthday, baby.“

It was your birthday. And, as if scripted by the universe itself, Joel went all out—again. It wasn’t unusual for him to give you everything he had but somehow, he always made this day feel a little more magical. You woke up to a mountain of gifts, the kind you could practically swim in, each one wrapped with care and tucked with little notes that made you smile before you even opened them.

The house smelled like comfort and joy—vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of fresh coffee. Joel had been up early, dancing around the kitchen like it was his stage. You had a choice that morning: waffles or pancakes. Without hesitation, you picked pancakes. Because Joel made them exactly the way you loved—golden, buttery, and extra fluffy, as if each bite could float you a little higher above your worries.

You didn’t even have to glance at your phone. Joel had already taken care of it. He called in for you, told them you were „terribly sick,” with that charming blend of sincerity and mischief. All before your eyes had fully opened. You had nothing to do, nowhere to be—just you, him and the morning sun creeping through the curtains, making everything feel like it existed only for you.

The day stretched on like a soft melody—unhurried, comforting, and full of little delights that feel stitched together just for the two of you.

After the pancakes, you two lingered at the kitchen table, sunlight dancing through the windows as Joel refilled your coffee mug without a word. He played that one record you both love, the one that instantly makes everything feel slower, dreamier. There’s no rush, no pressure—just warmth and presence.

As evening slides in, Joel lights a few candles and pulls together something simple and lovely for dinner. You two toast with wine and laugh about inside jokes no one else would ever understand.

And when you think that beautiful day got already to an end, Joel has still a surprise for you.

„Lay down, sweetheart.“ a smirk forming in his face. He peeks your curiosity and you do as he says.

He presses wet kisses along your thighs, his beard scratching your skin, his breath giving you a slight breeze. And as he kisses his way up to your cunt, he stops—pulling down your pants and panties.

„Joel—please.“ you sweetly whimper.

He chuckles, hushing you and spreading your lips with his fingers—blowing cold air into your cunt, making you clench around nothing, your clit already beginning to throb.

„So wet f‘me, my sweet girl.“ he whispers and dives right in. He takes a big lap from your hole to your clit, then latches around your nub. Your head fall to your bed, you reach for Joels curly hair, as he starts to suck and lick you. The pleasure spreading trough your whole body, feeling his fingers suddenly in you—curling upwards so he can rub your spot.

Your eyes roll back.

„Cum for me, baby. C‘mon.“ he says against your cunt, the buzzing going trough your folds as you spasm, your legs locking and you gush around his two fingers.

„You don‘t even know how fuckin‘ happy I am, that you were born.“

And as you try to catch your breath, Joel is already filling you with his cock.

His arms go around your legs, pulling you to the edge of the bed—so he is closer to you. He starts thrusting slow, locking eyes with you, searching for any discomfort in your face. But that doesn‘t come, instead, your moans get louder and louder.

„My pretty angel. Always good for me, every single day.“ he coos, his hand cupping your cheek, gently caressing it as his thrusts go harder.

„You’re makin‘ me so happy, Joel.“ you cry out.

A smile spreads across his face, followed by a groan as you clench on his cock. His thumb falls on top of your clit, a whimper leaving your lips.

„C‘mon birthday girl. Show me how good y‘are. Cum for me one more time.“

Joel gives you one final thrust, his body fully laying on top of you, locking your lips with him. His thumb never stops, as you bite into his lip, coming with a soft whine, making him grunt into your mouth. He thrusts a few more times into you, all while kissing you, devouring you and releases into you, filling you to the brim.

„Happy birthday, baby.“

I hope you like this @bluekat707 <33 And thank you!!

[bluehourbucky]

I just passed away this is so cuteeee

MORE BESTIES TO LOVERS 😔😔😔 IT IS NEVER ENOUGH FOR ME

me either 😩😩 they're just too cute!!

thinking about bob and best friend! reader who literally can't keep their hands off of eachother? they're always sitting way too close. either rob has his head on her shoulder or her lap, or she's got her legs in his lap and he's kneading at her calves.

god forbid they be seperated in a meeting, bob will 100% no retain a single thing, and reader's too focused on how twitchy and restless bob is the whole time to actually pay attention. he only quits fidgeting if she moves her chair to come sit next to him and lets him play with her fingers :(

bob and best! friend reader who also just lay on eachother sometimes? like reader comes back from a mission and just plops down on bob's lap where he sits in his little recliner and robby, god love him, doesn't even flinch, just sighs heavy and relieved, hooks his chin over her shoulder and asks about the mission quietly. on the other side of it, bob who takes it upon himself to lay with his head on her belly tucked up under her shirt because his head won't stop buzzing unless he's pressed up close, skin-to-skin with her. Reader just casually scrolling on her phone during the whole thing.

on a accidental perv! bob spin of it, he shoves his hands under her shirt sometimes just to palm at her tits because "they're just so soft :( feels good in my hands :(". reader never minds it obviously, bob has nice, big warm hands and this is what friends do, right? they comfort eachother, help eachother out! duh :)

[bluehourbucky]

My boyfriends boyfriend

pairing bucky x reader, sambucky

summary: some guy has the audacity to flirt with you and things dont go to well for him

warnings: harassing (not from bucky)

drabble ig?

"Hey gorgeous, let me get you a drink."

A man who reeks of alcohol stands way too close to you, he's all sweaty and the smell of him makes you gag.

"No thank you."

"Come on baby. Just one drink huh." And then he orders the drink and the bartender sets it down in front of you.

"What's your name? A pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone." His hand makes his way to your thigh.

"Not interested. I have a boyfriend" you say and slaps his hand away, which angers him, so he grabs your wrist making you wince.

"Let me go."

"Don't act like a bitch and give me a smile."

You smile with a smirk as you see a familiar form behind the guy.

"If I was you I'd let me go."

Before he processes what's happening Sam pushies him away from you and stands between you and the guy.

"Walk away. You really don't want to get on my bad side." the guy scofs and you might be a little shocked at his audacity to see this dude act like this towards captain america. If he acts like that towards the captain america what hope do women have.

"Please what's a human captain america gonna do tell me off? He your boyfriend or what?"

"No that's my boyfriends boyfriend. That's my boyfriend. And you really pissed him off"

You point at Bucky who did the thing with the arm. The guy turns around and the smirk from his face is wiped and he looks like he'll pass out.

Bucky looks scary especially when he's angry, only you and Sam know what a softie he actually is.

"This man bothering you?" Bucky looks at you and Sam and you both nod. It's funny watching the guy squirm and try to leave.

"Sorry sir- Mr Winter Soldier, I mean Mr. Barnes- sir-"

You and Sam giggle behind Buckys back.

Bucky grabs the guys shoulder and starts pushing him out, which makes the man slip and almost fall. Bucky catches him and leads him to the exit.

You and Sam wait for him to come back and see Bucky wipe his hands on his jeans.

"Disgusting. What a trash human being."

Bucky says and kisses you softly.

"You okay,doll?" you nodd.

"Wait a minute? Did you just call me Buckys boyfriend?" Sam gets hit with the realisation what he heard just few minutes ago.

"What are you not? You say I love you too each other watch each other's back! You even went to couples therapy?"

Both of them look at you with wide eyes and confusion.

"Wait, doll, you thought me and Sam were dating? We've been together for two years and you thought I just had another partner and it never bothered you?"

You shrugged.

"But it's Sam, like I just thought you guys talked about it and you don't do PDA for my sake? Like you actually say I love you? I mean I don't care like it's totally okay with me to share?"

"Absolutely not. We're barely even friend."

Buckys shocked and offended face makes Sam backtrack.

"I mean we're definitely friends just not dating."

"Exactly. "

"Sureee, anyways if you change your mind I'll still be okay with it."

[bluehourbucky]

so scrumptious

seb sighting in la. | june 15, 2025

[bluehourbucky]

HELLLO THE TIME WHEN THEY BROKE THE TABLE WHAT IS CONGRESSMAN BARNES BUISNESS I WANNA BE ALL IN IT😭

Giddy Affairs

Pairing: Congressman!Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader WC: ~300 Warnings: Fluff | Established relationship | Bucky getting nasty with you in his office | Bucky being insatiable | Bucky being a simp for his wife | Bucky being hot and incorrigible | Allusions to spicy times | Some wrist-tying | Some language | Very much unbeta’d | Lemme know if I missed anything! A/N: Sorry, I haven't been in a great headspace and I've been running my blog on queue. I promise I'll get back to all your wonderful messages/asks/reblogs ASAP. Put this together super quickly for Hot Bucky Summer 2025 | Week 03 Prompt: "Not now" | @buckybarnesevents Thank you for hosting. 😊✨🥹💞 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

"Where d'you think you're going?" Bucky drawled, fisting your dress at the small of your back and yanking you against him.

"OW! BUCKY."

You chuckled, trying to squirm away from his grip, but he didn't let you up, instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing you firmly to him as he dragged you toward his office.

"Congressman Barnes, Mr. Elliot wants to meet you," Grayson, Bucky's assistant, stopped you just before you both entered Bucky's office. He was clearly flustered to have walked in on yet another intimate moment.

"Not now. Reschedule it for tomorrow," Bucky murmured tersely.

You blushed, offering Grayson an awkward smile before Bucky shut the door.

"Bucky," you admonished, giggling as he lifted you with one arm and carried you to the couch.

He tossed aside his suit jacket, muttering about, "Stupid entrapments."

"What did you think, Mrs. Barnes? You'd show up looking like that and torture me?"

"I love that tie. Don't ruin it, Mr. Barnes," you warned, biting back your grin when you saw him loosen his tie in a hurry to unbutton the top two buttons of his white shirt.

You toed off your heels as he backed you toward the plush couch.

"That tie," he said, already yanking it loose, "is now your problem."

Before you could quip back, he pounced, pinning your wrists to the cushions and expertly looping the silk around. "You're too smug for a woman about to be ruined by her husband."

You laughed, breathless and bound, "Congressman Barnes, you're abusing your power."

He leaned in, nipping at your jaw, "I'm exercising my rights."

"How very patriotic."

"Mmm. Civic duty, doll," His smug reply went muffled as he licked a trail down your chest and took one of your tits into his mouth.

A sudden thought occurred to you, "Buck. The cameras."

He paused, chuckling, eyes glinting at you, "I disabled 'em the time we broke the desk."

"Good times," you said, your laugh turning into a lewd moan as he dragged your panties down.

"Let's see if we can top those times, sweetheart," he said, unzipping his pants.

Well?!

Leave your thoughts if you enjoyed reading it. 💞✨

If you'd like to be tagged/removed from my works, please do so here.

[bluehourbucky]

⩔ sam wilson hurt/comfort fic recommendations

*titles in red are suggestive, smut, or 18+ but smut is not the main focus which is why it's on this list and not the smut list. please respect authors by not interacting if a minor

**personal favorites at the moment

one shots (with an occasional two-parter)

date night: 28. “My parents asked about you.” + 51. “I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified.” (@iwillbeinmynest)

you're the one for me: You and Sam have been in a relationship, but no one knows except Bucky. (@multiversefanfics)

chin up, cap: You comfort sam after joaquin’s accident on the Indian Ocean. (@dameronspector)

don't forget: Sam sometimes forgets he's a human (@bluehourbucky)

death by uterus, saved by sam: period pains (@fallenbratfiction)

not him: Sam feels undeserving of the shield, and you take it upon yourself as his wife to make him see his worth. (@multiversediaries)

•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈• •┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈• •┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•

series (completed)

•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈• •┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈• •┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•

series (ongoing)

[bluehourbucky]

Me because I'm full of whimsy and joy:

[bluehourbucky]

Please write a second part to illicit affairs with a good ending im begging you 😭🙏🏼

Sorry it took me so long I just posted it!! <3

[bluehourbucky]

Better Man

pairing: older!Joel x younger!reader

summary: Joel tries to fix what he broke

warnings: age gap ( 50s Joel and late 20s reader) hurt/comfort , smut at the end, happy ending

a/n: if 5sos has no fans im dead. Sorry it took me so long to fix this! Work was killing me!

illicit affairs

Joel regrets a lot of things, hell he is made of regret and guilt, he walks with heaviness that no ordinary man could carry, yet he does. He doesn't live, he survives. Joel thinks he doesn't deserve good things, he believes that if he suffers that his sins will be forgivable.

After so much loss, so much violence he started losing faith, he stopped believing in good stuff. Ellie just somehow found her way in his heart and Joel is so ever grateful even though she is the bane of his existence.

For years he's thought that he'll just die alone, killed by something or someone, that he would never have even a piece of happiness. The world made him like that. Hope was a foreign concept for Joel, it died long ago.

But then he met you.

You somehow found him, broken and reduced to silent suffering, the cruelest things he's done haunting him not only in nightmares but when he's wide awake.

You who took him as he is, with the gentleness that Joel couldnt even dream of. Your smile that leaves him undone, your laugh that makes his chest hurt. Your touch that has him question how his bloody hands deserve to touch something so soft, so innocent.

and your eyes, the way they can see right through him, all his fears, all his wishies and desires. Joel wishes he could see himself through your eyes, he wants to know how you can see humanity in him even after everything he's done. He wanted to ask but now he won't get a chance. He ruined it, like he ruins everything he touches.

Joel will never forget the hurt in your eyes, the way he could see you barely holding on, you looked like you could crumble any second. The silent begging that he doesn't break your heart. And hurting you was the worst thing he ever did.

It's been over two weeks since he had broken your heart and seeing you around Jackson hurts him in a way he cant describe. To everyone else you seem normal, happy, giving them smiles as usual.

But Joel knows you, the smile doesn't reach your eyes, there's no lightness in your step , the second no one is looking at you, your smile flaters, and when you smile again it looks like it hurts. He doesn't mean to stare, or look for you, he just does it because it's what he does. He wants to protect you and look out for you, but he already failed and he doesn't know how to fix it.

Joel knows it's selfish but he misses you. He doesn't want to go back to a time before you, when he knows what it feels like to have you his piece of heaven. He doesn't want to hide you, he wants to love you like you deserve, not like you're something to be hidden.

And so what if the town is judgmental, if you believe he can make you happy then he will do everything in his power to do so.

He promised you that he would do anything to make you happy, and well maybe that's him. He just hopes you can find it in your heart to let him in again.

Right now he's sitting lost in thought at the table with Elllie where they're having a quick meal before morning patrol.

"I didn't want to say anything but it's been two weeks since you started being weird as fuck? What the fuck is up with you Joel? Its creeping me the fuck out."

Ellies voice snaps him out thought.

"Jesus Ellie, easy with the language. And nothin' sgoing on I'm just tired." he says defeated.

"Sure, you're tired all the fucking time you're never not tired, you're like ancient but what's that lost look, you're usually unhealthily grumpy but now you just seem sad?"

Joel loves the kid but can this kid give him a moment of peace and let him live.

"I'm fine Ellie, go get ready I'll clean up."

Ellie groans but does it nevertheless.

"Soooo, tell me everything. What's gotten you so pissy? And why the hell were you so happy these past few months... oh my god! I got it you were having S-E-X , oh god that's gross, can you still do that in your old old age???? Oh now I'm thinking about it and it's gross. But like can you get a heart attack from too much exhaustion? Is that why youre sad that you can't-"

"ELLIE, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST STOP TALKING!"

Joel yells out putting hands all over his face, he doesn't know what's worse, the fact that Ellie figured out that he was happy or the questions.

"What im just asking? You were unusually nice and hey dont worry Im sure they have some medicine for your old man problems. If youre too embarrassed I can ask around"

Ellie laughs at Joel who groans and mutters how he's never going on patrol with her.

"Don't worry about that I am still very much capable of doing it without help. And no you're not going to ask anyone anything."

He says firmly, his neck and ears flushed from the conversation.

When they return at the gate Joels heart drops, you're there and you're not alone but you're hugging Jesse. And before Joel can feel anything he sees you clutching something close to your chest and so when you unclench your hand and look at the precious object his eyes soften.

You're looking at a small wooden sunflower charm he carved up for you, he'd recognise it anywhere he worked day and night to make it perfect and, he also knows you never part with it.

"Oohhh that's the problem, why didnt you just say! What did you do Joel?!"

"You need to mind your own business."

Joel doesn't take his eyes off of you while walking the horses back to the stables, and as if you feel his eyes on you look up and meet his gaze.

He expects you to break the eye contact, but you don't. You have this unreadable expression, and all he wants to do is run up to you and beg for forgiveness.

"Hey Joel we need you, the roof -"

Tommy breaks the staring content between the two of you and when Joel glances back but you're not there anymore. And right then he decides that he's been acting stupid enough.

He'll try to win you over and if he doesn't well he'll try again and again.

After going around town and fixing things for people Joel came home exhausted but sleep wouldn't come as much as he tried. He keeps thinking of how to approach you, how to talk to you, what could he possibly do to make it right.

"Can't sleep?"

"Jesus fuck Ellie don't do that. Could've given me a heart attack." Joel holds a hand to his heart.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?" Ellie says as she starts rummaging through cabinets for a late night snack.

"I fucked up real bad."

"So? Not the first time. Just apologise be nice and easy everything is fixed!" she says her mouth full of muffins he traded for two days ago.

"I'm not that easy." Ellie scofs as she puts another muffin in her mouth.

"Yes it is. Besides if she liked you enough months ago she's gonna like you now, you're much better than before just saying."

Joel sits in silence after that for a while, he doesn't know how long but enough that his sleep deprived mind makes him get up and start walking to your house.

He knocks softly like he used to, to let you know it's him. It takes a few moments but he hears your steps, and you stop just on the other side of the door. He feels you linger the subtle shake of the door handle lets him know you're still unsure. Joel stays and he knows you know and when you finally open the door, his heart skips a beat.

You're standing there in the doorway,in nothing else but his flannel, hugging your self, not only because you're cold but in a way to comfort and ground yourself.

He says your name, softly, gently ,almost a whisper and if it wasn't the middle of the night when it's quiet,you might have not heard it.

"Can we talk?"

"Joel..."

this is the first time in two weeks he hears you say his name and it makes his whole body ache. He didn't think he missed it so much.

"It's the middle of the night. Can it wait till morning."

you avoid eye contact, still vulnerable, barely awake, but not dismissive.

"I'm sorry sweetheart,but I can't wait anymore, please."

He doesn't know what it was, the desperation in his voice or some crazy strike of luck you let him in.

Joel follows you, he walks behind you, and your steps echo in the emptiness and silence, his heavier as he still has boots on, yours much softer as you're barefoot.

You light up a candle, even though there's power you prefer the softer light of it.

"I'm sorry for coming this late, I couldn't sleep and I miss you."

"Joel, don't do this please, I can't, I don't want to be your late night secret-" the pain in your voice goes straight to his heart.

"No, that's not why I'm here, I want to apologise, I'm so stupid, I hurt you. I have made mistakes and worst one was hurting you in a way that there's maybe nothing I can do to mend your heart. I thought I'd never change, I thought I'm unfixable just an empty shell of a man. But you?

You changed me

All of my wrongs maybe they're worth it because they led me right to you. You shine even in the darkest nights and I was the first to fall. You made me a better man, and when I'm wrapped in your arms, I swear I would die for your love.

With your love I'm a better man. And If you let me I'll learn and do better to make you happy, to give you a life you deserve."

by the end he can't contain his tears, his voice shaky, he's looking at you, hope in his eyes, while you stand there tears streaming down your face,sobbing.

Joel reaches for your hands but doesn't touch you he wants your permission. The slight nod is all he needs to take them, his rough hands hold yours, pulling you to him. You let him, he lets go of them and you grab his shirt, his hands are on your cheeks wiping your tears. And you look at him with so much love.

Joel kisses your eyes first then your cheek then your nose and finally your lips. Its soft, gentle almost like you will break if he does it any harder. Your hands make their way around his neck pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss. Its like he's your lifeline, like he'll disappear any second.

"I need you, Joel." it's devastating how easily you had forgiven him, it scares him.

"I missed you so much, more than I can ever describe"

"Show me."

Joel doesn't need to be told twice, his hands are everywhere, and yet nowhere where you want them. He unbuttons your (his) flannel, your nipples hard from the cold and his touch. He licks one slowly and then bites it, your hands pulling his hair, his other hand on your other nipple pinching it making you moan.

"Fuck Joel, please." you whisper.

Joel stands up and picks you up throwing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, even though this will hurt tomorrow but it doesn't stop him.

He lets you down gingerly in the bedroom, and you stand there in nothing but your panties Joel can't wait to take off.

He goes to take off his shirt but you're on it in seconds, hands shaky. You take a deep breath when his shirt is finally off, your eyes wonder so do your hands, you lay one on his chest, right above his heart.

"Joel, it don't want to be your dirty little secret anymore, I want everything. I want to be there, for the good and the bad. I want to hold your hand in the street, I want you to want me not only behind closed door."

"Oh sweetheart, I want everything too. I want you all the time, it's hard to breathe sometimes. I promise to love you the way you deserve."

Joel gently pushies you to the bed and starts pressing kisses down your body, your lips, your neck, chest,hips.

You gasp when he sucks a hickey on your inner thigh, your hand grabbing his hair.

Aa Joel licks up your folds you moan, his tongue slipping in making you arch your back.

"Please, Joel." he looks up at you with his chocolate eyes filled with lust and so much more.

"I can't, please take me. I want you now, please." you beg and who is he to deny you.

Joel takes his aching length and teases your entrance, and when he finally slips in you're overwhelmed. It's been too long and your body and mind missed him more than you ever cared to admit. He starts thrusting slowly with care, his eyes never leaving yours.

His pace starts getting faster and harder, your legs start to shake when he hits a new a angle and hits your spot every thrust.

"please please please Joel. I cant let me come please."

you chant, breathlessly.

"I got you sweetheart, let go."

With another thrust and Joels thumb on your clit you come so hard you see stars, you scream out Joels name when you feel him cum, and his pace gets inconsistent and erratic. He grunts and moans your name like a prayer like it's something holy.

After he leads you through his and your orgasm he collapses on top of you. His body a welcome weight, his kisses to your neck gentle and full of love.

"You did so good, hun" Joel whispers in your ear, you smile and lean into him.

"Stay?" your voice barely a whisper.

"Always, I'm not going anywhere."

Joel cleans you up and lays down next to you, you put your head on his chest and he immediately starts playing with your hair.

"Go to sleep darling. I'll be here in the morning. I promise."

And true to his word you wake up with an abundance of soft kisses all over your face and neck. You slowly open your eyes and you're met with the most beautiful sight, early morning rays of sunshine light up Joels face and his grays shining in the golden light. He looks at you and you feel undone by his gaze.

"Mornin' "

"Morning,you're here. You stayed." you say as if you can't really believe it.

"I promised didn't I? And I want to keep another promise, I still have to show you off to the whole Jackson" Joel smiles softly.

"Just hold my hand, that's enough for me." you say and you take his hand in your which he squeezes gently.

As much as you two want to stay in bed the day in Jackson starts early, so Joel leaves to get ready for his patrol and you get ready for the day ahead.

Around the time Joels supposed to get back from patrol you linger close to the gate, and when he finally comes in you exhale, no matter how many times he goes you always get worried.

Joel notices you immediately and like dream he jumps down from his horse and makes his way to you. His step confident, sure and determined and then he kisses you.

Hard, hands on each cheek holding you in place.

you kiss him back and close your eyes.

"pheww, what a kiss! who would've thought the old man got it? Huh?"

You laugh into the kiss which breaks you apart.

"Now everyone knows you're mine. You okay with that?"

"More than okay."

[bluehourbucky]

STOP THIS IS ADORABLE!!!

so friendly tho😭

In the same vein of “best friends with Bob” can you imagine cockwarming him ““““for comfort purposes”””” ofc, because that’s just what friends do to help each other out, right? He wants to be so close to his best friend that being close isn’t nearly close enough, he has to be inside you.

oh my good anon you are in my brain babe. yeah..yeahh...this is good shit. it ended up a lot more angsty than i had planned? but she's cute and sweet!

cw: cockwarming duh, little bit of angst, bob is depressed (this is not news), denny projecting their own depression habits onto bob, reader calls him bubba because like..he's bubba to me, less nsfw than i planned on it being (i got carried away with the comfort part) 1500 words :)

The day starts off as normally as it can for him. Wake up near noon, lay in bed for thirty minutes and stare up at the ceiling like it might give him the motivation to stand up. Trudge into the kitchen, stand at the fridge, doors open, like something he could stand to eat might materialize from thin air if he stares long enough. It never does. He ends up eating half a bag of plain tortilla chips for breakfast.

Not every day is like this. Not anymore, at least. Not since the team had found him. Not since you.

Something aches inside him today, though. The Watchtower is silent, save for the quiet creaking of steel beams and the buzz of electricity. The quiet, barely there sounds make his skin itch, irritable for no good reason and dead tired despite sleeping twelve straight hours.

He knows the reason, deep down that is. You’re gone. On a mission with the rest of the team. Usually one of you will stay behind to keep him company, but everyone was needed for this one.

He’s done good so far, made attempts to eat properly, even managed a shower yesterday morning, but today it’s weighing on him. Loneliness clawing into his bones like an old friend. He ignores it as best he can. Curls up in his little recliner and stares blankly at the pages of a book without actually taking in any of the words.

The ding of the elevator is just loud enough to make his shoulders flinch upwards, but even the startle can’t dampen his relief at the sound of voices. Your voice.

“That guy was totally unprofessional,” You’re complaining, and it makes Bob’s lips curl into a weak, tired, smile. “I mean, there was absolutely no reason for us all to have gone on that mission. Val needs to quit jerking us around, we aren’t dogs- Robby!”

It’s like finally being able to catch his breath when you say his name, the twisted up ache in his chest lessening a fraction at your bright smile.

“Hey,” He greets, cursing himself for how lame it comes out. His voice is hoarse like he hasn’t spoken aloud in days. He doesn’t have much time to overthink his greeting, though, because you’re sliding into the recliner beside him. Thighs overlapping, half sprawled in his lap, warm, solid and real.

He leans into you instinctively, a quiet breath shuddering from his lungs, the tiniest bit of relief to his strung-too-tight muscles.

The rest of the team groans exaggeratedly from across the room. Grumbling soft ‘We lost ‘ems.’ and ‘Best friends my ass-’ and one, admittedly very sweet, but confusing ‘Ahh, young love.’ from Alexie, before filtering out of the living room to their own floors.

“Miss me?” You tease, and Bob can’t bring himself to joke back, as much as he’d like to. Bantering with you is easy. Everything with you is easy in a way he’d never experienced before. But in this moment, humor evades him, and he just nods heavy and slow against your shoulder.

He knows he’s being needy. Knows that it’s probably annoying, his ever present ability to cling like a leech to your side after missions. He doesn’t have time to wallow in that line of thinking for long, though. Your fingers are in his hair a second later, and you’re murmuring something in his ear about laying down, and all he can manage in response is a weak- “Your room?”

The short walk is a blur, his body pressed up behind your own like your personal shadow, fingers gripping at yours like they’re the only thing tethering him to consciousness currently.

His skin buzzes with the thought of being able to have you all wrapped up around him for the night, impatient and fidgeting where he sits at the edge of the bed. His knee bounces, jerking little movements, watching you peel off the layers of tac gear that are strapped to your body.

He’s already grabbing at your hips before you’ve even managed to tug a shirt on, pulling you down onto the bed with him with a huff of breath.

“Bad day?” You ask, soft and low, murmured against his collarbone, wiggling closer to him. This is probably his favorite part of you coming home. The way you curl into him, arms wrapped around his middle, thigh tucked between his own, head wedged under his chin. It never ceases to ease the tension in his body, leave him loose and pliant pressed up against you.

“Not bad,” He mumbles, face buried in your hair, inhaling deeply. “Just…rough, I guess. Lonely.”

He hates that he can’t explain himself properly sometimes. The feeling isn’t one he can put into words. You never judge him for it though. You never judge him for anything, honestly.

“Sorry we were gone so long.” You reply quietly, your hand drifting up and down his spine, sneaking up under his shirt to feel warm skin. He makes a muffled sound against your hair in response, shaking his head lazily.

“Not your fault.”

Silence settles then, both of you soaking up the comfort the other provides.

Bob is restless though. His fingers twitching and fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, his foot tapping against the mattress idly. These aren’t new habits, by any means, but usually curled up like this, he goes limp.

He doesn’t know why he can’t settle. He keeps squirming, hips shifting, pulling you in by the hip as if he can’t get close enough. Like he wants to eliminate any and all space between you.

You, though. Beautiful, kind, supportive, silly you. His best friend and confidant. You know what’s wrong.

“Can’t get comfortable?” You murmur, tipping your head back some to meet his eyes. He just grumbles softly in return, lips pulled down in a pout that would be cute if it weren’t a genuine show of discontentment.

He’s quiet, for a long few breaths, and then he seems to deflate, exhaling shakily.

“Can we..” He starts, pausing only to swallow hard, pretty blue eyes creaking open to peer down at you, sheepish. “Can we..do that thing? Like last time?”

There’s a brief silence, and he opens his mouth to take it back. Play it off as a joke, maybe, but then your eyes go warm, and his stomach does that weird flipping thing it always does when you look at him like that. Like he’s important, special.

“Yeah, bubs, we can do that.” You agree with a nonchalant shrug, smile soft and lopsided.

He nods once, swallowing thickly. He hadn’t honestly thought you’d agree. It was unconventional, burdensome, he’s sure.

But you’re shifting around, hooking your thigh over his hip and untying his sleep pants with practiced ease, and suddenly his breathing goes a little funny.

The first time you two had done this he’d been spiraling hard. He needed to be close. Needed to be held, cradled, loved, and you had always been able to do that for him. Make him feel safe, and treasured. Like he was something more than a burden.

He rolls you onto your back, panting ever so slightly against your collarbone. He’s hard already, cock smushed between your tummies where he lays flat against your front.

“Hang on, angel.” You murmur against his ear when he whines quietly, reaching down between the two of you to slide your panties to the side.

“Thank you- thank you-” He whispers breathlessly, pressing forward slow and steady. The tip catches at your entrance, and he gasps sharply, before he’s sliding in— to the hilt— in one fell swoop.

It knocks the breath from your lungs, just like the last time, a pleasant ache spreading through your lower belly. His hips give these half hearted little rolls, like he can’t get deep enough, but spreading your knees a touch more seems to do the trick because he sobs in relief against your neck.

“Just breathe, bubba.” You whisper, peppering kisses against his cheek, arms looping around his shoulders to keep him held close.

He’s nodding heavily, rubbing his cheek against your own like an oversized cat.

He doesn’t know why this feels so good. He doesn’t move, just settles there, pressed to the hilt, hands tucked up beneath your back.

Something about being close like this leaves his brain blissfully empty. Buried as deep as he can get, caging you in. Nothing has ever felt this good. It’s a comfort like no other, and he melts with it. Laying on top of you like a weighted blanket, keeping you pinned to the mattress beneath you.

“Feel better?” You ask in a whisper, scratching your nails affectionately up and down his back.

He hums faintly, head heavy as he nuzzles closer. “Uh huh.” He confirms, finally giving you a real smile, small as it is, lifts his head only to kiss your cheek with a heart wrenching tenderness. “Lot better. Missed you.” He mumbles, dropping his head again to rest it against your shoulder.

“Missed you too, angel.” You answer, and his heart feels full to bursting with it. The knowledge that you missed him, thought about him while you were gone, came back and let him do this. That you needed it too.

There’s nowhere in the world that he’d rather be.

[bluehourbucky]

I have nothing appropriate to say so I will just shout in my pillow

If you see me going in and out of his office MIND YOUR BUSINESS

[pics from pinterest]

[bluehourbucky]

the way these gifs changed the trajectory of my life

[bluehourbucky]

New beginnings

pairing: postblip!bucky x reader

summary: bucky finally comes back to you after being gone for 5 years and a little surprise awaits

a/n: Little late to the party but I just cant stop thinking about post blip bucky returning to his lover and the road to healing

warnings: pregnancy talk, therapy mentions, angsty, fluffy, long, happy ending

~~~~~

5 years ago

"I'll see you soon,doll."

Bucky holds your face in his hands, gently wiping tears that were running down your face. You promised you wouldn't cry, but you can't stop, after everything he's been through, you don't want to let him go. Wakanda has been kind to him and you understand why he has to fight but you want to be selfish.

You don't trust your voice, so you just kiss him with everything you have.

"Where is he?" you scream at Steve hitting him in the chest, your sobs filling the room.

"I don't know"

"I can't-" you choke, "you have to bring him back" your voice breaks. You slide down on the floor and sob.

"I'm sorry" you don't listen and you don't really care, you just need Bucky.

Maybe it's not healthy but you shut down and leave Wakanda somewhere where no one can find you, Shuri helps you, she understands your grief and promises not to tell Steve which you appreciate.

It was supposed to be just you and you never planned on going back to Wakanda so soon but things change. You're late and you're never late and you're afraid of what that might mean.

"No, I can't. I'm not." Shuri looks at you while you crumble before her eyes. The tears start falling, and all you can think about is Bucky. How would he react, would he want the child, would he be as terrified as you are right now.

"I'll let you think about it, but whatever you decide we are here for you. "

This is crazy you say as you're going back home to your little cottage in the middle of nowhere, prenatal vitamins tucked in your bag as well as some other natural stuff from Wakanda.

Pregnancy is hard as is but doing it alone almost impossible.

The morning sickness the dizziness, the constant ache of your body. But it was all worth it.

Because when you see the shiney blues of your daughters eyes, same as Buckys just in a tiny human your heart grows three sizes. She's perfect and so small you have no idea how to care for this tiny being.

But somehow you manage and your little girl grows, so fast you forget all the sleepless nights and all the tears and frustration.

You moved to a small town where you're not surrounded by nothingness. And her little three year old head is interested in everything and everyone. And when you take her to a museum dedicated to captain america and Bucky you're filled with guilt and longing.

You've been telling her stories about him, showed her pictures and she listenes with wide eyes and wonder.

"Mommy look Daddy!" she runs through the halls and points at every single picture of Bucky.

"Pretty!" she says as she looks at one of your favourite pictures of Bucky. Its the one from the 40s where he's still unbroken, untouched by Hydra.

"Yes baby." you whisper and kiss the top of her head.

She's just pure joy in such a tiny little body, like your own personal sun. You don't even notice the years go by.

present day

and then one day people start coming back.

The news are on TV and you turn up the volume.

"The great sacrifice of Tony Stark will not be forgotten as so many are reuniting with their loved ones who disappeared 5 years ago."

You don't dare hope even if Bucky returned you don't know if he survived the battle. But that night you cry like the first time you lost Bucky.

~

"Where is she Steve." Bucky asks again this time he shouts at his friend.

"I swear I don't know." Steve says sadly guilt eating him up for so many reasons.

"Was she?"

"No she-"

"Well why the fuck dont you know where my girl is. You're supposed to protect her. You promised."

Steve just lowers his gaze and is once again overwhelmed with sadness of failing his best friend once again.

"Sorry to intrude but I can help you with that."

Bucky's eyes full of tears look at Shuri with hope and desperation.

Buckys palm sweats and he wipes it down his jeans, he fixes his hair more times than he could count. He doesn't know what awaits for him behind the wooden doors of this small house that completely looks like something from your dreams.

What if you're married, and your husband opens the door or worse you see him and hate him for being away for so long.

And with heavy heart he knocks.

And he then is met with a little girl, two braids one on each side, flowercrown on her head, her little hands covered in flour from what he can tell. And then he looks into her eyes and his hearts drops.

"DOROTHEA JAMIE BARNES WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT OPENING DOORS TO STRA-"

you stop in your tracks when you see the man standing in the doorway.

"Bucky?" your hands shake your voice flaters.

"Daddy! You're back! I have so much to tell you!"

Your daughter grabs Buckys metal arm and leads him inside, and you watch a super soldier get dragged away by a four almost five year old.

Bucky doesn't move when your daughter sits him down and sits in his lap, settling herself in as if it's the most normal thing ever. Like she's done it a thousand times.

She talks and talks and he tries to listen the best he can, but most of his energy is going into trying not to cry or shake. He tries to meet your eye but you don't let him. Knowing that if you do that both of you will break and you can't do that just yet.

So you just return to the kitchen and make lunch as if nothing is out of the ordinary like you're not just seconds away from having a breakdown.

"I'm hungry now, mommy makes the best potato's and the best pie. I loveeeeee potatoes. Do you like potatoes? You have to like potatoes."

This tiny human again leads him where she wants to go and he is putty, just absolutely defenseless against this little girl.

You don't trust your voice so you just serve lunch without a word. Your daughter fills the silence with her stories, most of it is incoherent since she talks with her mouth full.

"And then Mr Bear took Mr Dinos arms!"

Bucky chuckles softly at her story of the huge crime that happened during tea time. He steals glances at you and his heart hurts. He can't imagine what you've been through and yet here you sit.

"Thank you for food mommy. Me and daddy are gonna play now."

again she grabs his hand and luckily she doesn't see the tear rolling down your face.

The day passes incredibly slow and yet too fast.

"She's out." The first thing Bucky says directly to you as he holds a little human close to his chest

You nod and lead him to her bedroom. The bedroom is painted yellow, little drawing on the wall some yours and some hers. Flower stickers on the walls and the bed. Little mushroom light on the bedside table turned off and on the top of a shelf two pictures. One with you and her and one of him.

Bucky slowly, sets her down in the bed and tucks her in her little hands holding onto his shirt which he gently removes.

"You're back. You're really here." you reach out and barely touch him before Bucky pulls you to his chest and hugs you. His metal arm around your waist and the other holds the back of your head, his face buried in your shoulder and your face in his neck. He breathes in and you smell like home, like love. Your sobs break his heart into million pieces.

"I'm sorry." Bucky chokes.

"I thought you were gone, I thought I'd never see you again."

Bucky then looks at you, like really looks at you, and he takes in everything. The way your body changed, the way you hold yourself, the way you grew without him, and how he'll never get those years back. He'll never understand the loss and fight you faced and he wishies he could and then the fear sets in. How can he fit here with you when you're so much further ahead.

"I missed you Bucky. More than words can describe. Can you please hold me. Just tonight and tomorrow everything can be hard but tonight I just want easy."

Bucky is not going to say no, he couldn't but the war happening in your head when you get to the bedroom is hard not to notice.

"I can wait outside." he whispers.

"No it's okay. It's just I'm not, my body isn't what it was."

Bucky is the first one to take the clothes off he stays in his boxers and settles in the bed while you stand in front of the dresser your nightdress in your hands, still dressed fully.

Bucky watches, he barely breathes as you slowly take off your shirt, your back turned to him, and then the pants. He sees your hips got wider, the stretch marks on your thighs and hips. You quickly take off your bra and put on your night gown. It's down to your knees. Your breasts much bigger than he remembers. But you still look perfect in his eyes. He opens his arm and you lay on his chest.

"You're breathtaking, doll." you sigh anad look at him.

"Bucky, you don't have to lie."

"I would never lie to you, I promised." He caresses your cheek and you close your eyes.

"I still love you. I want you here with us, but I want you to be sure you want that too. I know it's a lot and I have changed and you don't have to meet me here but - "

"Doll, there's nothing in this world that can now keep me away from you, I want this, I want you and I'll try my best to be the man you need."

"Bucky, I don't want you to be what I want. I want you to be okay. I want you to heal, to get here in your own time. I'll talk to Thea, you can take time. It's going to be hard." Bucky takes your hand in his and gives it a gentle kiss.

"I know baby. But I can do it. I love you."

"Okay. Love you too"

and you finally after so long you fall asleep in the arms of the love of your life.

~~~

The first month is great, Bucky is back and at that time it was all you needed but then everything started going downhill.

At first everything was perfect, you finally had what you've been wanting, a family with Bucky.

He's perfect, he wakes up first, cooks breakfast plays with your daughter, helps with chores and it's fine. Until it isn't.

"Bucky no. She can't have ice cream for breakfast and lunch."

"But-"

"No buts."

Your daughter cries and has a tantrum and you can see how much it hurts Bucky but you're not going to let it go.

"Bucky you can't keep leaving your arm in the dishwasher."

"No you can't let her climb a tree."

"You shrank all of our clothes."

And it's the little things that annoy you, where he just disregards your parenting, where he doesn't buy the right groceries or just moves things without telling you.

And then one day everything blows up.

"Its bed time Thea. Now."

you tell your daughter who refuses to go to sleep.

"No." she stomps her little foot and fights back.

Silly little no, that she didn't learn from you.

"I said now."

you know she's going to be grumpy if she doesn't sleep now and the next day she's going to be tired and impossible to deal with. It's bad enough she already ate candy before dinner.

"Maybe we should-"

"Bucky stop. She has to sleep now, you can't let her everything she wants, she doesn't know better. So no. Bed time is now."

"I hate you. You're the worst mom ever. I don't want to live with you I want to live with daddy."

The silence that follows is painful. You could hear a pin drop. You feel as if you've been slapped in the face.

Then after a few moments, your daughter starts crying. She doesn't understand why but you know, she sees your tears and a tiny part of her brain realises she hurt you but doesn't know what to do with that.

"Bed now." this time she listens and walks to her room, her tiny feet padding on the floor as she sobs.

"I'm sorry." Bucky says barely a whisper, not being able to look at you. He fucked up big time and he's scared.

"I don't want to hear it. I've been telling you for weeks. You don't listen or you don't care to listen. You can't be here if you still feel guilty. Guilt will get you no where, and you need to forgive yourself first for missing out, your life stopped when you blipped mine didn't. You instead you could do it. But you can't. And I don't hold that against you, but you do it to yourself. Please I can't help you, as much as I love you, I can't do it."

You walk into your daughters room and her quiet sniffs break your heart.

"Hey,bub." she sits up and wipes her tears with her sleeve.

"I'm sorry mommy. You're the best mom ever. And I'm sorry." she hugs you as tight as her body lets her.

"It's okay baby. Mommy's not mad and I forgive you okay. I know you didn't mean it. It was grumpy monster because you were late to bed time yeah?" she nods in your chest and sniffs.

"I love you the mostest in the whole world."

"Love you more bug. Night baby."

"Night mommy." she turns and in minutes shes asleep, exhaustion taking over.

When you walk into your bedroom you see Bucky sitting at the edge of the bed crying,his clothes scattered down on the floor and bag halfway packed.

"I called T'Challa they're gonna pick me up in the morning."

you sit next to him and he finally breaks down. You hold him while he cries, chants apologies. You cry with him, all the hurt you took alone you now share it with him. It's almost 3am when you finally go to sleep.

"I'll miss you. But I know this is the right thing to do." You nod and listen to his heart.

"I know. We'll be right here waiting for you."

The morning starts rough, you sleep in and your daughter already had a meltdown because she's hungry and then when Bucky tells her he's leaving for a while she's inconsolable.

"Don't leave please! I promise I will sleep at bed time. I will not look at candies and I promise not to put dirty socks under the couch!" she cries and holds onto Buckys leg. It's hard to watch.

"You put dirty socks under the couch? I thought an animal snuk in and stolen our socks?"

you say surprised, the socks have been disappearing like crazy and the culprit was in front of you all along.

"Uh no?" she stops crying as she realises she accidentally told you something you don't know.

"Listen baby, this is not your fault at all, Daddy is just going to help some people, remember the stories I told you?" she nods, and Bucky looks at you his eyes soft.

"Okay, be safe daddy. And please come back!" she gives him a wet kiss on his cheek and he puts her down.

"I'll see you soon, okay? I'll call when I can and I love you."

Couple of months pass and it's torture, Thea asks about Bucky every day and you miss him too. You talk from time to time, you can see he is tired and emotionally drained but he's getting better and it's all that matters.

"Mommy will daddy come for my birthday tomorrow?"

"Maybe, we'll see."

you don't want to ruin the surprise but Bucky is definitely coming and he's going to stay. He might not be completely healed but you two talked and it's going to be okay.

"MOMMY IT'S MY BIRTHDAY."

your daughter jumps into your bed and shakes you awake.

"I know baby, happy birthday."

"Where are my gifts?" She asks and starts looking around the room. Ah ever the materialist your little girl.

"Well I think one is waiting for you in the kitchen." she squeals and runs down.

"DADDY." you hear her scream from downstairs.

"You're here! Really here." She hugs him tightly.

"I promised, didn't I?"

Bucky spends all day with her, it makes you happy to see them happy. He looks incredible and healthy.

"Yay! Cake" your daugher claps when she blows out the candles. She smiles and laughs when both of you start kissing her.

The day ends and everyone is exhausted, you softly close the door after tucking her in.

"I am so tired, I don't think I've ever been this tired. Which is crazy cause I've had 2 hour long therapy sessions." you laugh and lean on Buckys shoulder.

"Who would've thought a 5 year old has so much energy?"

You two change and lay in bed.

"This is my first birthday with her. How did you do it?"

"I have no idea. Honestly."

Bucky hugs you closer.

"Thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for being you."

"I love you,doll. Thank you for letting me back in and giving me a chance."

"You deserve it Bucky.

You deserve happiness."

And Bucky believes you and he's so excited for the future.

[bluehourbucky]

deleting my account cause this is art.

thank u for ur service!

I Thought We Were Already Dating

pairing | congressman!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 4k words

summary | 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).

tags | (18+) MDNI, unprotected sex, p in v, established situationship, mutual pining (but one of them doesn't know), miscommunication, public confession, soft!bucky, domestic chaos, comedy & angst, bucky barnes is your boyfriend (he just forgot to tell you), reader is unhinged (affectionate), FLUFF & SMUT, friends to lovers (but they skipped the "friends" and the "lovers" just happened), poor congressional staff, possessive!reader, love confession, bucky is so in love it hurts

a/n | based on this request. i love writing chaotic reader

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

Your back hit the mattress in a blur of limbs and low groans, Bucky’s mouth never leaving yours, his hands already sliding under the hem of your shirt like he needed to feel skin, all of it, immediately.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he breathed against your lips, voice rough from hours of holding back everything but this.

You barely managed to smile before his teeth grazed your jaw, his scruff dragging just enough to make you shiver. His body blanketed yours, warm and solid, pressing you down in the most intoxicating way.

“You saw me this morning,” you murmured, fingers curling into his hair.

“Not like this.”

The shirt came off.

Then his.

You didn’t stop him.

You never did.

Because being under Bucky Barnes like this—held like something he didn’t want to let go of—was the only time you felt whole. His touch, his mouth, his breath in your ear as he whispered how good you felt, how fucking perfect you were when you were under him like this.

It was all consuming.

He kissed his way down your chest, every inch of skin worshiped like he didn’t just want you—he needed you. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down, slow, like he loved the way you sounded when you gasped just from anticipation.

You watched him from above, chest heaving, skin flushed—and in that moment, something tight twisted in your stomach that had nothing to do with arousal.

It was the ache.

The quiet question in the back of your head that always came right before you let him *n.

What are we?

You didn’t ask.

You just let your legs fall open, let his body settle between them, and swallowed the question whole.

He looked down at you once more, eyes so soft they burned.

“You want me?” he asked, voice hushed, reverent.

You nodded.

“Say it,” he whispered, leaning down, lips brushing your collarbone.

“I want you,” you breathed.

He groaned, low and wrecked, and then he was inside you.

One thrust.

Slow. Deep.

Your back arched, your mouth parting in a gasp as he bottomed out, hands gripping your hips like he was anchoring himself in you.

He didn’t move at first.

Just breathed.

Pressed his forehead to yours.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “You always feel like home.”

You blinked.

Your heart stopped.

But then he started moving—hips rolling slow, dragging pleasure from your core in waves. Every stroke was measured, precise, like he wanted you to feel every inch of him. Like he wasn’t just fucking you—he was holding you, claiming you without a single word about what it meant.

You let your nails scrape down his back, your thighs tightening around his waist, chasing every thrust like it could answer the questions you didn’t dare ask.

He kissed you again.

Not hungrily.

Not possessively.

Just soft.

Like a man who thought you already belonged to him.

His pace stayed slow at first—torturously so. Each thrust sank deep, dragging friction that had your nails pressing harder into his skin, a soft whimper caught at the back of your throat.

He was watching you now.

Eyes dark, focused, mouth parted like he was trying to memorize the way you looked when he was buried inside you.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, and the way he said it—it was too soft. Too real. Like it meant something. Like you meant something.

You arched up to meet him, hips rising into each roll of his body, chasing that dizzying edge as the room dissolved around you. The only thing real was the heat building between your bodies, the slick slide of his skin against yours, the way he groaned every time your walls clenched around him.

You could feel your release winding tight, breath ragged, body shaking.

And then—

His hand cupped your cheek.

His lips found yours again, tender and aching as he whispered into your mouth, “That’s it. Let go. I’ve got you.”

It hit you like a wave.

You shattered underneath him, crying out as your body clamped down, orgasm tearing through you with a sharp, wet sound of skin against skin and your name on his tongue like it was sacred.

He fucked you through it, his thrusts faltering, rougher now, deeper, desperate.

“I can’t—baby, I’m gonna—fuck—” he groaned.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulled him tighter, wanted him closer.

“Inside,” you whispered, dazed.

His eyes locked on yours—wide, vulnerable, wrecked.

Then he was coming—hot and hard and raw, his whole body shaking as he buried his face in your neck and let himself fall apart in you.

His voice cracked.

“I love you,” he gasped, barely more than breath.

And you heard it.

Your body was still trembling. Your mind was still fogged.

But your heart?

It snapped to attention.

Because he said it like it was obvious.

Like he’d said it before. Like you knew.

His breathing had slowed.

His body lay heavy over yours, arms curled protectively around your waist, lips pressed to your collarbone in a lazy, half-conscious kiss. You could feel the weight of his affection in every touch—adoring, familiar, like this was just another Thursday night in the life of Bucky Barnes, the man who clearly thought you were his.

Because he said it.

He said I love you.

And not like it slipped.

Not like it was some heat-of-the-moment moan tangled in a climax.

He said it like he meant it.

Like he’d said it before.

Like he thought you already knew.

Your hand twitched on his back.

Your heartbeat, which had only just settled, started racing again—but not with pleasure. With full-blown panic.

Because—

What the actual fuck?

You stared up at the ceiling, body still bare, skin still warm from him, and yet—

Your brain screamed: WHAT ARE WE?

He shifted slightly, nuzzling closer, mumbling something incoherent as he pressed a kiss to your chest.

Meanwhile, your soul was clawing its way out of your skin.

Because if he thought this was that—you being his, this being real—then you’d missed a crucial piece of the plot somewhere back in act one.

He never asked.

There was never a “will you be my girlfriend?” conversation. No official status talk. No expectations. Just great sex, unholy chemistry, soft sleepovers, texts that made your stomach flip, and a drawer at his place you never questioned.

You suddenly wanted to sit up and scream.

But instead, you lay there frozen, blinking at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed you.

His hand rubbed slow circles on your hip.

You resisted the urge to launch yourself across the room.

What the fuck is going on.

Are we dating?

Is this real?

He sighed against your skin, content and sleepy.

You swallowed hard.

One Week Later

Your phone buzzed beside you on the kitchen counter.

It lit up with his name, the one you still hadn’t changed in your contacts—just “James 🇺🇸” with a dumb little flag emoji he’d added himself the first week you started… whatever this was.

James 🇺🇸:

On my way back—what do you want for takeout?

You stared at the screen for a second too long.

The question was simple. Casual. Routine.

And that’s what made your stomach twist.

Because it was routine.

The texts. The keys to your place. The way he dropped his jacket over your chair like he lived here. The way he smiled when he saw you, like everything else melted away.

You typed, deleted, typed again.

Finally, you sent:

You:

thai? the dumpling place. y'know the one.

Your phone buzzed two seconds later.

James 🇺🇸:

Already reading my mind, huh?

I’ll be there in 30.

Got you extra peanut sauce because I know you hoard it like a gremlin.

You huffed a small laugh, despite the weight still coiled in your chest.

Then you stared at that thread a little too long.

The little hearts you’d sent last week.

The blurry selfie he sent you from his office at midnight, captioned "Thinking about you and losing a vote at the same time 🫡”

The I love you that still echoed in your ears like a gunshot.

You set the phone down.

Walked into the bathroom.

And stared at yourself in the mirror.

You’d never called him your boyfriend.

He’d never asked.

But he acted like he was yours.

And the scary part?

You wanted him to be.

You just didn’t know if he knew that mattered.

The door creaked open with a familiar scrape—he still hadn’t fixed the hinge.

You turned from the couch, face carefully neutral.

He stepped inside in that unbuttoned suit jacket, tie half-loosened, hair tousled from a long day of pretending not to want to strangle half of Congress.

And he was smiling.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, like it was the most normal thing in the world, setting the takeout bags down on your kitchen counter without even looking.

Baby.

You froze.

Okay, he calls you that all the time.

Maybe he calls everyone that.

Does he call Sam that?

“Place was packed,” he continued, toeing off his shoes. “Some guy tried to skip the line and the little lady behind the counter threatened to beat him with a ladle. Reminded me of you.”

You stared.

He wandered to the fridge, pulled out your favorite seltzer—your specific lemon one—and cracked it open before sliding it your way.

You caught it on instinct, fingers brushing the condensation.

He hadn’t even asked.

Just knew.

Then, casually, he took off his jacket, draped it over the chair, and loosened his tie more, tossing it with a sigh. His white dress shirt stretched a little at the biceps. He was still talking—something about a subcommittee vote gone to hell—but you were barely hearing it.

Because now?

You were tracking everything.

The way he set down two sets of chopsticks like it was automatic. The way he separated the sauces—your peanut ones on your side, his spicier one near him. The way he snagged the remote and flopped down beside you like he lived here.

Like this was his couch.

Was it his couch?

Was he paying your utilities?

“I don’t know why I let them keep putting me in these budget meetings,” he muttered, cracking open a box of dumplings. “Every time I try to talk, someone from Indiana gives me a migraine.”

You nodded slowly.

Then: “Do you… have a toothbrush here?”

He blinked at you mid-chew.

“Yeah?” He swallowed. “Under the sink. Next to yours. Why?”

Your eye twitched.

“Do you… always leave a change of clothes here?”

He nodded again, popping another dumpling in his mouth. “Babe, half my henleys are in your closet. You know that.”

You did.

You just didn’t process it.

You turned toward him fully, food forgotten.

His arm was already around your shoulders, pulling you in.

You didn’t resist. You leaned in.

And then you stared blankly at the TV as he rested his chin on your head, warm and soft and so stupidly comfortable.

He sighed.

“I missed you today,” he murmured. “It was shit at the office.”

Your heart did a weird thing in your chest—flipped, twisted, frowned.

You blinked slowly.

“…Do you keep anything at anyone else’s place?” you asked, very casually. Too casually.

He snorted. “What?”

“Just wondering.”

He reached for a spring roll. “No? Why would I?”

“Just wondering,” you repeated, mechanically.

He made a soft mhmm noise and handed you a dumpling without looking, already distracted by the TV again, thumb grazing lazy circles against your arm like his body just knew where you were supposed to be.

Meanwhile, your brain was screaming.

Are we dating?

ARE WE DATING?!

And he just sat there, all warm and sleepy and Thai-food-happy beside you, like the man absolutely not at the center of an existential relationship spiral.

You chewed your dumpling, eyes narrow.

You were going to lose your mind.

A Few Days Later

The sky over Washington was a thick stretch of slate.

Fine rain fell in that soft, insistent way that made everything damp without ever fully raining. The streets were quiet, the air cool against your cheeks, and your lungs ached just enough to make you feel alive as your sneakers slapped against the wet pavement.

Beside you, Rachel kept pace effortlessly.

Of course she did.

She looked like she’d been born doing yoga on a yacht.

“I still don’t get how you convinced me to jog in this weather,” she said, breath easy, ponytail bouncing behind her. “You’re getting fit for a reason or just embracing the sad girl cardio?”

You huffed a laugh through your nose, ignoring the sting in your ribs. “Trying to keep up with a guy who’s genetically engineered and built like a statue.”

You didn’t answer right away.

She smirked. “Oh, right. The Bucky Barnes. Still a thing?”

Your feet hit a puddle, splashing your ankles.

Rachel didn’t wait.

“I mean… it’s cute. Really. Him bringing you coffee, showing up to all your little gallery events, texting you like a golden retriever with a crush.”

You squinted through the mist. “Is there a ‘but’ coming?”

She gave a mock innocent look. “No ‘but.’ I just think if he hasn’t made it official by now, he’s probably just riding the comfort wave. You know?”

Your stomach dropped—quiet, slow—like something sliding off a ledge in the dark.

“He’s… not like that,” you muttered.

Rachel made a noncommittal sound, the kind that sounded like “maybe” but meant “absolutely.”

“Sure,” she said lightly. “But a guy like that? Everyone wants him. Powerful, polished, and hot—but still gives off that ‘I could destroy you emotionally if I wanted’ vibe. It’s catnip.”

You bit your tongue.

She went on, like she didn’t just lob a grenade at your chest.

“I’m just saying. If I were dating him, I’d make damn sure everyone knew it. Otherwise…” She shrugged, smiling sweetly. “Kind of feels like letting a limited edition slip through your fingers.”

You slowed slightly, blinking rain from your lashes.

Rachel picked up her pace, unaware—or pretending to be.

Or maybe that was the point.

The worst part?

You didn’t even know what to say.

Because in your head, you were screaming: I don’t know if I’m dating him either.

You didn’t answer her.

You just picked up speed.

One second, you were jogging beside her—lungs aching, mind heavy—and the next, your legs were moving, not with purpose but with sheer emotional combustion.

“Wait—what the hell?” Rachel’s voice snapped from behind you, sharp with confusion. “Where are you going?”

You shouted over your shoulder, breath shallow, “Forgot—I left the oven on!”

It was a terrible excuse.

You hadn’t even used the oven that morning.

And Rachel, in all her smug, sculpted glory, definitely knew it.

But you didn’t care.

You turned down a side street without looking back, rain misting against your skin, hair sticking to your neck as you ran harder, faster, legs burning. You were vaguely aware of your own ridiculousness. You were sprinting through Capitol Hill in soaked leggings and adrenaline—not because of a fire, but because your chest was burning.

Because the words still a thing were still ringing in your ears.

Because her little smile made you want to scream.

And because deep down, you didn’t know how to answer her.

You didn’t know.

Your lungs ached, your sneakers skidded slightly on wet pavement as you turned a corner, and still—you kept going.

Toward the tall glass building you knew by heart now. The security desk that always smiled when you came in. The floor where the man who may or may not be your boyfriend spent hours arguing policy and quietly doodling in his tiny notebook between meetings.

You didn’t know what you were going to say when you got there.

You didn’t know what you wanted him to say.

But you knew this:

You couldn’t keep playing house in your head while the floor beneath it kept shifting.

You needed an answer.

Even if it hurt.

Even if Rachel ended up being right.

You just prayed she got splashed by a Metro bus on the way home.

The doors of the administrative wing slammed open with a bang.

You stumbled in, soaked from drizzle, cheeks flushed, ribs on fire, and about three seconds from a full cardiac event. Your leggings were clinging to your thighs, your hoodie had definitely seen better days, and your lungs were currently staging a mutiny.

Several staffers at their desks froze mid-keystroke.

Someone dropped a pen.

Bucky looked up from where he was speaking with a few of his aides, a file in one hand, coffee in the other—and blinked at you like you’d just teleported in from an alternate timeline.

“Hey—what—?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Silence.

Every single head in the room turned.

Bucky’s coffee cup paused halfway to his lips.

You pointed at him, panting. “Because—I think it’s time. I want to be your girlfriend. Officially. Like—not just sleepovers and emotional eye contact over takeout—I mean actual, real-life, ‘we’re together’ kind of thing.”

You sucked in another breath and barreled on before you lost your nerve.

“I know you’re busy, and, like, technically running half of Congress with your jawline, but I just—I need clarity, okay? Because I was jogging with Rachel, who’s a menace to society, and she said some stuff and I started spiraling and I just—I ran here. I ran. Here. For this.”

There was a beat of complete silence.

Bucky’s eyes were wide.

His aides?

They were riveted.

One woman actually had her hand over her mouth like this was her favorite telenovela.

You blinked at the room.

Your mouth opened. Closed. You slowly lowered your arm.

“Okay,” you said, breathless. “So clearly, that was… too much.”

You looked around at the awkward stares, then back at Bucky, your voice flattening with pure, defeated embarrassment.

“So maybe I was delusional. Maybe this isn’t what I thought. And that’s fine.”

You nodded to yourself, a slow descent into insanity.

“If I’m just some situationship moron who caught feelings and made a public scene at a congressional office,” you continued dryly, “I’m going to kill myself and take everyone in this room with me.”

You made eye contact with one aide near the door.

He flinched.

Then you sighed heavily and scanned the room, noting every wide-eyed aide pretending desperately to become one with their laptops.

Then you snapped.

“Show’s over, folks. Go home. Or back to your unpaid Excel spreadsheets or whatever.”

No one moved.

One intern coughed.

You groaned, dragging both hands over your face in slow, mortified defeat, mumbling through your fingers, “This is literally my villain origin story.”

You barely heard his footsteps as Bucky approached, but you felt him—warmth, presence, tall and steady as he stopped just a few feet in front of you.

“Hey,” he said gently, “can you look at me?”

You shook your head without moving your hands. “I’ll die.”

“No you won’t.”

“I might.”

He chuckled quietly, and something about it made your heart twist. Like this wasn’t the end of the world. Like maybe it wasn’t even close.

You slowly peeked between your fingers.

He smiled softly, eyes full of that same calm patience he used when trying to explain to you how Medicare reform worked.

He stepped closer, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “It’s 2 o’clock,” he said, glancing around the room. “They all get off at five.”

You stared up at him.

“Oh,” you said blankly. “Cool.”

A pause.

Then, softly—almost hesitantly—he added, “I thought we were already dating.”

Your arms dropped from your face as your expression completely short-circuited.

“…What.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Yeah. For, like… a while now?”

You just stared at him.

Unmoving.

Mouth parted.

One eyebrow quirked in silent disbelief.

“…What.”

He blinked again.

Now he looked confused.

“You… didn’t think we were?”

“…No?”

He gave you the most innocent, baffled look known to man.

“I brought you to Sam's birthday party. You met his nephews. You wear my boxers. What part of this didn’t scream boyfriend to you?”

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

Then opened it again.

“I—You never asked me!” you accused, voice pitching.

“I didn’t think I had to!” he exclaimed.

You stared at him, absolutely scandalized. “How was I supposed to know then?”

Bucky blinked. “I—what do you mean? Everything I do is—”

“You’re from the 40s, James!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “You guys used to, like, wear suits and give flowers and do grand declarations and ask girls to go steady in a diner over milkshakes! I was waiting for that!”

His jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“I watched Grease with you last week!” you cried. “You don’t get to act brand new!”

He dragged a hand over his face, groaning. “Okay, no more old movies for you.”

You crossed your arms, still damp and out of breath, glaring at him like he’d personally invented confusion.

Then he stepped back.

Took a slow, deep breath.

Straightened his posture.

And said, “Okay. Fine.”

He cleared his throat, eyes locked with yours, serious as a heart attack. Then he said your name—your full name.

“Will you do me the incredible honor of officially being my girlfriend?”

The room went so quiet you could hear someone’s chair creak.

You stared at him.

Then slowly, a dumb smile spread across your face.

“Wow,” you said, blinking. “This is… so sudden.”

Bucky paused, squinting

You pressed a hand to your chest. “I mean… we’ve only been sleeping together, sharing hoodies, texting nonstop, and eating Thai food three times a week for a few months. You barely know me.”

His jaw clenched.

“Don’t.”

“I mean, I barely know me, James. Are you sure about this? How could I possibly say—?”

He said your name—a low, gravelly warning that made your smile bloom full force.

You grinned.

“Yes,” you said. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

And before he could react—before he could breathe—you launched yourself into his arms, hands gripping his shoulders, mouth crashing into his with every ounce of pent-up emotion and leftover adrenaline.

His arms instinctively caught you—one around your waist, the other beneath your thighs as your legs wrapped around him like you’d done this a hundred times before.

He kissed you back, hard and fast, like he’d been waiting for this moment—like maybe he needed it as badly as you did.

Somewhere behind you, someone definitely muttered, “What the fuck.”

Another staffer fumbled their phone like they were torn between reporting this to H.R. and posting this on the internet.

Bucky didn’t care.

He just kissed you deeper, right there in the middle of his office, as if the whole damn building hadn’t just watched him get emotionally hijacked by the woman he thought was already his.

Eventually, you pulled back, breath a little ragged, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, arms still looped lazily around his neck.

Bucky was wrecked—eyes dazed, mouth parted, chest rising and falling under you like he’d just run a marathon and won.

You leaned in once more, planted a sweet, casual kiss on his cheek, and whispered, “See you at home.”

You slid off his lap and smoothed your hoodie like you hadn’t just climbed him like a tree in front of half his professional staff.

Bucky blinked. “Wait—what? I was just about to go on break—”

You turned at the door, already tugging your hood up. “Yeah, no, I gotta find Rachel.”

He frowned, still catching up. “Why?”

“To tell her to her face that you’re mine now,” you said flatly. “And so hopefully, she dies of jealousy in front of my eyes.”

You opened the door and strode out like a woman on a mission.

Bucky watched you go, completely speechless, still half-hard in his slacks, shirt wrinkled from where you’d yanked on him like you were trying to break his will to serve.

His aides were frozen, stunned, borderline traumatized.

And then, slowly, that grin started to grow on his face.

A little crooked. A little stunned.

But proud.

Because that?

That was officially his girl.

And God help anyone who tried to say otherwise.

[bluehourbucky]

wow. I am died.

sins and silk

pairing: mob!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

summary: under the watchful eyes of his criminal entourage and your unapologetic family, you say your vows to the most powerful man in New York City. despite your doubts, your wedding night surprises you in more ways than one. AKA, Bucky knows how to fuck the reader right.

warnings: mdni. 18+, forced/arrange marriage, fingering, oral (f receiving, mentions of m receiving), unprotected piv, praise

a/n: I have never written so much filth in one go. this is another submission for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor's Mini Bingo Mafia AU event. the square is "arranged marriage"

read more mob!bucky fics here

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest sealed your fate with a simple sentence. "you may now kiss the bride."

Bucky pulled your tense body to him, one of his arms wrapping around you, the other lifting the veil from your face. you could see him more clearly now, his features taut with what you can only assume was hatred, his eyes slipping down to your lips.

the kiss you both shared lasted longer than you might've guessed, but there were no cheers from the attendees. in fact, the hall felt eerie with silence. nobody spoke a word. it was a small group and you suspected everyone in the hall - including your now husband - knew how profusely and passionately you had refused to this match. how you wanted to marry for love, and how you refused to take part in your family's deeds.

but Bucky Barnes always got what he wanted.

and he wanted you.

so when you pulled away, you realised it wasn't hatred, but desire swirling behind his eyes and in the way he gripped your waist tightly.

there was no reception afterwards - no need for that, today.

your husband had planned to host a huge ball later that month to announce his nuptials, when you were more acquainted with his business partners and lifestyle.

for tonight, and for the honeymoon week to come, you were only his.

another wave of nausea swirled around you at the thought.

"you look ravishing," he murmured next to you in the hotel elevator, taking you up to the penthouse suite prepared specially by the staff for your wedding night.

you pursed your lips, not ready to acknowledge his words.

"I can't wait to claim you as mine," his nose brushed your cheek, inhaling you and kissing the corner of your mouth.

"is that how it goes in your world? I'm an object for your amusement?" your voice was laced with bitterness.

he chuckled warmly. "our world, baby. and no, we're equals. you're mine as I'm yours."

you raised your eyebrows, staring into his eyes, wondering if you should believe him.

perhaps, in a different place at a different time, you might have. but you decided to wait for at least 12 hours before making this judgement. you had only just met the man, after all.

"I don't know a single thing about you," was the first thing out of your mouth the moment your husband locked the door behind you. you decided to wait till later to admire the warm and sensual setting of the penthouse with its candle lit hallway and rose petals scattered everywhere.

"what do you want to know?" he said, loosening his tie, immediately going to the bar to pour himself some whiskey.

"are you an alcoholic?" you wondered.

"no," his lips twitched upwards. "just taking the edge off. it's been a long day."

"you don't say."

"I know everything about you," he said, that intense stare back. he looked at you over the rim of his glass, making you feel bare under his scrutiny.

"of course you do," you rolled your eyes in hopes he wouldn't see the cracks in your composure. "some equals we are."

"I was not kidding about that, y/n," he kept looking at you, settling down the glass on the bartop. "you can ask me whatever you want. I'll answer honestly."

"will you share details of your business with me?" that was something you had been curious about since your mother told you you'll be marrying James Barnes. you wondered if you'll be another pawn in a man's life, like you were for your father, or if you'll have any real power.

"I plan on making you a co-partner," he nodded.

"so you trust me?"

"of course."

"what should I call you?"

"what do you mean?"

"James or Bucky?"

"whatever you prefer, baby."

"will you always call me by those names?"

"would you prefer I didn't?"

that made you pause. you bit your bottom lip in thought, his attention shifting to your lips. he gulped, trying to control himself from crowding you and kissing you again.

"no, they're okay," you conceded. even if the pet names had annoyed you at first, the realisation that he was willing to hear you out made you more comfortable in his presence. "what's your favourite dessert?"

he blinked at that. "uh... pie, I suppose. chocolate."

"good choice," your mind tried to come up with more questions but your feet ached from standing up the entire day, rushing from one place to another. "I want to lie down."

"let me," he did not give you a choice this time, arms around your frame as he picked you up, a reminder that you're his bride and tonight is your wedding night. you gulped.

his left hand gleamed in the soft light, returning back distorted reflections. "what happened to your arm?"

his jaw clenched, making you regret the question. you were about to apologise for stepping out of line when he spoke up. "injury from when I was back in the service."

you didn't push him further, nodding and circling your hands around his neck. "I'm sorry."

"it's alright," he pushed the master bedroom door. if you thought roses were in abundance earlier, your marital bed was entirely covered in the petals. you let out a chuckle. "little cheesy, don't you think?"

he shrugged, setting you down at the edge of the bed. he went down on his knees in front of you, hands finding your heels from under the dress.

"what are you doing?" you exclaimed.

"this must be uncomfortable to stand in for so long." he stated, removing your heels. he continued to stay in that position, massaging your feet and toes.

an involuntary moan escaped your lips at the contact before you snapped your mouth shut. the smirk spreading on his lips was infuriating but oh, you wanted to see him smirk like that at you all of the time. what's wrong with me?

"another trivia about me," he started, looking back up at you. one of his hands slid up further your calf. up, up, up, until his fingers settled at the inside of your thigh. "I would love to hear all of the sounds you make when I'm touching you."

your hands immediately flew to his hair, holding for support when his fingers trekked higher, finding your clothed core. "I..." you forced your mouth to inhale and exhale air. "what are you..."

"relax, doll," he stood up, pulling you up with him. "let's take this off, shall we?"

perhaps it was the way his eyes raked over your figure, or the loss you felt when his fingers stopped their dance on your skin, or the heat pooling in your core at his low voice.

you nodded in agreement, hands trying to find the zipper of your dress.

"allow me," he said, turning you around to do the task for you. your hands went limp at your side, his fingers opening the chain, your dress slowly pooling down at your feet. his fingers gently traced figures on your back as the two of you leaned into each other for a moment, taking in the peace before it would be consumed by what you can only assume is passion.

you turned towards him, letting him see your white lingerie-clad body. you heard a growl before his lips crashed into yours, this one feeling a lot deeper and harder than the last one. your moans mixed in each other's mouths, his hands pushing you back to the bed, yours finding the nape of his neck.

when he climbed over you on the bed, your fingers went to completely take off his tie and lose his jacket, his hands working in sync with you.

you separated in need of oxygen, but Bucky couldn't keep his lips off you any longer, it seemed, as he immediately started to nip and suck on your jaw and neck, fingers brushing over your nipples. you moaned, finding his other hand to push it between your bodies, and he instantly rubbed your pussy through your lacy underwear.

"fuck, sweetheart, all of this for me?" he growled, looking up to you before his lips licked at your clothed boob, the act making you even more desperate for his kiss, his touch on your skin.

"James!" you moaned. hisstilled for a second before groping your other boob and groaning deeply.

"my name has never sounded sweeter." he mumbled, more to himself.

"James," you said again, his body reacting under your hands roaming on his shoulder and arms. "please, fuck me."

"not yet, baby. gotta make sure you're all stretched out for me."

you pushed him down at his words. "fingers, then."

"my wife's a desperate, needy girl, is she? could've sworn you hated me by the way you were glaring at me on the altar, doll." he teased but complied to your wishes. slowly removing your panties, he kissed your inner thighs as he settled between them, one of your legs thrown up on his shoulder.

"I did hate you back then," you said. the sight of Bucky between your legs, looking at your pussy like a starved man, his pupils blown with lust, was now amongst the best sights you have laid eyes on in your life.

"is that so?" he continued splattering kisses on your thighs and just near your folds, where you wanted him the most.

"stop teasing," you whined.

"do you hate me now?" he looked up, hands circling around your thighs.

"if you don't stop teasing, maybe I will," you sassed back.

"can't have that." it seems that was all the motivation he needed as he started licking and sucking your clit.

your head fell back on the mattress, hands tugging at his hair as you let out a loud moan.

James Bucky Barnes was a master at eating pussy.

you felt the evidence of it coursing through your nerves, pleasure overtaking your mind. he licked, sucked, and kissed your folds as if he had known them for years, kmown your body like the back of his mind. he paid extra attention on the spots that made your back arch underneath his body, that caused your legs to jerk around him.

before long - far earlier than you'd like to admit - you felt a coil clench in your belly, the tell tale sign of your release. with your hands in his hair, you pushed him closer to your core, if that was even possible.

"I am so close," you moaned and continued to chant his name, fuelling his actions further.

"come on my face, baby," the vibrations from his words spread through you like a wildfire and pushed you over the edge, a scream that sounded too pornographic than you were used to escaped your mouth. "that's a good girl."

his tongue was in your entrance when it started pulsating and you rode out your first orgasm as a married woman with your husband's tongue buried in you.

when it was over, Bucky's fingers rubbed your soaked pussy, another jerk of your body as your legs started shaking again.

"Ja- ames," you moaned again.

"give me one more, baby, just to make sure you don't hate me," he grinned, looking up at you with dazed eyes. "your moans are the prettiest music I have ever heard."

you did not have it in you to register his compliment before he started to insert his middle finger inside your core.

"fuck," you dragged out, your hands returning to his face and hair. he continued to stare at your hole, taking in the tightness and the way you gripped his finger.

"you are so beautiful, baby."

"James," you whined, pulling on his hair, bringing him up to your level. you kissed your husband, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. you moaned in his mouth.

"gone too dumb with pleasure, baby?"

you nodded, whimpering and riding his fingers, your hips bucking and jerking to chase the release that was quickly building inside you again.

he chuckled, adoration behind his eyes. "that's my girl. take your pleasure, doll. atta girl."

he continued to murmur sweet nothings, peppering kisses and sucking on your jaws, behind your ears, your neck, and collarbone. his praise stroked the heat inside of you, urging you to buck your hips faster.

soon, another orgasm washed over you, making you whine and whimper around his mouth, moaning oh god, oh my god and James, James, James!

your head floated in pleasure, never been satisfied like this before in all your sexual escapades.

when you came back to real world, it was to Bucky massaging and soothing your thighs and hips, still kissing you all over your face.

"come back to me, doll," his voice crooned, and though you did not know him that well, you could see concern fill the edges of his eyes.

"hi," you smiled up at him, sated and possibly a little lovedrunk.

"hey, baby," he grinned. "how ya feeling?"

"so, so good." you answered truthfully. "should I return the favour?" you asked, eyes shifting down to the clear outline in his slacks, his cock straining to break free. "I want to make you feel good."

his gaze darkened but he shook his head. "maybe another time, baby. I think I am too eager to be inside you for that tonight."

a fresh pool of arousal coated your walls, and you were sure you have already made enough mess out of this bed but something about the way your husband looked at you made you forget any frivolous care.

"then what are you waiting for?"

you pushed up, helping him unbutton his shirt and pants, your hands roaming over his broad chest and shoulders, firm and soft at the same time - how was that even possible? - and he wiggled out of his underwear.

his cock was already hard and you wondered if just eating and fingering you turned him on that much. you took it in your hands, impressed by the girth and length.

"Mr. Barnes, I did not know you were packing this underneath those silky, overpriced clothes."

he smirked. "impressed, Mrs. Barnes?"

"maybe."

you stroked his shaft a couple of times, before pushing him down on the mattress and straddling his hips, your knees on either side of his thighs.

"let me take care of you, now." your voice dropped an octave lower, your eyes still lidded with lust. "it's only fair."

"mm," he looked up at you, helping you out of your bra and groping your boobs. he pinched your nipples between his metal fingers, the cold and pain mixing together perfectly with the pleasure. "I love being fair."

you smirked down at him, dragging your wet entrance over his cock, soaking it in your juices. he grunted at the feel of your pussy against his member. you continued humping his cock for a few minutes, your wetness dripping down his cock and balls.

"you're killing me, sweetheart," he groaned, grabbing your hips to still your movements. "c'mon baby, ride me like a good girl."

"since you asked so nicely, husband," your hands found his cock, guiding it inside you.

both of you let out a long moan as you buried yourself completely down his length, inch by inch. when you were fully seated, you let yourself adjust to the fullness inside you, his bare length grazing your walls and filling you up perfectly.

once you were ready to move, you started bouncing up and down.

Bucky, who had closed his eyes at the feel of your pussy gripping him so tightly, half opened his eyes, drawn to your bouncing boobs and fucked out expression. your hands moved up his shoulders, grabbing as you increased your pace.

"James, you fill me up so nicely," you did not mean to say that out loud.

"you're made for me, doll," he panted.

your tight walls were pushing him closer to release, and he tried to delay it as much as he could. his fingers went from your tits down to your clit, rubbing it furiously. your walls fluttered at the contact, making him moan again.

before today, not a lot of girls could say they had heard him moan. grunt, sure. groan, maybe. but nobody ever gave him as much pleasure to warrant him moaning out loud.

until he felt you underneath him. and on top of him. and around him.

"are you close?" he panted.

"yeah," you said.

your thighs burned from exhaustion. you fell forward on him, hips continuing to move around his cock, up and down, side to side.

you kissed him, your tongues dancing for dominance.

his other hand went to your ass, giving it a smack. you moaned around his mouth, which prompted him to repeat the action.

your third orgasm of the night washed over you suddenly, your pussy contracted around him, milking his cock for his release. Bucky couldn't resist, and his seed coated your walls, emptying your balls inside you.

your forehead rested against his, both of you coming down from your highs.

Bucky's eyes opened first, gazing up at you with love.

"you did so well for me, baby," he muttered.

"thank you, James," you whispered.

when he untangled from you, he lied you down softly. he helped you clean up and drink some water. he also ordered some food, calling on the concierge to bring you whatever your heart desired.

after a hearty meal filled with random questions that helped you know your husband more, you and Bucky slid under the covers of the bed.

he slid closer to you, asking you if it was okay to cuddle with you to sleep. your heart swooned at his care and answered with "yes, of course."

when you had woken up that morning, after a restless sleep, your heart was heavy and your mind was filled with negative thoughts about your future, which seemed bleak. now, as you drift off, you have a smile on your face, your mind telling you that perhaps, you can grow to love your husband if he truly was as caring as he was tonight. your future looked bright and full of love.

a girl could do a lot worse.

I wrote this in one sitting, which is the most writing I've got done in a LONG time. hope you enjoy it! let me know what you thought! likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[bluehourbucky]

what if this was my last straw

Days of Silence

bucky barnes x reader

tags: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, past traumas, slight trauma bonding, boyfriend bucky, established relationship, miscommunication.

summary: Bucky’s the best boyfriend — sweet, gentle, trying so hard to be good. But sometimes his trauma speaks louder than he does, and he snaps without meaning to. You’ve always been understanding. you know it’s not really him but this time, it hits too close to old wounds. So you protect yourself the only way you know — by distancing yourself.

word count: 2570

A/N: based on this request, hope I met your expectations even though it was such a difficult topic to bite into. Hopefully I wrote it well enough!

Bucky Barnes is a good boyfriend.

No — he’s the best.

He folds your laundry even though he swears he doesn’t know how to “properly” fold your clothes. He texts you pictures of stray cats and dogs he sees throughout the day because “they looked like they’d like you.” He kisses your forehead when he thinks you’re asleep.

He holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world.

But there are days — more than either of you would like — when the past crawls back into his lungs and makes it hard for him to breathe. Hydra didn’t just break him. They rewired him. And no matter how many mornings he wakes up in a warm bed beside you, some part of his mind still thinks it’s a cold metal table.

He doesn’t talk about it much. Not in full. You never push. You just know.

You’ve seen it in the flash of panic behind his eyes when someone touches his back unexpectedly. In the way he winces when he hears certain sounds. In the way his voice sometimes gets too sharp, too fast — not because of you, but because something in him gets tangled and scared.

And you’ve always understood. You’ve always met his storms with soft hands and soft words.

Because you love him. And you get it.

You know what it means to be hurt and to carry it like it’s your fault.

But tonight… tonight is different.

Tonight, you are tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix. The kind that settles in your chest like wet cement. That slow ache from giving and giving and giving.

You were late getting home. It rained. You were carrying too many bags. Your coat’s still damp. It wasn’t a bad day.

Not really. Just long. A bit of a tangle — errands, traffic, a headache you couldn’t quite shake. Bucky had been quiet since the morning, not in a cold way, just… somewhere else. That haunted kind of silence you knew wasn’t about you.

You’d given him space, like always. That’s what worked best — gentle patience. You never pushed. He always came back.

But that night, it was something small. Ridiculously small.

You were making dinner — his favorite, even — and you forgot the stupid jar of sauce.

You laughed a little, standing in the kitchen barefoot, coat still on. “Shit, I forgot the tomato sauce. I was at the store and everything.” You shook your head, opening a cupboard. “We could use the backup jar of pesto maybe?”

From the couch, he barely glanced up. “Seriously?”

The way he said it — flat, with a sharp edge — hit harder than it should have.

You turned slowly, confused. “Yeah. I just— I forgot. I’m sorry. I had a lot on my mind.”

He doesn’t even look up. “You always forget something.”

There it is.

The twist.

The snap.

It’s not yelling. It’s not cruel. But it stings because it’s him. Because you know he doesn’t mean it — but it still lands like a blow.

And worse — it feels familiar.

Not from him, but from someone before him.

From someone who wasn’t kind. Someone who made you feel small on purpose.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

It’s not fair to compare. You know that. Bucky would never hurt you like that. Never on purpose.

But you’re still made of scar tissue.

And tonight, you’re stretched too thin.

“I’ll use pesto,” you say softly, turning back to the stove.

———

You don’t talk about it later. Not really. You just focus on your own stuff, distancing yourself so it hurts at least a bit less.

So it starts with small things.

Not coldness. Not anger.

Just… quiet.

You still smile when he kisses your cheek in the morning, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You still laugh at his dry humor, but it’s half a beat too late. You still curl into him when you sleep — but you wait until he moves first.

You’re careful with him. Softer than usual. Almost like you’re afraid to make noise.

And Bucky notices. He notices everything.

At first, he tries to pretend he doesn’t.

Tells himself you’re just tired. Busy. Overwhelmed.

But the second night in a row that you wash the dishes alone, he knows better.

“You okay, doll?” he asks gently, drying his hands as he leans against the doorway.

You glance up too quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

Your voice is sweet. Light. Nothing wrong.

But he sees the way your shoulders tense. How you don’t look at him for more than a second.

He nods slowly, but doesn’t speak. Just walks over and silently takes a plate from your hands to dry. Your fingers brush and you flinch — just barely — but he feels it like a slap.

You don’t mean to. You don’t even realize it.

But Bucky does.

Something in him turns cold. Not angry.

Just scared.

Because he knows that flinch. He’s seen it before — on himself. In mirrors. In memories. It’s the recoil of someone preparing for pain.

And the worst part is, he thinks he knows why.

He’s been short lately. Distant. Snapped at you when he didn’t mean to. He told himself it wasn’t that bad — but now?

Now, you’re looking at him like you’re afraid of making a mistake.

Like you’ve already decided you’ll carry the blame.

Like you’ve been here before, and you already know how this story ends.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Look at me.”

You hesitate, but you do.

And god, you wish you hadn’t — because the moment your eyes meet his, you see it. The guilt. The worry. The silent apology.

But you don’t know how to comfort him right now. Not without lying.

So instead, you just offer a quiet smile. “It’s fine, Buck.”

You go back to the dishes.

And Bucky stands there, drying a plate with shaking hands — because nothing has ever felt less fine.

———

It’s been two days since the kitchen. Two days of I’m fine and don’t worry about it and really, I’m just tired — but Bucky knows better.

You haven’t fought.

Not once.

No doors slammed. No yelling.

Just gentle answers. Forced smiles. A kind of quiet that feels… wrong.

You haven’t pulled away physically. Not exactly. You still sleep in his bed, still let him hold you when the nightmares get bad. But your touch feels lighter now. Less certain. Like you’re afraid of taking up too much space.

He hates it.

He hates how loud the silence has become.

You’re sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll your phone. You’re wearing the hoodie he left out for you earlier — the one that still smells like him — and for a moment he lets himself believe that’s a good sign.

But then you flinch when he sits too close. Not obviously. Just a slight shift in your shoulders. A tiny hesitation.

He sees it.

And it breaks him.

“Okay,” he says quietly, voice steady but firm. “That’s enough.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Don’t do that,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t smile at me like everything’s okay when it’s not.”

“Bucky…”

“I’m not mad,” he says quickly. “I’m not. I just—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself more than anything. “I see you, alright? I know you’re not fine.”

You open your mouth to argue — but the words don’t come.

Because he’s right. And you’re tired of pretending.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, softer now. “The other night. I was a dick, I know. I just—something in me snapped and I—”

“I know,” you whisper.

“Then why won’t you look at me the same?” he says, voice cracking. “Why does it feel like I have to earn you all over again?”

Your heart squeezes.

Because that’s exactly it.

Not because he’s failed you but because you failed yourself — by slipping back into old fears, old habits. The instinct to shut down. To stay small. To protect what’s left of your heart.

“I’m not trying to punish you,” you say softly. “I just… I didn’t even realize I was doing it. It’s like something in me just shut off.”

He nods slowly, eyes fixed on yours. “That’s what I’m scared of.”

“Why?”

“Because I know how it feels,” he whispers. “When everything feels like too much, so you go quiet just to survive it. I know that feeling. And I never wanted to be the reason you feel this way.”

You blink fast, trying to hold it together — but the tears come anyway.

Bucky reaches for your hand. This time, you let him.

“I’ve spent months trying to make you feel safe,” he says. “Tell me I didn’t fuck it all up.”

“You didn’t,” you say, voice shaking. “You didn’t. I just… I think I’m scared too.”

“Of me?”

“No,” you breathe. “Of how much I love you. Of how much it hurt when you said that. And how much I still want to forgive you.”

He leans in, gently pressing his forehead to yours. His voice is barely a whisper.

“Then let me try again. Please. Don’t shut me out.”

And something in you shatters.

You nod — barely — just once, but it’s all it takes.

Your bottom lip trembles. Your chest rises, tight with emotion that’s been building for days, weeks — maybe even longer.

“I don’t want to,” you manage, voice breaking. “I don’t want to shut you out, Bucky, I just— I didn’t know what else to do—”

He doesn’t wait. His arms are around you in a second. Pulling you into him, wrapping you up like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. One hand cradles the back of your head, the other holds your waist like a lifeline.

You collapse into his chest, sobbing. Ugly, shaking cries — the kind you’d held back for too long. The kind that don’t come out pretty or soft, but raw and real and earned.

And Bucky just holds you.

Not with panic. Not with guilt. Just love.

His lips find your temple, over and over again — feather-light kisses scattered across your skin like apologies.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

You cling to him like he’s gravity. Like the ground beneath your feet gave out and he’s the only thing left holding you together.

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t mean it, I just— I felt like I was back there. With him. And I hated myself for it.”

“Don’t,” he breathes. “Don’t say that. Don’t be sorry.”

His voice is thick with emotion, but gentle. Reverent. Like he’s speaking to something breakable — something sacred.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You hear me? Nothing.”

You nod into his chest, tears soaking the fabric of his shirt.

He keeps whispering soft things. Little comforts. His breath warm against your hair.

“It’s okay.”

“You’re safe.”

“I’m right here.”

“I love you.”

Eventually, your sobs begin to quiet. Not because the pain is gone — but because his arms make it bearable. Because his love is louder than the ache.

You sniff, rubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you mumble against him.

Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the last of your tears.

“You’re not a mess,” he says quietly. “You’re a person. A person I love more than anything.”

You blink at him — watery, stunned — because God, how did you get so lucky?

And then, so soft you almost miss it, he says:

“I’m scared too, you know.”

Your heart stutters.

“I’m scared I’ll slip and lose you. That I’ll forget how to be soft when you need it most. That something in me will break and I won’t catch it fast enough.”

You cup his cheek, thumb stroking the stubble there.

“You always catch it,” you whisper.

You’ve quieted now. The tears have stopped. The storm has passed.

But you’re still curled into his chest, face pressed against his neck, as if you need to feel his heartbeat to believe he’s real.

And Bucky…

He still holds you like you’re made of silk and smoke. His lips move softly against your temple, over and over. As if he could kiss away every old wound. Every bruise left by people who didn’t know how to love you.

His breath is uneven. You feel it before you hear the catch in his throat.

He’s crying.

Not loud. Not shaking. Just quiet, stubborn tears sliding down his cheeks. His hand trembles slightly as it rubs circles on your back.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers. “I hate that I made you feel like you had to go back to that place. I hate that I made you doubt me. I swear to God, if I could tear that moment out of your memory, I would.”

Your fingers clutch his shirt.

“Bucky—”

“No, let me say it,” he breathes, voice thick and aching. “Let me say all of it, because I’ve been holding it in too long and if I don’t tell you now, I’m gonna break.”

You look up at him, eyes still glassy.

“I love you,” he says — fast, like it’s bursting out. “I love you so much it fucking hurts. You don’t even know, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches.

“I think about you all the time. Even when you’re next to me. I look at you and I can’t believe you’re real. I’d do anything to protect you. I’d give you everything I have just to make you smile.”

His thumb brushes your cheek again. His eyes are red but shining.

“You’re my safe place,” he whispers. “Even when I’m messed up. Even when I don’t deserve you. You’re it for me.”

You blink, overwhelmed — but this time, the tears don’t sting. They come softer. Warmer. Held by love.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “So much.”

He exhales shakily and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, then one to your cheek, then your jaw, your temple, your nose — soft, desperate pecks like he’s making sure you’re still there, still his.

You let him. You let yourself lean into it.

After a long moment, he shifts, still cradling you against his chest, and reaches behind for the throw blanket on the back of the couch. He wraps it gently around your shoulders, tucking you in like he’s wrapping up something precious.

Then he leans back slightly, cupping your face with both hands, voice gentler now.

“You wanna watch that dumb movie you like?” he asks, a small, hopeful smile breaking through the heartache. “The one with the dancing and the terrible accents?”

You laugh through a sniffle — just a little. “Mamma Mia?”

He nods solemnly. “I’ll sing along with the bad parts if it makes you feel better.”

You smile, eyes still wet but lighter now. “Okay.”l

And as he grabs the remote and pulls you closer, you realize the tightness in your chest has eased. Not gone — not magically fixed — but soothed.

Because this isn’t a perfect love.

It’s a real one.