povbarnes

[povbarnes]

Sunshine.

Pairing: Post!CW!Bucky Barnes x Mutant!Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky has a nightmare, you help him forget.

Word Count: +4K

Warnings: +18, Slight angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-graphic description of violence, Bucky Barnes is miserable poor thing, Reader is utterly in love, but so is Bucky, Bucky calls reader Sunshine and Sunny because of her solar powers, Smut, Dry humping, that becomes not-so-dry after a while, Maybe improper use of the metal arm?, i’m not sure, No use of Y/N, Imk if i missed or forgot anything!

A/N: okay. here’s the thing. school’s been CRAZY and i couldn’t write anything for a loonnngg time, so this has been sitting in my drafts for ages. i genuinely love this one guys, and i would really like to explore Bucky and Sunshine’s (that’s you) relationship more, but for now, this is a one shot. if you guys like reading it as much as i loved writing it, i’ll probably write so much more for these two. oh and btw, MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN! send away! okayyy i’ll leave you to it now, enjoy <3

It is still pitch black outside when Bucky wakes up, panting from a nightmare that takes a good minute for him to snap out of, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

His eyes search around the room for something, anything that can cause danger other than himself, but finds nothing except your sleeping form peacefully laying by his side. Sight of you alone is enough to steady his racing heart a bit.

A deep exhale leaves his parted lips, and his eyes linger on the warm glow that surrounds your body, illuminating the dark room. “I’m like a bedside lamp,” you said once, giggling without knowing you were breathing life into him with every little laugh you let out.

He tries to let the warmth and light radiating from you to calm his mind, strip away the fears that his nightmares brought onto the surface, again.

The energy surrounding your body is still striking to him, amazes him each and every time. The way you actually glow even more so in the dark and give off a warmth that Bucky won’t even try explaining to himself, making you seem like an otherworldly being in his eyes even when he knows there are people, gods, with extraordinary abilities walking around the earth every day. Even with the feeling of the metal and the power that came with the serum just existing in his body. He still can’t believe you are real.

When you first told him your powers were related to solar energy, his initial thought was that you were able to absorb energy while the sun was up. He hadn’t learnt just how wrong he was until you started sleeping over at his room. No, you weren’t absorbing energy, you were basically that damn star personified. His little sunshine.

He looks at your sleeping figure, and he can be a selfish man when it comes to you, but not selfish enough to wake you up when you look as peaceful as you do in this moment. He will just get a glass of water and try to force himself back into the world of nightmares that he has to visit every night.

But you stir just as he starts to get up, your eyes blinking open, your glow faltering when you see him awake and leaving. He hates seeing it happen.

What he loves, is that your glow has a mind of its own, that it intensifies when you are happy or excited, it helps him in keeping you that way, always happy, always content.

He hates it when he sees it falter, lose its shine whenever you are feeling confused, upset or defeated. And he hates it more when he causes it, even if it’s for a moment.

“Buck?” Your voice is laced with sleep, and he quickly takes the one leg he took off the bed back. “Did you have a nightmare?”

He hates that this is now your reality too.

“Yes, baby,” he says, his hand finding your hair and running it through it slowly. Warmth fills his body immediately, and he can’t help the small smile forming on his face.

There’s no point in hiding anything from you as you can always tell, but he wants to. He wants to hide his past from you, his dreams, the person he was. He doesn’t want you near it, near any of it. Not his memories, not his nightmares, not the violence that seems to follow him wherever he goes. “Go back to sleep, I will too.”

“No,” you murmur, shaking your head slightly. You are getting up in an instant, sitting on the bed with your legs crossed. “I know you won’t be able to.”

Bucky wants to kick himself.

“Sunny, sweetheart, go back to sleep.” He knows you won’t.

You sigh, looking into his eyes for a couple of seconds before moving to place yourself on his lap, his hands automatically falling to your waist.

He is lightened by your glow, everything but the two of you swallowed by complete darkness. “What was it this time?”

He knew the question was coming, you asked it every time. And every time, he tells you he doesn’t remember. Usually, it’s a lie. A lie that you allow.

But tonight, he is so tired, so worn out by his own subconsciousness, a part of himself still feeling like he’s in the goddamn dream. Like he’s about to look into your lightless eyes any second.

The reminder sends a shiver up his spine, and he considers what to do as he looks into your warm eyes. With those same eyes’ ice cold versions playing in the back of his head, he decides he doesn’t have the energy to lie to you. At least not tonight.

“James?” You push, gently, and his head drops to your sternum, forehead resting there as he sighs. “I saw you.”

He feels you nod even though he can’t see it, and hears how your heart starts beating just a bit faster. You are probably surprised he even decided to tell you about it. “How did you see me?”

His face scrunches up, arms wrapping around you, trying to convince himself that that was a dream, and this is real. That you, are real.

“He got you,” he says, not specifying who. He doesn’t want any of their names lurking in your mind. He hates himself enough already that he’s even telling you about this. “He used you to get to me.”

You don’t say anything and he’s grateful for it, or maybe not. Because he isn’t sure if he could continue talking if you interrupted him right now, and he isn’t sure he knows which of the two options he wants to go through with.

“I was trying to get to you, and-“ His breath hitches, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck, holding him close to your pounding heart.

He tries to let the sound ground him to reality. To you.

“I was trying to save you, I- I swear. But suddenly, you were the one I was chasing.” He can feel how you clench your teeth, but you keep quiet.

“You ran like hell,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. A short, humorless laugh leaves his lips. He says the next words like it is the most ridiculous thing he ever had to say. “From me.”

Would you ever run from him like that? Would he ever give you a reason to? The thought so sickening to him that he needs to take a second to recollect himself.

“But you weren’t fast enough.” He pauses again, his heart squeezing in his chest as if it doesn’t want to keep on beating. He considers if he can physically go through this again to tell you the whole thing.

You are still silent, but he can sense you are expecting him to continue, so he does.

“I can still feel it around your neck,” he lets out, chocking around the words, forcing a deep breath through his nose. “The look in your eyes, the way you squirmed and pushed to get away from me.”

Your arms get tighter around his neck, pulling him impossibly close, contrary to how you tried to push him away from you in his dream.

He inhales your warm scent, you are everywhere, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. If he could stay like this forever, he fucking would, without moving even a single muscle.

“It was just a dream, baby,” you murmur after maybe a minute or two of processing his words, one of your hands moving to stroke his hair. “You won’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

You pull back to look at him, and he is met with your furrowed brows when your eyes find his. The way you pout at him almost makes him smile at your adorable face before it is replaced with the images of that same face looking up at him in horror and disappointment, the split second of ease he felt disappearing just as quickly as it appeared.

He tries to look away, but your fingers immediately find his chin to bring him back to you. “I do know it.”

“James,” you whisper cautiously when he doesn’t answer. He watches as your eyelids flutter for a split second before you take a shaky breath. “You could never hurt me.”

His head falls back down on your chest, breathing in your scent while trying to get rid of the images from his nightmare invading his head.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice gruff and laced with desperation. “You know that’s not true.”

He wants you to run. He wants you to get as far away from him as you can before he somehow gets you hurt. Because he knows it’s inevitable, he knows he ruins everything he touches, but he is too damn weak and selfish to let you go. So he needs you to go and never look back.

But you don’t.

Instead, you’re here, on his lap, hugging him like your life depends on it, running your fingers through his hair, occasionally scratching his scalp and making his eyes roll.

He doesn’t deserve you, but you are here and so goddamn stubborn, and he can’t seem to give you up.

A selfish, selfish man.

You take a deep breath, taking his head in your hands and moving so he’d look at you.

“Let me see?”

He frowns, his head tilting a little. “What?”

“Your hand,” you clarify. “I wanna see.”

Bucky’s heart sinks to his stomach. “Sunshine, what—“

“Please?”

You had never asked anything about his arm before, and he’s suddenly aware how he never talked about any of his bad and ugly with you. How he always just swiped it under the rug inside his head because it terrified him, and you were as graceful as you’ve always been to never ask. He knows you know, hell, the whole goddamn world knows, but maybe he liked pretending for a while. And you allowed it. Maybe you felt it was too early to ask or maybe you thought he would shatter in the palm of your hand if you did but you never asked, and it just crosses his mind that you might’ve not felt as comfortable around him as he thought you have. The thought shocks through him, leaving him startled, staring at you for a long moment.

He’s sure you can see how taken aback he is, yet you patiently wait for him to comply, not pushing him. At least not with your words.

He wants to say no, to be done with this subject before it even starts, but he never seems to be able to when you look at him as you do in this moment, all wide eyes and pouty lips, basically pulling his strings with the tips of your fingers. He knows it’s not about seeing the metal, but feeling it, and asking about it. Acknowledging it. Acknowledging what it represents, the things he went through. The things he did.

He doesn’t know how long he just stares at your face before he finds himself raising his arm between your bodies. “Move back a little for me, baby.”

You slide yourself down his legs, and his arm raises slowly between your bodies, your light making the silver shine, the look on your face shifting from anticipation to something Bucky dares to think looks almost like awe.

You move an inch closer which makes him stiffen immediately, but you don’t take your eyes off of his arm for even a second before you are reaching out to him, a hesitant hand slowly approaching him.

As soon as Bucky realizes you intend to touch him, he flinches so hard that your glow falters, looking up at him with eyes filled with worry. The room is swallowed by complete darkness for a moment before the light forms around your body again, and your face is back in his vision.

His voice is strained when he speaks. “What are you doing?”

Your answer comes in a hushed tone, and it’s not nearly enough convincing. “It’s okay, Bucky. You won’t hurt me.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ —

Your heart is beating as if it wants to break open your ribcage and hug the man sitting under you. You wonder if he hears it.

You reach for the metal in front of you again, this time more determined than before. He lets you, although he looks like he wants to throw you off of him and run without looking back once.

You have never pushed him like this, always cautious of his scars and vulnerabilities, but he deserves so much more than he gives himself credit for and you are past your limit of letting him drown in his enormous pool of self-hatred. He should know. He should know how much you appreciate every single part of him. And he should believe it.

You look up into his ocean blue eyes you love so much just when your index finger is about to make contact with the metal, shining in all its glory.

He’s hesitant, you can see, but you keep your stare into his eyes, waiting desperately for his permission once again.

When he gives you a barely there nod after a good couple of seconds, you can’t help the soft smile appearing on your face.

He inhales sharply when you gently press your finger to one of his knuckles, making you look back up at him.

“Please be careful,” he pleads, making your heart clench in your chest. You don’t know why he asks you to be careful, what he’s afraid of. It’s not like his arm has a mind of its own. Maybe he is afraid it does, you can’t tell. Your smile widens just a little regardless, and you nod. “I will. I promise.”

You let yourself feel his hand for a moment, reveling in the feeling it gives you, not quite describable, not quite unfamiliar either. You’ve felt it before, sure, on your skin, squeezing your hips when he was buried in you, or caressing your leg when he let himself feel it for just a second before pulling away. But you’ve never held it before. He always keeps you on his other side, away from the arm, away from danger.

As you trace your finger on the metal, you are so focused on the reflection of your glow on his arm that it catches you off guard when he shivers beneath you, muttering a low curse under his breath.

Your voice is barely above a whisper when glance up from his hand. “What?”

He slightly shakes his head, looking as surprised as you are. His brows knit together as he gulps. “Nothing, I—“

He can’t finish his sentence when you move your finger again and his head tilts back just a little, leaving you stunned as you watch him clench his teeth.

Your voice is excited to say the least when you speak. “Can you feel that?”

He nods, looking at you with hooded eyes. A glossy sheen is covering his forehead, tiny droplets of sweat forming almost immediately.

For a second, you just stare at each other. Silence grows, as well as your excitement. “Do you… do you like it?”

He doesn’t answer for at least a minute, making you wait in anticipation. But you are patient with him, almost afraid that you’ll scare him off.

You get your answer when your finger involuntarily twitches after keeping it so still. His eyes flutter shut, and his voice is barely a whisper when he answers your question. “Fuck, yes sweetheart. Yeah, I do.”

You stare at his hand in marvel. “What does it feel like?”

“I don’t know,” he answers, breathless. “Not the same as you touch my other hand,” he pauses, watches you move your fingers on towards his wrist. “Sensitive,” he murmurs then. “But different, I don’t know. I can’t describe it. It just- it never felt like this before.”

You nod, your fingers not stopping their movements for one second. In no time, Bucky is panting underneath you.

Your mind is going thousands of miles per hour, countless very impure scenarios running through every inch of your brain when he murmurs, almost to himself, “You’re so warm.”

Maybe it feels different because of your powers, maybe it’s different because it’s you, you don’t know. But if you can make him feel good in any way that you can, you will take that chance, without a single doubt.

“Buck,” you say with your heart in your throat after your hips involuntarily twitches against him and he gasps, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He looks disheveled.

“Hm?”

“Do you think…” You pause, trying to decide whether or not this is a good idea. But the doubt leaves as soon as it appeared when you see the state he is in. Still, it all comes out in a rush, your cheeks turning a shade of pink. “Do you think you can… uh, you know? Just from this?”

You don’t think there has ever been a moment you have seen Bucky this dumbfounded before.

It doesn’t last long, though. The look on his face is quickly swapped with something different, something darker as you give him a tentative grind, the bulge in his briefs pressing so deliciously against your clothed core. “Sunny, do you know what you-“

“No,” you cut him off, a chuckle escaping you. “I really don’t.”

Your heart is racing, making you feel dizzy and disoriented but your focus never shifts from the man in front of you.

“I don’t know,” he answers your original question after what feels like an eternity. “I don’t know- maybe.”

Well, fuck me.

You have to remind yourself over and over again to stay calm, that this is about him and not you, as you continue moving your palm along his arm; only this time, pressing harder. Both your fingers and your hips.

You start rocking against him gently, and it’s almost like you can feel every nerve in your body waking up. Your one hand continues to move up and down on his metal arm, the other finding home in his hair. Your fingers tangle in the long strands, pulling just enough to make his already uneven breath stutter.

“You never really touch me with your metal hand,” you breathe out, his eyes, now dark blue, staring into yours with an intensity that can knock you out of your mind if you are not careful. “You don’t even hold my hand.”

“Doll,” he starts, but you shake your head.

“No,” you say, firm but still gentle, and press your hips just a little harder, making him hiss. “Do you think I can’t tell?”

“I need you to know, Bucky,” you continue when he doesn’t say anything. “I love you. Not just the good bits. All of you.”

He opens his mouth to say something when his eyes flutter and roll back, hips suddenly lifting up. “F-fuck, baby, you’re killing me.”

You smile, and an incoherent sound leaves his parted lips. Next thing you know, he’s pulling his arm from your hold, wrapping both of them around your waist in a way that makes your breath hitch. He is pressing to you so good, your hips barely needing to move to send pleasure waves through your body.

His voice is shaking when he whispers into your neck. “Closer.”

You don’t think you can get any closer than this.

His hands, both of them, find your hips, guiding you, making you move as he pleases and you are suddenly standing on that edge, ready to jump.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

BuckyBuckyBuckyBucky

“You feel me?” He asks you, and you almost laugh. Can you feel him? He is everywhere, all your senses conquered by him.

His lips brush that sweet spot on your neck every time he speaks, his breath tickling your skin, making you frantic in your movement, pressing into him more, your underwear basically nonexistent with the way it’s soaked through.

You nod.

“Yeah, you do. You feel what you do to me?”

Another nod.

Because you do. And he has to as well. It’s not just you, it’s him too. Every time he makes you come, every time he makes you breathe out his name into the darkness of the night, every time he takes your hand or wraps his arm around you, every time he so much as looks at your way, he undoes you. Then puts your pieces back together.

He has to know it. Feel it. So you ask him. “And do you feel what you do to me?”

He groans, lifting his head to look at you. “Yes.”

You nod, breathless, “Good. You better.”

A chuckle leaves his lips, and it makes you smile, like it always does. His hands are firmer around your hips, moving you on him as he likes, making your stomach clench and your breath stutter. “James,” you breathe. “Are you gonna come for me?”

His eyes squeeze shut, hands around your hips get impossibly tighter, although you know he isn’t even using the quarter of his strength. His voice is trembling when he manages an answer. “Fuck, doll. Yes. Yes, I am.”

His pull on you becomes more frantic, urgent, and you know he’s teetering on the edge right behind you.

Bucky’s jaw goes slack as he watches you fall apart with a silent cry, eyes never leaving your face until he pins you to him with a harsh pull, and lifts his hips before his head finds a home back in your neck, letting out a breathy moan.

You can feel the mess you both made, and maybe it should gross you out, but it doesn’t. Nothing about him does.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, his face buried in your neck, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers caressing his damp hair. But it takes a while for both of you to come down the high, breaths slowing down eventually.

Eventually, you find your voice again. “Are you okay?”

He huffs, and wraps his arms tighter around your waist if that’s even possible. “Yeah, baby. Are you?”

“Mhm.”

Another beat of silence passes.

“Do you wanna shower?” You ask, and he is so quick with his answer that it makes you bite back a laugh.

“Absolutely.”

You smirk, standing up and holding out your hand to him. “You are washing my hair.”

“When have I not?” He says, a small smile that makes your heart clench in your chest forming on his face. It’s all that matters. After everything he went through, everything they made him go through, you just want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy.

“And we can order food after?” You ask, looking over your shoulder to him, batting your eyelashes in a way that makes him look at you a bit longer than he usually does before the side of his mouth ticks up.

“Absolutely.”

You stop just outside the bathroom door, turning towards him, reaching for his other hand, the metal hand. “And you know I love you?”

He pauses. Pauses enough to make you sigh, drop his hands to hold his face between your palms. “I love everything about you. I will always love everything about you. Nothing you can say can change that. Got it?”

You watch as his jaw clenches, feel it inside your palms. You watch as his eyes look just a little more shiny than they should. “I will never hurt you, I swear.”

“I already told you. You could never hurt me, James,” you repeat, smiling at him as your fingers caressing the soft skin under his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers eventually, like he doesn’t trust his voice to not waver otherwise. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You shake your head before pressing a light kiss to his lips. “You just exist. And you are you. That’s enough, James.”

He is enough.

He is everything.

And maybe one day, you can make him believe it.

likes, reblogs and comments fuel me, love you all!

dividers by @cafekitsune <3

[povbarnes]

Sunshine.

Pairing: Post!CW!Bucky Barnes x Mutant!Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky has a nightmare, you help him forget.

Word Count: +4K

Warnings: +18, Slight angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-graphic description of violence, Bucky Barnes is miserable poor thing, Reader is utterly in love, but so is Bucky, Bucky calls reader Sunshine and Sunny because of her solar powers, Smut, Dry humping, that becomes not-so-dry after a while, Maybe improper use of the metal arm?, i’m not sure, No use of Y/N, Imk if i missed or forgot anything!

A/N: okay. here’s the thing. school’s been CRAZY and i couldn’t write anything for a loonnngg time, so this has been sitting in my drafts for ages. i genuinely love this one guys, and i would really like to explore Bucky and Sunshine’s (that’s you) relationship more, but for now, this is a one shot. if you guys like reading it as much as i loved writing it, i’ll probably write so much more for these two. oh and btw, MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN! send away! okayyy i’ll leave you to it now, enjoy <3

It is still pitch black outside when Bucky wakes up, panting from a nightmare that takes a good minute for him to snap out of, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

His eyes search around the room for something, anything that can cause danger other than himself, but finds nothing except your sleeping form peacefully laying by his side. Sight of you alone is enough to steady his racing heart a bit.

A deep exhale leaves his parted lips, and his eyes linger on the warm glow that surrounds your body, illuminating the dark room. “I’m like a bedside lamp,” you said once, giggling without knowing you were breathing life into him with every little laugh you let out.

He tries to let the warmth and light radiating from you to calm his mind, strip away the fears that his nightmares brought onto the surface, again.

The energy surrounding your body is still striking to him, amazes him each and every time. The way you actually glow even more so in the dark and give off a warmth that Bucky won’t even try explaining to himself, making you seem like an otherworldly being in his eyes even when he knows there are people, gods, with extraordinary abilities walking around the earth every day. Even with the feeling of the metal and the power that came with the serum just existing in his body. He still can’t believe you are real.

When you first told him your powers were related to solar energy, his initial thought was that you were able to absorb energy while the sun was up. He hadn’t learnt just how wrong he was until you started sleeping over at his room. No, you weren’t absorbing energy, you were basically that damn star personified. His little sunshine.

He looks at your sleeping figure, and he can be a selfish man when it comes to you, but not selfish enough to wake you up when you look as peaceful as you do in this moment. He will just get a glass of water and try to force himself back into the world of nightmares that he has to visit every night.

But you stir just as he starts to get up, your eyes blinking open, your glow faltering when you see him awake and leaving. He hates seeing it happen.

What he loves, is that your glow has a mind of its own, that it intensifies when you are happy or excited, it helps him in keeping you that way, always happy, always content.

He hates it when he sees it falter, lose its shine whenever you are feeling confused, upset or defeated. And he hates it more when he causes it, even if it’s for a moment.

“Buck?” Your voice is laced with sleep, and he quickly takes the one leg he took off the bed back. “Did you have a nightmare?”

He hates that this is now your reality too.

“Yes, baby,” he says, his hand finding your hair and running it through it slowly. Warmth fills his body immediately, and he can’t help the small smile forming on his face.

There’s no point in hiding anything from you as you can always tell, but he wants to. He wants to hide his past from you, his dreams, the person he was. He doesn’t want you near it, near any of it. Not his memories, not his nightmares, not the violence that seems to follow him wherever he goes. “Go back to sleep, I will too.”

“No,” you murmur, shaking your head slightly. You are getting up in an instant, sitting on the bed with your legs crossed. “I know you won’t be able to.”

Bucky wants to kick himself.

“Sunny, sweetheart, go back to sleep.” He knows you won’t.

You sigh, looking into his eyes for a couple of seconds before moving to place yourself on his lap, his hands automatically falling to your waist.

He is lightened by your glow, everything but the two of you swallowed by complete darkness. “What was it this time?”

He knew the question was coming, you asked it every time. And every time, he tells you he doesn’t remember. Usually, it’s a lie. A lie that you allow.

But tonight, he is so tired, so worn out by his own subconsciousness, a part of himself still feeling like he’s in the goddamn dream. Like he’s about to look into your lightless eyes any second.

The reminder sends a shiver up his spine, and he considers what to do as he looks into your warm eyes. With those same eyes’ ice cold versions playing in the back of his head, he decides he doesn’t have the energy to lie to you. At least not tonight.

“James?” You push, gently, and his head drops to your sternum, forehead resting there as he sighs. “I saw you.”

He feels you nod even though he can’t see it, and hears how your heart starts beating just a bit faster. You are probably surprised he even decided to tell you about it. “How did you see me?”

His face scrunches up, arms wrapping around you, trying to convince himself that that was a dream, and this is real. That you, are real.

“He got you,” he says, not specifying who. He doesn’t want any of their names lurking in your mind. He hates himself enough already that he’s even telling you about this. “He used you to get to me.”

You don’t say anything and he’s grateful for it, or maybe not. Because he isn’t sure if he could continue talking if you interrupted him right now, and he isn’t sure he knows which of the two options he wants to go through with.

“I was trying to get to you, and-“ His breath hitches, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck, holding him close to your pounding heart.

He tries to let the sound ground him to reality. To you.

“I was trying to save you, I- I swear. But suddenly, you were the one I was chasing.” He can feel how you clench your teeth, but you keep quiet.

“You ran like hell,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. A short, humorless laugh leaves his lips. He says the next words like it is the most ridiculous thing he ever had to say. “From me.”

Would you ever run from him like that? Would he ever give you a reason to? The thought so sickening to him that he needs to take a second to recollect himself.

“But you weren’t fast enough.” He pauses again, his heart squeezing in his chest as if it doesn’t want to keep on beating. He considers if he can physically go through this again to tell you the whole thing.

You are still silent, but he can sense you are expecting him to continue, so he does.

“I can still feel it around your neck,” he lets out, chocking around the words, forcing a deep breath through his nose. “The look in your eyes, the way you squirmed and pushed to get away from me.”

Your arms get tighter around his neck, pulling him impossibly close, contrary to how you tried to push him away from you in his dream.

He inhales your warm scent, you are everywhere, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. If he could stay like this forever, he fucking would, without moving even a single muscle.

“It was just a dream, baby,” you murmur after maybe a minute or two of processing his words, one of your hands moving to stroke his hair. “You won’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

You pull back to look at him, and he is met with your furrowed brows when your eyes find his. The way you pout at him almost makes him smile at your adorable face before it is replaced with the images of that same face looking up at him in horror and disappointment, the split second of ease he felt disappearing just as quickly as it appeared.

He tries to look away, but your fingers immediately find his chin to bring him back to you. “I do know it.”

“James,” you whisper cautiously when he doesn’t answer. He watches as your eyelids flutter for a split second before you take a shaky breath. “You could never hurt me.”

His head falls back down on your chest, breathing in your scent while trying to get rid of the images from his nightmare invading his head.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice gruff and laced with desperation. “You know that’s not true.”

He wants you to run. He wants you to get as far away from him as you can before he somehow gets you hurt. Because he knows it’s inevitable, he knows he ruins everything he touches, but he is too damn weak and selfish to let you go. So he needs you to go and never look back.

But you don’t.

Instead, you’re here, on his lap, hugging him like your life depends on it, running your fingers through his hair, occasionally scratching his scalp and making his eyes roll.

He doesn’t deserve you, but you are here and so goddamn stubborn, and he can’t seem to give you up.

A selfish, selfish man.

You take a deep breath, taking his head in your hands and moving so he’d look at you.

“Let me see?”

He frowns, his head tilting a little. “What?”

“Your hand,” you clarify. “I wanna see.”

Bucky’s heart sinks to his stomach. “Sunshine, what—“

“Please?”

You had never asked anything about his arm before, and he’s suddenly aware how he never talked about any of his bad and ugly with you. How he always just swiped it under the rug inside his head because it terrified him, and you were as graceful as you’ve always been to never ask. He knows you know, hell, the whole goddamn world knows, but maybe he liked pretending for a while. And you allowed it. Maybe you felt it was too early to ask or maybe you thought he would shatter in the palm of your hand if you did but you never asked, and it just crosses his mind that you might’ve not felt as comfortable around him as he thought you have. The thought shocks through him, leaving him startled, staring at you for a long moment.

He’s sure you can see how taken aback he is, yet you patiently wait for him to comply, not pushing him. At least not with your words.

He wants to say no, to be done with this subject before it even starts, but he never seems to be able to when you look at him as you do in this moment, all wide eyes and pouty lips, basically pulling his strings with the tips of your fingers. He knows it’s not about seeing the metal, but feeling it, and asking about it. Acknowledging it. Acknowledging what it represents, the things he went through. The things he did.

He doesn’t know how long he just stares at your face before he finds himself raising his arm between your bodies. “Move back a little for me, baby.”

You slide yourself down his legs, and his arm raises slowly between your bodies, your light making the silver shine, the look on your face shifting from anticipation to something Bucky dares to think looks almost like awe.

You move an inch closer which makes him stiffen immediately, but you don’t take your eyes off of his arm for even a second before you are reaching out to him, a hesitant hand slowly approaching him.

As soon as Bucky realizes you intend to touch him, he flinches so hard that your glow falters, looking up at him with eyes filled with worry. The room is swallowed by complete darkness for a moment before the light forms around your body again, and your face is back in his vision.

His voice is strained when he speaks. “What are you doing?”

Your answer comes in a hushed tone, and it’s not nearly enough convincing. “It’s okay, Bucky. You won’t hurt me.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ —

Your heart is beating as if it wants to break open your ribcage and hug the man sitting under you. You wonder if he hears it.

You reach for the metal in front of you again, this time more determined than before. He lets you, although he looks like he wants to throw you off of him and run without looking back once.

You have never pushed him like this, always cautious of his scars and vulnerabilities, but he deserves so much more than he gives himself credit for and you are past your limit of letting him drown in his enormous pool of self-hatred. He should know. He should know how much you appreciate every single part of him. And he should believe it.

You look up into his ocean blue eyes you love so much just when your index finger is about to make contact with the metal, shining in all its glory.

He’s hesitant, you can see, but you keep your stare into his eyes, waiting desperately for his permission once again.

When he gives you a barely there nod after a good couple of seconds, you can’t help the soft smile appearing on your face.

He inhales sharply when you gently press your finger to one of his knuckles, making you look back up at him.

“Please be careful,” he pleads, making your heart clench in your chest. You don’t know why he asks you to be careful, what he’s afraid of. It’s not like his arm has a mind of its own. Maybe he is afraid it does, you can’t tell. Your smile widens just a little regardless, and you nod. “I will. I promise.”

You let yourself feel his hand for a moment, reveling in the feeling it gives you, not quite describable, not quite unfamiliar either. You’ve felt it before, sure, on your skin, squeezing your hips when he was buried in you, or caressing your leg when he let himself feel it for just a second before pulling away. But you’ve never held it before. He always keeps you on his other side, away from the arm, away from danger.

As you trace your finger on the metal, you are so focused on the reflection of your glow on his arm that it catches you off guard when he shivers beneath you, muttering a low curse under his breath.

Your voice is barely above a whisper when glance up from his hand. “What?”

He slightly shakes his head, looking as surprised as you are. His brows knit together as he gulps. “Nothing, I—“

He can’t finish his sentence when you move your finger again and his head tilts back just a little, leaving you stunned as you watch him clench his teeth.

Your voice is excited to say the least when you speak. “Can you feel that?”

He nods, looking at you with hooded eyes. A glossy sheen is covering his forehead, tiny droplets of sweat forming almost immediately.

For a second, you just stare at each other. Silence grows, as well as your excitement. “Do you… do you like it?”

He doesn’t answer for at least a minute, making you wait in anticipation. But you are patient with him, almost afraid that you’ll scare him off.

You get your answer when your finger involuntarily twitches after keeping it so still. His eyes flutter shut, and his voice is barely a whisper when he answers your question. “Fuck, yes sweetheart. Yeah, I do.”

You stare at his hand in marvel. “What does it feel like?”

“I don’t know,” he answers, breathless. “Not the same as you touch my other hand,” he pauses, watches you move your fingers on towards his wrist. “Sensitive,” he murmurs then. “But different, I don’t know. I can’t describe it. It just- it never felt like this before.”

You nod, your fingers not stopping their movements for one second. In no time, Bucky is panting underneath you.

Your mind is going thousands of miles per hour, countless very impure scenarios running through every inch of your brain when he murmurs, almost to himself, “You’re so warm.”

Maybe it feels different because of your powers, maybe it’s different because it’s you, you don’t know. But if you can make him feel good in any way that you can, you will take that chance, without a single doubt.

“Buck,” you say with your heart in your throat after your hips involuntarily twitches against him and he gasps, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He looks disheveled.

“Hm?”

“Do you think…” You pause, trying to decide whether or not this is a good idea. But the doubt leaves as soon as it appeared when you see the state he is in. Still, it all comes out in a rush, your cheeks turning a shade of pink. “Do you think you can… uh, you know? Just from this?”

You don’t think there has ever been a moment you have seen Bucky this dumbfounded before.

It doesn’t last long, though. The look on his face is quickly swapped with something different, something darker as you give him a tentative grind, the bulge in his briefs pressing so deliciously against your clothed core. “Sunny, do you know what you-“

“No,” you cut him off, a chuckle escaping you. “I really don’t.”

Your heart is racing, making you feel dizzy and disoriented but your focus never shifts from the man in front of you.

“I don’t know,” he answers your original question after what feels like an eternity. “I don’t know- maybe.”

Well, fuck me.

You have to remind yourself over and over again to stay calm, that this is about him and not you, as you continue moving your palm along his arm; only this time, pressing harder. Both your fingers and your hips.

You start rocking against him gently, and it’s almost like you can feel every nerve in your body waking up. Your one hand continues to move up and down on his metal arm, the other finding home in his hair. Your fingers tangle in the long strands, pulling just enough to make his already uneven breath stutter.

“You never really touch me with your metal hand,” you breathe out, his eyes, now dark blue, staring into yours with an intensity that can knock you out of your mind if you are not careful. “You don’t even hold my hand.”

“Doll,” he starts, but you shake your head.

“No,” you say, firm but still gentle, and press your hips just a little harder, making him hiss. “Do you think I can’t tell?”

“I need you to know, Bucky,” you continue when he doesn’t say anything. “I love you. Not just the good bits. All of you.”

He opens his mouth to say something when his eyes flutter and roll back, hips suddenly lifting up. “F-fuck, baby, you’re killing me.”

You smile, and an incoherent sound leaves his parted lips. Next thing you know, he’s pulling his arm from your hold, wrapping both of them around your waist in a way that makes your breath hitch. He is pressing to you so good, your hips barely needing to move to send pleasure waves through your body.

His voice is shaking when he whispers into your neck. “Closer.”

You don’t think you can get any closer than this.

His hands, both of them, find your hips, guiding you, making you move as he pleases and you are suddenly standing on that edge, ready to jump.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

BuckyBuckyBuckyBucky

“You feel me?” He asks you, and you almost laugh. Can you feel him? He is everywhere, all your senses conquered by him.

His lips brush that sweet spot on your neck every time he speaks, his breath tickling your skin, making you frantic in your movement, pressing into him more, your underwear basically nonexistent with the way it’s soaked through.

You nod.

“Yeah, you do. You feel what you do to me?”

Another nod.

Because you do. And he has to as well. It’s not just you, it’s him too. Every time he makes you come, every time he makes you breathe out his name into the darkness of the night, every time he takes your hand or wraps his arm around you, every time he so much as looks at your way, he undoes you. Then puts your pieces back together.

He has to know it. Feel it. So you ask him. “And do you feel what you do to me?”

He groans, lifting his head to look at you. “Yes.”

You nod, breathless, “Good. You better.”

A chuckle leaves his lips, and it makes you smile, like it always does. His hands are firmer around your hips, moving you on him as he likes, making your stomach clench and your breath stutter. “James,” you breathe. “Are you gonna come for me?”

His eyes squeeze shut, hands around your hips get impossibly tighter, although you know he isn’t even using the quarter of his strength. His voice is trembling when he manages an answer. “Fuck, doll. Yes. Yes, I am.”

His pull on you becomes more frantic, urgent, and you know he’s teetering on the edge right behind you.

Bucky’s jaw goes slack as he watches you fall apart with a silent cry, eyes never leaving your face until he pins you to him with a harsh pull, and lifts his hips before his head finds a home back in your neck, letting out a breathy moan.

You can feel the mess you both made, and maybe it should gross you out, but it doesn’t. Nothing about him does.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, his face buried in your neck, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers caressing his damp hair. But it takes a while for both of you to come down the high, breaths slowing down eventually.

Eventually, you find your voice again. “Are you okay?”

He huffs, and wraps his arms tighter around your waist if that’s even possible. “Yeah, baby. Are you?”

“Mhm.”

Another beat of silence passes.

“Do you wanna shower?” You ask, and he is so quick with his answer that it makes you bite back a laugh.

“Absolutely.”

You smirk, standing up and holding out your hand to him. “You are washing my hair.”

“When have I not?” He says, a small smile that makes your heart clench in your chest forming on his face. It’s all that matters. After everything he went through, everything they made him go through, you just want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy.

“And we can order food after?” You ask, looking over your shoulder to him, batting your eyelashes in a way that makes him look at you a bit longer than he usually does before the side of his mouth ticks up.

“Absolutely.”

You stop just outside the bathroom door, turning towards him, reaching for his other hand, the metal hand. “And you know I love you?”

He pauses. Pauses enough to make you sigh, drop his hands to hold his face between your palms. “I love everything about you. I will always love everything about you. Nothing you can say can change that. Got it?”

You watch as his jaw clenches, feel it inside your palms. You watch as his eyes look just a little more shiny than they should. “I will never hurt you, I swear.”

“I already told you. You could never hurt me, James,” you repeat, smiling at him as your fingers caressing the soft skin under his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers eventually, like he doesn’t trust his voice to not waver otherwise. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You shake your head before pressing a light kiss to his lips. “You just exist. And you are you. That’s enough, James.”

He is enough.

He is everything.

And maybe one day, you can make him believe it.

likes, reblogs and comments fuel me, love you all!

dividers by @cafekitsune <3

[povbarnes]

"Did you know people are masturbating to your smut fics-- 🤢" I hope they get twice as wet as I did writing it, mind your fucking business.

[povbarnes]

Teaching Him to Use Modern Tech 📱

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Teaching Bucky how to use a smartphone was supposed to be a casual afternoon task… but no one told you he’d be this cute about it.

Genre: Fluff | Established Relationship | Clingy Bucky | Light Humor

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: Extremely fluffy content ahead! Protective!Bucky, clingy!Bucky, gentle teasing, mentions of technology confusion (lol), and Bucky being dangerously adorable.

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

“I swear this thing is plotting against me.”

You looked up from your coffee with a small smile, watching Bucky glare at his brand-new iPhone like it had personally offended him.

“It’s literally the home screen,” you said, laughing softly.

“It changed again!” he insisted, holding up the phone like a crime scene exhibit. “There were these square things and now they’re gone. What the hell is an ‘app switcher,’ doll?”

You scooted closer to him on the couch, grabbing the phone gently from his hand. “Okay, first of all—deep breath. We’re gonna tackle this together.”

Bucky huffed but leaned into your shoulder, clearly happy to let you take over. “This is why I miss the ’40s. You wanted to talk to someone? You showed up at their door. No ‘FaceTime,’ no ghosting, no—what’s it called when someone leaves you on ‘seen’?”

You bit back a grin. “That’s being left on read.”

“Right, well. That’s just rude.”

You giggled as he pouted. “Bucky Barnes, defending the lost art of eye contact since 1917.”

“Damn right,” he muttered.

You walked him through the basics — how to unlock the phone, open apps, and use emojis. (He was highly suspicious of the eggplant.)

“But why would anyone text that to someone?” he asked, squinting at the emoji.

You coughed, suddenly flustered. “Uh. Ask Steve.”

“I will,” he said, determined.

You shoved his shoulder playfully. “Please don’t.”

You weren’t expecting how naturally clingy he got during tech lessons.

Each time you leaned over to show him something on the screen, he’d tilt his head and rest his cheek on your shoulder, or casually wrap an arm around your waist like he needed you physically tethered to him to survive the tech jungle.

At one point, you were trying to teach him how to send a photo and he asked, completely serious:

“Okay, but how do I send one of you to myself? For…emergencies.”

You blinked. “Emergencies?”

“Like when I miss you,” he said simply, not even teasing.

Your heart did not handle that well.

It got even worse when you introduced him to voice notes.

You demonstrated how to hold the little microphone button and record.

“So now,” you said, “you can just say something, and I’ll hear your voice when I listen to it.”

He took the phone, stared at it, then at you. “Like this?”

He held down the button. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m probably sitting next to you while you play this, but if I’m not… I miss you. Come home.”

You stared at the screen. “That’s illegal. You can’t just—be adorable like that without warning.”

He smirked. “So I’m getting better at this, huh?”

You snatched the phone from him and buried your face in your hands. “You’re a menace.”

“A menace who figured out how to make playlists,” he said smugly, waving the phone. “Wanna hear the one I made you?”

Your face peeked out from your hands. “You made me a playlist?!”

He kissed your cheek. “Title: ‘Songs That Remind Me of Her (Even When She’s in the Same Room)’

You were gone.

——————————————-

Later that night, you caught him under the covers, squinting at the screen with his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“What are you doing?” you asked, brushing his hair back gently.

“Trying to figure out how to set a contact photo for you.”

You crawled into bed beside him. “You’re obsessed.”

“I’m in love,” he corrected, pulling you close. “Big difference.”

“Let me help,” you whispered, taking the phone.

He let you — mostly because your head rested on his chest while you did it, and he could feel your smile every time you laughed softly at his confusion.

You set his lock screen to a picture of you both at Coney Island, sun-drunk and windblown and laughing.

“There,” you said, placing it back in his hands. “Now I’m always with you.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment — just looked at the screen, then at you.

“I’ve had a lot of things taken from me,” he said softly. “But not this. Not you.”

You kissed him, long and slow and certain.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bucky.”

He nodded, burying his face in your neck. “You better not. I just figured out how to pin you in my texts.”

You laughed.

And maybe modern tech was confusing…

But teaching him had never felt more like home.

~ end

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

💌Author’s Note: okay listen… this might be my personal favourite fic i’ve ever written 😭💗

i was legit BLUSHING the entire time because bucky is just so adorable in this 😭🥺 it seriously touched my heart in the softest, fluffiest way.

this isn’t just a fic — it’s a serotonin boost, a comfort blanket, a little moment of peace 🕊️

if you smile while reading it even once, my job here is done 💌

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

[povbarnes]

people who write fics. how do you feel about comments on super old ones you wrote like 2+ years ago

[povbarnes]

this was so beautiful… i can already tell it’ll be something i reread pretty often😭🤍

I Think I Love You

pairing | fwb!bucky x new!avengers!reader

word count | 5.4k words

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

tags | Thunderbolts Spoilers??? I guess, tower fic, 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, obsessive!bucky, fem!reader, miscommunication, dumbasses in love, platonic!bob x reader

a/n | new acc, this was to cute to write. Enjoy! REQUESTS ARE OPEN

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

It was always like this.

His body above yours, surrounding you, drowning you in heat and hunger like you were oxygen to him. Like fucking you was the only way he knew how to breathe. Like if he didn’t bury himself inside you right now, he’d come apart at the seams.

Bucky kissed you like he was starving—mouth hot and bruising, tongue claiming yours with an edge of desperation that never quite dulled. His hands were everywhere, rough and sure, sliding under your tank, gripping your waist, dragging you beneath him like he was scared you’d vanish if he didn’t anchor you down.

You didn’t fight it. You never did.

Because this was the only version of him you could have—the one that came alive behind closed doors. The one who groaned your name like a curse when you kissed down his throat, who pulled your panties down with shaking hands, who slid into you with a sound like it hurt to finally be inside you.

“Fuck, doll,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, hips grinding into you deep and slow. “You always feel so fuckin’ good. You were made for me.”

God, it sounded like love. It always did.

His mouth found your neck again, biting gently, sucking bruises into your skin like a claim no one would ever see. And your hands clutched his back, nails digging in, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as you rocked your hips up to meet every thrust.

You wanted to believe this was real. That it meant something more. That the way he looked at you—eyes dark and blown wide, lips parted, breath ragged—wasn’t just lust.

But you knew better.

You’d agreed to this.

No feelings. No mess. Just heat and need and late nights tangled in sweat-soaked sheets.

Still, you craved it—him—in ways you couldn’t admit. Not even to yourself.

Bucky fucked you like you were a secret he couldn’t bear to keep. His metal hand gripped your thigh, forcing it higher around his hip, while his other tangled in your hair, tugging gently to expose your throat. He licked a stripe up your neck and groaned when you whimpered.

“Don’t hold back, baby,” he said, voice low and rough. “Wanna hear you.”

You moaned for him, because you always did.

And he gave you everything. Thrust after thrust, deep and controlled, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you from the inside out. Your bodies moved together like muscle memory—practiced, perfect.

You cried out when he hit that spot, again and again, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your orgasm built too fast to control. He felt it—knew it—and his grip tightened, pace faltering just slightly as he pressed harder, deeper.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growled. “Come on, give it to me.”

You shattered.

Your body seized around him, nails raking down his back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as pleasure tore through you in waves. And Bucky? He didn’t stop. He chased his own release through the pulsing grip of your cunt, moaning your name like a promise he’d never make aloud.

“Fuck—gonna come—shit, fuck—” he gasped, slamming into you once more before spilling inside with a groan so raw it made your chest ache.

He collapsed against you, face buried in your neck, his breath hot and ragged.

You held him, like you always did. Tangled in the afterglow, skin slick with sweat, hearts still racing. And for a moment, you let yourself pretend.

That maybe this time would be different.

That maybe he’d stay.

That maybe he'd roll off of you, cup your cheek, and tell you he couldn’t keep pretending this didn’t mean something.

But instead, he sighed. A soft, satisfied sound. Then rolled onto his back, pulling his arm behind his head.

He didn’t look at you.

He never did after.

You stared at the ceiling, heart pounding in your throat, your body warm and full and hollow all at once.

And all you could think was:

I want him to touch me like that in the daylight.

I want him to want me when we’re not naked.

But he didn’t. Or wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.

You weren’t sure which hurt more.

The kitchen in the tower was quiet, save for the soft clatter of a cutting board and the low simmer of something bubbling on the stove. You stood at the counter, knife in hand, carefully dicing onions while Bob sat beside you, his own cutting board a chaotic mess of uneven pepper slices and cucumber spears.

He was squinting at the vegetables like they’d wronged him personally.

“I swear,” he said, furrowing his brow as he tried to slice a tomato without completely demolishing it, “these things are out to get me. Slippery little bastards.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You don’t have to help, you know.”

“No, I want to. It’s… nice.” He shrugged. “Domestic. Also, I read somewhere it builds team trust or something. Shared food prep.”

You snorted. “Where’d you read that?”

“A Reddit thread about Dungeons & Dragons, actually.”

You laughed for real that time. “Of course.”

The smell of garlic and rosemary floated through the air. The oven clicked softly as it preheated. Outside the window, the sky was grey and moody—classic New York—but there was something warm about the kitchen. Safe. Familiar. Even with the quiet ache in your chest that you were pretending wasn’t there.

You kept chopping. So did he. Or tried to.

“Y’know,” Bob said after a beat, holding up a mutilated chunk of bell pepper, “I don’t think I’m ever gonna be a culinary genius. Might have to accept that my gifts lie elsewhere.”

“Like sitting on the couch and watching TV?”

“And comic relief,” he added proudly. “Two very underappreciated superpowers.”

You gave him a sidelong look, smirking. “You’re not wrong.”

He grinned. Then, more softly, “I like this, though. Being part of a team. Even if it’s weird sometimes. Even if people yell. Or punch through walls. Or if Alexei keeps pitching us matching uniforms with capes.”

You snorted again, setting down your knife. “He has been obsessed with that lately.”

“Right?” Bob said, picking at a cucumber slice. “But even with all the chaos, it’s good. I never really had this before. A group. People who give a damn. Who check in. It’s like… like being part of a weird, violent little family. And I know I’m not the most… stable, but I feel like—like I’m seen. Cared for. Loved, even. Not in the romantic sense—though Walker did call me ‘acceptable’ once, which I’m counting as progress.”

You laughed softly again—but it was different this time. Quieter. Shorter.

Bob didn’t seem to notice.

He kept talking, absently stacking pepper pieces into a leaning tower. “I don’t know. It just hit me earlier when Alexei dragged me to look at fabric swatches, and he was complaining about the thread count like we were planning a wedding. I was like… this is insane. But also—this is nice. Like I matter. Like I belong.”

The sting started slow. So faint you barely noticed it at first.

A tightness behind your eyes. A pull at the corners of your mouth. Something twisting low in your stomach like a warning bell you were trying very hard to ignore.

Bob looked over at you with an easy smile, still speaking, voice gentler now. “I guess I just wanted to say… I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I get to be around people who give a damn. That’s why I love being on this team.”

And just like that—it cracked.

The sting sharpened. The pressure behind your eyes pulsed hot, and your throat closed up around the sudden, suffocating weight of it.

Because all you could think was:

God, I want that too.

To feel loved. Chosen. Not just useful when someone needed to blow off steam. Not just fucked behind closed doors and forgotten in the light of day.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard, forcing yourself to blink fast, to keep your head down, to move your hands like nothing was wrong. But the tears came anyway—silent, slow, slipping down your cheeks before you could stop them.

You tried to wipe them away subtly, turning toward the sink, pretending to rinse your hands. But it wasn’t subtle enough.

“Whoa—oh no,” Bob said, his eyes going wide. “Did I—did I say something wrong?”

You shook your head quickly, facing away. “No. No, it’s not you. I swear.”

He stood up beside you, hovering awkwardly, clearly panicking. “Is it the peppers? I knew I was butchering them. I knew they looked sad but I didn’t think they were tear-worthy—”

A shaky laugh broke out of you, even as you tried to wipe your face. “Bob, no. Stop. It’s not your fault.”

He hesitated, frowning deeply, hands fidgeting at his sides. “Is it—do you want me to go? I didn’t mean to mess anything up—”

You turned to him, eyes red, cheeks wet, and smiled—small and painful.

“I just… needed to hear that,” you said softly. “What you said. About being seen. Cared for. Loved.”

Bob’s face softened immediately. “Oh. Oh. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“No,” you said again, shaking your head, voice barely a whisper now. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He reached out, then hesitated, then finally rested a hand gently on your hand. “For what it’s worth… I think whoever’s making you feel like you’re not those things is an idiot.”

You gave him a wobbly smile, another tear slipping free. “Yeah.”

Bob didn’t ask more. He didn’t need to. And you were grateful for that.

Instead, he just stood with you in the quiet hum of the kitchen, as the smell of dinner simmered in the background and the sky outside darkened to evening.

And all you could think—over and over—was:

I can’t do this anymore.

The second the quinjet touched down, Bucky unbuckled and stood, impatient fingers already tugging off his gloves. He barely registered Yelenas's debrief, or the way Ava elbowed him and muttered something about getting sleep for once. He just nodded and walked out, barely hearing her call after him.

He didn’t want sleep.

He wanted you.

He’d been thinking about you the entire mission. About the way you always curled up on the couch when you thought no one was watching. The way you’d made blueberry muffins the morning before they left and snuck him one while everyone else was busy fighting over the coffee machine. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled—just for him.

No one had to know.

No one did know.

And that made it easier to pretend this wasn’t killing him.

That this wasn’t something he wanted every damn day.

He reached your hallway before he even realized how fast he’d been walking. It was late—11:07 by the glowing red digits on the hallway clock. Most of the tower was asleep. But your light was still on.

He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders back, nerves flaring. He always got like this before seeing you. Like some teenager with a crush instead of a 100-year-old ex-assassin who’d watched entire countries fall.

But you made him feel… different. Human.

He raised his hand and knocked, soft and firm.

And then the door opened—and there you were.

A soft lime green nightgown hugged your body in a way that made his breath catch. It clung to your curves, all sleepy and ethereal and warm, and for a second, all he could do was look at you.

His chest ached.

God, you were beautiful.

He didn’t wait. He didn’t think. He reached out, cupping your face in both hands, drawing you in like a man starved for warmth and memory. His lips found yours—soft, reverent, desperate. He kissed you like you were the last safe thing he had.

And then your hands pressed against his chest.

Not pulling him closer.

Pushing him away.

He pulled back, blinking. His brows knit together. “What’s wrong?”

You looked up at him, eyes already glossy, mouth parted like the words hurt too much to say. “Bucky… we need to stop.”

His stomach dropped.

The hallway suddenly felt ice cold.

“What?” His voice cracked, quiet and rough. “What do you mean?”

You looked down, fingers curling into the fabric of your nightgown, and stepped back just slightly. “What we’ve been doing… this… it needs to end.”

It hit him like a punch to the ribs. All the breath knocked from his lungs.

“I—I don’t understand,” he said. “Did I do something? Say something? If I—”

“No,” you cut in gently, and it broke him how kind your voice still was. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why?” He was still holding your gaze, desperate. “Is it… is it someone else?”

You hesitated.

That was enough of an answer.

You nodded once. “I’ve… met someone. And this would complicate things.”

The lie hung between you like smoke. Fragile. Choking.

Bucky swallowed hard. His hands had dropped to his sides, and he clenched them into fists before forcing them open again. He was trying to stay calm. He had no right to be angry. You weren’t his.

You’d never been his.

But still, the ache that bloomed in his chest was unbearable. His heart was thundering, cracking in real time as he stared at you, unblinking.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you that no one could touch you the way he could. That no one could possibly know you the way he did. He wanted to grab you, beg you not to leave him in the dark again.

But he didn’t.

Because you deserved better than that.

You always had.

He cleared his throat, voice suddenly hoarse and distant. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

You blinked at him, a flicker of pain crossing your face. Then you leaned in, so gently it almost made him flinch, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Soft. Final.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

You stepped back inside your room.

And the door closed.

He stood there for a long time.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Just stared at the closed door like he could will it to open again. Like maybe if he stayed still long enough, this wouldn’t be real.

But it was.

And all he could think was:

You found someone else.

You—the one person who made him feel like maybe he wasn’t ruined. Who baked for the team. Who held him after nightmares without asking questions. Who looked at him like he wasn’t just the Winter Soldier, or some washed-up relic, or some broken man with too much blood on his hands.

You looked at him like he was worth something.

And now you were gone.

He backed away slowly, footsteps hollow against the corridor floor, heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out.

It was just supposed to be sex.

It was never supposed to hurt like this.

It started small.

You weren’t avoiding Bucky—not outright. But you were pulling away, and he felt it in every single subtle shift like a blade under the skin.

No more soft smiles in the hallway.

No more plates quietly set in front of him when you made dinner.

You still said “hey” in passing, still nodded when he entered the room, still asked if he wanted coffee when the whole team was around—but your eyes didn’t linger anymore. You didn’t touch him. You didn’t look at him the same way.

And that quiet, gentle retreat was worse than a clean break.

Because it gave him just enough to hope. And not enough to hold.

It drove him mad.

He tried to play it cool. Tried to remind himself that you’d made your choice—that you’d moved on. That there was someone else. But the words haunted him like a ghost he couldn’t punch, couldn’t outpace.

Who the fuck was he?

Where did you meet him?

Was he better than Bucky? Was that it?

Was he stable, normal, sweet? Did he hold you in the morning, trace your spine with soft fingers, kiss your forehead and mean it?

The thoughts ran wild in his mind like wildfire. And soon, it stopped being curiosity. It became need. Obsessive. All-consuming.

He started watching. Not you—he couldn’t stomach how far away you already felt. No, he watched everyone else.

Was it someone on the team?

Someone new?

Someone from missions? The tower? That goddamn bar you liked downtown?

He noticed every time you laughed at someone else’s joke. Every time you left a room too quickly. Every time your phone lit up and your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was driving him insane.

And it didn’t take long before he cracked.

──────────────────

“Seen her with anyone lately?”

Ava didn’t look up from the security feed she was reviewing. “What?”

He cleared his throat, leaned against the console like this wasn’t eating him alive. “Y’know. She’s been… out more. Wondered if you’d noticed her with someone.”

Ava gave him a look that said you have five seconds before I tear this conversation apart with a crowbar. “She’s not a suspect, Barnes.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean it like that. Just—wondered.”

She paused. “You checking up on her?”

He shrugged. “Just being observant.”

“Then observe your own damn lane,” she muttered, turning back to her screen. “She’s allowed to have a life.”

──────────────────

The next day, he tried John.

“Any idea who she’s been seeing?”

Walker blinked at him, halfway through microwaving a bowl of instant mac and cheese in the lounge. “She told you she’s seeing someone?”

“Yeah.”

John stirred his pasta slowly. “Huh.”

Bucky waited.

John shrugged. “I mean, good for her, I guess.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “That’s not helpful.”

“Neither is asking around like a jealous ex.” He looked up. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky snapped.

John gave him a long look, then went back to his mac and cheese.

──────────────────

Yelena was less gentle.

“Are you drunk?” she asked, one eyebrow raised as she watched him pace the kitchen while you chatted with Bob across the room.

“No.”

“Then you sound like a madman.” She sipped her tea. “You are obsessed.”

“I’m just—”

“You had her,” she interrupted, calm and sharp as a knife. “You had her when it counted. And now you’re circling like a lonely wolf because someone else has her?”

“You knew about us?“

“I am a literal spy, Bucky.”

“I just don’t know who it is.”

“You’re not entitled to know,” she said simply, and walked away.

──────────────────

Alexei was worse.

“She has mystery man, huh?” he said, delighted, cracking open a beer like they were old pals trading war stories. “Ah, young love! Reminds me of my fourth love—no, fifth. It was confusing time. She had beautiful thighs. We met during a snowstorm, and she carried me to safety like bear.”

Bucky stared at him, hollow-eyed.

Alexei clapped a massive hand on his shoulder. “You cannot compete with new love, my friend. It is fire. It is danger. But! Sometimes fire burns out. And when it does, you be there with flowers. Or your shirt off. Both work.”

Bucky did not thank him.

──────────────────

And then there was Bob.

Goddamn Bob.

Bucky cornered him while he was grabbing cookies from the kitchen. Big mistake number two. He tried to sound as casual as possible.

“So, uh. You and her hang out sometimes, right?”

Bob blinked, brow furrowing. “Uh… yeah? She’s awesome.”

“She’s been acting different. With me.”

Bob fidgeted, clutching a cookie like a shield. “I mean, she’s been normal with me. Maybe a little sad? But also like, really pretty. But she’s always pretty, so that’s—uh—not relevant.”

Bucky stepped closer. Bob stepped back, hitting the counter.

“I was joking, Bucky. Please don’t punch me.”

Bucky took a deep breath, backed off. “Sorry.”

He didn’t mean to scare him.

He just couldn’t take it anymore.

──────────────────

It didn’t help. None of it did.

Because no one knew—or if they did, they weren’t telling.

And every time he saw you, something inside him twisted.

The way you laughed with Ava over your shared playlist. The way you sat on the arm of the couch next to John during a debrief. The way you ruffled Bob’s hair like a big sister, patient and teasing.

He saw you with everyone.

And he didn’t know which of them you were fucking.

Which of them made you smile when you looked at your phone.

Which of them got to hold you the way he used to—like you were theirs.

And it was killing him.

He started losing sleep. His nights were spent pacing his room, replaying every kiss, every laugh, every small moment with you. He couldn’t go to the kitchen without thinking of you cooking in it. Couldn’t walk by your room without hearing your voice.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t stopped wanting you.

Not for a second.

But he hadn’t thought he deserved you.

He’d told himself it was better this way. That he couldn’t be what you needed. That he was too broken, too guarded, too haunted.

He didn’t want to drag you into his shadows.

But now you were in someone else’s light.

And Bucky Barnes—super soldier, ex-Winter Soldier, world-class killer—was unraveling.

One glance. One silence. One laugh that wasn’t his to earn.

At a time.

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks since that night at your door. Since you told him you were seeing someone. Since your lips brushed his cheek like a goodbye that had already been decided, like the end of a story he hadn’t realized was even being written.

And still—no one.

Not a name. Not a face. Not even a damn clue.

No late-night laughter through thin walls. No footsteps sneaking down hallways. No signs of you sneaking off to a date. You still had the same quiet routines. The same soft smile when Bob told one of his nervous jokes. The same stretch in the mornings when you walked into the kitchen with sleepy eyes and socks that didn’t match.

But different.

He still watched you.

Not like before—when he’d admire the slope of your shoulders, the way your nose scrunched when you were concentrating, or how your hands always smelled faintly like vanilla and cinnamon. No, now he watched you with something closer to desperation.

He was trying to catch you.

Catch you in a lie. Catch you with him. The one who apparently meant enough to end everything you and Bucky had.

But nothing ever happened.

Instead, he saw things that confused him more.

You started going out on your own more often—midday errands, little walks, solo grocery runs even though there was food delivery and team shoppers. And he followed once.

Not to spy, he told himself.

Just to know.

You walked into a bookstore first. Wandered the aisles slowly. Bought two paperbacks and left without speaking to anyone. Then you stopped by a florist—picked out a single bouquet of fresh lilies, something subtle and quiet.

He expected you to deliver it to someone.

But instead, you brought it back to the tower and placed it on the dining table. Just something to brighten the space, like you always did.

You went to the park next. Sat on a bench. Ate a pastry. Fed the ducks.

Alone.

He watched from across the street, feeling something cold settle in his chest.

When you returned, he waited a few hours before asking Yelena—casually, as he always did, which fooled absolutely no one anymore.

“You know where she went today?”

Yelena raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “She went to clear her head. Like normal people.”

“Not with anyone?”

“Do you think she is incapable of being alone? Because that says more about you, Barnes.”

He didn’t answer.

He stopped asking questions after that.

Because it was dawning on him—slowly, painfully, in pieces—that there was no “someone else.” There never had been.

You hadn’t lied to hurt him. You’d lied to protect yourself.

And he had made you feel like you had to.

The thought made him sick.

He started noticing more, then—not just your absence, but the echo of what used to be. How you still made muffins for the team on Mondays. How you always passed out Advil after training. How you left soft music playing in the kitchen while cooking like you didn’t know anyone was listening. How you still took care of everyone except yourself.

He noticed how tired you looked sometimes. How your smile faltered when no one was looking. How your laugh had a hollow note now—like it had to fight its way out.

He noticed how you stopped meeting his eyes entirely.

And he finally asked himself what he had been to you.

Not just the sex. Not just the soft groans in the dark or the way your body curved into his like you were made for him.

But the mornings.

The muffins.

The hand you placed on his back after nightmares.

The way you listened when no one else could see he was slipping.

The way you waited—patient, hopeful—for something more from him.

And he hadn’t given it.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he thought he couldn’t.

He had told himself he wasn’t ready. That he was too broken. That he would only ruin something good and pure if he touched it too deeply. But the truth was, he’d already touched it. You had given him your heart in small, quiet ways, and he hadn’t even noticed until it was gone.

And now you were hurting, silently, because of him. Because you’d fallen for someone who told you not to. And he’d let you think he didn’t feel the same.

Until now.

He couldn’t sit still.

He’d tried. For two days. Two full fucking days since the realization broke through him like a goddamn lightning strike—and he’d tried to be patient. Tried to breathe. Tried to think.

But he wasn’t thinking anymore.

He was moving.

Searching.

Every room. Every hallway. The kitchen, the gym, your room—empty. He was spinning, chest tight, mouth dry, pacing like an addict itching for a fix, until finally—

Laughter.

The living room.

His boots hit the floor fast. He rounded the corner and stopped.

You were there. On the couch.

You, Bob, and Yelena.

Golden Girls was playing—Dorothy mid-quip, the volume just low enough to keep conversation alive. You were laughing, body relaxed, tucked into the corner with a blanket over your legs and a mug in your hand.

And he didn’t hesitate.

He walked straight in. Right past Bob’s curious look. Right past Yelena’s raised brow.

Straight to you.

You looked up immediately, your smile faltering when you saw his face. The tension in his shoulders. The storm in his eyes.

“Bucky?” you asked, sitting up. “Are you okay—?”

“I think I love you.”

It spilled out of him like it had been waiting behind his teeth for weeks.

You blinked.

Bob’s mouth dropped open mid-sip.

Yelena turned fully toward him, brows lifted to her hairline.

He didn’t care.

“No—” Bucky swallowed hard. “No, that’s not right. I know I love you.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly. Stunned.

Bucky’s heart pounded against his ribs, chest tight and burning. “I know it’s not the way I should’ve told you. And I know I don’t—fuck, I don’t deserve to say it after everything I didn’t say before. But I need you to hear me now.”

You still didn’t say anything. Just stared.

Then your hand twitched. Slid to your opposite arm.

And you started pinching your skin.

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “What… what are you doing?”

Your voice was breathy, soft. “Trying to wake up.”

“What?”

“I’m pinching myself,” you said, barely louder than a whisper. “Trying to wake up. Because there’s no way this is actually happening.”

Bucky felt something in him break.

He took a shaky breath, stepping closer, dropping to his knees in front of you. His voice was rough but steady now.

“It’s real. I swear to you, it’s real.”

You stared at him like he was a ghost. Like he wasn’t allowed to be saying this.

“I’ve been losing my mind,” he continued, voice cracking slightly. “Thinking there was someone else. Trying to believe you’d moved on because it was easier than facing the truth.”

You swallowed hard, but didn’t speak.

“And the truth is—I was scared.” He laughed, humorless, shaking his head. “I thought I wasn’t enough. That I’d mess it up. That I couldn’t give you what you deserve.”

He looked up at you now, eyes wide, glassy.

“But then I realized… you are what I deserve. You’re everything. You’re the reason this damn place feels like home. You cook for us even when no one thanks you. You remember everyone’s coffee orders. You make playlists for Bob and knit Ava a goddamn scarf even though she acts like she doesn’t care. You bake when you’re anxious, and I fucking love when you bake. You hum when you clean. You take care of everyone and let yourself break when no one’s looking.”

He reached up, brushing your arm where you’d been pinching.

“And I didn’t see it. Not really. Not until it was too late.”

A beat.

Then, softly—“But maybe it’s not too late.”

Yelena had stopped breathing. Bob looked like he might cry. But none of them mattered right now.

Just you.

Bucky’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you. And I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out. But I know it now. And I’m not running from it anymore.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Just looked down at him.

And your eyes… your eyes were full.

You couldn’t breathe.

He was on his knees in front of you, staring up with those wide, heartbreak-blue eyes, his voice still echoing in your ears like a song you hadn’t heard in years but somehow still knew all the words to.

I love you.

And now he was waiting—watching—like his whole world depended on what you were going to say next.

Your throat felt thick. Your heart was pounding so hard you were surprised no one else could hear it. You blinked fast, trying to keep your vision clear, but the tears were already threatening to fall.

You stared at him for a long moment, lips trembling, and whispered, “Promise me this isn’t a dream.”

Bucky’s breath caught. He reached up, brushing your cheek so gently it made your chest ache. “It’s not,” he said, voice wrecked. “It’s not, baby. I swear.”

And then you saw the moment he broke.

The last thread of restraint snapped, and suddenly he was rising—leaning in, closing the space between you before you could even think.

His lips met yours, soft and trembling at first—almost reverent—then deeper, hungrier, like he couldn’t bear to hold back another second. You gasped into his mouth, one hand flying to his jaw, the other looping around his neck, pulling him in like you were afraid he might vanish.

He groaned against you, like the sound of your mouth opening for him undid something inside him.

And then he climbed onto the couch, practically on top of you, bracing one knee beside your hip as he leaned down, his hands burying themselves in your hair. Your back hit the cushions, breath caught in your throat, and the world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the feel of his body pressed into yours, the desperate, perfect weight of him finally, finally there.

His thumb stroked the line of your jaw as he kissed you again, deeper now, and you let yourself sink into it. Into him.

Until—

“…Guys?” Yelena’s voice cut in, dry and deeply unimpressed. “We are still here.”

You froze.

Bucky pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead to yours, his lips still hovering over yours, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run ten miles. You were both breathless, giddy, flushed.

“I forgot they were here,” you whispered, blinking up at him.

“Me too,” he said, smiling against your cheek.

From the other end of the couch, Bob cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Sooo… should we leave now?”

“No,” Yelena snapped immediately. “We were here first. This was very sweet two minutes ago, and now it’s making me deeply uncomfortable.”

You laughed into Bucky’s shoulder, muffling the sound.

He just chuckled and kissed your temple before whispering, “Still not a dream, I swear.”

You smiled up at him, and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like something you had to fake.

It felt real.

Because it was.

[povbarnes]

oh i GASPED. this was so good, my god…😵‍💫

 Thick Arms, Slow Grind

Title: Thick Arms, Slow Grind Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count:  513 words (drabble)

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, missionary sex, penetrative sex, overstimulation, sweaty/grimy intensity, filthy dirty talk, size kink, Bucky’s arms/biceps obsession, praise kink, soft possessive dominance, prolonged grinding… Wrote at work today after the group chat talk while I was on the train… A/N: For my Beefy!Bucky hoes

You were already trembling.

Legs bent high and braced against his thick waist, your calves pressed to his ribs as he loomed over you. His forearms planted beside your head, massive and flexing with every shift, caging you in, framing your face like a promise. The mattress barely registered beneath you. All you could feel was him: the salt of sweat, the leather of his scent and sin pressed into every inch of your skin.

Bucky didn’t stop. Didn’t ease up. Didn’t even slow down.

He fucked you like he meant it, chest pressed to yours, grunting low as he rolled his hips, grinding in deep. Long, dragging thrusts that pulled moans straight out of your throat. He rocked into you like his life depended on it- elbows tucked beside your head, the weight of him smothering, suffocating, perfect.

And those arms. God.

Biceps thick and hard as carved stone, flexing with every slow, devastating push. You could barely wrap both hands around one, fingers slipping on sweat-slicked skin as you gasped his name, barely holding on. Every inch of him was over you, under you, around you, inside you. Each stroke a full-body drag, the head of his cock hitting so deep it nearly hurt before pulling back with maddening control.

You’d already lost count of how many times you’d come.

Didn’t matter. He hadn’t.

“Oh, just like that, doll,” Bucky groaned, lips dragging over your jaw, forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck- yeah, squeeze me, pretty girl, that’s it- c’mon, again for me.”

You shook your head weakly, hips twitching as he ground up, buried to the hilt. “Bucky- I can’t-”

“You will,” he growled, a grin slicing through his stubble as he shifted his weight, pinning your hips with his. “You got more in ya Doll, I know you do. Look at me.”

You blinked up at him, dazed and wrecked, lashes damp with tears. His blue eyes blazed back, so close they blurred, lips swollen, teeth flashing when he kissed you again, messy, biting.

“That’s it. Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered between kisses, lips brushing yours when he talked. “Takin’ me s'good. You feel that? How deep I am, huh? Ain’t nobody ever gonna get in this deep but me.”

You whined helpless, overwhelmed, the thick, brutal grind of him nudging something that sent heat ripping through your belly.

“God, you make such pretty sounds when I break you open like this,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Love watchin’ your face while I fuck the fight right outta you.”

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, nails biting into muscle as the burn built again- sharp, white, rising fast.

“There she is,” he groaned, hips stuttering as he felt it- your body fluttering around him, so wet, so fucked-out you could hardly breathe. “Yeah, baby. Gimme another. Be my good girl, come on, come again.”

You shattered with a sob, buried beneath him.

And Bucky all sweaty, smirking, still so hard, just kissed your temple and slowly pulled back, only to push himself back in.

“Not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

[povbarnes]

OH MY GOD!!!!

this was SO cute. i was cheesing all the way through😭💙

5 Times You Are Not Dating Bucky Barnes (and the one time you are) | Bucky Barnes x Reader | One shot - 2.6k words |

You're sick of saying it, Bucky is not your boyfriend, you are not dating you're just friends. Until...

Warnings: 18+ for some canon typical violence and for Sam and Joaquin being pains in the arse (affectionate). Friends to lovers vibes, idiots in love, dating but not dating.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

1

Bucky Barnes is not your boyfriend.

At least once a day these words come out of your mouth in some form and it's becoming so frequent now that you're considering just recording yourself and playing it back on your phone.

Colleagues, partners in the field, friends.

Not a couple.

Not dating.

"Did you hear that, Wilson? She said —"

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

Sam rolled his eyes at Bucky, sighing dramatically in a way that only Sam is really allowed to get away with. Bucky hadn't taken his eyes from your laptop screen or the secure file you were scrolling through.

"Look awful close though."

You looked up this time, the top of your head brushing Bucky's cheek, his breath was warm against your own and the contrast between his exhale and the cold glass of the table gave you goosebumps.

"We're reviewing the data Joaquin sent us, what do you want us to do?" You snapped, scrolling to the next page of mind numbingly boring KPIs and MIs. Just your luck to get the management files and nothing juicy.

"Perhaps you could use the projector?" Sam clicked a button on the table and the details on your screen lit up the plain, white wall of the conference room.

Embarrassed heat flared up your spine and you shivered.

"Not very secure though, is it, Captain?" Bucky picked up the remote and switched the projector off, his eyes on the laptop screen.

The plastic of your chair squeaked as he tightened his hold on it, and the door slammed shut behind Sam.

2

You followed your nose from the cool darkness of the operations room to the open living area. Tedious as it was to be stationed in the middle of nowhere for recon, you couldn't fault the accommodation, it was almost like being on holiday, apart from the gruelling shifts staring at monitors every day.

Somewhere further along the corridor the sound of good-natured arguing grew louder, Bucky's voice rising above the others and warning them not to disturb you. There was a brief pause before you heard Sam and Joaquin start laughing and Bucky's heavy sigh.

"Morning," you gave a small sleepy smile to the assembled team. Joaquin smiled back, raising his coffee cup in greeting. Sam grinned and you knew instantly that there was something going on. "What now?" You sighed, sending both men in to fits of laughter.

Bucky handed you a cup of tea and bowl of yogurt and granola, a handful of blueberries and raspberries on top.

"Thanks, I'm starving." You bumped his hip as you wandered past to join your teammates at the kitchen island and earned yourself a rare smile.

"What've you got there?" Sam asked, peering into your bowl.

"Usual," you mumbled, sipping your tea. Perfect.

"Uh huh, the usual." He looked up at Bucky, whose face was slowly turning the same colour as the raspberries.

"Can I have some yoghurt, Bucky?" Joaquin asked, innocently.

"Nope." Bucky said, watching you take the first bite and allowing the corner of his mouth to turn up in a smile when yours did.

"Oh, did we run out?"

"Nope."

Bucky put the almost full pot back into the fridge, fixed his coffee and sat down too, shuffling his stool a little closer to you. His hair was still a little damp and you could smell the familiar scent of his shampoo, his bare arm bumping against yours as he took a sip of coffee.

Sam and Joaquin emptied out the last of their coffees into the sink and slunk away, whispering and laughing conspiratorially about "special treatment for girlfriends."

Bucky was, as usual, ignoring them and flipping through a week old newspaper and sipping his coffee. He caught you watching and gave you a mock glare, nothing like the hard stare he'd given Sam and Joaquín earlier.

Then he turned the pages slightly so you could see and you let your head rest on his shoulder, still sipping your tea.

3

"I'm sorry, okay, please stop giving me the cold shoulder." Sam followed after you as you picked your way back to the jet, trying to catch up so you could walk together.

"Absolutely not, I want to be angry for at least two more hours." You grouched, squeezing water from your tactical gear.

"C'mon, it's a little funny," Joaquin laughed, taking up space on your other side.

"Fuck off, Torres, if you had fish swimming in your tac suit you'd be mad too. "

Bucky met you at the cargo door, towel in hand and glaring at your team mates.

"Hell happened to you lot? And why are there fish in your suit?" He scanned you all quickly for serious damage, but it was just your ego that was bruised really.

"Someone, told me it was totally safe to cross this rickety fucking bridge back there," you scowled again.

It really wasn't Sam's fault, it looked perfectly safe or you wouldn't have started to cross, but it was clearly rigged to fall and that's exactly what you'd done, straight into the stagnant water below.

In their gear Sam and Joaquin had been fine. You, on the other hand, had been soaked from head to toe.

"Let's get you in something clean and dry," Bucky gently ushered you into the cool darkness of the jet, soothing your embarrassment with his own stories and wiping mud from the back of your neck as if it was an everyday occurrence.

"I don't think there's anything left in my locker after we got caught in that storm a few weeks back." Embarrassment made your skin itchy and your blood cold. You had spare underwear, maybe, at best.

"Don't worry," Bucky put his back to the door of the small bathroom while you stripped off your dirty clothes inside, "I've got something."

When you reappeared fifteen minutes later, cleaner, dryer, it was in a pair of Bucky's spare sweat pants and the black t-shirt he'd been wearing.

Joaquin raised his eyes but made the decision not to comment and incur your wrath any further.

Sam, on the other hand, chose to tease Bucky instead, their arguing bouncing around the jet while you tried to get comfy on the thin flight seats.

"Got your territory all marked then, Barnes?" He laughed, eyes darting between the two of you.

"Don't know what you're on about, Wilson." Bucky snapped back.

"She's in your clothes, couldn't find any spares? Nothing of mine of Joaquin's back there? You're getting more possessive." Sam shot you a look, "you need to tell him to fuck off."

"I'm good, Sam, thanks for your concern."

"Ahh so you are —"

"We're not dating!" You shouted in unison.

Which only made Sam and Joaquín laugh harder.

It was okay though, you were safe again now and, snuggling deeper into the body warmth of Bucky's t-shirt and definitely a lot less angry than you had been, you really felt safe too. How could you feel any other kind of way, when you could smell his body wash, when he had dried your face so carefully and helped you into your clean clothes.

He looked over at you, eyes still checking for injuries.

"You okay over there? Warm enough?" You nodded and he nodded back, smiling.

4

Joaquin woke with a jolt when the plane hit turbulence, there was a crick in his neck and a sore muscle in his back screaming for a soft bed and his favourite pillow. But no such luck, just an army evac in the dead of night.

Beside him Sam had spread out a blanket and his jacket on the floor, using his rucksack as a pillow and snoring soundly. He could always sleep anywhere, you all could, especially after the day you'd had.

Bucky had taken up a spot sat on the floor like Sam, but with his back to the thin benches, his pack holding up his head. In the gloom he could see Bucky's left arm rigidly holding his body up, elbow locked, because on the right you were leaning into him. His arm was around your shoulders and you'd curled your body into his, pressing into his side, face tucked into his neck and hand under his shirt.

The plane rattled again and Bucky blinked one eye open, his body still as he scanned around quickly before locking eyes with Joaquin.

"You two comfy?" Joaquin whispered and Bucky scowled back. He'd expected Bucky to push you away, but instead he tugged you closer.

Joaquin made a tiny heart shape with his fingers and then mimed kissing.

Bucky flicked up his middle finger and then closed his eyes.

5

"So, Playboy, got any plans tonight," Sam asked, scuffing Joaquin on the back of the head while you pulled your bag out of the gym lockers.

It'd been a long day and you couldn't wait to order a ridiculous amount of food, put your pyjamas on and forget the world existed.

"You know me, Sam. Keepin' my options open." The younger man grinned back.

"Lotta fingers in a lotta pies, have you Torres?" You snickered.

Bucky shut his locker with a slam. "Don't be crude," he grouched, but you saw the way he smiled when he rolled his eyes.

"Something like that," Joaquin shrugged.

"What about you man, hot date?" Joaquin asked,

"Nah," Sam turned away and Joaquin finished towelling his wet hair and started digging his clothes from his bag before wandering off for some privacy.

You slid your trainers back on, tucking your boots in your locker and wondering why they were both suddenly so interested in each other's dating life.

"Not even Leila," you needled, breaking the silence and poking him in the side.

"What's it got to do with you anyway? You seeing anyone tonight?"

"Nope, just me and some Chinese takeout tonight, maybe a little flirt with Netflix," Sam gave you a slightly sad look, but what did you care, it wasn't the only Friday night that would ever happen and you were exhausted.

"I was going to get noodles, do you want to come back to mine, we can split an order?" Bucky asked, fishing his keys from his gym bag and nodding his head towards the door.

"Ohh yes as long as we can get dumplings."

"Obviously we're getting dumplings."

"And maybe fried rice?"

"Rice and noodles?"

"You get one, I'll get the other, we'll split it."

"Fine."

"Shall I follow you —"

"Leave your car by the hanger, I'll drive you back in tomorrow."

"Perfect, let's grab a bottle of wine from the store on the way back."

Bucky groaned, holding the door open for you, "how many times have I said, the only acceptable drink with Chinese takeout is Tsingtao."

The door shut as Joaquin rounded the lockers again, a confused look on his face."Do they know it's Valentines Day?"

Sam laughed, "I don't think so but I can't wait to see their faces tomorrow when they figure it out."

+1

"I've got him, Bucky, you watch the trucks?" You put your sight back to your eye, shuffling your shoulders, settling lower into the ground, you breathed deeply as you prepared to take the shot.

"You'll give away your position, you're too close, fall back." Bucky's voice was surprisingly frantic in your ear.

"Quiet, please. I can do this."

"Leave her, Buck, she's got this."

"Cap's right, gotta have a little faith."

"It's too risky —"

You turned your comm off. You'd been watching this gang for weeks hoping to catch them in the act and you had the perfect chance.

Sam and Joaquin had been leading your infiltration of their den and everything had been going swimmingly — until their leader had walked out and thrown everything into chaos.

You caught the kickback from your rifle with practised ease, your aim perfect, the apparent leader of the group crumpled to the ground, bleeding from his now shattered kneecap. Nothing fatal, you wanted to see him on the stand as did the rest of the team.

You touched your ear piece again ready to gloat about your excellent hit but Bucky's panicked voice found you instead.

"Run, I'm coming but you've gotta run, go —go! Why aren't you going!"

You turned, surrounded by three armed guards, and did the only thing you could do. Fight back.

This wasn't the best time for close quarters combat, but you needed time to reach your handgun or your dagger or something.

Dodging around you gained enough time to slip a knife from your thigh holster.

"I've got it, Buck. Go to Sam."

"No you fucking haven't."

Your arm moved, swiping at your first assailant and leaving a splatter of blood behind. Still low you lurched for the second man's legs, jabbing upwards as he bent down to you. The blade pierced the top of his thigh and blood gushed out as you twisted your wrist and tugged.

"Don't kill anyone." Sam admonished.

But you were too focused to care. The third guard was huge, broad and carrying a knife to match. But it was the gun pointed at your temple that had your heart pounding.

"Put the gun down little lady, we don't want any more messes for you to clean up." The man leered forward, pressing the hot muzzle of the gun into your skin.

"Fuck off." You spat back.

He bent closer, sliding his dagger back into its holster, giving him a free hand to pinch your cheeks. "Such a dirty mouth, what will I do with you."

"She said, fuck off."

The man looked blank, turning his head to find Bucky towering over him gun pressed to his back.

"You okay?" He asked, glancing at you quickly.

"Fine."

"You're a lucky bastard today." Bucky pulled the trigger and you closed your eyes against the spray.

The man shouted, clutching at his shoulder where blood was pouring between his fingers, the wound wider at the front.

"How's that lucky, Bucky?" You chastised, brushing leaves and dirt from your tactical suit and grabbing your rifle.

"If you were hurt, I'd have shot him in the head." He answered, simply, and you felt yourself go hot all over at the thought of what he'd do for you.

Sam and Joaquin landed behind you and rushed forwards.

"We heard more shots, is everyone okay? — What the hell guys I said minimal damage." Sam groaned.

"Would've been easier if someone—" Bucky looked at you, "had left their comms on and run when I'd said."

You rolled your eyes, "I was fine, look." All three patrol guards lay bleeding on the ground.

"That guy had a gun to your head, you were not fine."

"I had him on the ropes." You smiled, but it wavered, you had been scared and your heart had been racing seeing Bucky sneak up on him. "Plus, I've got my knight in shining armour to shoot people for me." You grinned up at Bucky, blood painted on your uniforms and across your cheeks.

"Good thing too." Bucky threaded his fingers through your chest holster and tugged you forwards, pressing a deep kiss to your lips. You hummed happily and leant into him before he set you back down

"If you're done, Sam, can we go back to the jet? I've got bad guy blood all over me, yuck." You made a face and wiped your cheek with the back of your hand before strolling off with Bucky, rifles over your shoulders.

"Did they just—" Joaquin looked over at Sam.

"Yeah —"

"How long?"

"No idea."

As you rounded the corner Bucky took your hand again, tugging you closer and pressing a kiss to your head where the imprint of the gun still lingered.

"Does this finally mean I'm your boyfriend?"

"Because you shot someone for me?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, sure." You smiled, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

[povbarnes]

this scene always makes me wanna bawl my eyes out

The Falcon and The Winter Soldier S1.E5 "Truth"

[povbarnes]

he needs to get to work QUICKLY

Stay.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You want Bucky to stay, he never does.

Word Count: +3K

Warnings: Angst, Heavy angst, Smut, Angsty smut, Hurt no comfort, Bucky Barnes is TERRIBLE at feelings, Reader is a little desperate, but so is Bucky, bear with me for this one, No use of Y/N, i think that’s it, lmk if i missed or forgot anything!

A/N: alrighty! first of all, thank you so much for the love on my first fic, it means the world to me. this took way longer than i thought it would but it’s finally done, hopefully i won’t disappoint. pictures are only for the vibes, no description of reader in this one other than that she has hair. hope you like it! :)

P.S. i couldn’t really decide which bucky this was, you can decide for yourself but the closest to me was tfatws!bucky i think.

He won’t stay, you know it. He never stays.

You wait for it every time. You spend all the little time that you have together waiting for it, dreading it, never being able to fully enjoy a single second. You dread the moment that eventually comes every single time, that moment when you feel the instant shame surrounding his entire frame right before he gets out of your bed, gets dressed and leaves you while you watch him with tear-filled eyes.

As time passed, you got better at not crying. At least not in front of him.

You know he hates seeing you cry, more so when it’s him who is making you. Not enough to make him stay, but enough to hurt him too. So you simply try not to. You never want to make him feel bad, even though he holds your delicate heart in his strong hands and crashes it over and over again.

He tries talking to you, you’ll give him that. He tries to make you understand. You can’t. Or rather, you won’t. You don’t want to understand him, you want him, all of him. Not just the parts he thinks is worthy of you, which are very little, but anything and everything that makes him who he is. You want it all. And for the months that you have been sleeping together, he could never accept that.

You shouldn’t let him in. Every time he leaves, you make a promise to yourself. To not let him in, to not let him make you feel more miserable than he already has.

Then, you hear his voice. “Please, doll. Open the door.”

All your resolve crumbles in an instant, and you never succeed.

You open the door, lay your pride in front of him like a red carpet and watch him walk all over it to get to you. You don’t even think there’s any pride left in you to protect anymore. It sickens you.

One last time, you say to yourself, every time.

Your breath catches when you see him, all tired blue eyes and hunched shoulders. It takes everything in you not to throw yourself into his arms and hold him until your limbs melt into one. Instead, you stare at him, and he stares at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says after what feels like a lifetime. The first thing he said to you after not seeing him for a week.

You huff. “For what?”

His lips press together, head hanging low to look at his shoes instead of you.

You put him out of his misery, just as you always do, and take a step back so he could come inside.

He doesn’t lift his head while he steps in.

It goes the same way it always does. He waits a moment, maybe as long as he feels enough that you would feel somewhat respected by him, because he knows you’re upset, and that you know why he’s in your house, and how even if you are upset, you still want him because that’s just the way it goes, something that just is and something you can’t help, and how none of it will change anything for him.

He will still leave you at the end of the night.

After the short pause, he is on you, his lips crashing onto yours filled with the amount of desperation that almost matches yours.

You want to push him away, smack him, scream at him to stop doing this to both of you. You wrap your arms around his neck instead. You’ve missed him so much.

His vibranium arm sneaks around your waist to cage you to him, flesh hand holding your chin, covering your entire lower face. It’s so possessive, and you feel so safe, and you hate yourself.

He lifts you just a bit, starting to move towards your bedroom through the familiar path. His mouth is relentless on yours, not even giving you a time to take a breath, not that you want to.

He doesn’t turn on the lights when he reaches your room, he never really does. He doesn’t like you to see his scars.

You gasp as soon as his mouth travels from yours to your cheek, nuzzling his face to yours, leaving kisses to your eyes, nose, all the way to your neck. When he reaches the soft spot where your neck meets your shoulder and takes a deep breath, a sob you so desperately try to keep in wrecks through you. He tries to look at you when he hears it, but you hug him tighter to keep him there. You don’t want to talk, not when you know it won’t make a goddamn difference, but the words that come out of your mouth are not planned, they claw their way out of your throat in order to be freed. “You make me hate myself.”

He pauses, this time doesn’t let you stop him from looking at you. He sees your damp eyes, and you think he might be sick. You don’t want it to be a relief, but there’s not much you can take from him. So, it is a relief that he looks as guilty and as in pain as he does. Because you are hurting more than him. You must be, with the way your heart feels like it’s torn off by the seams and stitched together by shaky hands for a thousand times.

“Don’t stop,” you murmur when he doesn’t say anything. A tear rolls down your cheek. “Don’t stop.”

When he still doesn’t move, you do instead. With his eyes still on yours, you withdraw one of your hands from the back of his neck, slowly moving it south to his jeans. After a short fumble with the button and the zipper, your hand quickly reaches inside the soft material of his boxers, pressing your palm against his dick. His expression he tried to maintain so hard crumbles in an instant, eyes fluttering shut as his hips jerks forward against your hand.

He curses lowly as you move your hand up and down before freeing him and starting to properly move around him.

His blues find your eyes again, watching you for a second while you slowly move up and down. His breathing gets frantic quickly, and it doesn’t take long for him to grab your wrist to stop you, lifting you with comical ease and laying you down on your bed in mere seconds.

His hands do quick work of your sleep shirt and shorts, vibranium hand going straight to where you ache for him to rub you over your underwear.

Your moan makes his eyes flutter, his jaw ticking as his flesh hand coming to massage your breast.

He keeps the perfect pressure, at the perfect speed, shows you once again how he knows your body better than you do. His eyes never leave yours, and he watches with wide eyes and a slack jaw as your first orgasm hits you hard and fast, his hand never slipping inside the thin material, torturing you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I need to be inside you.” He doesn’t give you a minute to recover. You can barely blink before your underwear is thrown away somewhere around the room, and he is already moving between your legs.

He is too desperate, too fast. Everything’s going to be over way too soon. And you need more time. This night of all nights, you need more time with him. Your heart clenches in your chest.

He is about to push in when you place your hand on his chest over his shirt. “Wait.”

He freezes. And when he looks at you this time, maybe for the first time, he looks panicked. Disheveled. You don’t know what exactly he is thinking, but you lift your hand to his face to soothe him immediately. You smile at the feeling his stubble leaves inside your hand.

“Can you go slow?” You see relief rushing through him like it’s something solid. His hands that are on either side of your legs move up and down as he looks at you with a softness in his eyes that make tears form behind your eyes.

When he speaks, it’s worse. It’s like the first time, when you weren’t this glass half version of yourself, when he didn’t break you just yet. “You okay?”

You nod, smile faltering but not leaving your face. “Yeah, just…” You don’t know what to say. Just what? Just I can’t stand the thought of you leaving so soon? Just I want you to stay a little longer?

“Just a little sensitive today.”

He smiles then, first time since he walked through your door, flesh hand coming up to cup the side of your face. “My girl’s sensitive.”

You whimper at his words, and his smile grows a little, still soft as silk. “Of course I’ll go slow, sweetheart. I’ll do whatever you want me to.” Except stay.

He does go slow.

He opens up your legs to make room for himself, but doesn’t lay on top of you yet. His hands, one warm and one cold, roam around your body, making you shiver. “How do you want me?”

You pause even though you’re not moving, and he senses it. Edge of his mouth ticks up a little. Your heart clenches in your chest.

He never asked you that before except for the first time you had sex, when you’d met just a couple of days ago.

Most of the time it feels like he knows you better than you know yourself.

You don’t know what to say for a good minute, but he is patient, he’s going slow, he waits for you.

Your mouth opens and closes for once or twice, but no words come out. Eventually, your fingers find his shirt, dragging it up and off. Your hands close around his shoulders, and he tenses when he feels your warmth around the scarred tissue of his left shoulder.

You pull him over your body in response, your legs caging him onto you by wrapping around his torso. You hold him to your neck, your mouth dancing over his ear, a small shudder leaves him as his forearms rest on either side of your head. “Like this,” you whisper. “Close, and slow.”

“Close and slow.”

You nod, and he copies you.

When he pushes in, it’s both heaven and hell.

Heaven because he’s here, he’s so close, as close as he can be. And he feels so good, filling you so well that makes you think he was made for you.

Hell because he’ll leave, he may be close but he’s always so far. He is breathing into your neck, inhaling your scent, grunting with every powerful thrust of his hips, and it feels like he thinks you are made for him as well.

After five or ten or twenty thrusts, you can’t even tell, you are gone again. You try to warn him while also holding onto him impossibly tighter before softly crying out. “Bucky- I’m-“

He nods, because he already knows. He always knows. “Go on baby,” he says without lifting his head, voice muffled. “I got you.”

You come with tears gathering in your eyes, burying your face in his neck and breathing him in.

His hips never lose their rhythm, instead gaining strength and speed. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Squeezin’ me so tight.”

He keeps going until the you come around him once again, the force of it catching you by surprise. You don’t even realize you are chanting his name until he starts caressing your hair and murmuring next to your ear. “I know baby, I know.”

He is losing control, you can tell. He still tries to go slow like you asked but his rhythm falters, his hips speeding up and slowing down like he’s at war with himself. You can tell he is close when he starts grinding into you every other thrust, almost making you climb that high again.

“You feel so good,” he says suddenly, voice higher than before. “Best thing in my goddamn life.”

Faster.

“Baby, my baby.”

You can’t breathe.

Faster.

“I love you, I love you, fuck. My baby.”

Your whole world narrows down to the sound of his voice, hands freezing where they were traveling around his shoulders.

You don’t even breathe when he collapses on top of you, and even though you can’t see anything in the now pitch black room, you can feel him. He’s so warm, his face still hidden in the crook of your neck, heavy breaths mixing with yours. He stays like that for a couple of seconds.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, not knowing what to do, how to react. You are terrified.

You try savoring the feeling of his strong frame enveloping yours, even though you almost choke under his weight.

You are afraid to move. You are afraid the second you move an inch, he will come to himself and realize what just happened. And you so desperately want this to last, for it to be real. But after a minute or two, you can’t stop yourself from slowly bringing your fingers to his hair and starting to play with the damp strands that curls a little around his neck. He lets out a soft breath and you can swear that for a moment, he relaxes into you even more.

It takes a while for him to raise his head from your neck and look at you, his eyes filled with so many emotions that you can’t quite name.

“Please, James.”

That seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, because he averts his gaze from yours, shame, again, winning over any other emotion on his face. You watch it happen like it’s a movie you’ve seen a hundred times.

You wince when he pulls out of you, and he steals a glance to make sure you are okay, but that’s it. He is on his feet, putting on his clothes again.

“J- Bucky,” you try one more time, your voice wavering. Pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he’s in a rush. “It was- I-“ He shakes his head, pulls on his pants.

“It was the heat of the moment, I- I got carried away. It wasn’t-“

He might as well struck you.

“It’s okay,” you manage to say, interrupting his rambling. You take the blanket hanging off the bed and cover yourself, feeling too exposed now that he wasn’t in the bed with you. “I know.”

You feel like you are about to throw up.

He pauses for a moment at your words, but doesn’t take it back.

And for the first time ever, you want him to leave. Because now, you are about to lose control. You feel on the verge of some kind of an anger attack, because of him, or yourself, you don’t know. You just want him to get the hell out of your house as soon as possible so you can cry until your body runs out of tears.

“Take care of yourself,” he says when he is dressed seconds later. You almost laugh. He rushes towards your door, lingering there for a second too long that causes your stupid heart to skip a bit and straighten up a little bit.

But then he is gone.

The low sound of the apartment’s door getting shut making you flinch like someone slammed it, and you find yourself where you always were. Crying, with his cum dripping between your legs, trying with every fiber of your being to not feel used.

IloveyouIloveyouMybaby

—

Bucky knows what it means to hate oneself. He’s hated himself for the better part of his life. He knows what it’s like to not be able to live with himself. Which is precisely why he cannot have you. Not in the way you and him both want. You don’t deserve this broken version of him. He did things in his life, terrible things, killed and tortured people, did things he can never forget or forgive himself for. But after meeting you? After leaving you over and over and over again? He didn’t know he could hate himself to the degree he does now.

Each time he leaves you with tears in your eyes, it feels like it’s the worst thing he has ever done.

And he knows it’s not fair, how he keeps coming back. He knows he isn’t letting you breathe, let alone move on. Yet he can’t stop.

Standing outside your apartment now, trying to stop himself from knocking on the door, knowing he will hurt you again, is a unique kind of torture.

A battle he always loses.

Because he needs you. He always needs you.

And he knows it’s selfish, so selfish that it makes his stomach turn, makes him unable to look in the mirror in the morning. But he needs you, and he can’t help it.

He knocks.

He hates himself.

The second his hand meets your door, he knows something’s wrong. He doesn’t know why, but it’s wrong. The sound of his knuckles against your door is wrong, the eerie silence of the building is wrong, and he can’t hear your footsteps coming towards the door. It’s just wrong.

His brows furrow. His heartbeat picks up.

He knocks again.

And again.

And again.

Nothing.

A rational part of him inside his head tries to reassure him, maybe you were out with your friends, maybe you just went to get some fucking milk. But no, he knows. Something’s not right. He can feel it in his bones.

He is panting now, staring at your door, eyes wide, trying to not let panic consume his whole being.

“Doll?” he tries desperately, heart pounding.

The door behind him opens, and it makes him flinch so hard that he needs to take a second to look behind him. An old lady, probably younger than he is, stands behind the threshold, looking at him with squinted eyes. “Are you James Barnes?”

Bucky’s heart drops. He doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t want to know how she knows who he is or hear what she has to say. His mouth feels like he spent the last three days chewing concrete.

He nods.

“She’s gone.”

No.

“What?”

“She left,” the lady repeats. “She’d say you’d come by. Kindly asked me to let you know.”

Just like that, the earth is swiped away under his feet, his whole world is crumbled, crushed down upon him. Two words, and he feels like he’s dying.

“What- uh…” A humorless chuckle escapes his lips, flesh hand coming up to rest on his forehead for a second. “What do you mean she left?”

The lady looks at him with sympathetic eyes. Bucky wants to cry. “She moved away, it’s a shame. Such a nice girl. Told me to tell you.” When Bucky just stares at her, she gives her a tight smile like she knows. “Sorry, Kid. Have a nice evening.”

Then her door is shut.

He flinches again at the sound of it.

And Bucky is left in the hallway, your door not opening for the first time in seven months.

WELL! wasn’t that something? thinking about doing a second part for this with a more detailed smut section, but i think i’ll just see whether you guys want one or not.👀

comments & reblogs fuel me, love you!

[povbarnes]

Stay.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You want Bucky to stay, he never does.

Word Count: +3K

Warnings: Angst, Heavy angst, Smut, Angsty smut, Hurt no comfort, Bucky Barnes is TERRIBLE at feelings, Reader is a little desperate, but so is Bucky, bear with me for this one, No use of Y/N, i think that’s it, lmk if i missed or forgot anything!

A/N: alrighty! first of all, thank you so much for the love on my first fic, it means the world to me. this took way longer than i thought it would but it’s finally done, hopefully i won’t disappoint. pictures are only for the vibes, no description of reader in this one other than that she has hair. hope you like it! :)

P.S. i couldn’t really decide which bucky this was, you can decide for yourself but the closest to me was tfatws!bucky i think.

He won’t stay, you know it. He never stays.

You wait for it every time. You spend all the little time that you have together waiting for it, dreading it, never being able to fully enjoy a single second. You dread the moment that eventually comes every single time, that moment when you feel the instant shame surrounding his entire frame right before he gets out of your bed, gets dressed and leaves you while you watch him with tear-filled eyes.

As time passed, you got better at not crying. At least not in front of him.

You know he hates seeing you cry, more so when it’s him who is making you. Not enough to make him stay, but enough to hurt him too. So you simply try not to. You never want to make him feel bad, even though he holds your delicate heart in his strong hands and crashes it over and over again.

He tries talking to you, you’ll give him that. He tries to make you understand. You can’t. Or rather, you won’t. You don’t want to understand him, you want him, all of him. Not just the parts he thinks is worthy of you, which are very little, but anything and everything that makes him who he is. You want it all. And for the months that you have been sleeping together, he could never accept that.

You shouldn’t let him in. Every time he leaves, you make a promise to yourself. To not let him in, to not let him make you feel more miserable than he already has.

Then, you hear his voice. “Please, doll. Open the door.”

All your resolve crumbles in an instant, and you never succeed.

You open the door, lay your pride in front of him like a red carpet and watch him walk all over it to get to you. You don’t even think there’s any pride left in you to protect anymore. It sickens you.

One last time, you say to yourself, every time.

Your breath catches when you see him, all tired blue eyes and hunched shoulders. It takes everything in you not to throw yourself into his arms and hold him until your limbs melt into one. Instead, you stare at him, and he stares at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says after what feels like a lifetime. The first thing he said to you after not seeing him for a week.

You huff. “For what?”

His lips press together, head hanging low to look at his shoes instead of you.

You put him out of his misery, just as you always do, and take a step back so he could come inside.

He doesn’t lift his head while he steps in.

It goes the same way it always does. He waits a moment, maybe as long as he feels enough that you would feel somewhat respected by him, because he knows you’re upset, and that you know why he’s in your house, and how even if you are upset, you still want him because that’s just the way it goes, something that just is and something you can’t help, and how none of it will change anything for him.

He will still leave you at the end of the night.

After the short pause, he is on you, his lips crashing onto yours filled with the amount of desperation that almost matches yours.

You want to push him away, smack him, scream at him to stop doing this to both of you. You wrap your arms around his neck instead. You’ve missed him so much.

His vibranium arm sneaks around your waist to cage you to him, flesh hand holding your chin, covering your entire lower face. It’s so possessive, and you feel so safe, and you hate yourself.

He lifts you just a bit, starting to move towards your bedroom through the familiar path. His mouth is relentless on yours, not even giving you a time to take a breath, not that you want to.

He doesn’t turn on the lights when he reaches your room, he never really does. He doesn’t like you to see his scars.

You gasp as soon as his mouth travels from yours to your cheek, nuzzling his face to yours, leaving kisses to your eyes, nose, all the way to your neck. When he reaches the soft spot where your neck meets your shoulder and takes a deep breath, a sob you so desperately try to keep in wrecks through you. He tries to look at you when he hears it, but you hug him tighter to keep him there. You don’t want to talk, not when you know it won’t make a goddamn difference, but the words that come out of your mouth are not planned, they claw their way out of your throat in order to be freed. “You make me hate myself.”

He pauses, this time doesn’t let you stop him from looking at you. He sees your damp eyes, and you think he might be sick. You don’t want it to be a relief, but there’s not much you can take from him. So, it is a relief that he looks as guilty and as in pain as he does. Because you are hurting more than him. You must be, with the way your heart feels like it’s torn off by the seams and stitched together by shaky hands for a thousand times.

“Don’t stop,” you murmur when he doesn’t say anything. A tear rolls down your cheek. “Don’t stop.”

When he still doesn’t move, you do instead. With his eyes still on yours, you withdraw one of your hands from the back of his neck, slowly moving it south to his jeans. After a short fumble with the button and the zipper, your hand quickly reaches inside the soft material of his boxers, pressing your palm against his dick. His expression he tried to maintain so hard crumbles in an instant, eyes fluttering shut as his hips jerks forward against your hand.

He curses lowly as you move your hand up and down before freeing him and starting to properly move around him.

His blues find your eyes again, watching you for a second while you slowly move up and down. His breathing gets frantic quickly, and it doesn’t take long for him to grab your wrist to stop you, lifting you with comical ease and laying you down on your bed in mere seconds.

His hands do quick work of your sleep shirt and shorts, vibranium hand going straight to where you ache for him to rub you over your underwear.

Your moan makes his eyes flutter, his jaw ticking as his flesh hand coming to massage your breast.

He keeps the perfect pressure, at the perfect speed, shows you once again how he knows your body better than you do. His eyes never leave yours, and he watches with wide eyes and a slack jaw as your first orgasm hits you hard and fast, his hand never slipping inside the thin material, torturing you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I need to be inside you.” He doesn’t give you a minute to recover. You can barely blink before your underwear is thrown away somewhere around the room, and he is already moving between your legs.

He is too desperate, too fast. Everything’s going to be over way too soon. And you need more time. This night of all nights, you need more time with him. Your heart clenches in your chest.

He is about to push in when you place your hand on his chest over his shirt. “Wait.”

He freezes. And when he looks at you this time, maybe for the first time, he looks panicked. Disheveled. You don’t know what exactly he is thinking, but you lift your hand to his face to soothe him immediately. You smile at the feeling his stubble leaves inside your hand.

“Can you go slow?” You see relief rushing through him like it’s something solid. His hands that are on either side of your legs move up and down as he looks at you with a softness in his eyes that make tears form behind your eyes.

When he speaks, it’s worse. It’s like the first time, when you weren’t this glass half version of yourself, when he didn’t break you just yet. “You okay?”

You nod, smile faltering but not leaving your face. “Yeah, just…” You don’t know what to say. Just what? Just I can’t stand the thought of you leaving so soon? Just I want you to stay a little longer?

“Just a little sensitive today.”

He smiles then, first time since he walked through your door, flesh hand coming up to cup the side of your face. “My girl’s sensitive.”

You whimper at his words, and his smile grows a little, still soft as silk. “Of course I’ll go slow, sweetheart. I’ll do whatever you want me to.” Except stay.

He does go slow.

He opens up your legs to make room for himself, but doesn’t lay on top of you yet. His hands, one warm and one cold, roam around your body, making you shiver. “How do you want me?”

You pause even though you’re not moving, and he senses it. Edge of his mouth ticks up a little. Your heart clenches in your chest.

He never asked you that before except for the first time you had sex, when you’d met just a couple of days ago.

Most of the time it feels like he knows you better than you know yourself.

You don’t know what to say for a good minute, but he is patient, he’s going slow, he waits for you.

Your mouth opens and closes for once or twice, but no words come out. Eventually, your fingers find his shirt, dragging it up and off. Your hands close around his shoulders, and he tenses when he feels your warmth around the scarred tissue of his left shoulder.

You pull him over your body in response, your legs caging him onto you by wrapping around his torso. You hold him to your neck, your mouth dancing over his ear, a small shudder leaves him as his forearms rest on either side of your head. “Like this,” you whisper. “Close, and slow.”

“Close and slow.”

You nod, and he copies you.

When he pushes in, it’s both heaven and hell.

Heaven because he’s here, he’s so close, as close as he can be. And he feels so good, filling you so well that makes you think he was made for you.

Hell because he’ll leave, he may be close but he’s always so far. He is breathing into your neck, inhaling your scent, grunting with every powerful thrust of his hips, and it feels like he thinks you are made for him as well.

After five or ten or twenty thrusts, you can’t even tell, you are gone again. You try to warn him while also holding onto him impossibly tighter before softly crying out. “Bucky- I’m-“

He nods, because he already knows. He always knows. “Go on baby,” he says without lifting his head, voice muffled. “I got you.”

You come with tears gathering in your eyes, burying your face in his neck and breathing him in.

His hips never lose their rhythm, instead gaining strength and speed. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Squeezin’ me so tight.”

He keeps going until the you come around him once again, the force of it catching you by surprise. You don’t even realize you are chanting his name until he starts caressing your hair and murmuring next to your ear. “I know baby, I know.”

He is losing control, you can tell. He still tries to go slow like you asked but his rhythm falters, his hips speeding up and slowing down like he’s at war with himself. You can tell he is close when he starts grinding into you every other thrust, almost making you climb that high again.

“You feel so good,” he says suddenly, voice higher than before. “Best thing in my goddamn life.”

Faster.

“Baby, my baby.”

You can’t breathe.

Faster.

“I love you, I love you, fuck. My baby.”

Your whole world narrows down to the sound of his voice, hands freezing where they were traveling around his shoulders.

You don’t even breathe when he collapses on top of you, and even though you can’t see anything in the now pitch black room, you can feel him. He’s so warm, his face still hidden in the crook of your neck, heavy breaths mixing with yours. He stays like that for a couple of seconds.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, not knowing what to do, how to react. You are terrified.

You try savoring the feeling of his strong frame enveloping yours, even though you almost choke under his weight.

You are afraid to move. You are afraid the second you move an inch, he will come to himself and realize what just happened. And you so desperately want this to last, for it to be real. But after a minute or two, you can’t stop yourself from slowly bringing your fingers to his hair and starting to play with the damp strands that curls a little around his neck. He lets out a soft breath and you can swear that for a moment, he relaxes into you even more.

It takes a while for him to raise his head from your neck and look at you, his eyes filled with so many emotions that you can’t quite name.

“Please, James.”

That seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, because he averts his gaze from yours, shame, again, winning over any other emotion on his face. You watch it happen like it’s a movie you’ve seen a hundred times.

You wince when he pulls out of you, and he steals a glance to make sure you are okay, but that’s it. He is on his feet, putting on his clothes again.

“J- Bucky,” you try one more time, your voice wavering. Pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he’s in a rush. “It was- I-“ He shakes his head, pulls on his pants.

“It was the heat of the moment, I- I got carried away. It wasn’t-“

He might as well struck you.

“It’s okay,” you manage to say, interrupting his rambling. You take the blanket hanging off the bed and cover yourself, feeling too exposed now that he wasn’t in the bed with you. “I know.”

You feel like you are about to throw up.

He pauses for a moment at your words, but doesn’t take it back.

And for the first time ever, you want him to leave. Because now, you are about to lose control. You feel on the verge of some kind of an anger attack, because of him, or yourself, you don’t know. You just want him to get the hell out of your house as soon as possible so you can cry until your body runs out of tears.

“Take care of yourself,” he says when he is dressed seconds later. You almost laugh. He rushes towards your door, lingering there for a second too long that causes your stupid heart to skip a bit and straighten up a little bit.

But then he is gone.

The low sound of the apartment’s door getting shut making you flinch like someone slammed it, and you find yourself where you always were. Crying, with his cum dripping between your legs, trying with every fiber of your being to not feel used.

IloveyouIloveyouMybaby

—

Bucky knows what it means to hate oneself. He’s hated himself for the better part of his life. He knows what it’s like to not be able to live with himself. Which is precisely why he cannot have you. Not in the way you and him both want. You don’t deserve this broken version of him. He did things in his life, terrible things, killed and tortured people, did things he can never forget or forgive himself for. But after meeting you? After leaving you over and over and over again? He didn’t know he could hate himself to the degree he does now.

Each time he leaves you with tears in your eyes, it feels like it’s the worst thing he has ever done.

And he knows it’s not fair, how he keeps coming back. He knows he isn’t letting you breathe, let alone move on. Yet he can’t stop.

Standing outside your apartment now, trying to stop himself from knocking on the door, knowing he will hurt you again, is a unique kind of torture.

A battle he always loses.

Because he needs you. He always needs you.

And he knows it’s selfish, so selfish that it makes his stomach turn, makes him unable to look in the mirror in the morning. But he needs you, and he can’t help it.

He knocks.

He hates himself.

The second his hand meets your door, he knows something’s wrong. He doesn’t know why, but it’s wrong. The sound of his knuckles against your door is wrong, the eerie silence of the building is wrong, and he can’t hear your footsteps coming towards the door. It’s just wrong.

His brows furrow. His heartbeat picks up.

He knocks again.

And again.

And again.

Nothing.

A rational part of him inside his head tries to reassure him, maybe you were out with your friends, maybe you just went to get some fucking milk. But no, he knows. Something’s not right. He can feel it in his bones.

He is panting now, staring at your door, eyes wide, trying to not let panic consume his whole being.

“Doll?” he tries desperately, heart pounding.

The door behind him opens, and it makes him flinch so hard that he needs to take a second to look behind him. An old lady, probably younger than he is, stands behind the threshold, looking at him with squinted eyes. “Are you James Barnes?”

Bucky’s heart drops. He doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t want to know how she knows who he is or hear what she has to say. His mouth feels like he spent the last three days chewing concrete.

He nods.

“She’s gone.”

No.

“What?”

“She left,” the lady repeats. “She’d say you’d come by. Kindly asked me to let you know.”

Just like that, the earth is swiped away under his feet, his whole world is crumbled, crushed down upon him. Two words, and he feels like he’s dying.

“What- uh…” A humorless chuckle escapes his lips, flesh hand coming up to rest on his forehead for a second. “What do you mean she left?”

The lady looks at him with sympathetic eyes. Bucky wants to cry. “She moved away, it’s a shame. Such a nice girl. Told me to tell you.” When Bucky just stares at her, she gives her a tight smile like she knows. “Sorry, Kid. Have a nice evening.”

Then her door is shut.

He flinches again at the sound of it.

And Bucky is left in the hallway, your door not opening for the first time in seven months.

WELL! wasn’t that something? thinking about doing a second part for this with a more detailed smut section, but i think i’ll just see whether you guys want one or not.👀

comments & reblogs fuel me, love you!

[povbarnes]

yayy🥹 thank you sm!

Sergeant.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You call Bucky something he doesn’t expect.

Word Count: 815

Warnings: Smut, No plot, like literally not even a drop of plot, Hair pulling (blink and you’ll miss it), Bucky Barnes (because he is a warning), Improper use of the word “Sergeant”, No use of Y/N. i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything!

A/N: this is my first fic, so please be kind :) normally i don’t think i will write pure smut without any kind of plot at all, but this came to me in a dream so… yeah. hope you enjoy! <3

EDIT: i had to repost this because i switched accounts since there was a possibility i could lose the other one. thank you so much for the love on the original post and i will be posting another fic today or tomorrow!🥰

It happens three months into your relationship. You don’t know where it comes from, or maybe you do, but you are not sure if you’ll admit that to yourself just yet. It happens when you are just so overwhelmed, the drag of him in and out of you making your eyes roll, stretching you open in the most delicious way possible.

His eyes are on yours, both arms barricading you, flesh hand curled around to prevent you from hitting your head against the bed frame. He is on you, his body weight making you feel oh so safe and you feel like crying.

It’s all so much already.

So, when he gives a particularly hard thrust that knocks the air out of your lungs and says your name in a voice that makes you clench around him, you don’t know what comes over you.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, doll?” He says, his voice raspy, the hand holding your head caressing your hair.

You nod, not able to find your voice at first, but he doesn’t want that. He wants to hear you. Always does.

“Words, baby.”

You take a sharp breath, your brain all fuzzy, trying to hold his gaze when it just slips out, “Yes, Sergeant.”

Bucky freezes, and so do you.

For a moment, the only sound is the heavy breathing of both of you, filling your ringing ears. He is twitching inside you, but otherwise not moving, his piercing eyes on you without blinking.

“Bucky,” you start, panicking. “I-“

“What did you say?” he interrupts you, brows drawn together. And while you’ve gotten rather good at reading him for the years you’ve known him and the months you’ve been dating, you can’t tell what he is feeling.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m so sorry. I’m s- Ah.” He interrupts your rambling with a slam of his hips to yours, his vibranium hand traveling to your waist to circle it so tightly for a second that you gasp before he very slightly eases his hold.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathes, and if he didn’t before, he sounds utterly wrecked now. “Don’t know why that-“ He shakes his head, a chuckle escapes his lips, cutting himself off.

You are stunned to silence, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to understand what he means, watching him lose himself in you with wide eyes.

He huffs. “Saying sorry as if I would- Fuck.” He is completely gone, his whole body shaking, his flesh hand caressing, holding and pulling your hair at the same time like he doesn’t know which one he wants to do more.

His head falls to your shoulder, his breathing frantic. Your hands move up from his back, burying your fingers in the now short hair to scratch his scalp just as he likes. He is still shaking, but his movements have slowed compared to a moment ago.

You find yourself at the edge of the cliff you began to know too well since being with him, taking in a shuddering breath and whispering in his ear, “Bucky, I’m so close.”

He nods. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, not changing his pace, but turning his head to bury his nose in your neck instead. Taking deep breaths, the arm circling your waist moving between your bodies to gently circle your clit with just the right amount of pressure that he knows you need to fall off of that edge.

You moan, and it makes him clench his teeth, his bicep twitching next to your head.

“Baby,” he breathes when he feels you clenching on him impossibly hard. His voice is shaking now too. “Say it again.”

You are not sure what he means at first, so lost in your own pleasure that the words don’t register until he says your name, raising from your neck to look into your eyes. “Say it again,” he repeats. “Fuck.”

You come with a silent cry before you can formulate your thoughts to do as he asked, and Bucky watches every second of it without blinking. He fucks you through it, lets you ride it out longer than you thought was possible.

When the shocks start to subdue and your vision returns, he is a mess. His eyes struggling to stay open, chest heaving, brows drawn together.

You take his face in your hands, make sure he is looking into your eyes for a second before whispering, “Come for me, Sergeant.”

That does it. He basically growls your name, accompanied by a dozen of curses, hugging you so tight before spilling inside you with a final thrust.

It’s completely silent other than both of your heavy breathing for a minute or two.

You are still slightly trembling when he lifts his head to look you in the eyes, an almost confused look in them.

It makes you giggle. “I am so calling you that from now on.”

i will be posting more stuff if you guys like it! :)

also, this had more than 500 notes before i had to repost it so it would mean a lot to me if you guys could reblog this so it could reach people again😭🫶

dividers from @cafekitsune <3

[povbarnes]

ahh thank you so much🥹💙 means the world to me that you guys are liking something i wrote😭

Sergeant.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You call Bucky something he doesn’t expect.

Word Count: 815

Warnings: Smut, No plot, like literally not even a drop of plot, Hair pulling (blink and you’ll miss it), Bucky Barnes (because he is a warning), Improper use of the word “Sergeant”, No use of Y/N. i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything!

A/N: this is my first fic, so please be kind :) normally i don’t think i will write pure smut without any kind of plot at all, but this came to me in a dream so… yeah. hope you enjoy! <3

EDIT: i had to repost this because i switched accounts since there was a possibility i could lose the other one. thank you so much for the love on the original post and i will be posting another fic today or tomorrow!🥰

It happens three months into your relationship. You don’t know where it comes from, or maybe you do, but you are not sure if you’ll admit that to yourself just yet. It happens when you are just so overwhelmed, the drag of him in and out of you making your eyes roll, stretching you open in the most delicious way possible.

His eyes are on yours, both arms barricading you, flesh hand curled around to prevent you from hitting your head against the bed frame. He is on you, his body weight making you feel oh so safe and you feel like crying.

It’s all so much already.

So, when he gives a particularly hard thrust that knocks the air out of your lungs and says your name in a voice that makes you clench around him, you don’t know what comes over you.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, doll?” He says, his voice raspy, the hand holding your head caressing your hair.

You nod, not able to find your voice at first, but he doesn’t want that. He wants to hear you. Always does.

“Words, baby.”

You take a sharp breath, your brain all fuzzy, trying to hold his gaze when it just slips out, “Yes, Sergeant.”

Bucky freezes, and so do you.

For a moment, the only sound is the heavy breathing of both of you, filling your ringing ears. He is twitching inside you, but otherwise not moving, his piercing eyes on you without blinking.

“Bucky,” you start, panicking. “I-“

“What did you say?” he interrupts you, brows drawn together. And while you’ve gotten rather good at reading him for the years you’ve known him and the months you’ve been dating, you can’t tell what he is feeling.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m so sorry. I’m s- Ah.” He interrupts your rambling with a slam of his hips to yours, his vibranium hand traveling to your waist to circle it so tightly for a second that you gasp before he very slightly eases his hold.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathes, and if he didn’t before, he sounds utterly wrecked now. “Don’t know why that-“ He shakes his head, a chuckle escapes his lips, cutting himself off.

You are stunned to silence, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to understand what he means, watching him lose himself in you with wide eyes.

He huffs. “Saying sorry as if I would- Fuck.” He is completely gone, his whole body shaking, his flesh hand caressing, holding and pulling your hair at the same time like he doesn’t know which one he wants to do more.

His head falls to your shoulder, his breathing frantic. Your hands move up from his back, burying your fingers in the now short hair to scratch his scalp just as he likes. He is still shaking, but his movements have slowed compared to a moment ago.

You find yourself at the edge of the cliff you began to know too well since being with him, taking in a shuddering breath and whispering in his ear, “Bucky, I’m so close.”

He nods. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, not changing his pace, but turning his head to bury his nose in your neck instead. Taking deep breaths, the arm circling your waist moving between your bodies to gently circle your clit with just the right amount of pressure that he knows you need to fall off of that edge.

You moan, and it makes him clench his teeth, his bicep twitching next to your head.

“Baby,” he breathes when he feels you clenching on him impossibly hard. His voice is shaking now too. “Say it again.”

You are not sure what he means at first, so lost in your own pleasure that the words don’t register until he says your name, raising from your neck to look into your eyes. “Say it again,” he repeats. “Fuck.”

You come with a silent cry before you can formulate your thoughts to do as he asked, and Bucky watches every second of it without blinking. He fucks you through it, lets you ride it out longer than you thought was possible.

When the shocks start to subdue and your vision returns, he is a mess. His eyes struggling to stay open, chest heaving, brows drawn together.

You take his face in your hands, make sure he is looking into your eyes for a second before whispering, “Come for me, Sergeant.”

That does it. He basically growls your name, accompanied by a dozen of curses, hugging you so tight before spilling inside you with a final thrust.

It’s completely silent other than both of your heavy breathing for a minute or two.

You are still slightly trembling when he lifts his head to look you in the eyes, an almost confused look in them.

It makes you giggle. “I am so calling you that from now on.”

i will be posting more stuff if you guys like it! :)

also, this had more than 500 notes before i had to repost it so it would mean a lot to me if you guys could reblog this so it could reach people again😭🫶

dividers from @cafekitsune <3

[povbarnes]

Unstoppable force (Yelena "you're such a poser" Belova) meets immovable object (Bucky "the world is his runway" Barnes)

[povbarnes]

hmmmm🤨👀

i live for a dominant bucky barnes but i also just want to see this man whimper as i ride him and have his hands either tied to the bed or he isn’t allowed to touch me

[povbarnes]

Yelena: oh shit it looks like there’s a ship coming in from another dimension?? omg what do you think we should do????

Bucky:

[povbarnes]

thank you sm!🥹 sergeant kink goes HARD

Sergeant.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You call Bucky something he doesn’t expect.

Word Count: 815

Warnings: Smut, No plot, like literally not even a drop of plot, Hair pulling (blink and you’ll miss it), Bucky Barnes (because he is a warning), Improper use of the word “Sergeant”, No use of Y/N. i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything!

A/N: this is my first fic, so please be kind :) normally i don’t think i will write pure smut without any kind of plot at all, but this came to me in a dream so… yeah. hope you enjoy! <3

EDIT: i had to repost this because i switched accounts since there was a possibility i could lose the other one. thank you so much for the love on the original post and i will be posting another fic today or tomorrow!🥰

It happens three months into your relationship. You don’t know where it comes from, or maybe you do, but you are not sure if you’ll admit that to yourself just yet. It happens when you are just so overwhelmed, the drag of him in and out of you making your eyes roll, stretching you open in the most delicious way possible.

His eyes are on yours, both arms barricading you, flesh hand curled around to prevent you from hitting your head against the bed frame. He is on you, his body weight making you feel oh so safe and you feel like crying.

It’s all so much already.

So, when he gives a particularly hard thrust that knocks the air out of your lungs and says your name in a voice that makes you clench around him, you don’t know what comes over you.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, doll?” He says, his voice raspy, the hand holding your head caressing your hair.

You nod, not able to find your voice at first, but he doesn’t want that. He wants to hear you. Always does.

“Words, baby.”

You take a sharp breath, your brain all fuzzy, trying to hold his gaze when it just slips out, “Yes, Sergeant.”

Bucky freezes, and so do you.

For a moment, the only sound is the heavy breathing of both of you, filling your ringing ears. He is twitching inside you, but otherwise not moving, his piercing eyes on you without blinking.

“Bucky,” you start, panicking. “I-“

“What did you say?” he interrupts you, brows drawn together. And while you’ve gotten rather good at reading him for the years you’ve known him and the months you’ve been dating, you can’t tell what he is feeling.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m so sorry. I’m s- Ah.” He interrupts your rambling with a slam of his hips to yours, his vibranium hand traveling to your waist to circle it so tightly for a second that you gasp before he very slightly eases his hold.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathes, and if he didn’t before, he sounds utterly wrecked now. “Don’t know why that-“ He shakes his head, a chuckle escapes his lips, cutting himself off.

You are stunned to silence, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to understand what he means, watching him lose himself in you with wide eyes.

He huffs. “Saying sorry as if I would- Fuck.” He is completely gone, his whole body shaking, his flesh hand caressing, holding and pulling your hair at the same time like he doesn’t know which one he wants to do more.

His head falls to your shoulder, his breathing frantic. Your hands move up from his back, burying your fingers in the now short hair to scratch his scalp just as he likes. He is still shaking, but his movements have slowed compared to a moment ago.

You find yourself at the edge of the cliff you began to know too well since being with him, taking in a shuddering breath and whispering in his ear, “Bucky, I’m so close.”

He nods. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, not changing his pace, but turning his head to bury his nose in your neck instead. Taking deep breaths, the arm circling your waist moving between your bodies to gently circle your clit with just the right amount of pressure that he knows you need to fall off of that edge.

You moan, and it makes him clench his teeth, his bicep twitching next to your head.

“Baby,” he breathes when he feels you clenching on him impossibly hard. His voice is shaking now too. “Say it again.”

You are not sure what he means at first, so lost in your own pleasure that the words don’t register until he says your name, raising from your neck to look into your eyes. “Say it again,” he repeats. “Fuck.”

You come with a silent cry before you can formulate your thoughts to do as he asked, and Bucky watches every second of it without blinking. He fucks you through it, lets you ride it out longer than you thought was possible.

When the shocks start to subdue and your vision returns, he is a mess. His eyes struggling to stay open, chest heaving, brows drawn together.

You take his face in your hands, make sure he is looking into your eyes for a second before whispering, “Come for me, Sergeant.”

That does it. He basically growls your name, accompanied by a dozen of curses, hugging you so tight before spilling inside you with a final thrust.

It’s completely silent other than both of your heavy breathing for a minute or two.

You are still slightly trembling when he lifts his head to look you in the eyes, an almost confused look in them.

It makes you giggle. “I am so calling you that from now on.”

i will be posting more stuff if you guys like it! :)

also, this had more than 500 notes before i had to repost it so it would mean a lot to me if you guys could reblog this so it could reach people again😭🫶

dividers from @cafekitsune <3