mcubarnes

[mcubarnes]

˗ˏˋ ★ bathed in moonlight ★ ˎˊ˗

lumberjack!bucky x housewife!reader

word count: 2k

18+ men + minors dni! — SOMNO; please do not read if that makes you uncomfortable. this is cnc — consensual non consent. pre established relationship and consent. NOT non-con. bucky eats it while r is sleeping. erm. cockwarming. breeding kink if you squint. bucky is insatiable and misses you.

bucky hated coming home late at night. the lights off in the house, dinner off the stove and packaged in the fridge for him. you always made sure to leave a little note on the tupperware so he knew what it was, just before. you were always looking out and caring for him. the two of you agreed no matter what either of you were doing, you were allowed to take whatever you wanted from each other. no questions asked.

but tonight he wasn’t too hungry for the food that you made. frustrations at the lumberyard made him huff as he was leaving, knowing that he had you to come home to, made it a little better as he was driving home.

however, as he entered the bedroom, shoving his boots off and tossing them to the corner of the room, he saw you on your side facing away from him, the silk sheet draped precariously over your sleeping figure on your side of the bed.

and you were wearing one of his favorite silk slips. it was lavender, lace cups on your breasts, and oh so see through to the point where he could see you weren’t wearing anything underneath. your legs were slightly parted, your ass up just a little and exposing your pussy to him. he could see how wet it was just from standing on the other side of the bed.

bucky was a big man, literally. he worked for the lumberyard for several years, building muscle carrying logs bigger than you and almost him but he carried it like it was nothing. compared to you though, you were small, tiny, nothing compared to bucky. but the way he touched you was as if you were the most fragile thing he ever had the opportunity to touch, and he didn’t wanna break you.

he tossed his shirt off, removing his khakis and undressed, climbing into bed next to you. his large frame took over you, his hands gliding over your barely covered ass, his hand taking up the entirety of your ass cheek. he squeezed the flesh softly, groaning as he saw your cunt expose itself a little more and he could practically smell you. as he massaged your ass, his hands traveled further down to your cunt, letting his finger swipe through your folds and practically came at the feeling of your soaked cunt over his fingers.

“fuck, sweet girl.. soaking arent you?” he knew you couldn’t respond, hear you even. but he knew something was going on in your dream as you clenched at his words, making him bite his lip. you were a heavy sleeper, which meant he was able to do what he was about to do right now without you stirring. he shuffled down the bed, his face inches from your cunt as he leaned in and licked softly on your folds, moaning at the taste.

this wasn’t the first time he tasted you while you were asleep, and it wouldn’t be the last. but it was always a treat to wake up and see bucky’s face in between your legs with your slick covering his beard and up to his nose. he always looked perfect as he dove back in.

his tongue parted your folds gently, lapping up the slick you had in your cunt as he prodded your entrance with the tip of his tongue, the feeling of your soft walls on his tongue made him moan against your cunt, causing you to sleepily moan out.

“i know, baby, i know.” he murmured against your cunt as he kept licking, his hips rutting against the silk sheets, and he felt a small damp spot against his skin from his pre cum. you moved your hips closer against his face as he ate you out from behind, your fingers digging into the sheets and soft moans and whines slipping from your lips, dreaming of getting head from your partner.

he pulled away before your could cum, and he heard you whine his name sleepily, his cock twitching against him. your breathing was fast, your hard nipple rubbing against the lace, making him curse under his breath as he hovered over your body, pumping his cock a few times as he spread your ass cheeks again, pressing the tip of his cock against your dripping hole.

“bucky..” your eyes were still shut, not even responding to him as he teased your entrance with his cock. he propped himself on his left hand, as his other went to push your hair from your face to watch as you furrowed your eyebrows together as he pushed in, his forehead leaning on your shoulder.

“fuck, this pretty pussy feels so fucking good..” he nipped your skin softly as he lost himself completely in your warmth wrapped around his cock. you were always so tight around him, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. he never would, anyways.

“buck..” you were moaning softly, pushing your ass closer against his hips, eyes screwed shut as he pulled out, whining when you felt him leave your cunt just for him to push back in and stretch you out again.

“youre so fuckin’ wet, dove. could just..” he slipped out, moaning softly at how soaked his cock was from just a few strokes. “slip right back in..” he slipped back into your cunt, pressing his hips flush against your ass. his large hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest, the fabric from your lingerie rubbing against his nipples making him moan softly against your neck his face was buried in.

he set a slow pace, listening to your soft breath, little moans and how wet your cunt was each time he pushed back in. he lost himself completely in your cunt, not even registering when you woke up, softly moaning his name.

“buck..?” you turned your head to look at him, before he pushed back into you, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your cunt and a sharp whine coming from you.

“sorry to wake you princess.. pussy was jus’ so wet' when i came home.. had to feel it ‘round my cock.” your hands rested over his that were wrapped around your waist, as he pressed down on your lower stomach and you could feel his cock as he pressed all the way into you. “you don’ mind, right?” you couldn’t think of even answering when he rolled over and had you on your stomach, your cheek against the pillow case and he sat back, spreading your ass cheeks all the way and watched his cock disappear into your cunt and moaned as he watched you clench around him.

“m-more.. daddy.. please..” he watched your eyes meet his as you pressed your ass further into his hands, a harsh smack coming down on your ass and making you moan in response. he loved watching your sleepy state fall deeper into sub space as he had his cock buried in your cunt.

“you wan’ more, sweet girl?” you whined as you nodded, moaning as his pace became faster, his large hands holding up your hips and he pushed the lingerie out of the way, watching your back arch to his touch.

“ill give ya’ more. since ya wanna put this pretty pussy on display for me when i get home like a lil slut.” he pushed your legs together and straddle your legs, making your pussy a little tighter and closed so his cock would just sink into your tight cunt. he opened his mouth and spit down onto his shaft as he slid back into you, a moan coming from your lips as you felt how wet it got as he pushed in and hit a new spot as your hips were angled up.

you couldn't help but look back at him, this 6’4 beefy man hovering over you and his lips parted as he watched his cock rut into you, a guttural moan as you clenched around him teasingly. he smelled like wood, musk, the lumberyard he worked away at. you let out a moan as you relaxed against his touch, just letting yourself feel the way his cock slid into you and how you so desperately didn’t want him to leave. you loved feeling him fill you up with his fat cock, his cum. the way you always felt so full of him made your pussy throb. the least you could do was let him lose himself in your cunt. you loved when your man was vocal, you loved making him fall apart in your cunt as you sucked him back in and you knew he loved it just as much.

his hands let go of your ass, trailing slowly up the curve of your back, moving so he separated your legs and wrapped his hands around your neck, pulling you up and squeezing just a little making you clench around him at the action.

his large fram was covering your, his hips thrusting in and out of you at a brutal place, your pussy making the sweetest noises for him, almost as pretty as the ones tumbling from your lips that were slick with spit as you kept licking them. he watched as you squeezed your eyes shut, a hand going from propping yourself up to play with your clit before he pulled it away, pinning it against your back. he squeezed your neck softly with his metal hand, his flesh hand keeping your hand from playing with yourself.

“bucky.. please..”

“you think you get to cum, huh? oh sweet girl.. shouldn’t have woken up..shoulda let me play with my pretty pussy.. but ya had to be greedy didn't ya?” you whined under him, frustrated you weren’t allowed to cum. he could tell with the way you were trying to push harder up against him as he was fucking you, gripping his cock like a vice so he wouldnt leave and you could cum.

he let go of your neck, just to grab your other hand with his flesh hand and pin them against your back, pushing your face into the pillows with his metal hand and gripping your hair gently.

“here’s whats gonna happen, sweet girl,” he grunted as your ass was up in the air, soft moans filling the room of each other mixed with skin slapping on skin. “im gonna fill this greedy lil cunt up so deep with my cum you'll be leakin til mornin. keep my hard cock stuffed in your cunt all night so we don’t lose any, got it?” you nodded as you whined, feeling his cock push back into you like you could feel it up in your chest.

bucky was a big dude, he knew his size in girth and length for his cock and how wide his shoulders were, how strong his arms were and he definitely used it to his advantage. not that you minded anyways, it turned you on even more knowing how strong he could get with you.

“good fuckin’ girl. listenin’ to your daddy just like you should.” his thrusts got sloppier each time he pushed into you, tears dampening the pillows as your orgasm was approaching, making him clamp down around you and you tried your hardest not to cum as the tip of his cock kept hitting your sweet spot over and over, even when he pressed himself so hard against you as he shot his load deep into your pussy.

“thas it, dove. takin’ it so fuckin’ good for me.” he fucked his cum deeper into you, his cock not sofetning as he felt how wet your pussy was filled with his cum. he couldnt help himself as he kept coming, watching your cunt take all of his cock and cum.

as he slowed down, he let go of your hands, keeping his cock in you as he brought your wrists to his lips and kissed them tenderly, rubbing them with his thumb. you moved your neck to look behind you, but you couldn’t catch a glimpse of him as he rolled onto the bed with himself still in you and pulled you flush with his chest, peppering soft kisses against your shoulders.

“you're so good for me, princess. sleep tight.” he pushed his cock further into you, your pussy clamping down around him to keep him from leaving, not that he wanted to anyways. here’s to another night of cockwarming bucky filled with his cum.

[mcubarnes]

cool to the touch

mob!bucky x housewife!reader

18+ men and minors dni! HEAVY KNIFE PLAY — bucky fucks you with the handle of his knife. p in viz multiple orgasms. erm. spreader bar. ropes.

“good bunny.” you shivered as he spoke below you. you were on your back, hands tied together by a thick, pink rope above your head and to the headboard. your legs are up, feet pressed to the mattress and the pink rope tying your lower legs and lights together, a spreader bar wrapped around your ankles leaving you fully exposed to bucky.

you felt the cool edge of his favorite knife run down your stomach, dipping into your navel and down to the mound of your wet cunt.

bucky loved knives. he had a whole collection in the walk in closet the two of you shared. sure, he liked using guns, but knives were his favorite, and yours too.

something about seeing his large hands wrap around the handle of every single knife he has, flipping it so effortlessly in his hands and catching it without a single fault, made your thighs rub together in need.

and he knew this, he knew how turned on you’d get if he strapped up in his knives before going out to deal with some men who fucked him over. he said he liked to use knives because it would hurt just enough, but not enough to kill them. it would leave a reminder on then forever to not fuck with bucky barnes.

“bucky..” you moaned his name out under your breath as you felt his lips on your knee, trailing down your leg as he kissed your skin. the knife lay flat against the top of your mound, his eyes never leaving your aching pussy in front of him.

“you look so pretty like this, petal.” his hot breath fanned over your leg, as he shuffled closer to your pussy, flipping the knife so the blade was pressed against his palm, the handle hovering over your clit.

you couldn’t deny hot how it was that he flipped it right in front of you, and how you noticed him rutting his hips slowly into the mattress to relive some of the pain his cock held.

he moved the handle in small circles as he watched your hips buck at the stimulation, a soft whine emitting from your lips. his free hand pressed against your stomach hold you down, shaking his head.

“you don’t want to move, baby. don’t wanna hurt yourself.” he licked his lips as he watched you pant, moving the head of the handle further down to your folds and collecting your slick against the handle. he practical moaned as he saw the auburn wooden handle glisten with your slick, how wet you were him just by his knife.

“please..” you begged, biting your lower lip. he let out a low chuckle, teasing the tip of the handle in your entrance. he pushed it in just enough to have you let out a moan, needing more and not getting enough.

the thought of getting fucked by one of bucky’s favorite knives had you clenching around the tip of the handle just enough for him to feel.

“silly baby, you’re so filthy youre clenchin’ the handle and it’s not even in you.” he bit his lip as he watched you throw your head back, pushing the handle further into your pussy.

the ridges of the knife glided against your walls, making you moan at the stimulation. it was a foriegn feeling, never having been fucked by a knife handle before, but relishing in the feeling. he bottomed out the knife, feeling the tip protrude on your lower tummy.

“you feel that, bunny? it’s deep inside that pretty pussy of yours. taking it so well, my good girl.” you whined at his praise, never thinking you’d love how something other than bucky’s cock or fingers would feel inside you.

he shifted on the bed, taking his hand off your stomach and went to spit in his hand before going to stroke himself as he pulled the knife handle out and back in again matching the movements with his own cock.

the squelching sound of the knife being thrusted into you and the sound of his flesh hand jerking his cock made you moan loudly, the obscenity of the act making the knot in your tummy form.

“fuck.. bucky i’m close..”

“already? filthy baby, go ahead, cum ‘round the handle. see how many times i can get you to let go.” you whimper at his words as you cum around the knife handle, squeezing it for the sake of your life and not wanting to let go. as you come down from your first high, bucky tsks taking the knife handle out abruptly and you can’t help but whine as your pussy is now empty.

“as much as i love seeing you fucked out on the knife of my favorite handle, i need to see you cum ‘round my cock babygirl.” he tossed the knife in his hand, the soaked handle meeting his flesh hand and he practically moaned feeling how wet you made it. he took the spreader bar off, tossing it to the side and spreading your legs further with the tip of his knife.

he lined his cock up with your cunt, and the both of you moaned together as he pushed in, the sounds of moans ringing through the room and making you antsy to touch him, but you knew he hold off your orgasm if you begged for him to untie you.

“oh baby.. you feel so fuckin’ good.. so tight. shit..” he moaned softly as he bottomed out, and you could feel every inch of his cock touch all around your walls, and the tip kissing your g-spot just right.

you squirmed your hips under him, and you gasped as you felt a cold tip on the side of your neck, noticing he was holding the blade of the knife to your throat.

“don’t move, petal. don’t wanna cut yourself, hm?”

“n-no..” you stuttered out, knowing how much control he had with the knife and how much you trusted him not to hurt you only made you wetter, and by the groan that he made above you told you you were squeezing the shit out of him.

“oh bunny.. gonna make me come if you keep squeezin’ me like that.” he thrusted in and out of you slowly, before he picked up the pace and watched your jaw fall slack, moans coming out of your mouth just for him. he would fuck you every single day to hear those beautiful sounds come out of you, knowing they were just for him.

“that’s is.. make those pretty little sounds for me.” you could only mewl at his words, feeling your tummy knot up in an orgasm before it snapped as his other hand circled your clit. you let out a loud moan, arching your back as best you could to meet the tip of his cock hit your cervix, and he could only groan with you, cumming at the same time as you came around his cock.

“such a good fucking girl.. aren’t you honey?“ you nodded in response, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he fucked you through the orgasm and his own, and you felt him fill you to the brim, some trickling down your ass cheeks and down to the sheets.

“such a fuckin’ messy little girl.” he ran the tip of the knife down your chest, past your stomach and navel and to where his cock disappeared into your pussy. he pulled out, collecting some of yours and his cum on the tip of the knife and brought it back up to your lips. you opened obediently, licking the mixed cum off the tip of the knife and moaning as he kept the tip of it on the bottom of your lip.

you were made for him.

[mcubarnes]

𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐞 — bucky barnes.

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: bucky can’t sleep, and neither can you. the both of you wind up christening the kitchen.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: post!thunderbolts bucky x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), porn with very little plot, semi-public sex, risk of getting caught, making out, hair-pulling, kitchen counter sex, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering (fem!rec), mild praise kink. suggestive ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: someone sedate me ngl 🧍 that’s all I gotta say! I hope y’all enjoy! ❤️

Through the hush of your bedroom, you’re wired awake, gaze flickering toward the pale light of the bathroom, pooling over your blanket.

The mattress feels considerably lighter without his weight, without the heat that wafts from his skin. Ruffled sheets carry his scent, faint traces of cologne intermingled with something natural.

A soft groan pulls from your throat, a low hum marked by a stretch of limbs as you sit up in bed, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

Bucky’s shirt, more specifically.

Twisting over, your hand closes around your phone, greeted by the low, bluish glow of the screen and a time that seems mildly concerning.

2:13AM.

Slipping out of bed, his shirt kisses the middle of your thighs, an old Henley that’s seen better days. He isn’t in the bathroom, and so you follow his metaphorical trail, bare feet ghosting over smooth, cold tile.

The Watchtower is eerily silent at this time of night, inky dusk swirling beyond tinted window panes, stars glittering overhead. Your feet carry you to the kitchen, rounding the corner with a gentle hum.

Bucky stands at the end of the island, lights dim, producing a sienna glow that curls around him, softens his features. Brunette tresses are mussed, framing his face, brows creased together.

A coffee mug sits next to him, half-consumed and bearing a cheesy saying. Must’ve been one of Yelena’s, you discern, a smile tugging at either corner of your mouth.

“Hey,” You chime, coming to stand across from him, spotting the newspaper he has sprawled out on his left. “Couldn’t sleep?” The cadence of your voice is soothing, something tender.

The warmth that emanates from you snares within him, curling around his bones, putting him at-ease. Bucky still has nightmares sometimes; not as severe, but they linger like moss growing on old stone.

“Tried to go back, and I couldn’t,” His smile is threadbare, still fringed with slivers of exhaustion. “I didn’t want to wake you up.” He takes a sip of coffee, vibranium hand closed around the ceramic.

“It’s okay. I can’t sleep, either,” Quiet footfalls dance over the tile until you take a seat in the stool next to him, tucking a hand beneath your chin. “You okay?”

With a brief nod, his eyes travel over you, clad in his Henley, sleeves a touch too long for your arms. It takes his breath away; you’re beautiful, prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yeah,” Perching a palm over the marble countertop, his smile lingers, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “You don’t have to stay up with me, sweetheart.” Bucky murmurs, lashes fluttering.

“I can’t sleep,” A placating groan tumbles from your mouth as you stretch within the stool, elbows resting on the counter. “I might get a snack or something.”

“There’s those ice-cream bars you like in the freezer.” Bucky chimes, eyes darting between the newspaper and you. He’s more focused on the shape of your face, the curve of your jaw.

“Really?” Perking up, you hop out of the chair, padding toward the massive refrigerator. Flinging open the door, you’re greeted by a brightly-colored cardboard box.

His chuckle resonates from behind you, something gentle, comforting; it feels like home, a sanctuary you’ve forged within him.

“Maybe later,” Turning on your heel, you join him at the island, loosely draping an arm over his back, hand massaging at his spine. “You’re reading the newspaper?”

Bucky laughs when he hears the amusement in your tone, giving a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah,” He chortles, and there’s something wonderfully husky that vibrates in the back of his throat. “Old habit.”

He’s handsome like this, in the element of domesticity; comfortable, healed, and content. A compression shirt clings to his musculature, biceps on partial display, beard growing shaggier.

“Are you judging me?” Bucky interjects, gaze teasing and playful as he takes another sip of his coffee. It pulls a soft laugh from your mouth, and he savors the sound.

“No,” Clicking your tongue, you lean over to glimpse at what he’s reading. There’s an article about stocks, something political, and then one regarding the Avengers. “I think it’s cute.”

With a roll of his eyes, he flashes a pearly smile in your direction. “Cute, huh?” He parrots, stopping down until his lips press against yours.

The kiss takes you by surprise, but you’re leaning into him, reveling in the scratch of his beard against your mouth. A drawn-out exhale leaves through your nose, lips nudging closer.

He tastes smoky, swirling with coffee and comfort that makes your brain fuzzy. A charged passion lingers beneath the surface, threatening to simmer through.

Silken fingertips brush over his jaw, eliciting an unsteady exhale as he tilts forward. The kiss deepens, crackling with electricity as you cup his cheek, thumb tracing across his cheek.

Hands find their way to your hips, abandoning both his mug and the newspaper. Urgency seeps into his grasp, palms massaging your skin through your shirt, daring to dip lower.

“Now you’re getting bold.” You mumble into his mouth, feeling his chest shake with a gentle noise. He kisses you again, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Something hot dances within his eyes, a flash of desire that bristles to the surface. “Can you blame me, doll?” Gravel-soft and affectionate, Bucky presses a slow kiss to your jaw.

Wandering fingers continue to snake lower, ghosting over the hem of your shirt, where fabric kisses your thighs. He moves underneath, cold metal and flesh holding your waist.

Grasping at his collar, you coax him in for another kiss, hotter this time, climbing with a twinge of desperation. You tilt closer, frame nudging into his as he sucks in a subtle sigh.

The low whisper of the kitchen light makes for something atmospheric, bodies wedged together against the counter. He caresses circles into your flesh, teasing the waistband of your panties.

A small noise emerged from your throat, lashes fluttering, heartbeat climbing beneath your breast. “Bucky,” You sigh, knowing that he wants something. “We should …”

“Here,” Bucky’s tone bites with something gruff, and the huskiness of it makes you press your thighs together. Molten heat swirls languidly within the bottom of your belly. “You’re so perfect.”

As he seizes your hips, he lifts you onto the kitchen counter. It isn’t much of a change or shift in distance, but it lets him stand between your legs, mouth traveling over the slope of your jaw.

“Bucky.” A low whine simmers from your lips, hands shifting to trace over muscled shoulders, holding steadfastly to the nape of his neck. He kisses you reverently, the center of everything.

Each kiss sends shivers through your spine, excitement mounting as your fingers gently tug at his hair. It’s soft within your hands, carding through as you tilt your head, deepening your entanglement.

Warm digits massage over the base of your spine, splayed just above your panties, metal palm tracing along your thigh. A sweet moan snares within your throat, lost within the labyrinth of your kiss.

“I wanna taste you,” Bucky husks, listening to the hitch that snags on your voice, lips parting incredulously. “Can I?” He hums politely, but you’re already prepared to beg him for it, if you have to.

“Right here on the counter?” You whisper, surprised by his boldness. It’s ridiculously attractive, heat swirling avidly within your stomach, seeping between your thighs.

His mouth peppers over your jaw, traveling lower to your neck. “If you’ll let me, sweetheart.” He murmurs, gentle and considerate as he pinches the hem of your shirt between his fingers.

“Yeah,” Instantaneous, you’re parting your legs further and he’s on you, mouth voraciously passionate. He’s so perfect — never rough, never demanding. “Buck, please.” You sigh excitedly.

The kiss he plants against your mouth is inherently needy, and he doesn’t try masking how much he wants you. He used to dance around it, still adjusting to intimacy; now, he’s more adept.

Vibranium digits skirt toward the warmth coalescing between your thighs, ice to fire, finding the elastic waistband with ease. “So beautiful,” He utters, beard prickling your lips. “You’re my girl.”

Preening beneath his words, you let him touch you, keening into him with enthusiasm. “I’m yours.” You sigh, breath snagging within your chest as his hands curl into your panties.

It’s disarmingly gentle, rapturous as he eases the garment down, cotton soft over your knees, and he’s crouching down without protest.

Warm lips brand themselves to your calf, vibranium like ice as he cradles your leg, letting it perch against his shoulder.

Blue hues burn from below, never wavering from you. Bucky kisses along your leg, to the crook of your knee, settling over the silky flesh of your thigh. An excitable noise hums within your throat.

The flat of your palm sits against his crown, nails idly raking through his scalp, pulling a subtle grunt from his mouth.

Your surroundings become little more than a blur, and you’re reminded that this is the kitchen; anyone could walk in. It gives you some excitable thrill, belly churning with anticipation as he kisses your thighs.

Careworn palms caressed circles into your thighs, dragging from your haunches toward your knees, and then back again. He holds you firmly, hot breath pluming near your pelvis.

Sweet kisses buried themselves along delicate skin, inching closer toward the slick warmth of your cunt. “Gotta be quiet for me, doll.” Bucky croons, hoping that you won’t alert anyone to your midnight escapades.

“‘Kay, okay,” Fumbling, you give a swift nod of your head, biting at your cheek when he mouths at your pussy. It’s an instant ripple of fire, one that shoots through you like a hot knife. “Bucky.”

With a broad stroke of his tongue, he raked hot embers over your core, hands steadying you, eager to please without an ounce of hesitation. His nose ghosts over your slick folds, causing you to shiver.

Lurching forward, your hips jolted, urging yourself onto his mouth with a twinge of desperation. “Oh god,” You stifle another moan. “Feels so good.” The volume of your tone remains hushed, strained.

His tongue continued to greedily lap at your slit, briefly teasing your entrance. Bucky wants you, craves you, needs you more than air.

There’s something deeply intimate about the way he kisses your cunt; reverent, methodical, and adoring.

Bucky’s eyes don’t leave your face, gauging every little reaction you give him, transfixed. His mouth showers your sensitive core in a barrage of kisses, intermingling with his tongue.

His beard burns ragged over your skin, raw and real, the sensation sending tremors through your spine. Each lap of his tongue blurs your brain with a white static.

Mouthing at your pussy, he slows to a crawl, taking his time to savor every inch of you, feeling your hand tighten against his scalp. He grunts, musculature shaking, gaze shadowed with desire.

The taste of you was intoxicating, ambrosial; it was something he’d never get tired of, wanting you over and over again. His heart stammered within his chest, and you were the cause of it.

Through the kitchen’s dim shimmer, you’re stunning — gorgeous, beautiful beyond compare. As he’s ogling you from between your thighs, he thinks about how lucky he is to have this, have you.

Cool vibranium draws patterns over your hip, snaking down to your thigh, repeating the pattern. His other hand keeps you steady, rooting you over the edge of the counter.

Absentmindedly, your hips urge into his mouth; he welcomes it, treating you to another needy barrage of perfectly-timed laps. You moan, and he’s quick to soothe you, kissing along your cunt.

The taste of your pussy permeates his tongue, and he wants more, lapping at your core as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

He kisses along your slit, gesture mingling with soft, passionate laps of his tongue. Bucky slows when a noise rustles through the corridor, but it’s fleeting, dissipating.

“God, you’re so pretty,” He purrs, timbre vibrating against your core, sending shockwaves through your stomach. “How’s it feel, sweetheart?” Bucky husks, lips returning to your cunt.

“G—Good, so good,” You whine, hips jerking again as he steadies you, gaze incendiary as his lips wrap around your clit. “Shit, shit — Bucky!” The sudden ripple of bliss hits you hard.

The wet sheen of your arousal glistens against his chin, and he licks his lips before sucking on your clit. Metal fingers caress over your hip, dipping into your waist.

It makes you see stars, blissed-out and struck by a thrumming buzz that rips through your body. Electricity sears your veins, pulsing through your cunt as he toys with your clit.

A spasm courses through your thighs, legs curling on either side of his head. His shoulders keep your legs somewhat aloft, broad and corded with muscle. As he laps at your pearl, you have to bite your knuckles to keep from crying out.

“That’s my girl.” Bucky grunts between pleasuring your pussy and planting kisses over your inner thigh. The beard burn you’ll receive from it is something you won’t forget anytime soon.

“M’close,” You huff, grinding forward into his mouth. A groan catches within his throat, pulling from the depths of his chest, jostling through your body. “There, there — keep going.”

Bucky keeps pressure against your clit, mouthing at the clutch of nerves, interchanging with laps of his tongue. He’s thoroughly razed, glassy-eyed and aching for you in every way imaginable.

He’s devastatingly handsome like this, wedged between your thighs, kissing your pussy as if he owns you, and he does.

All it takes is another swirl of his tongue over your clit before you’re collapsing, unraveling on his mouth. It’s one of his favorite things, knowing how well he can please you; it instills confidence in him.

White-hot ecstasy shakes your body, heat curling around your bones, arousal honey-thick and wet between your thighs.

The bunched cotton of your panties are still on the floor, and he neglects to collect them. He takes his time with you as he works you through your orgasm.

Digits slack against his crown as you caress over his temples instead, labored breaths shaking your frame. After kissing your cunt, he plants a string of kisses to your thighs, too.

Your composure is threadbare, and Bucky stands again, licking his lips as if he’s had something delectable. He looks pleased, a man willing to do anything for you.

A feverish heat clings to you, flustered and riddled with a thin layer of perspiration. Bucky smooths a hand through his hair, staring at you as if you’ve hung the moon and stars themselves.

Wordlessly, he kisses you, and you can taste yourself on his tongue, the bittersweet amalgamation of your arousal and faint traces of coffee.

Icy metal traces over your inner thigh, daring to tease you further, mouth passionate and tender against yours. Lost within your lips, he feels the hitch in your throat when he slides a digit over your pussy.

“Think you can give me one more, doll?” Bucky hums, and he can hear the exhilaration flood into your breathing. It becomes excitedly ragged, pupils blown-out with desire.

With a nod, you’re staring at him through your lashes, skin smoldering and sensitive as vibranium fingers caress over your slit. You shiver, gripping onto his forearm, nails digging crescents into taut muscle.

“Please,” Your plea is met with enthusiasm as he kisses you again, bleeding want and deliciously needy. As lips collide, two fingers split past your soaked folds, grinding into your core. “S—Shit, Bucky!”

“Shh, shh.” He soothes, lips covering yours again as you moan into his mouth. It snares within your throat, body rolling into his hand, desperate for any scrap of friction.

Your cunt twitches, throbs with a screaming ache that shoots through your nerves. Already having gotten one orgasm from you, everything feels heightened, sensitive — your thighs spasm in response.

Bucky cradles your thigh with one hand, kissing you hard as his fingers snake toward your entrance, teasing you with light prodding. Another shockwave of bliss ripples violently through your spine.

There isn’t any protest as you writhe closer, lips molded together, bound by spit and adoration. His hand glides over your leg, diving beneath your shirt to cup your breast.

The sudden jolt of pleasure curls around your spine, pulling a needy whine from your throat, legs squeezing at Bucky’s hips. His thumb brushes over your clit, causing you to gasp.

Ecstasy rips through you in heated waves, already burning with a white-hot fever. The edge between bliss and overstimulation begins to blur, and you’re desperate, grinding yourself into his hand.

Warm digits knead at your breast, feeling you keen into his embrace, back arched and mouth slack. “Bucky, please.” Little more than a strained moan, you fight to stay quiet, feeling his fingers caress your pussy.

Thighs shake, tremor with aftershocks as he nudges two fingers into your cunt, tight around him as he kisses your jaw. “So pretty for me, sweetheart.” He gruffs, hot breath pluming across your skin.

The kitchen counter is christened, no longer somewhere pure as he falls into a rhythm, pushing and pulling with his fingers. You grip at his chest, hands fisted into the tight spandex.

You’re like heaven to him, picturesque and gorgeous as he gently rocks two digits into your pussy, glistening with a sheen of your arousal.

His other hand palms at your chest still, affectionate and exceedingly tender, rolling over your nipple. The stimulation makes you jolt, moaning his name beside his face, lashes fluttering.

He makes you feel incredible, loved — like you’re the only girl in the world worth his time.

The cool metal of Bucky’s thumb circles around your already-throbbing clit, and the waves of overwhelming bliss hit you hard. It’s as if you’ve been scorched, mouth agape, body trembling.

“God, mm — m’close, Buck.” You pant, rattling like a leaf as he finger-fucks you, treating you to a barrage of kisses. Each one feels like droplets of fire, the burn pleasant, something you crave.

Coaxing another orgasm from you, he works diligently, never slowing or increasing his pace; he keeps it even. Lips lavish your throat in attention, tonguing over a string of smaller hickeys.

Everything feels hazy, a buzzing static humming within your brain, making you feel as if you might collapse then and there.

He’s unraveling you, slick-coated digits rutting in and out of your cunt at a sluggish, desirous pace, blue eyes eclipsed by something wanton.

Bucky grunts, feeling your pussy clench around his digits, tighter as the metal draws back and forth, thumb toying with your clit. Set ablaze, you continue to squirm, clawing for him, something to anchor onto and hold tightly to.

“Bu—Bucky, shit —” Sputtering, something primal unfurls within you, that white-hot coil snapping again, snapping violently. When you cum, it’s messy and he’s enthralled, digits slowing to a crawl.

A thrumming surge courses through your body, gripped by an incessant trembling when you come apart on his hand, jaw slack, head rolled back.

Moans rip through your throat, and he has to kiss you to make sure you’re quiet. The overstimulation is almost blinding, something heavy and burning as it slithers over your bones.

“I’ve got you doll, let go,” Bucky murmurs beside your ear, kissing across your face as you try to cling to any shred of composure. “Beautiful.” He hums, drawing his fingers from your cunt.

A placated smile spreads over your features, gaze half-lidded and dazzled as you cling to him, watching as he retrieves your panties.

Your legs shake, muscles feeling like molten liquid, and you wonder if you’ll be able to stand. He licks his fingers without any commentary, and the sight makes you flustered.

Quiet, he slides the cotton on over your calves, hitching them up around your thighs until you do the rest, legs pressed together. You’re obscenely soaked, and he guides you from the counter.

Wobbling on unsteady legs, he holds you close, a playful gleam dancing within his eyes. “Might have to carry you,” He teases, and you aren’t about to protest. “You’re so pretty.”

“I won’t say no to that,” Batting your eyelashes, you clean up the mess on the kitchen counter, ensuring that it’s spotless. “You’re perfect, Bucky — stunningly perfect.”

Bucky preens subtly, a warm huff of laughter escaping him before he scoops you up, bicep thick and taut over your back, other arm hitched beneath your knees.

“Stunningly, huh?” He husks, feeling you drape your arms around the back of his neck, toying with soft waves of brunette.

“Mm-hm,” Planting a kiss against his mouth, you can feel the passion bleed from his lips, kissing you as if you’re the sun itself. Sly, you pull away enough for a lascivious remark. “Want to christen the briefing room, next?”

A hitch forms within his throat, Adam's apple bobbing, eyes shadowed by both devotion and desire. Bucky clicks his tongue, detouring elsewhere with you in his arms.

“Thought you’d never ask, doll.”

[mcubarnes]

minors dni

the car's tinted partition is up. you could hear the car starting to hum softly as it drives away from the capitol.

bucky’s still in his suit, tie loosened just enough to look casual, but the way his fingers dig into your ass tells a different story. “fuckin’ hell,” he groans out as you sink down onto him, his cock stretching you open. “knew you’d be waitin’ for me like this.”

your nails scrape against his shoulders, his dress shirt wrinkled under your grip. already rocking against him, the leather seats creak beneath him.

bucky's hands sliding down to grip your ass, helping you bounce on him harder. “c’mon, sweetheart, show me how bad you needed it.” his thumb brushes over where you’re stretched around him. “that’s it—fuck yourself on my cock like the filthy little thing you are.”

the car hits a bump, jolting you deeper onto him, and bucky groans, his head tipping back against the seat.

“goddamn, you take me so good,” he says. “bet you thought about this all day, huh? sittin’ in your pretty little skirt, knowin’ i’d ruin you the second i got in this car.”

you’re close. already. and bucky can feel it. he looks at your face, chuckling as he says, "gonna come already? fuck, you’re pathetic. do it. come on my cock like the desperate slut you are.”

and you do, clenching around him with a deep moan. bucky follows, groaning as his hips jerking up into you as he spills deep inside.

for a moment, it's quiet. you slump down against him, your chest against his and your head on his shoulder.

then the driver’s voice crackles over the intercom. “five minutes out, congressman.”

bucky smirks. “better clean yourself up, doll. wouldn’t want anyone to see what a mess we made here.”

[mcubarnes]

Hello bestie this is definitely your first time hearing about this. I wish to put in a request for your immaculate writing.

I saw on TikTok (you didn’t 👀) a headcanon that Bucky’s vibranium arm cats little rainbows if the light catches it correctly. So I was wondering if you could give me a lil one shot of some sweet lazy morning sex, maybe reader riding Buck, and then she lays snuggled into his side and it’s just all sweet and sappy. Then she notices the rainbows??

Pretty please and thank you 🤭

armed and colourful | bucky barnes

───── ⋆⋅ ˗ˏˋ -`♡´- ˎˊ˗ ⋅⋆ ─────

Summary: ^^ Request

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI | Explicit Morning Smut | P in V | Fingering | Light Choking | Praise Kink | Soft Dom!Bucky | Fluff

Word Count: 743

Masterlist

A/N: I needed to write something a little smutty to get it out of my system. So here it is. ♡ Remember, I have a praise kink; I need validation and attention to survive. Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated. ♡

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes | @ruexj283

There was a warmth against your back as you woke, Bucky’s arm draped heavy over your waist. Just beneath your breast, his vibranum hand rested, cooling your skin as his fingers traced uneven patterns.

The gauzy curtain let sunlight filter into the room, casting golden streaks across the sheets and shadows on the floor. The room smelled like Bucky. Warm and cedar. 

You felt safe tangled up with Bucky, his arms wrapped around you, making you want to melt into him and the moment. And so, you didn’t move. 

He shifted his hand again, knuckles grazing the underside of your breast, causing goosebumps to form. A pleasant shiver rushed down your spine. A slow smile curved the corners of your lips as you arched into him.

You could feel his breath, a low chuckle in your hair. His lip brushed against the shell of your ear. “You tryin’ to kill me first thing, doll?” 

You hummed, pressing your hips back against his, and that unmistakable hardness settled against you. “You complaining, Mr Barnes?” 

Another chuckle rumbled from within him, vibrating against your back. “I think you’ll find it’s ‘Sergeant’ Barnes to you.” 

The sheets twisted around your hips as you rolled over to face him. He pulled you close with both hands, his eyes blue and heavy-lidded as he kissed you slowly. 

His tongue brushed over yours with intent, savouring the taste of you, and causing your thighs to involuntarily press together. 

Without needing to be asked, you straddled his hips. His hands were gripping your hips tightly as you sank down onto him. Both of you exhale a shared relief as he stretches you. 

“Shit—” he rasped, fingers digging deeper into your skin. “You always feel so damn good.” 

Your hips began to roll, slow and unhurried. Your palms braced against his chest as the stretch and pressure left you gasping.

One of his hands smoothed over your waist, the other roaming, trailing up to your breast. His thumb teased over your nipple before taking it between his teeth, his tongue lapping lazily.

He watched every bit of pleasure flushing over your face with quiet reverence.

Morning sex was always softer, especially with Bucky. Both of you are still drowsy, breathing slowly and easily. 

“Look at you,” he murmured against your skin. “So damn pretty,” he groaned softly as he reached his vibranium hand to your neck, wrapping around it lightly.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” His hips bucked once, but enough to make you whimper. “Riding me like we’ve got all the time in the world.” 

“W-We do,” you whispered through a moan, nails scraping lightly along his spine. “No missions. No team. Just us.” 

He groaned your name. A prayer leaving his lips as you continued to rock, greedily rolling your hips chasing the coil that tightened in your lower stomach. 

“Keep moving like that and I won’t last long.” 

You smiled against his bottom lip, which you sucked between your own. “Then don’t.” 

His hand found your clit, thumb circling enough to break a breathy cry from your throat. 

He came first. 

His hip bucking up into you as your body trembled, your own release following after, unraveling. 

You both stilled, your chests heaving against each other as your breaths tangled. And hearts raced.

You shifted onto your side, skin sticky and arm, as you rested your cheek against his chest and draped one leg lazily across his. He curled one arm around you again, and the other behind his head. His nose and lips tucked against the top of your head, mumbling about how he wasn’t letting you go for the rest of the day. 

That’s when you saw it. 

Glints of colour caught your eye across your collarbone and the edge of the sheets, tiny rainbows, scattered like confetti. 

“Bucky?” you nudged him gently. 

“Yeah?” he mumbled, sleepy and pressed a kiss against the crown of your head. 

“You’re armed and colourful.” 

He tilted his head, looking down to where you pointed. Sure enough, as he shifted, the colours shimmered and danced. 

“Huh…” he lifted his brow in surprise. “I guess Shuri put some prisms in this thing. Wouldn’t be the first time she didn’t tell me something about it.” 

You gave him a small laugh, reaching your hand up to run your fingers through the colour. “It’s beautiful.” 

He rolled toward you, burying his face in your neck, taking the rainbows with him. “You’re beautiful.”

───── ⋆⋅ ˗ˏˋ -`♡´- ˎˊ˗ ⋅⋆ ─────

Masterlist

Remember, I have a praise kink; I need validation and attention to survive. Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated. ♡

[mcubarnes]

Lost In You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob/Mafia AU)

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Bucky's been too busy lately and you're missing him badly so you do something to get his attention and it works...

Author's Note: The picture below was too much to handle and gave me Mob feels and I do love writing him with a soft edge, which I hope comes across here. There isn't much back story, lately I can't do much more than focus on the action LOL Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thanks a bunch Daisy!🥰

Warnings: tension, masturbation over the phone (bc where the hell is your man!), soft moments in between the smut

It’s been the longest week of your life. Bucky’s been…busy and you’ve had enough and you’re just about to tell him so when your phone buzzes in your hand.

“Don’t forget what I want tonight. Make sure you eat dinner doll. I’m going to be keeping you up.”

You huff out a small laugh at his text message. He’s been keeping you up all week and while you’d never complain you would like him to be more available.

With slightly shaky hands, you press his name to call him, and wait while it rings once…twice…

“Is everything all right?” he asks immediately.

“James,” you purr. “Are you busy?”

Silence greets you across the line and after several long beats, he clears his throat, quietly.

“Doll,” he says, “you know you shouldn’t be calling me right now unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’m in the middle of something. What do you need?”

His voice is low. Stern and laced with irritation at the interruption.

Your hand slides down your torso, over your belly button and lower, between your spread legs.

“I miss you,” you pout into the phone. “But if you can’t talk I can call back at a better time.”

You can almost imagine the way he leans in, pressing the phone flush to his ear and listening carefully for every sound on the other end of the line.

“No, I’m here now. I miss you too doll.”

Your hand slides up and back, fingers pressing into your skin. You pretend it’s his hand and he’s hovering over you, watching your expression.

“When are you coming home?” you start, your breath catching when you hear him exhale forcefully.

“Doll,” he whispers, and now you know he must be alone in his office, having silently gotten rid of anyone else. His voice has gone hoarse, goading, deep enough that if he were here you can just imagine the way his eyes would darken with intent.

“Why won’t you let me come see you.”

You try to keep your words steady but your fingers are moving faster now, sliding easily over skin that has grown slick with the sound of his voice, the sound of his breath through the phone.

You imagine him behind his large and ornate desk, his jaw tight, his hand clutching himself through his zipper.

Just the thought makes you gasp.

“You’re a distraction,” he hisses, and you moan quietly without meaning to.

“Are you being a distraction right now doll?” he asks.

Your back arches off the pillows, sensation pooling and warming in your thighs, low in your stomach.

“Do you want to hear me?” you ask. “Do you like thinking of me doing this in our bed?”

“Are you…” he growls. “Doll…”

You remember the way he looked at you this morning before he left. You remember how his mouth felt on your neck when he climbed into bed last night.

And then, when you barely whisper, “oh god,” you hear his rumbling groan on the other end and completely fall to pieces under your own hand, pretending it’s his, knowing how much better it will feel when it really is his, later.

Your legs are shaking and you’re crying out into the phone, riding through the wave of heat, slick pleasure sliding across your skin. You say his name, some other things you’re not even sure are coherent but just knowing he’s listening, and it’s all he can do- he can’t touch you or feel you-prolongs your release until you’re spent.

“Doll.”

You blink with a swallow. “Bucky…I…”

“Don’t you dare move,” he warns. “I’m coming home.”

You’ve drifted off waiting for him when the door slams open, the knob hitting the plaster of the wall just on the other side of the bedroom. Startled, you sit up, grasping the sides of his button down and covering yourself as he storms into the bedroom.

“There you are,” he whispers, his voice too low and steady and you know you’re in for it.

He stalks toward you, stopping at the side of the bed and running a hand through his already mussed hair.

“Did you think that was a good idea doll?”

You push up onto your knees, sliding your hands up his chest and into the open buttons at the top by his neck.

“I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

He closes his eyes, moving his fingers to your jaw, down your neck to push his button down off your shoulders. His hands slide over your breasts before he pulls his hands back, forming tight fists.

“You don’t think you’re the only thing on my mind all day…and night,” he says. “I count the minutes until I can come home to you.”

“But you’ve been gone so much this week. The late nights aren’t enough.”

He leans in and says, “I’ve had a lot of business to attend to and tonight especially.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, as you lean in to meet him, your lips brushing along his neck.

His eyes flutter closed, nostril flaring.

“What do you think it looks like. Me running off?”

With his eyes anchoring yours, and to make his point, he slides a rough hand lower, between your legs, two fingers searching and finding you soaked.

“Who made you this wet?”

You don’t answer, closing your eyes and pushing into his hand before reaching to grip his wrist and fuck his fingers if he won’t move.

He jerks his arm back and pulls his fingers away, reaching to push them into your mouth, pressing your taste onto your tongue. His hand grips your jaw, fingers curled into the hollow of your cheeks to hold your mouth open.

“Answer me.”

“You.” The word is hard to get out around his intrusive fingers, but you manage, and he pulls back, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip.

“You’re all I think about,” you say as you stare up into his eyes, so intense with desire.

They soften as you continue to hold his gaze. His eyes drop to your lips and his hands spread gently at your waist.

“I don’t care that you’re busy and had to leave. I want you to ignore it.”

His jaw tenses.

“I want you.”

“Doll,” he breathes out before his lips crash over yours, tongue pushing your mouth open, tasting, rolling up against your teeth.

You greedily reach for his shirt, tugging it free of his pants. With shaking fingers, you work each button free and once his smooth, warm torso is exposed, you let out a fevered moan and your hands are frantic across his skin, your fingers catching on the gold chain that rests there.

He growls when you spend too long running your hands up and over his chest, stroking and teasing the line of hair heading down below his belly button and into his pants.

Impatiently, he tugs at the shirt that’s still draped half over your body, pushing his hips forward, and grunting his approval when you quickly unfasten his belt, his zipper and shove his pants down his thighs so you can free his cock.

Oh.

It rests warm and thick against his belly and when you reach for him he’s steel in your hands. You use both to grip him and slide them down his length, dipping your head so you can suck on him with as much hunger as you feel.

He exhales a tight groan as you pump him in your fist and then curls down, capturing your mouth in a brutal, commanding kiss. You pull away, intending to lick him until he comes, but with a growled curse he pushes you back on the bed, kicking off his pants and climbing over you.

With hands flat on your thighs he spreads your legs, leaning forward and roughly thrusting into you. It’s a relief so enormous you moan loudly, never before feeling so full of him. You’re starving and satisfied, wanting him to stay like this forever.

He pulls back and then slams forward, gripping the headboard for leverage and taking you so roughly each thrust forces air from your lungs.

It’s wild and frantic, his body over yours, your legs clamped around his waist.

“I needed to get this deal done tonight,” he hisses, hands gripping your thighs. He pumps hard and fast, sweat trickling down his temple. “Instead, I need to come home and deal with my needy wife.”

His large, rough hands reach for your breasts, and he slides his thumbs across your nipples.

“Please make me come,” you whisper hoarsely. “Please,” you beg. “I’ll be good.”

You know he can’t deny you anything. Not really. He’ll give you everything you want. Always. And that’s exactly what he does when he angles your hips and drops his hand between your legs, pressing a finger to your clit until you feel the rush of warmth along your skin and the tension build deep in your belly.

“Bucky,” you cry out as your pussy tightens around him and your body arches beneath him.

The sight of you so lost in him is too much and he thickens inside you before filling you up, his hips stuttering and slowing.

He carefully pulls out and falls to the bed, wrapping you up in his arms and burying his head in the side of your neck.

“Baby doll,” he murmurs, his lips warm and soft at your skin.

“You’re not leaving again right?” you ask quietly.

His hand slides along your waist to your stomach where he reaches for yours and tangles your fingers together.

“No doll face. I’m not going anywhere.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your palm and then turning it over to press a kiss to your wedding ring. His mouth moves across your knuckles then to each fingertip and you shiver in his arms.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says again, rocking behind you and pushing his thigh between yours.

You start to move against it, the friction from his hard muscle making you grip his hand tightly. When he feels your wetness coat his skin he purrs into your ear, pushing your body down harder onto his thigh.

And just when you feel yourself nearing the edge he pulls his leg away. You whine out his name but with quick hands he rolls you onto your stomach, spreads your legs, and slides in so deep you gasp.

His groan vibrates across your skin, his lips warm and soft at your neck before he whispers along the shell of your ear, “I need to feel you come around me again.”

[mcubarnes]

Soft Shopping Spree

Summary: Bucky notices you never spend his money or let yourself want anything, so he plans a full day of spoiling you determined to show you what you deserve. (Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Sweetheart!reader)

Word Count: 2.5k+

Main Masterlist | His Sweetheart Masterlist

It started small. The way it always did with you.

You never asked for more.

You lived in Bucky’s mansion now. His guards drove you. His chef fed you when he couldn’t be home. His people knew your face, knew to open doors, carry packages, and never let you lift a damn thing unless you insisted.

And you still acted like a guest.

You used the same two mugs, the same worn clothes from your old closet. You bought your own shampoo instead of touching the imported, overpriced stuff in the bathroom. When he told you to buy anything you needed, your receipts never passed thirty bucks.

Thirty bucks.

Bucky noticed.

He noticed the way your eyes skimmed past price tags like they weren’t meant for you. How you always offered to pay for groceries with cash you kept tucked in a little envelope. How you never once ordered anything to the house without asking first, even though his assistant had given you full access weeks ago.

He noticed the way you never let yourself want anything too big. Like maybe it would be a burden or worse, like you weren’t used to anyone giving a damn whether you were comfortable or not.

It made something cold and quiet twist in his chest. You didn’t need to ask for his money. That wasn’t the point. You were his. And that meant you deserved to have something, anything, that made you feel that way.

So the next time he came home from a long meeting, jacket slung over one shoulder and blood under his nails that didn’t belong to him, he found you in the kitchen heating leftovers, in that same old hoodie you’d had since the day he met you?

He decided.

Tomorrow, you were getting spoiled whether you thought you needed it or not.

You woke up to the smell of coffee and the low hum of Bucky's voice downstairs, rough and low as he talked to someone over the phone. It was barely 8 a.m.

You rubbed your eyes and padded toward the staircase, still wrapped in one of his old shirts, sleeves swallowing your hands. You caught just a snippet of what he was saying.

“No. I want everything cleared. No press, no bystanders. She’s not walking into chaos… Yeah. Discreet. She doesn’t like attention.”

There was a pause then a softer tone.

“And make sure the stores are prepped. I don’t care if they open early. I said I want her to feel like a queen.”

You froze for a second, lingering just beyond the railing. The call ended and you heard the rustle of a coat, then quiet footsteps, and before you could sneak back upstairs, he turned the corner and caught you.

His eyes softened immediately.

“Morning, my love.”

You blinked. “Did I just hear you threatening to bribe an entire shopping district?”

He didn’t even pretend to look guilty.

“I’m taking you out today.”

You squinted. “Out-out? Or fake-normal-day-out like last time?”

His hand came up to brush your hair behind your ear. “Real normal, real you, and real me. Except… you’re coming home with new things this time.”

You frowned. “I don’t need anything, Buck.”

He smiled; that slow, stubborn kind that meant he’d already made up his mind.

“I know you don’t, but I need to give you something.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he continued on.

“You’ve been living here like you’re waiting to be asked. Like if you take up too much space, someone’s gonna notice. But you live here, sweetheart. You don’t have to earn it. You just have to let yourself have it.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

Then sighed. “Fine. One pair of boots.”

He grinned. “Try twelve.”

Twenty minutes later, you were dressed in the outfit he’d picked out—soft, luxurious, and subtle—and stepping into the SUV he always rode in when he wanted to remind the city who he was. It was cleaner than usual. The windows were polished. You noticed the man driving was one you hadn’t seen before. He was young, kind-looking, said “Good morning, Miss” with a real smile.

Bucky slid into the seat beside you as You leaned close.

“Are you bribing your own staff to be extra nice today?”

He smirked. “Not bribing. Just warning.”

He didn’t tell you where you were going until the buildings started to change to high-end boutiques, quiet cafes, storefronts without prices, and the kind of streets where everyone had a security detail and no one talked about it.

Your stomach twisted. “Bucky, this is too much–“

“No, it’s not.”

He reached over and laced his fingers with yours.

“You’re mine. You don’t have to need something to deserve it. Today, I just want to see you spoiled.”

You went quiet, overwhelmed in the way that always hit when he was like this. Calm, determined, and focused entirely on you.

“Let me give you a day where the only thing you have to worry about is whether the dress fits,” He said.

You blinked at him.

“You picked a dress store already?”

His smirk widened.

“Sweetheart, I picked ten.”

The first boutique looked like it belonged in a dream.

Glass walls, plush velvet furniture, and soft music playing from somewhere overhead. The saleswoman greeted you both without blinking, no surprise and no hesitation. Bucky had clearly called ahead.

She looked directly at you when she smiled.

“We’ve been expecting you, Miss.”

You hesitated. “Oh. I’m just–”

“She’s the one I told you about,” Bucky cut in smoothly, hand resting on your lower back. “Treat her better than royalty.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as the woman disappeared to get racks prepared. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re beautiful,” He replied. “And you’re about to try on everything in this damn store.”

You opened your mouth, probably to argue, and he held up a hand.

“No debates. No ‘I don’t need it.’ No looking at tags. You’ve never said no when I’ve asked for something. This time, I’m asking you to let me give you what you deserve. Just once.”

You fell quiet, unsure what to do with the weight of his words. He reached up and adjusted the collar of your coat slowly, like he wanted the moment to settle between you.

“Let yourself want something, love. Even if it’s just for fun.”

And so you tried. You tried to keep it light at first. One pair of shoes. A cardigan. A soft blouse in a color you liked but rarely wore. And then Bucky started doing his thing.

Subtle nods to the assistant when you paused. A jacket you tried on and then shrugged off, saying “maybe later” was already being wrapped in tissue by the time you turned around. A bag you glanced at for two seconds? On the counter and already paid for.

You huffed, finally turning to him with crossed arms.

“You’re just buying everything I touch.”

He raised a brow. “Of course I am.”

“That’s not normal.”

“Neither is falling for someone who still thinks she has to prove she’s worth a pair of earrings.”

You blinked, caught off-guard.

He stepped closer, dropping his voice.

“You think I don’t see it? How careful you are? How you still ask before sitting in my office? You’re not visiting anymore. You belong, and I’m gonna keep reminding you of that until it sinks in.”

You tried on a long coat after that, silky on the inside and fit like a glove. You stepped out, expecting to hear one of his usual “that one” or “perfect” comments but instead, he just stared for a long moment.

Not possessive. Not hungry. Just… soft.

“I like this one,” You said, smoothing the fabric awkwardly.

He nodded once.

“Keep it on. You’re leaving in that.”

You hesitated. “Don’t you want me to try the other–?”

“Nope. You’re keeping that one. That’s the one you looked at like you’d never wear something so nice.”

You bit your lip, heart a little too full.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He smiled, slow and steady, like it bloomed right out of his chest.

“I love you too, sweetheart. Now pick out a bag, one that makes you feel dangerous.”

You tried not to smile. Tried, being the key word.

By the third boutique, something in you had shifted. Not all at once, just in pieces. The coat still hugged your frame, a tiny silk ribbon from an earlier bag peeked from the crook of your arm, and Bucky had been watching you like he was cataloguing every little sign of you softening.

He never rushed you or hovered. But the look in his eyes? Like you were finally, finally, giving yourself permission to exist fully in his world. Not as a visitor. Not as a kept secret, but as his girl.

The next store was lighter with sunlight through big windows, color everywhere, warm wood floors, and delicate fabrics. The kind of place that didn’t just sell clothing, it sold confidence.

You ran your fingers along a display of scarves.

Bucky watched from behind, arms folded, weight balanced lazily against a counter like he had all the time in the world. And he did. For you, he always did.

You held up a deep red one, smiling faintly. “Too dramatic?”

He shrugged. “For who?”

You smiled more, for real this time.

“I guess no one.”

“There you go,” He murmured.

You didn’t stop at one thing in that store. You tried on sunglasses, ridiculous ones, big dramatic ones. He gave fake ratings, crossing his arms and pretending to ponder each look like a fashion judge.

“Hm. Nine. Makes you look like a woman who poisons rich husbands.”

“Oh, perfect,” You grinned. “Exactly what I was going for.”

You held up heels you’d never normally wear that were absurdly tall and strappy with black patent leather.

“These would kill me.”

“They’d kill everyone else first,” Bucky added, expression serious. “Which is the point.”

By the time you were at store number five, the guards were lagging behind, arms full of bags. The assistants were quieter and more discreet. They’d learned that you liked to wander without pressure, and that Bucky would pay for anything you lingered on longer than three seconds.

There were moments when you still felt it, that flicker of guilt. The voice that said you’re asking for too much, you’re not supposed to want anything.

But then Bucky would step beside you silently, close enough to feel his presence without even touching. And somehow, the doubt would quiet.

And by the sixth store, you surprised him.

It was a little bookstore tucked between two luxury brands, seemingly out of place in a world of five-figure handbags. You tugged his sleeve when you saw it.

“Five minutes?”

He nodded. “Take ten.”

You disappeared into the aisles, fingers dancing along spines. When you returned, you handed him a single small bag with tissue peeking out.

He frowned.

“What’s this?”

You smiled. “For you.”

He blinked.

“I thought today was about spoiling you.”

“Exactly,” You said. “And I wanted to say thank you. And maybe remind you I notice things too.”

He opened the bag. Inside was an old novel that he once mentioned in passing. A war story out of print.

He looked at it for a long moment. When he finally looked up, his expression had shifted. Less amused and more stunned, vulnerable.

“You keep doing things like this,” He said, voice low, “And I’m not gonna stand a chance.”

You smiled, bumping his shoulder.

“Pretty sure that ship’s already sailed.”

The ride back to the mansion was quiet in that peaceful, golden-hour kind of way. Your legs were tucked beneath you in the back seat, Bucky’s jacket draped across your lap like it always found its way there. His hand was on your knee warm and steady as his thumb moved in lazy circles. He hadn’t said much since the bookstore, but he didn’t need to. Every once in a while, he’d glance at you like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

The mansion lights were already on when you pulled up. The staff had taken your bags ahead of you, every last one carried with care through the front doors. But you and Bucky moved slowly, fingers laced, and walking like the night wasn’t in a rush.

Inside, you kicked your shoes off and padded toward the main living room where most of the day’s spoils had been dropped: a dozen shopping bags leaning against the sofa and tissue paper peeking out in soft piles. You stood in the center of it, arms crossed lightly, looking a little dazed. Like someone who wasn’t used to being given the world and didn’t quite know how to hold it.

“I know it’s a lot,” Bucky said behind you, voice gentle.

You turned toward him. “Yeah. But… I think I’m okay with that.”

He smiled, that soft little curve of his mouth that always made your chest ache.

“Good. ‘Cause I already ordered a closet expansion.”

You laughed and tossed a crumpled receipt at him. “You’re out of control.”

“You’re happy,” He replied, catching it easily. “That’s all I care about.”

You then spent the next hour unpacking things together. Not because you needed to, someone else could’ve done it of course, but because it felt… grounding. Personal. Like laying out every small, joyful piece of the day and reliving it with your hands.

He helped you unwrap shoes, undo tags, and lay delicate fabrics across the back of the couch so you could admire them. He didn’t make a big deal of it. He just existed next to you, sleeves rolled up, and dark eyes warm. Occasionally, he would hold something up and say, “You’re wearing this to dinner next week.”

You eventually ended up sitting cross-legged on the rug, fingers tangled in ribbons and boxes. You were growing tired but in the good way, the kind of tired that comes from being full. Full of light, of warmth, of something deep and good you didn’t have words for.

When he knelt behind you, arms coming around your waist, you leaned back into him without thinking.

“Thank you,” You said softly. “For all of it. Not just the stuff, but for seeing me.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck.

“I see everything you try to hide,” He murmured. “All the ways you’ve learned not to take up space. You think I’d let you stay small forever?”

You swallowed, hands curling over his.

“I didn’t know how not to.”

He held you tighter. “Then I’ll teach you one day at a time.”

You fell asleep with your head in his lap on the couch later, the room bathed in soft lamplight. One of the new sweaters you bought was already draped over your shoulders like it belonged there. Bucky’s fingers threaded through your hair slowly, rhythmically, as if he could soothe you even in sleep.

And when Steve walked in later that night, pausing in the doorway to say something, Bucky just shook his head with the smallest smile, eyes fixed on you.

“Not tonight,” He spoke quietly. “She finally let herself be spoiled.”

Steve nodded once and left without another word.

[mcubarnes]

Pull out

18+

I wrote this as a stand alone but you can read it as a part 2 for this if you want. I wanted more of that desperate desperate Bucky so here we are. Also I’m back at it again with my love for mirrors. I got carried away with this I’m so sorry. 

Warnings: Bucky is a desperate horny fuck, his mouth is worse, messy messy smut, breeding kink, pregnancy kink

Let’s say after his first night with you, he can’t keep his hands off you. He denied himself that perfection for way too long and no amount of self pleasure would recreate the way you make him feel. He loves you, he’s in love with you, you could bring him to his knees with the bate of your lashes. Which is why he smuggled you away from the team’s movie night, tossing you onto his bed and stripping your clothes off within seconds. 

Keep reading

[mcubarnes]

𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝙰𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜

✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader ✦ Genre: Fluff, Jealousy, Social Media AU, Established Relationship, Clingy!Bucky ✦ Word Count: 1.8K ✦ Summary: You post a cute selfie, and the internet does what it does best—starts flirting. But Bucky sees it before you even finish writing a caption. And before you know it, your ultra-private boyfriend turns very public with a possessive Instagram story that just says one word: Mine.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ ✦✦ ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ ✦✦ ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You weren’t trying to break the internet.

It was just a cute mirror selfie. You liked your eyeliner today, and the lighting in your room hit just right. Naturally, you posted it.

Nothing wild. No thirst trap. Just you smiling in Bucky’s hoodie, hair soft and curled, captioned simply:

“🪞✨ hey”

You left your phone on the nightstand and went to make popcorn. But when you came back? You had 38 new comment notifications. And 3 missed calls from Bucky.

Uh-oh.

You scroll through the comments. Friends. Fellow Avengers. A few fan accounts.

And one blue-check guy with far too much confidence:

“okay wow. who’s your photographer?? and also can i take you to dinner 👀”

You blink. The message isn’t even subtle. You scoff “Wow, bold,” you mutter.

You’re just about to text Bucky before he panics when your phone pings with a new notification:

@buckybarnes posted to their story.

You raise an eyebrow. That’s odd. Bucky never uses Instagram unless you literally force him to. You tap to view it. And your heart does a backflip.

It’s a picture of the two of you one you didn’t even know he took. You’re curled against his side on the couch, looking up at him with your eyes soft, his dog tags visible where they rest on your chest.

The caption?

Mine. 🖤

Oh. Oh.

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Bucky.”

Your phone buzzes again this time with a FaceTime call. You answer with a grin. “Hi.”

His face fills your screen. Brow furrowed. Puppy pout. Jealousy practically radiating through the phone “Who is that guy in your comments?” he says immediately.

“Babe,” you giggle, “I don’t know him.”

“He called you beautiful. And asked you to dinner. I will end him.”

You sigh, heart warm. “Bucky, I didn’t even respond.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he sulks. “You’re mine.”

“I am yours,” you say softly, biting your lip.

“And I posted that so everyone knows,” he adds.

“I saw. Possessive much?”

He shrugs. “I’m soft, not stupid.”

You grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

He pouts again. “Come over.”

“I’m literally in your hoodie right now.”

“So come home to it.”

You roll your eyes, already grabbing your shoes. “Fine. But only if you give me back rubs and forehead kisses.”

“You can have all the forehead kisses.”

You smirk. “Oh? All of them?”

“Unlimited. Lifetime warranty.”

You giggle the whole way there.

Later that night, curled up in his lap, he tucks his nose into your neck and murmurs, “Next time, just post me with you.”

You laugh. “Okay, clingy.”

He hums. “Call it what you want. Still yours.”

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

💌 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 💌

@nerdreader @starstruckfirecat @baguwagu @sunday-bug @murnsondock @7batsinatrenchcoat @overwintering-soldier @surebutwhy @embervelour @bananaminn @butterflies-on-my-ashes @thiscornerofmyfanficbrain @okaytrashpanda @xamapolax @aceofheartsssss @the-real-kellymonster @mars-in-a-cup @doilooklikeagiveafrack @maifics @cjand10 🎀🩷

wanna be tagged in all upcoming theories + emotional damage + forehead kisses? ➝ reply or send me an ask and i’ll add you ♡

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

[mcubarnes]

okay but please tell me bucky had a yacht and takes mal and bee out on in the summer for a boat day

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

A/N: Prequel to their vacation fic.

Part of the Bumblebee series.

"This is perfect."

A few hours ago, Bucky strolled into your bedroom with Bee draped over his shoulder as he asked you if you had any plans for the weekend.

Bee was practicing bursting at the seams, trying to keep herself from telling everything he planned. The more you pretended to think it over, the closer she got to spilling her secrets. Bucky barely convinced her to wait until you gave an answer.

One saucy, playful 'actually I'm really busy' led to the two them deciding that no, no you are not before pulling you out of the house and down to the docks.

Now you're on an yacht that could double as a floating mansion.

The sun warming your legs, chasing away the lingering coolness left by the salt-tinged breeze. Lounge chairs side by side. A large navy blue umbrella casting shade over little Bee.

It's been a lazy afternoon. No worries. No responsibilities. Just basking in the sun.

Bucky told you this morning that he was going to handle everything. And he has. You haven't had to lift a finger since you stepped onboard. The hardest decision you had to make today was to pick which chair you wanted to lie on.

It's been amazing, relaxing. Even more so because you're spending the day with your two favorite people.

Bucky left to arrange lunch and bring up some fresh drinks. Ice cubes melting in the empty glass on the table next to your lounger. Your open book is discarded on your stomach, your face turned towards Bee, a soft smile pulling at your lips.

She's been talking for the past five minutes, lost in her own story. You have no idea what she's talking about but it is always fascinating to listen to her. She has a creative imagination, you don't know how she comes up with half the things she does.

So you keep encouraging her with the occasional question.

It's so quiet except for her cheery, light voice and the faint crash of waves. Nothing else exists. The world has been carved down to this. Nothing else matters. Just you. Your daughter in her black and yellow striped swimsuit.

And him.

You glance over when the sound of a door swinging open captures your attention.

Bucky emerges from the galley with two strawberry lemonades, condensation rolling off the chilled glasses. He looks good—golden tattooed skin, black swim shorts, the sun catching his wedding band.

There's a familiar expression on his bearded face—one he gets whenever he's in his element. That slight tilt of his lips has been there since he sprung this impromptu getaway on you.

A little smug, very pleased.

"How are my girls?"

"Good, Papa," Bee answers, sitting up in her chair with a grin. She looks at you, reaching for your hand. "'We love 'cations. Our favorites. Right, Mommy?"

"They are," you agree, leaning over to nudge her nose with yours, giving her fingers a light squeeze. "It's been great. We really needed this."

Bucky's heart warms, a sense of pride settles between his ribs. He lives for this—works hard for this. To see the two of you so happy and peaceful.

You deserve a lifetime of vacations and he's going to make sure you have them.

"Glad to hear it."

Bucky sets her glass on the small wooden table beside her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Instead of placing yours in your waiting hand, he unexpectedly nudges the cold, cold glass into your side.

"James!" You shriek, the shock of cold bursting across your warm skin makes the undignified sound slip out before you can stop it. Bee giggles wildly, her bright eyes watching the two of you.

You glare at him as he blocks the sun from your vision. Laughing, Bucky sits on the edge of your chair. He wipes your side off with his large palm.

"Must have slipped. Oops," he smiles innocently, bending down to taste your lips. His groan is low, soft and only for your ears. He'll never get used to how sweet you are. He glances around the deck, noticing a missing green dino. "What happened to Mr. Tato?"

"He left because he doesn't like being hots, Papa." She huffs out earnestly, offended at the even though of her beloved dino getting caught in the heat. Again. "He says he doesn't wanna be baked cause—"

"He is not a potato. And he doesn't like it when his feet get hot. He has so many, Bucky," you droll, hiding your grin when Bee nods seriously.

"You should know that," you sigh with an air of disappointment, like she didn't lecture you about Mr. Tato and his heat aversion after you made the grave mistake of plopping the dino on the lounge chair earlier.

Bee rescued him—safely tucking him away in one of the rooms below. Bee made sure he was in front of a portable fan, lying on a coloring book, before she came back upstairs.

"Yeah, Papa." Your gaze catches Bee's as she takes a sip, and you both shake your heads in unison.

"Ah. My mistake." Bucky's laugh is deep and smooth and leaves you warmer than the summer sun.

"So where are you taking us, Mr. Barnes?" You ask, tracing one of his tattoed abs with your finger.

"You'll find out when we get there, Malyshka. "

Bucky leans back, his arm around your shoulders. That smirk gets a little wider. The slight quirk of his brow letting you know that—unlike the sweet toddler beside you—he can keep secret.

The only thing you know for sure is you're going to love wherever he's about to take you. Because if there's one thing Bucky excels at, it's spoiling his girls.

[mcubarnes]

The Diamond in His Den

Summary: You stride into Bucky Barnes's world unbothered, confident, and completely unfazed by his power as you spend his money like it’s yours, daring him to stop you. (Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Unbothered!reader)

Word Count: 1.1k+

A/N: This is NOT part of the His Sweetheart series or the same Bucky from there. Just an AU based on a video I saw recently. Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist

The club smelled like money. Not the new kind with crisp and hopeful owners, but old money, heavy with history, perfume, and power. You made your entrance like you owned it, striding past the velvet rope with nothing more than a wink at the bouncer who’d been instructed never to question you.

The click of your heels echoed in the marble-floored hallway that led to the private lounge. Dim lighting, glass walls, and the low thrum of jazz that created the kind of atmosphere where secrets were whispered, and lives were bought.

Bucky Barnes watched from his throne-like chair at the far end of the room, legs spread, and fingers lazily swirling the bourbon in his glass. He didn’t flinch when you approached, only raised one brow at the large designer shopping bag you carried and the grin tugging at your lips.

“You touch my card again?” He asked, voice low and smooth like smoke.

You shrugged, easing into the leather seat across from him, crossing your legs with the grace of someone who had nothing to prove. “Didn’t touch it. Just tapped it.” You tilted your head, lips tugging into a smirk. “Seemed rude not to when it was already sitting in my wallet.”

He let out a huff of laughter, biting down on it before it turned into anything more indulgent. “You’re shameless.”

You leaned forward, propping your elbow on the table. “And you like it.”

He didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. Not when you looked at him like that, like you weren’t even remotely impressed by the empire he’d built out of blood, steel, and silence. Most people trembled under his gaze. You rolled your eyes at it.

“You bought another pair of shoes, didn’t you?” He asked, but it was more of a resigned sigh than an accusation.

“Two, actually. One for dinner and one for when you inevitably piss me off and I storm out looking amazing.”

His eyes scanned you with that practiced calm that made rivals panic and men confess. “You know I’ve had people taken out for less than running my card without asking.”

You chuckled, reaching for the untouched glass of wine in front of you. “And yet I’m still here, sitting pretty, and wearing a bracelet that costs more than your last car bomb operation.”

The mention of his business didn’t faze you. That’s what caught his attention in the first place. You didn’t flinch when things got dark. Didn’t blink when he came home bloodied, or when he kissed you with a busted lip and a body count behind him. You simply asked if the other guy looked worse, then ordered takeout.

Bucky leaned back, eyes half-lidded, watching you as though trying to figure out what exactly you were: a lover, problem, an addiction, maybe all three. You had a way of disarming him with nonchalance, defanging the wolf everyone else ran from.

“You’re dangerous,” He muttered.

You raised your glass. “I know. Cheers to that.”

He should’ve hated it. The way you spent his money like water, wore his shirts like they were yours, and dismissed his threats like they were bedtime stories. But instead, Bucky found himself softening in ways he hadn’t in years. You made his world look less like a war zone and more like a playground. And that both amused and scared him.

But not enough to stop you, never enough to say no.

“I’m taking you to Rome next week,” He stated suddenly, tone decisive. “Wear the red dress, the one that gets you whatever you want.”

You grinned into your glass. “Already packed.”

You didn’t bother asking why he chose Rome. You weren’t one of his men. You didn’t need reasons. Bucky said Rome, so you packed a few dresses, your highest heels, and exactly zero patience for the flight attendants who dared side-eye your presence in first class.

The moment you stepped off the plane, the city was hot and bright, golden sun on old stone, and thick tension in the air. But not just from the heat, but from the weight of the business Bucky never quite left behind. Even on vacation, his world followed. It lingered in the shadows, in the suited men posted just a little too casually by every corner or in the cool glint of the gun he still tucked into his waistband like a wallet.

But you? You ignored it all.

The villa he rented sat perched above the city like a secret, all white columns and ivy-covered walls. He’d taken the master bedroom naturally, while you claimed the massive marble tub the second you saw it and made it your current throne for a morning soak.

“You gonna actually join me on this trip,” You called through the open bathroom door, “Or do I need to take your black card sightseeing alone?”

He stood in the doorway watching you with his arms crossed, wearing a crisp white shirt with the top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up. He looked like he’d stepped out of a painting. Dangerous and dazzling.

“I’ve got meetings,” He answered.

“Meetings,” You echoed with a mock gasp, resting your head against the edge of the tub. “In Rome. How scandalous. What are we doing, moving cocaine under the Colosseum now?”

He almost smirked. “Don’t be cute.”

You opened one eye. “I’m not trying. That’s just how I exist.”

He stepped closer, knelt down next to the tub, and reached for your hand beneath the water, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone with blood usually under his nails. “This isn’t just a trip. It’s business. Could get messy.”

“So don’t let it.”

“You’re a piece of work,” He murmured, and there was something dangerously fond in the way he said it.

“You’re welcome.”

When he left later that morning, you went shopping again. A local boutique, three bags, and one outrageous pair of heels you didn’t need but wanted. You took his card without asking again, flashed it with a grin as the clerk looked nervously at the name on it. Barnes. That name opened more doors than a battering ram, and you used it like your own key.

When Bucky returned that night later than usual with his tie askew and jaw tight, you were already in the red dress, waiting on the balcony with a glass of wine and an untouched pistachio cake.

“Did you kill anyone?” You asked casually, not bothering to turn around.

He exhaled, stepping out into the warm night beside you. “No. Not tonight.”

“Progress.”

He looked you up and down, his gaze lingering. “You wore it.”

“You bought it.”

He stepped behind you, placed a hand on your waist. “You know I could give you the world, right? Not just the clothes or the villa. Everything.”

You tilted your head, set your wine down, and leaned against him like you belonged there, because you did.

“I don’t want the world, darling.” You smiled, slow and sly. “I only want yours.”

And just like that, the city beneath you shimmered; suddenly smaller, quieter, and entirely yours for the taking.

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @hits-different-cause-its-you @the-galaxy-fiend @ordelixx

[mcubarnes]

Lipstick Stains

Summary : You leave lipstick marks on Bucky’s face.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x wife!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : fluff, slightly suggestive content, canon-typical violence, please let me know if I missed anything.

Word count : 2.8k

Note : I didn’t post at all last week because I was busy viewing wedding venues, and we’ve finally picked one, so that’s a big weight off our shoulders lol. I’ll be updating my taglist, masterlist, and replying to asks very soon. In the meantime, I’ve queued this up while watching Fantastic Four, so… enjoy!

The morning was chaos, as always. 

You were already finished with your cereal and halfway through your coffee, trying to wrestle your foot into a pair of your favourite flats when you realised you were running late. 

Bucky’s slice of toast had been sitting in the toaster for the past seven minutes because you couldn’t find your lanyard. Your phone was only thirty percent charged. You’d only slept four hours. And your husband was—

“—way too calm for someone who’s also late,” you muttered as Bucky emerged from the bathroom, toweling his hair and wearing nothing but his dog tags and a pair of black boxer briefs.

He smirked. “You’re staring, sweets.”

“I’m stressed,” you snapped, stepping over a pile of clean laundry. 

He chuckled, walking barefoot to the kitchen island and stealing your half-full mug of coffee like it was his God-given right.

“Did you take my last granola bar too?” you asked, rifling through the cabinets.

“Nope,” he said between sips. “You ate that last night when I fell asleep on the couch.”

You stopped mid-step, hands on your hips, about to give him hell—when you noticed the little box he was holding behind his back.

“Buck.”

“Hm?”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“James.”

He grinned, then revealed the box — matte black, small, with a thin satin ribbon around it. You immediately recognized the luxury brand embossed in gold across the top. You blinked, confused.

“What…” you started, walking toward him slowly.

Bucky shrugged casually, but his eyes were almost shy. “It’s just... a thing. Just because.”

You stared. “That’s… the lipstick? The one I’ve wanted for months?”

“The exact shade, darlin’” — he sounded proud — “Figured you might like to wear it today. Y’know. For your big meeting with the board,” he said, stepping closer, trailing both metal and human fingers down your arm and pressing kisses, “and maybe let me kiss it off tonight.”

Oh.

Your stomach flipped.

You reached out, pulling the ribbon, and opened the box. The lipstick sat nestled in velvet, a rich shade of red that reminded you of another era. You lifted carefully, like it might break if you touched it with too much force— it was very expensive, after all. 

“I can’t believe you remembered,” you whispered, brushing your thumb across the cap.

“I remember everything about you,” he said, that dangerous rasp curling into your ear.

Even after all these years, your cheeks flushed, heat pooling in your stomach. “Bucky, we have to leave in ten minutes.”

“We’ve done worse things in five,” he whispered, lips brushing the side of your neck.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying... if you wanted to try it out right now, I wouldn’t mind.”

You smacked his chest, though lightly. “If you don’t stop trying to seduce me, we are not leaving this apartment today.”

He grinned and backed away with both his hands up. “Fair.”

You turned to the mirror by the entryway and carefully uncapped the lipstick. You smoothed the deep crimson shade over your lips, and it went on like a velvety and bold dream.

You turned back toward him. “Well?”

Bucky looked like he’d been punched in the chest.

“Holy shit.”

“Too much?”

“No.” His voice was hoarse. “That’s… that your colour.”

You stepped toward him slowly, lips parted just slightly, eyes flicking up to his. He grabbed you by the waist before you could reply, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that had been simmering under his skin since he walked out of the bathroom with no top on. He smiled against your mouth, triumphant, as you wound your arms around his neck and let him deepen the kiss.

Then you pulled back and planted one kiss on his jaw. Another on his cheek. One right under his ear, just to hear him groan. Then one more, on one of his eyebrows, because he was finally frowning at the time on the microwave.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I really do have to go.”

You were laughing as you grabbed your coat and swiped your bag from the floor. “I’m always right.”

He was still blinking in a daze as you passed him.

“What?” you asked.

“Did you… did you leave a mark?”

You paused, cocking your head. “…maybe.”

“I have a briefing,” he whined dramatically, touching his face with metal fingers.

You shrugged. “You’ll survive. Tell the team I say hi.”

He jogged after you, grabbing his jacket and boots. “You are so lucky I love you.”

“I know,” you said, kissing him once more on the lips, just to reapply the color.

You opened the door and winked. “Now go, Sergeant. Before I drag you back to bed and ruin both our careers.”

He didn’t move for a second.

Just stood there, watching you walk away, cheeks flushed, all kissed up, no thoughts whatsoever in his mind as he looked at the lipstick smudge on his collarbone in the distorted reflection of your stainless steel pan.

—

Once you were gone. Bucky rushed into the bathroom mirror, and it showed exactly what he expected.

Your new lipstick stain, bolder than he would imagine.

It was smeared like war paint along his jaw and neck. One kiss was just below his ear, slightly angled like you’d pulled him down by the collar. Another was fainter, near his cheekbone.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered.

He yanked the hem of his black long-sleeve shirt up and scrubbed at his jaw. He loved that color on you, and loved that he could still feel the drag of your lips across his skin, but the team would drag him to the ground.

He wiped again, a little too hard this time. A faint pink patch came off on his shirt, but the rest stayed stubbornly in place like a brand.

“Shit,” he muttered again, but it was too late now. 

He had a work briefing to go to.

—

The elevator dinged in the watchtower. 

He adjusted his jacket, popped the collar up slightly to shield the worst of it, and rolled his shoulders back as he stepped into the new, refurbished Avengers briefing room.

The calm lasted about four seconds.

“Jesus, Barnes,” Yelena said, looking up from her tablet. “You wrestle a lipstick monster on your way in?”

The entire room froze for a second.

John blinked before letting out a low whistle. “Oh damn.”

Alexei squinted. “What... is that paint?”

Bob Reynolds raised his hand like they were in a classroom. “No, those are lip stains! Most likely from his lovely wife that brings us cookies once a week.”

Bucky clenched his teeth and sighed. “You people need hobbies.”

Ava’s tone was flat as ever. “We do have hobbies. One of them is watching you walk into meetings like you just rolled out of bed with your wife still attached to your face.”

John burst out laughing. “I mean, fair. It’s kind of impressive.”

Bucky reached up slowly and tried to rub his thumb over the spot near his ear. Still there. Of course.

He exhaled through his nose. “I wiped it off.”

“You tried to wipe it off,” Yelena corrected, standing up and walking around the table to inspect him like a forensic analyst. “That’s high-end lipstick. Long-wear. Transfer-proof, so clearly she kissed you when it was still drying.”

“She did it on purpose,” Ava said casually, arms crossed. “You can tell. Look at the placement. That’s a ‘he belongs to me’ kiss. And that one”—she pointed—“is downright territorial.”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek, suddenly remembering the way you smiled as you kissed each spot on his face that morning. Like a map. 

He had to look away from his own reflection in the polished black table. His skin was warm now. His ears were hot. His neck… was tingling.

John clapped him on the shoulder. “So this is how married life is treating you, Barnes.”

Bucky didn’t answer. 

The truth, though?

He was starting to like it.

No — he loved it.

The more he looked at his reflection, the more loved seeing the lipstick on his skin the way it clung to him even after he scrubbed at it like a sinner trying to wash off guilt. The possessiveness in it. The heat it left behind. The way it made him feel like you’d staked a claim on him trying — just by pressing your mouth to his skin, casually.

God, that made his knees weak.

He dragged a hand down his face and tried to clear his head, but he could still feel the phantom weight of your hands in his hair, tugging just slightly. The scent of your perfume still clung to his jacket. The taste of your mouth lingered on his lips like honey.

And now, thanks to your indestructible lipstick and a complete lack of shame, he was sitting in a military-grade conference room looking like he’d been devoured alive by his wife.

And he wanted more.

He wanted to walk into battle with your lipstick on his jawline. He wanted the world to see he had something — someone — worth coming home to.

Yelena slid back into her seat and gave him a knowing grin. “So. You want us to pretend we didn’t see it, or...?”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Pretend away.”

Bob leaned over, stage-whispering, “Don’t worry, man. If I had a wife who kissed like that, I wouldn’t wipe it off either.”

—

The mission was supposed to be routine.

Get in, extract intel, maybe break a few bones. It was a Hydra splinter cell — the wannabes, fanatics, and leftovers still pretending their little empire wasn't in ruins.

But no one warned them that James Buchanan Barnes was showing up with red lipstick smeared across his face.

—

20 Minutes Into Infiltration

The base was buried in some frozen forest.

Bucky didn’t care.

He moved like a shadow through the corridors, metal arm whirring. But it wasn’t the weapon in his hand that made the first patrol unit freeze.

It was his face.

Or, more specifically … the kiss marks on it.

One print glowed faint red under the stark fluorescent lighting, right beneath his cheekbone. Another peeked out just above his collar. A third bold and shameless one sat on his eyebrows. 

“What the hell…” muttered one of the guards, gun wavering.

“Is that… lipstick?” another whispered, confused. “Is he—“

“I think someone got lucky this morning.”

“I think we’re about to get beat up.”

And they were right.

Bucky didn’t say a word. He just smiled, thinking I’ve got nothing to prove — but I’m going to make this hurt anyway.

Three seconds later, the hallway was a pile of bodies— cracked ribs, dislocated shoulders, and a shattered femur, probably. The last guy was still groaning when Bucky knelt beside him, blood dripping down his temple.

“The drive,” Bucky growled, pressing the cold frost of his fist to the guy’s shirt. “Where is it?”

The guy coughed. Eyes wide. “Y-You’ve got… lipstick on your face.”

Bucky blinked once.

“Yeah, well.” Bucky hissed proudly. “My wife kissed me goodbye.”

The Hydra agent whimpered. “...Lucky bastard.”

—

40 Minutes In, Main Control Room

The alarm was blaring. Red lights flashed like strobe against the concrete walls. Another squad of agents waited in a semicircle with their weapons raised. They were prepared.

Then Bucky stepped through the smoke.

And for a split second, they hesitated.

Because he wasn’t just battle-worn — he looked like he’d come straight from someone’s bed. Hair mussed. Collar half-popped. Face kissed like a trophy, yet with blood on his knuckles.

“Is this a joke?” one of the agents sneered. “You show up looking like you fucked a runway model?”

Another tilted his head. “That lipstick waterproof or what?”

“Why don’t you come find out?” Bucky deadpanned.

Then he dove straight into the fray.

His fists moved like they were born for it — metal arm catching one throat, organic arm snapping another wrist. Someone tried to tase him and he drove an elbow into their ribs hard enough to lift them off the ground.

The whole time, the lipstick stayed.

One agent tried to mock him mid-fight. “Does your wife know you’re out here fucking up people with her makeup on?”

Bucky shoved him against the wall, face inches away.

“She picked the shade,” he growled.

Then he headbutted the guy so hard he dropped like a ragdoll.

—

The last Hydra grunt was backed against the server wall, his eyes wide.

“Y-You’re fucking insane,” he stammered. “You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. You’re someone’s pet.”

Bucky tilted his head.

He leaned in close, giving the guy a good long look at the smeared lipstick still faintly on his cheek — a little smudged now with sweat and blood, but still there.

“No,” Bucky said, voice low and lethal. “I’m her husband.”

And then he knocked the guy out cold and completed the mission. 

—

It was past midnight when you heard the key turn at the front door.

You were curled up on the couch, hair tied up, reading the same paragraph on your annual report for the fourth time — half waiting, half trying not to stare at the clock.

Then you heard a heavy pair of boots, followed by the thud of a tactical jacket hitting the floor, and you didn’t even have to look up.

He was home. 

“Buck?"

He let out a tired grunt.

You stood, moving toward the hallway, just as he stepped into view, sweaty, bruised, and a bit wrecked, with blood on his forearm and gravel in his hair.

And still… wearing your lipstick marks.

The marks were faded now, but still unmistakably there.

You blinked, covering your mouth to stifle the giggle that bubbled up. “Oh my God.”

He looked up, eyes heavy, mouth tugging into a sleepy smirk. “Tried to wipe it.”

“I know.” You grinned. “Bob messaged me. Didn’t know it was that bad.”

Bucky chuckled, as he kicked his boots off. “Of course he did.”

Then, he walked right into you, his arms wrapped tight around your waist, head ducked against your neck and just held you.

You barely had time to react. “Hi—Whoa. Okay. Hi.”

His body felt like home against yours, metal arm sliding up your spine as he practically lifted you off the couch, burying his nose into your shoulder.

You laughed softly, hugging him back. “You okay?”

He nodded, murmuring into your skin. “Mhm. Just needed this.”

“You smell like shit.”

“And you smell like home,” he murmured, voice gone hoarse.

“Rough mission?” you asked, brushing your fingers through his hair.

Bucky hummed again, nodding lazily. “Got messy. One of ‘em asked if the lipstick was waterproof.”

You laughed. “And?”

“I broke his nose.”

“Good man.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes half-lidded. “They all saw it, babe. Saw me like this.”

You smiled and smoothed your hand over his beard. “I think it’s hot.”

That got his attention. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “You, showing up to a mission marked by me? Of course.”

He looked like he was about to melt into the floor.

“I really love you,” he mumbled.

“I really love you too, especially with this lipstick,” you teased, brushing your thumb over the faint smudge near his eyebrows. “This one held up through gunfire and hand-to-hand combat. I’m impressed.”

“I didn’t really want to wipe it off,” he admitted sheepishly, voice gentler now. “Even when I saw it in the mirror. I tried, but… not that hard.”

You grinned. “You liked it, huh?”

Bucky pressed his forehead against yours, and you felt the tiniest, almost embarrassed nod on skin. 

You reached up and gently tilted his chin, eyes tracing the places where your kisses had landed. His skin was flushed, warm, bruised in places — but somehow, the lipstick was still the first thing you saw.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek again, just beside the original print.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut, and a rumbled  content from his chest, almost like a purr.

"You're clingy," you whispered fondly.

"M'happy," he mumbled. “Mission’s done. You’re here. Your kisses are still on me.”

You ran your hands up under his shirt, feeling the scarred skin, the steady heartbeat. “Come to bed, baby.”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

You blinked. “No?”

“I just wanna hold you for a bit,” he said, walking backward and pulling you with him toward the couch. 

So you curled up on the couch again — this time with a super soldier wrapped around you like a weighted blanket. His arm tucked under your legs, his nose against your collarbone, his sigh on your skin.

Every few minutes, he kissed your neck or your shoulder or the inside of your wrist, like he couldn’t stop.

Eventually, his lips brushed your ear. “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“You think, since it’s a rest day…” he paused thoughtfully. “Maybe I could try the lipstick tomorrow? Kiss you up before your work.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “That’s... kind of hot, Buck.”

-end.

Request Guidelines

Masterlist

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault @average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @boy--wonder--187 @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life @rIphunter

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst @wingstoyourdreams @lori19

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23 @fan4astic

@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt @softpia 

@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125

@imaginecrushes @phoenixes-and-wizards @rowanthomasknapp @daystarpoet @thefandomplace

@biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @herejustforbuckybarnes @kitasownworld @shortandb1tchy @roxyym

@badl4nder @natalia42069 @silverdoragon @juliet-is-the-sun12 @nightlight486

[mcubarnes]

Giggling at the idea Bumblebee getting her first crush (maybe at daycare) and Bucky losing his mind

"James," you laugh, grabbing his lapels in your hands, you yank twice, pulling the towering mobster down so you can look in his eyes. "Stop scowling at Frankie."

"I'm not." Bucky continues glaring at the little boy pushing Bumblebee on the swing.

Cupping his chin, you force his head away from the playground. "Leave them alone. It's cute."

Bucky stares down at you, one of his infamous fierce, cold expressions on his handsome face. While most people would slowly back away, seeking safety, you rise on your tiptoes and kiss the grimace off his lips.

"Malyshka," he mumbles against your lips, his hands resting on the small of your back. "He looks shifty. I don't like him." His indignant tone becomes more pronounced the longer he watches the two of them play together.

Laughing, you pull away, lightly hitting his chest. "C'mon Bucky, he's a child."

"No, no he's right," Steve chimes in from behind you, startlingly you with his unexpected presence, his narrowed eyes focused on the toddler. "Something's off about that kid. He has beady eyes."

"I- what? Why are you here?" You inhale through your nose, your brows cinching when you spot Sam standing next to the slides, arms folded across his chest. "How did you two even get- nope, you will not embarrass my baby. Leave. All three of you go home."

"Malyshka," Bucky warns, voice low and dark. "I'm not leaving my girls alone with him."

"Bucky," you repeat, mimicking his tone. "He's a sweet kid who has a crush on our daughter. I don't know what you're planning but I'm telling you no."

Bucky raises his hands placating. "Look all we're going to do is question him. His entire family. All their neighbors."

He says it calmly and Steve nods in agreement, like it's completely rational to want to interrogate the boy wearing a Bob the Builder t-shirt and light-up sneakers.

Just as you're about to order the mobsters to go home, Bumblebee sees her dad.

"Papa!" she squeals, jumping off the swing, she scrambles for him, running into his suit-clad leg and wrapping her chunky arms around him. "Hi, Papa" Peering up at him, she gives him a toothy grin. "Wanna play with me and Frankie?"

"Frankie? You like him?"

"Yeah I wike him so much, he's so cool because he has pink stawburts," she sighs, lifting her arms to be picked up, she smiles at you. "And mommy says he can be my boyfriend."

Three sets of outraged eyes swing your way and you have to bite on your tongue to keep from laughing. You may have told her that but hey they really are adorable

"Yes, he can," you say, blowing her kiss. She catches it and smooshes it across her chubby cheek before returning the gesture.

Bucky lifts Bumblebee into his arms, chuckling under his breath. "Okay my sweet пчёлка, let's go meet your little boyfriend." He levels another glare at the unassuming kid. "Uncle Steve and Uncle Sam are going to play too."

While she chatters happily, waving at Steve, Bucky stops beside you, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. "We're going to have a very long discussion about this later."

[mcubarnes]

𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

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

Warning(s): THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS!!! platonic!thunderbolts x reader. no use of y/n. use of the nicknames doll, honey, and pretty girl. canon typical violence. descriptions of injuries. descriptions of explosion, gun use, etc. established relationship. profanities. kissing. VERY suggestive content (minors be advised). talks of having a baby. bucky being a little feral (very briefly). slightly hurt/comfort. basically bucky and reader being the parents of the group.

Word Count: 3.6k-ish

Author's Note: GUYS I saw this fanart on instagram and instantly knew that I had to write something inspired by it!!! I've been itching to post a thunderbolts fic since last week 😭 welcome back 2012-2014 era of avengers' tower fanfics ✨️ anyway I hope they're keeping the revolution hair for bucky in doomsday or else I swear I'm gonna RIOT!!! (I know seb's head is shaved rn but wigs exist yk 😔) don't forget to comment, like, and reblog loveliesss 🩷

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Bucky Barnes doesn't understand a lot of things since he returned to society.

Cryptocurrency is one of them. Social media is another. Anything that involves more acronyms than actual words is an immediate no on his list.

Above all else, Bucky Barnes struggles to comprehend how exactly he became responsible for the group of walking disasters now hailed as earth's newest, mightiest heroes.

Looking at the pack of hellions in front of him, Bucky has serious doubts about that title.

Right in the middle of the tower's lobby, the Thunderbolts—the New Avengers now, apparently—are scattered like barbie dolls in the aftermath of a toddler's tantrum. John is standing against a column with a tight jaw, his left leg lifted gingerly, wrapped in a makeshift splint that looks suspiciously like someone's utility belt. Beside him, Yelena sits on the ground, legs sprawled in front of her as she cradles a bruised shoulder with an equally bruised hand. Alexei leans atop the front desk with a dried blood streaking down his temple, the young receptionist gone in fright the moment the team walked through the tower's entrance. Even Ava, usually one to disappear before debriefs, is visible for once, propped against the wall with her suit half-glitched and her expression blank.

Everyone is accounted for. Everyone is breathing. 

But they all look like they rolled down a hill of bad choices where they banged their heads at every rock.

The mission was supposed to be a quiet recon, a simple surveillance on a rumored underground tech sale in an abandoned shipyard, low risk with minimal engagement. But then someone—Bucky still doesn’t know who—decided that they could handle it. 

No heads-up. No plan. 

Just four impulsive thrill-seekers interrupting a high-stakes black market deal involving high-tech plasma rifles and an offended buyer with too many goons. 

By the time Bucky caught wind of what was happening, it was already chaos. He had to go in solo, extract the squad under heavy fire, disrupt the shipment, and reroute an entire response team of hostiles to avoid further catastrophe. They got out—just barely—and none of them seemed particularly eager to look him in the eye about it, especially after the thirty-minute tirade he launched into somewhere between fourth gear and a traffic jam.

From his place in front of the elevator, Bucky crosses his arms. “If any of you pull something like that again, you're all getting benched. Indefinitely.”

“What?!” Alexei roars.

Yelena scowls. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You don't get to make that call, Bucky,” John protests.

Ava nods. “We're not children. You can't just ground us whenever you feel like it.”

“Yeah?” Bucky laughs. Sarcastically. “Watch me, kid.”

As if on cue, the elevator arrives with a ding. Bucky gestures curtly towards the opening metal door. “Inside. Now.”

Reluctantly, the team shuffles in like a group of sheep being herded back into their pen for a much-needed nap time.

For a beat, the only sound that settles inside the cramped space is the low mechanical hum of the elevator ascending. 

That is until Ava decides to speak up.

“I’m just saying,” she begins, “it wasn’t like we meant to crash the deal. We were just improvising.”

“Improvising?” Bucky exclaims, glaring at her. “You call tossing a grenade into an active negotiation improvising?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Yelena argues, crossing her arms. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Bucky screeches, his tone rising. “Walker nearly lost a leg!”

“It's just a sprain,” John clarifies. “Probably.”

“See? It's just a sprain!” Yelena repeats a little too cheerfully. “He'll be good as new in no time. Right, John?”

John nods, failing to conceal his wince when Yelena bumps her unharmed shoulder to his.

Bucky rubs his temples. “I can’t believe I’m in charge of you people.”

The elevator dings again at the top floor.

“You know,” Yelena says as the team stumbles out of the metal trapbox, “we technically stopped the deal. You're not giving us credit for that.”

“That’s because you weren't supposed to stop the deal. You were supposed to observe.”

“Back in my day, observe meant punch first, ask questions later,” Alexei quips.

Bucky lets out a scathing scoff that echoes through the air. “Right. Remind me again how many years you spent rotting in that Siberian prison, Alexei?”

“Well, that's not very nice,” John mutters.

“You know what else isn't nice, Walker?” Bucky growls. “Getting your asses lit up by dozens of machine guns because none of you seem to grasp the basic concept of following orders.”

The group swelters in a momentary silence.

“I mean, in our defense,” says Ava, “none of us actually got shot.”

Before Bucky can tell her off even further, a voice suddenly intercepts, “How fabulous! You guys didn't get shot? Geez, someone really should give you all a medal for that.”

The whole team stops in their tracks.

One by one, everyone turns their head towards the direction from which the voice has come. The view that greets them could probably send a perfectly healthy man straight into an early grave.

On the platform floor a few paces away, they find you standing with arms folded across your chest. Despite the bright lilt of your voice, your eyes are cutting as they assess the entire team with the judgement of a juror who has already decided on a guilty verdict. It's clear from your attire that you were freshly off work before going straight to the tower, and since everyone knows that you were supposed to be on a work trip to Philadelphia for at least another two days, it’s safe to assume that your ticket back was booked right around the time someone shouted “mission compromised!”.

It's a full ten seconds of shared disgrace before Yelena finally breaks the silence.

“You called her?” she hisses, landing an accusatory glare in Bucky’s direction.

“I did not.” Bucky scoffs. “And why does it matter if I did?”

“Bucky didn't call me,” you interject, your posture still rigid, your gaze still icy.

“Then who—no.” Yelena's eyes drift towards the kitchen, squinting as she takes in the figure trying to hide behind the doorway. “Bob.”

Ava snaps her head up. “Bob, you little shi—”

“That’s enough,” you jump in, moving sideways to conceal Bob from Ava's murderous line of sight. “He's got nothing to do with this. This is about you—all of you—and what a stupid, reckless, dangerous thing you just did.”

Under your scrutiny, the whole squad shifts like a pack of raccoons caught rummaging through the kitchen trash. The weight of your stare seems to age them all by a decade.

“I'm gonna give all of you two minutes to explain yourselves,” you declare, the authority in your tone indisputable. “And I already know what happened, so don't even think about trying to trick me.”

There is a lull in the air where everyone seemingly tries to process your demand.

When their mouths open again, what follows is not so much an explanation as it is a verbal dogpile. Everyone starts talking all at once—too loud, too fast, and entirely contradictory. John tries to lead with the logistics, only to be steamrolled by Alexei shouting something about creative liberty. Ava attempts to downplay the situation with a jovial “it was barely an explosion!” while Yelena throws her under the bus with a hasty “she started it!”. 

Bucky—standing to the side with the posture of a man watching his funeral getting turned into a Dollar Store circus—doesn’t even bother stepping in. He knows better. 

You hold up a single finger and the room quiets instantly, like someone pressing mute on a trashy sitcom argument. The stillness that follows is so heavy, even the lights begin to flicker in anticipation.

“But we got out fine!” Ava sputters, desperate to fill in the quietness, though her voice immediately thins when she adds, “Mostly.”

“Yeah! I mean, it's just a bruise here, a bruise there—everything's great.” Yelena grins.

Your sharp stare slides towards John, the lines between your eyebrows tightening as you take in the awkward angle of his injured leg. John nearly cowers under your piercing gaze.

“How bad is the damage?” you question, your voice booming throughout the surrounding space.

“What, this? Oh, it's not that bad. Probably just need to ice it then I'll be good as new—”

“Walker.”

It's hardly a secret that John is perhaps your least favorite person in that room, with you still clearly holding a grudge towards him for what happened with the Flag Smashers. The man is used to your constant cold shoulder by now. He expects it, even. More often than not, John finds himself wondering if you would ever warm up to him the way you have with the rest of the team.

And yet, as he now stands at the end of your long stare, John can't help but think that perhaps your silent treatment isn't really that bad. Especially if it means he doesn't have to be on the receiving end of the critical scrutiny you're currently aiming towards him.

The blond gulps.

“There's a forty percent chance it might be broken,” John admits. “But it's likely just dislocated. No big deal.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Get to the medbay and tell them to run a scan,” you command. “Alexei, go with him.”

“That's not necessa—”

The sharp glare you're sending him causes John's words to lodge in his throat.

Alexei springs right into action, steering John away from your ferocious perusal and back towards the elevator.

“C'mon, big guy,” Alexei bellows. “Let's go pay a visit to our doctor friends.”

As soon as the two men disappear into the elevator, your glower shifts towards the remaining two people standing behind Bucky. Yelena pretends to check her nails while Ava's eyes are roaming the ceiling with faux nonchalance, both a pathetic attempt to avoid the clear daggers in your stare. The ridiculousness would've made you chortle were you not livid beyond salvation right now.

“I want you two to go back to your rooms, clean yourselves up, and be back here in no more than thirty minutes,” you proclaim. “We'll continue our discussion after dinner.”

“Wait, hold on—”

“That's not—”

“Just go, you two,” Bucky interrupts, the blue in his eyes colder than the Arctic ocean. “That wasn't a request.”

The two figures slump in defeat, teetering towards the staircase with the speed of a turtle in a morning rush hour. You hear Yelena grumbling something in Russian under her breath, and you force yourself not to think about what the phrase might mean lest you want your skin to crawl in an even higher degree of vexation.

“Good gracious.” Bucky shakes his head.

Behind you, Bob emerges out of the kitchen, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly as he approaches you like a wounded kitten.

“They're mad at me, aren't they?” Bob murmurs. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you guys fight with each other.”

“It's not your fault, sweetie,” you assure him, extending your hand and offering a comforting squeeze around his palm. “They're just being idiots right now. You did good, okay? Give it a few hours and I promise you, they'll forget about this already.”

Bob nods solemnly, his voice quiet as he excuses himself and trudges towards the common area. You release a breath as you observe him diving head first onto the sofa, burying his face in the cushion like a Victorian widow fainting onto her chaise.

Turning around, your eyes lock with another pair in blue. The smile on Bucky's face grows as he takes you in, his arms opening with all the intention to collect you in his embrace. 

“Hey, doll. I've missed—”

“No. Stay right there.” You raise your palm, taking a step back. “I'm mad at you, too.”

Bucky blinks. 

He watches you turn around and walk away from him, his arms coming down limp by his sides before he scutters after your retreating form. Bucky lingers in the doorway as you move about the kitchen, taking out pots, knives, and pans while slamming the cabinet doors shut in the process. You don't even spare him a glance as you start retrieving fresh ingredients from the fridge.

“Honey?” he calls out, voice meek beneath the echo of your knife slicing through onions on the counter. “C'mon, doll, you're really not gonna talk to me?”

“No.”

The chopping continues.

Bucky rubs his face.

“You know I'm just as disappointed in them as you are, right?” he begins. “Swear to God, doll, I had nothing to do with this. Didn't even know what those rascals were planning ‘till I got the call from Alexei. Told ‘em off as soon as I extracted them outta there.”

“Hm.”

Sighing, Bucky takes a tentative step forward, then another, finally closing the distance when he's sure you wouldn't smack him across the head with the chopping board in your hand. His fingers find purchase around your elbow, halting your movements, the gentleness aching as he spins you around to face him. The knife and half-sliced onion lie dormant on the counter.

“Hey,” Bucky utters, so softly that the air nearly swallows the word whole. “Talk to me?”

You heave in a shaky breath, evading his eyes. “What's there to talk about? I told you I'm pissed.”

“Okay, that part I already got.” Bucky chuckles, brushing the back of his palm on your cheek. “Help me understand why? At least tell me how I can fix it, pretty girl. Hm?”

Your silence quivers at the edges, growing more brittle with each swipe of Bucky’s touch on your skin. The walls around your heart crumble under his infuriating tenderness.

“When Bob called and said the team had gone radio silent, I—” you pause, swallowing hard, “—I thought something terrible happened. I booked the first train out of Philly before I even hung up.”

Bucky stays quiet, watching you with careful eyes.

“I couldn’t reach anyone. Not John, not Yelena, not Ava, not Alexei—not you. And the longer I waited, the worse it got in my head. I pictured the mission going sideways. All of you gone.” You inhale sharply. “I pictured all of you coming home in body bags.”

Bucky's heart breaks at the shudder he feels running through your back. His soul is already mourning over the loss of light he would usually find shining so brightly out of your eyes. It makes him cling to you just a tad bit tighter.

“Bob finally called me again to tell me that you're all fine. That you're on your way back. But that's not the point, Bucky.” You look at him then, your fingers flexing. “The point is, I should've never heard about all of this from Bob in the first place. I should've heard it from you.”

Bucky's shoulders sink. “I didn't want you to worry.”

You shake your head, eyes burning with the threat of unshed tears. “But I do worry, Bucky! That’s the point. I worry every single time. The moment all of you step out of this building, I'm counting down the minutes until you guys return to me again. You can't shield me away from that.”

He steps closer, removing what little bit of distance between the two of you until all of your atoms are nearly merged as one. “You're right. You are. I should’ve called. Should've trusted that you'd want to know, even if it might scare you.”

“It did scare me,” you whisper. “And I didn’t want Bob’s voice telling me everything was okay. I wanted yours.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmurs, his arms pulling you nearer. “No more leaving you out. I promise it’ll be me from now on. I'll tell you everything, doll. Always.”

A shuddering breath leaves your lungs, and just like that, you completely melt away under Bucky's touch. Your forehead drops against the line between his shoulder and chest, your fingers gripping his sides as though he was the very force keeping you tethered to earth. Meanwhile, Bucky's lips ghost over the top of your head, whispering sweet nothings, the contrasting temperature of his palms appeasing you with random patterns against your back.

“I don't know how this all started,” you confess. “I'm not sure when I began caring this much about those idiots, but I do. The thought of something happening to them—to you—to all of you…”

Bucky's arms tighten around your frame. “I know, honey. I feel the same way.”

“This is not what I had in mind, you know?”

You tilt your head back to stare at his face, your fingers tangling themselves in the soft waves that Bucky has been growing out over the past few weeks. He almost cut them all off several days ago, but after some convincing on your end—which may have included activities that found your fingers buried in the soft tendrils and his face buried somewhere else—you managed to talk him out of it.

Bucky's eyebrows lift. “What do you mean?”

“Well… when you said that you were joining this team, I thought I'd never seen a more dysfunctional group of people in my entire life. I figured it'd be a miracle if all of you last a whole month without someone quitting or accidentally blowing each other up.” You chuckle, your eyes softening. “I didn't think I'd end up pacing the hallway every time you guys went out, worrying like some overworked mother of five.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh, his forehead falling onto your own. “I get it. This wasn’t exactly how I imagined myself stepping into the dad role either, but… here I am.”

“Yeah?” Your lips quirk up. “How did you imagine it then?”

“Well—” Bucky's voice drops, his breath warm where it fans against your skin, “—I figured it’d start with a little house, somewhere quiet. Nothing fancy. Just enough for us to start building a life in. I’d fix the place up real proper. You’d hum to yourself as you whip up one of those famous pies of yours, and I’d pretend not to stare.”

The cheeky grin on Bucky's face grows, prompting a laugh out of your chest. His thumb continues to trace idle circles upon your waist.

“Then, when you feel the time's right, we’d try for a baby. The old-fashioned way. Real slow, real sweet. I’d kiss you like I got all the time in the world, and make love to you like I didn’t.”

Something flutters inside your chest, like stardust stirring in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. The way Bucky is looking at you makes you feel as if you were the first breath of the universe itself.

“That's how I pictured us becoming parents,” Bucky adds, brushing his lips along your jaw. “Not… this. Whatever this is.”

You smile at the graze of his beard on your cheek, angling your head to capture him in a brief kiss. 

“You know what I think this is, Buck?” you ask, teasing your lips against his own. “I think we should view this as a practice run. After all, how hard can it be to parent our own kid if we can do it to a group of five ridiculous, chaotic misfits, right?”

“Doll.” He sighs. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“Depends.” You hum, your lips twitching in feigned innocence. “If you think I'm imagining you putting a baby in me… then yeah, you're absolutely right.”

Bucky swallows your cheeky grin with a kiss, grunting against your mouth as he presses you back against the counter. The muffled moans you let out are music to his ears, a lascivious melody that rushes straight towards places he reserves explicitly for you. His hands slip under your blouse, roaming the expanse of skin, drifting lower and lower in search for the one place that could send him straight to heaven and—

“Yelena! Give it back to me!”

“I told you it wasn't me!”

Bucky groans.

The shrill voices resonate all the way down to the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable echoes of footsteps thundering down the staircase. Bucky makes a guttural noise of frustration as his face slumps into the crook of your neck.

“I swear to God, I’m gonna ship them to Asgard one of these days,” he mutters.

You snort, brushing your fingers through his hair and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. 

“Let's put a raincheck on the baby-making, soldier,” you purr, smirking when it spurs on a rumble from Bucky's chest. “Looks like I've got a fight to break up before we have two dead superheroes on our hands.”

He groans again, this time at the loss of your warmth as you slip out of his arms. From the kitchen's doorway, you raise an eyebrow towards the common area, perching your palms on either side of your hips as you take in the havoc ahead.

“What the hell is going on here?” you snarl.

“She stole my snacks!” accuses Ava.

“I don't even like Jammie Dodgers, you lunatic!”

“What a lot of crap. We all know you'd even eat chicken off the ground given the chance, you pig!”

“Fucking asshole—”

“Hey!” you interrupt, your voice sharp as you march towards the two fuming Avengers. “You call each other any more names, then I promise you, you're gonna wish you got shot on that mission today.”

Bucky watches the whole interaction from the kitchen with his arms crossed and a slow grin spreading across his face. He leans against the counter, studying you with the quiet reverence of a man who has found the meaning of home after decades of searching. Even in the midst of this domestic madness, even with the team’s antics grinding on his last nerve, he wouldn't trade a single thing in his life for anything else.

There are still a lot of things in this world that Bucky struggles to understand.

But with you by his side, and his entire team watching his six, he knows that he's got nothing to worry about.

[mcubarnes]

Cars Are Replaceable, But You Aren’t » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Husband/Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader with the Thunderbolts

Summary: Bucky accidentally wreaks your car, but you don’t care about that. All you care about is that your husband is ok and alive.

Warnings: Fluff, language, crying, kissing, pet names

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star / divider made by me

“You do know your wife is going to kill you when she finds out that you wrecked her car.” Yelena says.

“Yea, I know. Don’t remind me.” Bucky mutters.

That morning, Bucky asked you if he could borrow your car for a mission and you said yes. You told him to be safe and don’t crash your car. Now, Bucky is stared at your wrecked car, trying to find the words to tell you that it’s totaled before he calls you.

“Y/N really loved this car.” Bucky says.

“It was a nice car.” Bob says.

“Not anymore.” John says.

Bucky sighs and got his phone out of his pocket. His finger hovered over the call button before clicking on it. It rang a couple times before you answered it.

“Hey, baby! I was wondering when you were going to call. How was the mission?” You asked.

“Doll…” Bucky nervously begins.

The tone of Bucky’s voice made your heart drop. It made you think something bad happened to him.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You worriedly asked.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Bucky says.

“You didn’t mean to what?” You asked.

“I accidentally wrecked your car.” He tells you.

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach when you heard those words. Your eyes teared up, your mind thinking about the horrible scenarios.

“I’m on my way.” You say before hanging up.

Bucky texted you his location before putting his phone back in his pocket and sat down on the ground, leaning his back against the wreckage that used to be your car.

“What did she say?” Alexei curiously asks.

“She’s on her way.” Bucky says.

Bucky put his head in his hands, thinking of ways to make this up to you.

It didn’t take you long to get to Bucky and the team. Your heart dropped when you saw the state your car is in now. Bucky stood up from the ground as you took a walk around your wrecked car.

“Doll, before you start yelling at me, just know-” You cut Bucky off with a kiss.

Bucky was caught by surprise. He was expecting you to scream at him. So was the team.

“Are you ok?” You asked, checking him for any injuries.

“I’m fine, doll.” Bucky says.

There was a scratch on Bucky’s cheek and his forehead. You weren’t sure if those were from the mission or if it happened when he accidentally wrecked your car.

“I’m glad you’re ok.” You say and hugged him.

“You’re not mad at me for what I did?” Bucky asks.

“No, of course not, baby.” You say softly.

“You should be.” He said. “You told me not to wreck your car and I did.” He recalls your words from this morning.

“You said it was an accident. Besides, all I care about is that you’re ok. Cars are replaceable, but you’re not.” You say softly.

Bucky smiles, knowing you’re right.

“Are you guys ok?” You asked the team.

“We’re fine.” Yelena says.

You gave the team a smile. You and Bucky took the team home before you two went home. Bucky got cleaned up before relaxing with you.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky apologizes once again, still feeling guilty about wrecking your car.

“Stop apologizing. I’m not mad.” You say softly.

“But you loved that car.” He says.

“I did, but I love you more.” You say.

You kissed Bucky softly and passionately. He smiles against your lips.

“I love you too, babydoll.” He almost whispers.

As you were sleeping, Bucky laid awake next to you, trying to figure out how to make it up to you. Then he smiles to himself when something comes to his mind. He’s going to buy you a new car to make it up to you. That’s what he’s going to do that morning. You woke up to a note on Bucky’s pillow saying that he had something to do and he’ll be home in a little bit. When Bucky came home around mid morning, he greeted you by hugging you from behind and kissing your cheek.

“Hi, baby.” You say softly.

“Hi, doll.” Bucky says softly.

Bucky spun you around and kissed you softly and sweetly. You two smiled against each other’s lips.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up.” You pouted.

“I had something important to do.” He says.

“Was it work related?” You asked.

“No.” He says.

“What was so important that you had to get up early to do?” You curiously asked.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” He grins.

“You got me a surprise?” You asked, a smile growing on your face.

“Yes and I’m going to show you what it is in a minute, but first, I want you to be blindfolded so you can be surprised when you see what I bought you.” He says.

“Ok.” You say.

Bucky put the blindfold over your eyes, making sure he didn’t tie it too tight.

“Can you see anything?” Bucky asks.

“No.” You replied.

“Good.” He says.

“How am I supposed to know where I’m walking if I’m blindfolded?” You asked.

“I’m going to carry you.” He says.

Bucky picks you up bridal style and carried you outside, gently putting you on the ground.

“Are you ready to see your surprise?” Bucky asks.

“Yes!” You replied excitedly.

Bucky took the blindfold off of your eyes. You saw a new car in the driveway. You turned around to ask Bucky who’s car it is, but before you could, you saw Bucky holding the keys to it.

“Surprise!” Bucky smiles.

You gasped and kissed him passionately.

“You bought me a new car?!” You asked excitedly.

“Yes I did.” He smiles. “It’s my way of making it up to you for wrecking your car yesterday.” He says.

“Oh, baby…” You whispered. “It was an accident.” You say softly, cupping his bearded cheeks.

“I know. I just wanted you to know how sorry I am.” He says.

“I know you’re sorry, sweetheart.” You almost whispered, pecking his lips softly.

“Wanna take your new car for a drive?” He asks.

You smiled and took the keys from him. You got in your new car and so did Bucky. You leaned over the center console and kissed him sweetly.

“I have the best husband in the world.” You smiled. “I love you so much, honey.” You say softly.

“I love you too, babydoll.” Bucky says softly and smiles.

-Bucky’s Doll

[mcubarnes]

Hello omg! Im in love with your works!🤍 i hope you’re doing well!

Can you do a sebastian stan x actress reader in the age of 20s like 28, where the actress is a fan of sebastian(who’s currently on his age rn) and the actress has a new upcoming movie and currently doing a press tour rn and one of the interviewer asks if the actress has a celebrity crush and ofc it’s sebastian then fans are now shipping them then sebastian on the other hand has a crush on the actress too! No specific plot I’ll just let you write what you think it’s best for this category since it’s age gap. Thank you so much!

Hey, first of all you’re too kind !!! So here is your request, I hope you will like it !!! ☺️

You’re Gonna Make Me Say It

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Actress!f’ Reader

Warnings: age gap

Summary: clearly the request :)

The press junket had gone on for hours.

Same white chair. Same lukewarm coffee in a paper cup. Same questions dressed up in slightly different outfits. But you were used to it now — the whirlwind of interviews, lights, and curated smiles that came with a film launch. This one, though? This one was different.

Your name was finally on the top billing of a major studio film. The kind that gets the Venice Film Festival call, not just a trending Netflix tab. You were rising, people said. Twenty-eight, and they were calling you Hollywood’s “newest old soul.”

The interviewer — slick hair, ironic turtleneck, and way too much energy for hour six — leaned forward with a grin. “Okay, this one’s for the fans. Everyone wants to know: Do you have a celebrity crush?”

You blinked. Half of you wanted to dodge it. The other half was too tired to lie.

“…You’re gonna make me say it, huh?”

He grinned wider. “Oh, we have to.”

You laughed, cheeks heating. “Fine. Sebastian Stan.”

Cue the knowing oohs from the crew.

“Winter Soldier?” the interviewer asked, mock-swooning. “Or sad, brooding indie Sebastian Stan?”

“Both,” you said without thinking. “But especially ‘guy who says one line and breaks your heart’ Sebastian. The emotional damage kind.”

That soundbite made it to TikTok before you were even off set.

Within 12 hours, Twitter had decided you and Sebastian Stan were soulmates. A fan edit using “Young and Beautiful” by Lana Del Rey had hit 2.4 million views.

Sebastian, 42, was on a quieter streak. Fresh off a moody A24 film and laying low. But when he finally did an Instagram Q&A a few days later, someone slid in:

“Have you seen that clip of Y/N crushing on you?”

He responded with a selfie. Hoodie. Bedhead. Sleepy eyes.

“Me? 😳 No way. She’s the talented one.”

The internet combusted.

Three weeks later.

The GQ party was thrown in a dim-lit rooftop bar in New York, buzzing with actors, models, and enough free tequila to start a revolution.

You didn’t expect to see him. You weren’t prepared to see him.

But there he was.

Black shirt. Navy suit. Slight stubble and those ridiculous cheekbones God must’ve sculpted on a rainy day. He stood near the bar with a friend — laughing, sipping bourbon, completely unaware that you were now internally combusting.

“Go say hi,” your publicist nudged.

“No,” you whispered. “Absolutely not. I look like I practiced in the mirror for this.”

“You did.”

You took a sip of champagne. “Okay but he’s—he’s Sebastian Stan. I’m just…”

“A girl who called him a walking heartbreak in front of a live audience?” your publicist smirked. “Yeah. Go.”

You caught his eyes first.

He was looking at you like he already knew who you were.

And when you finally approached, breath held, pretending to be casual?

“Hey,” you said.

He smiled. Slow. Warm. “So you’re the one ruining my sleep schedule.”

Your brows lifted. “What?”

“All the fan edits,” he chuckled, voice lower in real life. “My friend sent me one with, like, a James Blake song and I—” he shook his head. “Yeah. You’re trouble.”

You laughed, your nerves breaking like a dam. “I didn’t mean to start a cult.”

“Oh, you did,” he said, stepping just a little closer. “But I’m not complaining.”

There was a pause. A charged one. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to decode something.

“You’re not what I expected,” you said quietly.

“Good or bad?”

“Dangerous.”

He smiled — not cocky. Not smug. Just like he knew what that meant.

“And you’re young,” he said, honest. “But not… naive.”

“I’m 28.”

“I know.”

You swallowed. “Is that a problem?”

He took a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “It’s a little terrifying.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re talented. And kind. And you look at me like I’m not a cliché.”

You tilted your head. “Are you?”

“Trying not to be.”

There was another pause. You shifted, fingers tapping your glass.

“I meant what I said in that interview,” you said. “About you.”

He leaned against the bar, suddenly shy. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “You make sad look beautiful.”

“…You just trying to kill me now?”

You laughed, head falling forward. “Sorry.”

“No. Don’t be.” He touched the bar between you, not quite reaching for your hand but close. “I’ve been watching your interviews. You’re the real deal. Makes me… feel like the old guy in the room.”

You studied him, then smiled. “Maybe I like old guys.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Dangerous.”

“I know.”

The music swelled behind you. Somewhere, a flash went off. Cameras. Eyes. Publicist glances.

But in that moment, it was just you and him.

“Would you ever…” you started, then paused.

He waited.

“…want to get coffee sometime?”

His smile turned into something softer. Sweeter. “Are you asking me out?”

You blinked. “I—am I not supposed to?”

He laughed, then leaned in just a little, brushing his shoulder against yours. His voice dropped.

“Only if you don’t mind that I was already going to ask you first.”

You exhaled. “You were?”

“Oh yeah. I saw that clip and went, ‘Shit. I’m screwed.’”

You smiled up at him, light-headed with relief. “Well… Sebastian Stan.”

“Yes, rising Hollywood star?”

“Looks like we’ve got a crush problem.”

He tilted his head, eyes dancing. “Let’s see if we can make it worse.”

Two days later, a blurry photo of the two of you walking out of a Brooklyn café at dusk hit the internet.

You were laughing. He was looking at you like you were a song he hadn’t heard in years.

And the fan edits? They got worse.

But neither of you complained.

Because sometimes, the slow-burn crushes — the accidental confessions, the age-gap flirtations, the quiet New York coffee dates — were the ones that burned the brightest.

[mcubarnes]

BUCKY BARNES in Thunderbolts* (2025)