progooner123

[progooner123]

I was kinda lazy with this one ngl but check it out! ^-^

Never Let You Go

Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes never thought someone like you would notice him. Soft, kind, confident, and everything he thought he didn’t deserve. You barely spoke, only exchanged quiet greetings and mission briefings at the Avengers compound. But behind closed doors, both of you were secretly obsessed. One quiet day at the nearly-empty compound, curiosity and a heavy crush lead you to sneak into his room. What you didn’t expect was to get caught by a towel-clad, freshly-showered Bucky. What follows is intense, full of nervous tension, confessions, and heat.

Warnings: Smut/NSFW, MDNI (18+), mutual pining, reader is AFAB (no pronouns used), Touch-starved!Bucky, Soft Dom/sub tones, Reader sneaks into Bucky's room, Bucky catches reader, Super soldier senses (Bucky smells reader's arousal), Sexual tension, Nervous/crush vibes, Mentions of masturbation, Slow buildup, I think that's it lol

Word Count: 3.5k

The compound always felt too big when it was quiet. Towering halls, polished floors, ceilings that echoed back the faintest footstep. But the stillness was something Bucky had come to appreciate over the years. It was easier to breathe in silence, easier to think without being surrounded by people who didn’t understand what it meant to carry a century of ghosts in your chest.

But you… you made the silence feel less lonely.

He didn’t know when it started, not exactly. Maybe it was that mission in Prague, when you took down five men without breaking a sweat, not for pride, not for glory. Just because it needed to be done, or maybe it was the morning he passed you in the kitchen, eyes still heavy with sleep, and you handed him a cup of coffee without a word, like it was the most natural thing in the world. No fear. No questions. No small talk, just warmth. Real warmth.

You never spoke to him like the others did. Not with nerves, not with pity, not with forced camaraderie. Your conversations were brief. A nod in the hallway, a soft “good morning,” sometimes a quick mission debrief. Efficient. Clean. But kind. Always kind.

And that was the problem.

You were kind.

And sweet. And soft in all the ways he wasn’t. You were strong, yes, fiercely so but not to prove anything. Not like him. You didn’t move through the world trying to make up for the blood on your hands. You moved like someone who simply wanted to help, someone who knew the weight of pain but didn’t let it rot you from the inside out.

Bucky hated how much he noticed you. How the sound of your laughter made his chest ache. How he’d memorize the color of your shirt just to picture you more clearly later that night, fists curled tight around his cock under the sheets, the scent of you. Real or imagined, lingering in his nose. He never touched you. Never would. He wasn’t that selfish. But God, the things he’d do in his head…

And he figured that was all it would ever be.

Because why the hell would someone like you look twice at someone like him?

You weren’t sure when it started either.

Maybe it was during a training session, when Steve was barking orders and Bucky stood just behind him. Arms crossed, eyes locked on your form as you disarmed the dummy with brutal efficiency. He didn’t smile, didn’t flinch. Just watched, like you were something he didn’t quite believe was real.

Or maybe it was later, during a mission briefing, when your fingers brushed as you passed him a tablet and he pulled away so fast it was like you’d burned him but his ears flushed pink.

You didn’t talk much. Not with him, at least. You could hold your own with anyone else in the compound. You were loud with Sam, witty with Nat, sarcastic with Tony but around Bucky, it was always… still.

Not cold.

Just… careful.

There was something magnetic about him. The way he stood stiller than most men, like he could melt into a room and vanish if he wanted. The way he rarely looked directly at people, always a little over their shoulder, like he was waiting for something to go wrong. Like he expected it to.

But when he did look at you, really looked, it left you breathless.

His eyes were sadness and survival, always guarded but always watching. You weren’t even sure he likedyou, but sometimes when you’d catch him in the gym and he thought you didn’t notice, he’d stare like he’d never seen a woman before.

He never said anything inappropriate. Never stared for too long. Always respectful but that only made it worse. That restraint. That distance. Like he wanted to touch you but didn’t believe he deserved to.

And maybe that was why you started thinking about him. Dreaming about him. Touching yourself late at night, his name buried against your knuckles, imagining what it would be like if he did lose control, if he pressed you against the wall and kissed you like he was starving.

You didn’t think he’d ever act on it. You didn’t think you would either.

But today the compound was quiet. Too quiet. Most of the team was gone. You’d stayed back nursing a minor rib injury, and he…

well, he wasn’t scheduled for any missions. The halls felt emptier than usual. No Sam. No Steve. Nobody. Just you… and Bucky.

Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was something darker.

But you found yourself walking down the hall toward the east wing where the living quarters were. Your feet moved before your brain caught up. You weren’t planning anything. Not really.

You just… wanted to be close to him.

You told yourself you weren’t going to do anything weird. Just peek into his room. That was it. You were already standing in front of his door before you realized how insane this was. A grown woman, sneaking around like a teenager.

And then your hand was on the knob.

To your surprise, it turned.

Unlocked.

You froze.

But then… you stepped inside.

The room was dim and warm. Smelled like cedarwood soap and something darker, spicier, masculine. It wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t overly neat either. Books stacked on the nightstand. A knife on the dresser. A worn leather jacket slung over a chair. Everything about the room looked lived in. Looked like him.

And it smelled like him.

You should’ve turned around. Should’ve left. But you stood there for a second too long, eyes fluttering closed as you breathed him in. Your heart was pounding. You didn’t know why. You weren’t doing anything wrong… not really.

And that’s when you heard it.

The click of a door unlocking. A door opening.

The bathroom.

You froze. Your stomach dropped and before you could even move, before you could decide what the hell you were going to say…

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Fresh out of the shower. Hair wet, dripping over his shoulders. Towel slung dangerously low on his hips, clinging to his waist like it was fighting for dear life. His chest rose and fell with every breath, skin glistening with water droplets, abs flexing slightly as he paused in the doorway.

You swore time stopped.

Then—

His eyes met yours.

Your breath caught.

So did his.

For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stared.

You, because he looked like a god. Built like something sculpted in marble, dripping wet, hair slicked back from his face but still curling at the ends. Water clung to his collarbones, trickled down the hard line of his chest, and disappeared into the edge of the towel hanging so low on his hips you could see the carved indent of his v-line.

And him…

His jaw flexed. Once. Twice. Like he was clenching it to keep something inside.

“What…” he started, voice low and uncertain. “What are you doing in here?”

Your mouth opened. No words came out.

“I—” You swallowed. “I didn’t mean— I just…”

He took a step forward.

You took a step back.

“Didn’t mean to what?” His voice wasn’t harsh. It was confused. Raspy. Like he wasn’t sure if he was angry or stunned or something else entirely. “Didn’t mean to be in my room? Or didn’t mean to get caught?”

You flushed. “I know it looks bad—”

“It smells worse.”

You froze. “What?”

His eyes dropped.

Then flicked back up to yours. Something dark lit behind them. Not anger. Something deeper. Needier. Something he’d been burying for months.

“You’re turned on.” His voice came out rough. Barely a whisper. “You’re turned on right now.”

Your whole body went still.

He took another step forward, and this time you didn’t move.

“I have the serum,” he said, more to himself than you, like he was reminding himself of something obvious. “Enhanced senses. I can smell it. It’s all over you. You smell like you want me to throw you on the bed.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, heat coiling low in your belly. You looked away, ashamed. Mortified.

But he didn’t sound disgusted. He didn’t sound mad.

He sounded wrecked.

Like he’d been waiting years for this moment and now couldn’t believe it was real. Your eyes met his again.

“Shit,” he whispered, running a hand over his face. His metal arm stayed still, fingers twitching. “Don’t do this to me, doll. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m allowed to want you.”

Your heart cracked open. That deep, broken honesty in his voice like he truly didn’t believe he was allowed to have good things. Like he thought you were too good for him, too soft, too warm.

You stepped toward him.

Close enough to feel the steam still rising off his skin.

“I didn’t come in here to make you uncomfortable,” you said gently. “I didn’t even know why I came in here. I just— I wanted to be near you. That’s all.”

He stared down at you, chest still rising and falling like he’d just run ten miles.

“You should go.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’ll ruin it.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growled. “You don’t know what I think about. What I’ve done with your name in my mouth and my fist wrapped around my cock at night.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned in, just enough to brush your cheek with his breath.

“I think about your voice. The way you say my name when you’re irritated. The way your eyes look when you’re bleeding but still walking. You fight like you’ve got something to prove and love like you don’t owe anyone anything.”

You felt dizzy. Hot.

“And you think I don’t notice,” he rasped. “That I don’t hear you. But I smell you at night. When you cum. When you moan into your hand and bury your face in the pillow, thinking about me. I know the difference between your post-mission sweat and when you’ve just gotten off.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

“You wanna pretend I don’t know how fucking sweet you smell when you’re turned on, baby? That I haven’t gotten off to it a hundred fucking times?”

You didn’t even realize you were reaching for him until your fingers brushed the edge of the towel, and his whole body jerked.

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered.

He didn’t.

Instead, he caught your wrist in his metal hand. Gentle. But firm.

“Last chance,” he warned. “You walk out now and I’ll never say a word about it. No one has to know.”

“And if I stay?”

His eyes met yours. Hunger. Devotion. Desperation.

“I won’t be able to hold back.”

You didn’t say a word.

You just stepped closer.

Bucky’s grip on your wrist tightened, barely but it wasn’t out of anger. It was restraint. His eyes dropped to your lips like he was trying to memorize them. His breathing was shallow, chest rising in small, shaky bursts.

You reached up, slowly, deliberately, and touched his chest with your free hand. Right over his heart. His skin was still damp, still warm, muscles twitching under your palm like he was barely holding himself together.

“Tell me what you need, Bucky.”

His jaw clenched. You felt it before you saw it, the way his whole body tensed, like he was fighting himself.

“I need…” His voice cracked. He swallowed. “I need to feel something real. Just once.”

You leaned in. “Then feel me.”

He didn’t move.

So you closed the space between you.

Your mouth brushed his just barely, feather-light but it was enough to snap something inside him. His hand let go of your wrist only to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in so hard and fast your breath hitched against his mouth. The kiss was rough, messy, starving like he’d spent years imagining it and now couldn’t get enough.

You kissed him back just as hungrily, your fingers gripping his sides, nails biting into damp skin. His lips were soft but urgent, desperate in a way that made your knees weak. He groaned into your mouth, like the taste of you was undoing him.

“Fuck,” he hissed when he pulled back, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel so fuckin’ good. You smell even better. Like want. Like mine.”

You whimpered.

And that broke whatever was left of his control.

He turned you gently, backing you toward the bed. His towel slipped lower, dangerously low, clinging only by friction and a prayer. The sight made your mouth go dry. You couldn’t look away.

He noticed.

“You want it?” he whispered, hands sliding up your sides.

You nodded. Breathless. Desperate.

His lips brushed your ear. “Then take it.”

With trembling fingers, you reached down and tugged at the towel. It dropped.

And there he was.

Big. Hard. Thick and flushed, already leaking from the tip. You gasped softly, he was beautiful. Every line of him. Every scar. Every shadow.

Bucky watched your face the whole time.

“Touch me,” he said, voice rough. Almost pleading.

You did. Carefully. Reverently. Your hand wrapped around him, and he shuddered. His metal hand grabbed the back of your neck again, grounding himself, thumb stroking your skin as you stroked him slow at first, then with more confidence as you felt him twitch in your palm.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

He grabbed your chin, made you look at him.

“You sure about this?”

You nodded, eyes wide. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you again, slower this time, pouring everything into it. His hands tugged at your clothes, pulling your top over your head, dragging your pants and panties down in one smooth motion. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

You stood there, bare before him, trembling but unashamed. He took a step back, eyes raking over every inch of you.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured. “Sofuckin’ perfect.”

Then he pulled you down with him onto the bed.

The sheets were cool against your back, but his body covered yours in seconds. Hot and heavy and shaking with restraint. His mouth found your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your chest, sucking bruises into your skin like he wanted to brand you as his.

His fingers slid between your thighs, and he groaned again, deep, guttural when he found how soaked you were.

“Drippin’ for me already?” he rasped, breath warm against your chest. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

You could barely breathe.

“Yes—yes, Bucky—”

He growled, the sound vibrating against your skin, and kissed you again.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby. Gonna take my time with you.”

And he would. Because he’d waited so long.

And now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go.

Bucky moved over you slowly, carefully. Like you were sacred. Like this moment was the only thing keeping him sane.

His mouth found your chest again, kissing, licking, sucking softly until you gasped his name and his hand slid lower, fingers parting your folds like he was memorizing you by touch.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered. “So warm. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

You whimpered, hips rising into his hand, needing more. Needing him.

“Please, Bucky…”

His gaze flicked up, jaw tight with restraint. “You want me?”

You nodded, flushed and aching. “I need you.”

He groaned like it physically hurt to hold back. “Fuck. Okay. I got you, sweetheart. I got you.”

He lined himself up, dragging the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds. The way you reacted, hips bucking, lips parting with a broken moan made him twitch in his own hand.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, voice low, ragged. “So ready for me. Think I might lose my fuckin’ mind.”

And then, he started to press in.

The stretch made your back arch. Inch by inch, his cock filled you, and it was so much. so thick, so deep

you could feel him in places you never had before. Bucky bit down on a groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he sank deeper.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “You’re—fuck—you’re tight.”

You clung to him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, nails dragging lightly across his back. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He didn’t.

He moved slow, burying himself to the hilt. Fully inside. Fully home.

And he stilled there.

Just breathing. Just feeling you around him.

You were both shaking.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing your hair out of your face.

You nodded quickly, eyes wide, lips trembling. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that cracked something open behind his eyes. Then he pulled out just a little, then pushed back in, slow and deep, making you both moan.

The rhythm built like a wave. Deep, deliberate strokes, every one hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. He held you close with one arm under your back, the other bracing beside your head, chest pressed flush to yours. You could feel his heart pounding against your ribs.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmured. “You feel like mine.”

“Bucky…”

He kissed you again. slow and open, his tongue brushing yours and rocked his hips deeper. Every thrust was a promise. Every breath, a confession.

“I think about you every fuckin’ night,” he whispered against your lips. “Fist my cock thinking about this. About you. This tight little pussy takin’ me in like it was made for me.”

You cried out, your walls clenching around him.

“God, Bucky—”

He groaned. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nodded helplessly, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Then cum for me, baby. I want to feel you fall apart.”

He angled his hips just right, grinding into your clit with every stroke and that was it.

You shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you, intense and all-consuming. Your body arched under him, fingers digging into his back, mouth open in a wordless cry as your walls pulsed tight around his cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Bucky growled, driving into you harder now, faster. “You feel so good—too good—gonna cum, baby, fuck, I’m gonna—”

And then he was gone.

He came with a choked groan, buried deep inside you, cock throbbing as he spilled into you. His entire body shuddered with the force of it, forehead pressed to yours, lips whispering your name over and over like a prayer.

When it was over, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stayed there. Inside you. Around you. Holding you like if he let go, it would all disappear.

You stroked his hair gently, brushing the damp strands away from his face.

“I stayed,” you whispered. “I’m here.”

His arms wrapped tighter around you.

“I know,” he breathed. “And I’ll never let you go.”

Your body was still humming, sensitive and sore in the most perfect way. Every nerve felt like it had been kissed open. Your skin tingled under the cool air of the room, but Bucky was still inside you, still holding you like he didn’t want to let the moment end.

He was trembling slightly, chest rising and falling against yours, forehead still resting against your temple.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice hoarse, low. He leaned back just enough to see your face, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. There was something vulnerable in them, something wide open.

You nodded slowly, lips parting in a dazed smile. “Yeah… I’m perfect.”

Relief washed over his expression, and then he smiled, really smiled and kissed your forehead.

“I’m gonna clean you up, okay?” he whispered. “Be right back.”

You barely managed a nod before he slipped out of you with a gentle, careful motion that still made your breath hitch. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your knee, then stood and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he came back, he had a warm, damp cloth and a look of quiet focus, like this was something sacred too. He knelt between your legs, wiped away the mess between your thighs with slow, patient strokes, like he was afraid to hurt you.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, brushing his hair back from his eyes.

He looked up at you then completely, wholly and his throat worked like he was trying to swallow down a thousand things he couldn’t say.

“I want to be,” he said. “Every day, if you let me.”

You reached for him, and he climbed back into the bed, tucking you into his side like you were the most precious thing in the world.

One arm cradled you against his chest, and the other ran soothing lines up and down your spine. His skin was warm, his breath steady. You could feel his heart beating under your palm.

“Can I… stay?” you whispered.

He looked at you like you’d just offered him something he never thought he’d be allowed to have. “Sweetheart, I’d keep you here all night if you’d let me.”

You laughed, burying your face into the curve of his neck.

He kissed your hair, your cheek, your temple.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Always.”

And he meant it.

That night, Bucky didn’t fall asleep wondering if he deserved to be touched.

He just fell asleep holding you.

This isn't proofread btw! I chose to do the original avengers bc I've been feeling very nostalgic lol... I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

I can't believe you guys are actually enjoying my work so thank you so much for the support! It means a lot ^-^

[progooner123]

I read my own fics and giggle like I didn’t write every word and fully know what’s coming.

[progooner123]

Never Let You Go

Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes never thought someone like you would notice him. Soft, kind, confident, and everything he thought he didn’t deserve. You barely spoke, only exchanged quiet greetings and mission briefings at the Avengers compound. But behind closed doors, both of you were secretly obsessed. One quiet day at the nearly-empty compound, curiosity and a heavy crush lead you to sneak into his room. What you didn’t expect was to get caught by a towel-clad, freshly-showered Bucky. What follows is intense, full of nervous tension, confessions, and heat.

Warnings: Smut/NSFW, MDNI (18+), mutual pining, reader is AFAB (no pronouns used), Touch-starved!Bucky, Soft Dom/sub tones, Reader sneaks into Bucky's room, Bucky catches reader, Super soldier senses (Bucky smells reader's arousal), Sexual tension, Nervous/crush vibes, Mentions of masturbation, Slow buildup, I think that's it lol

Word Count: 3.5k

The compound always felt too big when it was quiet. Towering halls, polished floors, ceilings that echoed back the faintest footstep. But the stillness was something Bucky had come to appreciate over the years. It was easier to breathe in silence, easier to think without being surrounded by people who didn’t understand what it meant to carry a century of ghosts in your chest.

But you… you made the silence feel less lonely.

He didn’t know when it started, not exactly. Maybe it was that mission in Prague, when you took down five men without breaking a sweat, not for pride, not for glory. Just because it needed to be done, or maybe it was the morning he passed you in the kitchen, eyes still heavy with sleep, and you handed him a cup of coffee without a word, like it was the most natural thing in the world. No fear. No questions. No small talk, just warmth. Real warmth.

You never spoke to him like the others did. Not with nerves, not with pity, not with forced camaraderie. Your conversations were brief. A nod in the hallway, a soft “good morning,” sometimes a quick mission debrief. Efficient. Clean. But kind. Always kind.

And that was the problem.

You were kind.

And sweet. And soft in all the ways he wasn’t. You were strong, yes, fiercely so but not to prove anything. Not like him. You didn’t move through the world trying to make up for the blood on your hands. You moved like someone who simply wanted to help, someone who knew the weight of pain but didn’t let it rot you from the inside out.

Bucky hated how much he noticed you. How the sound of your laughter made his chest ache. How he’d memorize the color of your shirt just to picture you more clearly later that night, fists curled tight around his cock under the sheets, the scent of you. Real or imagined, lingering in his nose. He never touched you. Never would. He wasn’t that selfish. But God, the things he’d do in his head…

And he figured that was all it would ever be.

Because why the hell would someone like you look twice at someone like him?

You weren’t sure when it started either.

Maybe it was during a training session, when Steve was barking orders and Bucky stood just behind him. Arms crossed, eyes locked on your form as you disarmed the dummy with brutal efficiency. He didn’t smile, didn’t flinch. Just watched, like you were something he didn’t quite believe was real.

Or maybe it was later, during a mission briefing, when your fingers brushed as you passed him a tablet and he pulled away so fast it was like you’d burned him but his ears flushed pink.

You didn’t talk much. Not with him, at least. You could hold your own with anyone else in the compound. You were loud with Sam, witty with Nat, sarcastic with Tony but around Bucky, it was always… still.

Not cold.

Just… careful.

There was something magnetic about him. The way he stood stiller than most men, like he could melt into a room and vanish if he wanted. The way he rarely looked directly at people, always a little over their shoulder, like he was waiting for something to go wrong. Like he expected it to.

But when he did look at you, really looked, it left you breathless.

His eyes were sadness and survival, always guarded but always watching. You weren’t even sure he likedyou, but sometimes when you’d catch him in the gym and he thought you didn’t notice, he’d stare like he’d never seen a woman before.

He never said anything inappropriate. Never stared for too long. Always respectful but that only made it worse. That restraint. That distance. Like he wanted to touch you but didn’t believe he deserved to.

And maybe that was why you started thinking about him. Dreaming about him. Touching yourself late at night, his name buried against your knuckles, imagining what it would be like if he did lose control, if he pressed you against the wall and kissed you like he was starving.

You didn’t think he’d ever act on it. You didn’t think you would either.

But today the compound was quiet. Too quiet. Most of the team was gone. You’d stayed back nursing a minor rib injury, and he…

well, he wasn’t scheduled for any missions. The halls felt emptier than usual. No Sam. No Steve. Nobody. Just you… and Bucky.

Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was something darker.

But you found yourself walking down the hall toward the east wing where the living quarters were. Your feet moved before your brain caught up. You weren’t planning anything. Not really.

You just… wantedto be close to him.

You told yourself you weren’t going to do anything weird. Just peek into his room. That was it. You were already standing in front of his door before you realized how insane this was. A grown woman, sneaking around like a teenager.

And then your hand was on the knob.

To your surprise, it turned.

Unlocked.

You froze.

But then… you stepped inside.

The room was dim and warm. Smelled like cedarwood soap and something darker, spicier, masculine. It wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t overly neat either. Books stacked on the nightstand. A knife on the dresser. A worn leather jacket slung over a chair. Everything about the room looked lived in. Looked like him.

And it smelled like him.

You should’ve turned around. Should’ve left. But you stood there for a second too long, eyes fluttering closed as you breathed him in. Your heart was pounding. You didn’t know why. You weren’t doing anything wrong… not really.

And that’s when you heard it.

The click of a door unlocking. A door opening.

The bathroom.

You froze. Your stomach dropped and before you could even move, before you could decide what the hell you were going to say…

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Fresh out of the shower. Hair wet, dripping over his shoulders. Towel slung dangerously low on his hips, clinging to his waist like it was fighting for dear life. His chest rose and fell with every breath, skin glistening with water droplets, abs flexing slightly as he paused in the doorway.

You swore time stopped.

Then—

His eyes met yours.

Your breath caught.

So did his.

For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stared.

You, because he looked like a god. Built like something sculpted in marble, dripping wet, hair slicked back from his face but still curling at the ends. Water clung to his collarbones, trickled down the hard line of his chest, and disappeared into the edge of the towel hanging so low on his hips you could see the carved indent of his v-line.

And him…

His jaw flexed. Once. Twice. Like he was clenching it to keep something inside.

“What…” he started, voice low and uncertain. “What are you doing in here?”

Your mouth opened. No words came out.

“I—” You swallowed. “I didn’t mean— I just…”

He took a step forward.

You took a step back.

“Didn’t mean to what?” His voice wasn’t harsh. It was confused. Raspy. Like he wasn’t sure if he was angry or stunned or something else entirely. “Didn’t mean to be in my room? Or didn’t mean to get caught?”

You flushed. “I know it looks bad—”

“It smells worse.”

You froze. “What?”

His eyes dropped.

Then flicked back up to yours. Something dark lit behind them. Not anger. Something deeper. Needier. Something he’d been burying for months.

“You’re turned on.” His voice came out rough. Barely a whisper. “You’re turned on right now.”

Your whole body went still.

He took another step forward, and this time you didn’t move.

“I have the serum,” he said, more to himself than you, like he was reminding himself of something obvious. “Enhanced senses. I can smell it. It’s all over you. You smell like you want me to throw you on the bed.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, heat coiling low in your belly. You looked away, ashamed. Mortified.

But he didn’t sound disgusted. He didn’t sound mad.

He sounded wrecked.

Like he’d been waiting years for this moment and now couldn’t believe it was real. Your eyes met his again.

“Shit,” he whispered, running a hand over his face. His metal arm stayed still, fingers twitching. “Don’t do this to me, doll. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m allowed to want you.”

Your heart cracked open. That deep, broken honesty in his voice like he truly didn’t believe he was allowed to have good things. Like he thought you were too good for him, too soft, too warm.

You stepped toward him.

Close enough to feel the steam still rising off his skin.

“I didn’t come in here to make you uncomfortable,” you said gently. “I didn’t even know why I came in here. I just— I wanted to be near you. That’s all.”

He stared down at you, chest still rising and falling like he’d just run ten miles.

“You should go.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’ll ruin it.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growled. “You don’t know what I think about. What I’ve done with your name in my mouth and my fist wrapped around my cock at night.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned in, just enough to brush your cheek with his breath.

“I think about your voice. The way you say my name when you’re irritated. The way your eyes look when you’re bleeding but still walking. You fight like you’ve got something to prove and love like you don’t owe anyone anything.”

You felt dizzy. Hot.

“And you think I don’t notice,” he rasped. “That I don’t hear you. But I smell you at night. When you cum. When you moan into your hand and bury your face in the pillow, thinking about me. I know the difference between your post-mission sweat and when you’ve just gotten off.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

“You wanna pretend I don’t know how fucking sweet you smell when you’re turned on, baby? That I haven’t gotten off to it a hundred fucking times?”

You didn’t even realize you were reaching for him until your fingers brushed the edge of the towel, and his whole body jerked.

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered.

He didn’t.

Instead, he caught your wrist in his metal hand. Gentle. But firm.

“Last chance,” he warned. “You walk out now and I’ll never say a word about it. No one has to know.”

“And if I stay?”

His eyes met yours. Hunger. Devotion. Desperation.

“I won’t be able to hold back.”

You didn’t say a word.

You just stepped closer.

Bucky’s grip on your wrist tightened, barely but it wasn’t out of anger. It was restraint. His eyes dropped to your lips like he was trying to memorize them. His breathing was shallow, chest rising in small, shaky bursts.

You reached up, slowly, deliberately, and touched his chest with your free hand. Right over his heart. His skin was still damp, still warm, muscles twitching under your palm like he was barely holding himself together.

“Tell me what you need, Bucky.”

His jaw clenched. You felt it before you saw it, the way his whole body tensed, like he was fighting himself.

“I need…” His voice cracked. He swallowed. “I need to feel something real. Just once.”

You leaned in. “Then feel me.”

He didn’t move.

So you closed the space between you.

Your mouth brushed his just barely, feather-light but it was enough to snap something inside him. His hand let go of your wrist only to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in so hard and fast your breath hitched against his mouth. The kiss was rough, messy, starving like he’d spent years imagining it and now couldn’t get enough.

You kissed him back just as hungrily, your fingers gripping his sides, nails biting into damp skin. His lips were soft but urgent, desperate in a way that made your knees weak. He groaned into your mouth, like the taste of you was undoing him.

“Fuck,” he hissed when he pulled back, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel so fuckin’ good. You smell even better. Like want. Like mine.”

You whimpered.

And that broke whatever was left of his control.

He turned you gently, backing you toward the bed. His towel slipped lower, dangerously low, clinging only by friction and a prayer. The sight made your mouth go dry. You couldn’t look away.

He noticed.

“You want it?” he whispered, hands sliding up your sides.

You nodded. Breathless. Desperate.

His lips brushed your ear. “Then take it.”

With trembling fingers, you reached down and tugged at the towel. It dropped.

And there he was.

Big. Hard. Thick and flushed, already leaking from the tip. You gasped softly, he was beautiful. Every line of him. Every scar. Every shadow.

Bucky watched your face the whole time.

“Touch me,” he said, voice rough. Almost pleading.

You did. Carefully. Reverently. Your hand wrapped around him, and he shuddered. His metal hand grabbed the back of your neck again, grounding himself, thumb stroking your skin as you stroked him slow at first, then with more confidence as you felt him twitch in your palm.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

He grabbed your chin, made you look at him.

“You sure about this?”

You nodded, eyes wide. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you again, slower this time, pouring everything into it. His hands tugged at your clothes, pulling your top over your head, dragging your pants and panties down in one smooth motion. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

You stood there, bare before him, trembling but unashamed. He took a step back, eyes raking over every inch of you.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured. “Sofuckin’ perfect.”

Then he pulled you down with him onto the bed.

The sheets were cool against your back, but his body covered yours in seconds. Hot and heavy and shaking with restraint. His mouth found your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your chest, sucking bruises into your skin like he wanted to brand you as his.

His fingers slid between your thighs, and he groaned again, deep, guttural when he found how soaked you were.

“Drippin’ for me already?” he rasped, breath warm against your chest. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

You could barely breathe.

“Yes—yes, Bucky—”

He growled, the sound vibrating against your skin, and kissed you again.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby. Gonna take my time with you.”

And he would. Because he’d waited so long.

And now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go.

Bucky moved over you slowly, carefully. Like you were sacred. Like this moment was the only thing keeping him sane.

His mouth found your chest again, kissing, licking, sucking softly until you gasped his name and his hand slid lower, fingers parting your folds like he was memorizing you by touch.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered. “So warm. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

You whimpered, hips rising into his hand, needing more. Needing him.

“Please, Bucky…”

His gaze flicked up, jaw tight with restraint. “You want me?”

You nodded, flushed and aching. “I need you.”

He groaned like it physically hurt to hold back. “Fuck. Okay. I got you, sweetheart. I got you.”

He lined himself up, dragging the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds. The way you reacted, hips bucking, lips parting with a broken moan made him twitch in his own hand.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, voice low, ragged. “So ready for me. Think I might lose my fuckin’ mind.”

And then, he started to press in.

The stretch made your back arch. Inch by inch, his cock filled you, and it was so much. so thick, so deep

you could feel him in places you never had before. Bucky bit down on a groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he sank deeper.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “You’re—fuck—you’re tight.”

You clung to him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, nails dragging lightly across his back. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He didn’t.

He moved slow, burying himself to the hilt. Fully inside. Fully home.

And he stilled there.

Just breathing. Just feeling you around him.

You were both shaking.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing your hair out of your face.

You nodded quickly, eyes wide, lips trembling. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that cracked something open behind his eyes. Then he pulled out just a little, then pushed back in, slow and deep, making you both moan.

The rhythm built like a wave. Deep, deliberate strokes, every one hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. He held you close with one arm under your back, the other bracing beside your head, chest pressed flush to yours. You could feel his heart pounding against your ribs.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmured. “You feel like mine.”

“Bucky…”

He kissed you again. slow and open, his tongue brushing yours and rocked his hips deeper. Every thrust was a promise. Every breath, a confession.

“I think about you every fuckin’ night,” he whispered against your lips. “Fist my cock thinking about this. About you. This tight little pussy takin’ me in like it was made for me.”

You cried out, your walls clenching around him.

“God, Bucky—”

He groaned. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nodded helplessly, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Then cum for me, baby. I want to feel you fall apart.”

He angled his hips just right, grinding into your clit with every stroke and that was it.

You shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you, intense and all-consuming. Your body arched under him, fingers digging into his back, mouth open in a wordless cry as your walls pulsed tight around his cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Bucky growled, driving into you harder now, faster. “You feel so good—too good—gonna cum, baby, fuck, I’m gonna—”

And then he was gone.

He came with a choked groan, buried deep inside you, cock throbbing as he spilled into you. His entire body shuddered with the force of it, forehead pressed to yours, lips whispering your name over and over like a prayer.

When it was over, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stayed there. Inside you. Around you. Holding you like if he let go, it would all disappear.

You stroked his hair gently, brushing the damp strands away from his face.

“I stayed,” you whispered. “I’m here.”

His arms wrapped tighter around you.

“I know,” he breathed. “And I’ll never let you go.”

Your body was still humming, sensitive and sore in the most perfect way. Every nerve felt like it had been kissed open. Your skin tingled under the cool air of the room, but Bucky was still inside you, still holding you like he didn’t want to let the moment end.

He was trembling slightly, chest rising and falling against yours, forehead still resting against your temple.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice hoarse, low. He leaned back just enough to see your face, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. There was something vulnerable in them, something wide open.

You nodded slowly, lips parting in a dazed smile. “Yeah… I’m perfect.”

Relief washed over his expression, and then he smiled, really smiled and kissed your forehead.

“I’m gonna clean you up, okay?” he whispered. “Be right back.”

You barely managed a nod before he slipped out of you with a gentle, careful motion that still made your breath hitch. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your knee, then stood and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he came back, he had a warm, damp cloth and a look of quiet focus, like this was something sacred too. He knelt between your legs, wiped away the mess between your thighs with slow, patient strokes, like he was afraid to hurt you.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, brushing his hair back from his eyes.

He looked up at you then completely, wholly and his throat worked like he was trying to swallow down a thousand things he couldn’t say.

“I want to be,” he said. “Every day, if you let me.”

You reached for him, and he climbed back into the bed, tucking you into his side like you were the most precious thing in the world.

One arm cradled you against his chest, and the other ran soothing lines up and down your spine. His skin was warm, his breath steady. You could feel his heart beating under your palm.

“Can I… stay?” you whispered.

He looked at you like you’d just offered him something he never thought he’d be allowed to have. “Sweetheart, I’d keep you here all night if you’d let me.”

You laughed, burying your face into the curve of his neck.

He kissed your hair, your cheek, your temple.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Always.”

And he meant it.

That night, Bucky didn’t fall asleep wondering if he deserved to be touched.

He just fell asleep holding you.

This isn't proofread btw! I chose to do the original avengers bc I've been feeling very nostalgic lol... I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

I can't believe you guys are actually enjoying my work so thank you so much for the support! It means a lot ^-^

[progooner123]

Never Let You Go

Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes never thought someone like you would notice him. Soft, kind, confident, and everything he thought he didn’t deserve. You barely spoke, only exchanged quiet greetings and mission briefings at the Avengers compound. But behind closed doors, both of you were secretly obsessed. One quiet day at the nearly-empty compound, curiosity and a heavy crush lead you to sneak into his room. What you didn’t expect was to get caught by a towel-clad, freshly-showered Bucky. What follows is intense, full of nervous tension, confessions, and heat.

Warnings: Smut/NSFW, MDNI (18+), mutual pining, reader is AFAB (no pronouns used), Touch-starved!Bucky, Soft Dom/sub tones, Reader sneaks into Bucky's room, Bucky catches reader, Super soldier senses (Bucky smells reader's arousal), Sexual tension, Nervous/crush vibes, Mentions of masturbation, Slow buildup, I think that's it lol

Word Count: 3.5k

The compound always felt too big when it was quiet. Towering halls, polished floors, ceilings that echoed back the faintest footstep. But the stillness was something Bucky had come to appreciate over the years. It was easier to breathe in silence, easier to think without being surrounded by people who didn’t understand what it meant to carry a century of ghosts in your chest.

But you… you made the silence feel less lonely.

He didn’t know when it started, not exactly. Maybe it was that mission in Prague, when you took down five men without breaking a sweat, not for pride, not for glory. Just because it needed to be done, or maybe it was the morning he passed you in the kitchen, eyes still heavy with sleep, and you handed him a cup of coffee without a word, like it was the most natural thing in the world. No fear. No questions. No small talk, just warmth. Real warmth.

You never spoke to him like the others did. Not with nerves, not with pity, not with forced camaraderie. Your conversations were brief. A nod in the hallway, a soft “good morning,” sometimes a quick mission debrief. Efficient. Clean. But kind. Always kind.

And that was the problem.

You were kind.

And sweet. And soft in all the ways he wasn’t. You were strong, yes, fiercely so but not to prove anything. Not like him. You didn’t move through the world trying to make up for the blood on your hands. You moved like someone who simply wanted to help, someone who knew the weight of pain but didn’t let it rot you from the inside out.

Bucky hated how much he noticed you. How the sound of your laughter made his chest ache. How he’d memorize the color of your shirt just to picture you more clearly later that night, fists curled tight around his cock under the sheets, the scent of you. Real or imagined, lingering in his nose. He never touched you. Never would. He wasn’t that selfish. But God, the things he’d do in his head…

And he figured that was all it would ever be.

Because why the hell would someone like you look twice at someone like him?

You weren’t sure when it started either.

Maybe it was during a training session, when Steve was barking orders and Bucky stood just behind him. Arms crossed, eyes locked on your form as you disarmed the dummy with brutal efficiency. He didn’t smile, didn’t flinch. Just watched, like you were something he didn’t quite believe was real.

Or maybe it was later, during a mission briefing, when your fingers brushed as you passed him a tablet and he pulled away so fast it was like you’d burned him but his ears flushed pink.

You didn’t talk much. Not with him, at least. You could hold your own with anyone else in the compound. You were loud with Sam, witty with Nat, sarcastic with Tony but around Bucky, it was always… still.

Not cold.

Just… careful.

There was something magnetic about him. The way he stood stiller than most men, like he could melt into a room and vanish if he wanted. The way he rarely looked directly at people, always a little over their shoulder, like he was waiting for something to go wrong. Like he expected it to.

But when he did look at you, really looked, it left you breathless.

His eyes were sadness and survival, always guarded but always watching. You weren’t even sure he likedyou, but sometimes when you’d catch him in the gym and he thought you didn’t notice, he’d stare like he’d never seen a woman before.

He never said anything inappropriate. Never stared for too long. Always respectful but that only made it worse. That restraint. That distance. Like he wanted to touch you but didn’t believe he deserved to.

And maybe that was why you started thinking about him. Dreaming about him. Touching yourself late at night, his name buried against your knuckles, imagining what it would be like if he did lose control, if he pressed you against the wall and kissed you like he was starving.

You didn’t think he’d ever act on it. You didn’t think you would either.

But today the compound was quiet. Too quiet. Most of the team was gone. You’d stayed back nursing a minor rib injury, and he…

well, he wasn’t scheduled for any missions. The halls felt emptier than usual. No Sam. No Steve. Nobody. Just you… and Bucky.

Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was something darker.

But you found yourself walking down the hall toward the east wing where the living quarters were. Your feet moved before your brain caught up. You weren’t planning anything. Not really.

You just… wanted to be close to him.

You told yourself you weren’t going to do anything weird. Just peek into his room. That was it. You were already standing in front of his door before you realized how insane this was. A grown woman, sneaking around like a teenager.

And then your hand was on the knob.

To your surprise, it turned.

Unlocked.

You froze.

But then… you stepped inside.

The room was dim and warm. Smelled like cedarwood soap and something darker, spicier, masculine. It wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t overly neat either. Books stacked on the nightstand. A knife on the dresser. A worn leather jacket slung over a chair. Everything about the room looked lived in. Looked like him.

And it smelled like him.

You should’ve turned around. Should’ve left. But you stood there for a second too long, eyes fluttering closed as you breathed him in. Your heart was pounding. You didn’t know why. You weren’t doing anything wrong… not really.

And that’s when you heard it.

The click of a door unlocking. A door opening.

The bathroom.

You froze. Your stomach dropped and before you could even move, before you could decide what the hell you were going to say…

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Fresh out of the shower. Hair wet, dripping over his shoulders. Towel slung dangerously low on his hips, clinging to his waist like it was fighting for dear life. His chest rose and fell with every breath, skin glistening with water droplets, abs flexing slightly as he paused in the doorway.

You swore time stopped.

Then—

His eyes met yours.

Your breath caught.

So did his.

For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stared.

You, because he looked like a god. Built like something sculpted in marble, dripping wet, hair slicked back from his face but still curling at the ends. Water clung to his collarbones, trickled down the hard line of his chest, and disappeared into the edge of the towel hanging so low on his hips you could see the carved indent of his v-line.

And him…

His jaw flexed. Once. Twice. Like he was clenching it to keep something inside.

“What…” he started, voice low and uncertain. “What are you doing in here?”

Your mouth opened. No words came out.

“I—” You swallowed. “I didn’t mean— I just…”

He took a step forward.

You took a step back.

“Didn’t mean to what?” His voice wasn’t harsh. It was confused. Raspy. Like he wasn’t sure if he was angry or stunned or something else entirely. “Didn’t mean to be in my room? Or didn’t mean to get caught?”

You flushed. “I know it looks bad—”

“It smells worse.”

You froze. “What?”

His eyes dropped.

Then flicked back up to yours. Something dark lit behind them. Not anger. Something deeper. Needier. Something he’d been burying for months.

“You’re turned on.” His voice came out rough. Barely a whisper. “You’re turned on right now.”

Your whole body went still.

He took another step forward, and this time you didn’t move.

“I have the serum,” he said, more to himself than you, like he was reminding himself of something obvious. “Enhanced senses. I can smell it. It’s all over you. You smell like you want me to throw you on the bed.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, heat coiling low in your belly. You looked away, ashamed. Mortified.

But he didn’t sound disgusted. He didn’t sound mad.

He sounded wrecked.

Like he’d been waiting years for this moment and now couldn’t believe it was real. Your eyes met his again.

“Shit,” he whispered, running a hand over his face. His metal arm stayed still, fingers twitching. “Don’t do this to me, doll. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m allowed to want you.”

Your heart cracked open. That deep, broken honesty in his voice like he truly didn’t believe he was allowed to have good things. Like he thought you were too good for him, too soft, too warm.

You stepped toward him.

Close enough to feel the steam still rising off his skin.

“I didn’t come in here to make you uncomfortable,” you said gently. “I didn’t even know why I came in here. I just— I wanted to be near you. That’s all.”

He stared down at you, chest still rising and falling like he’d just run ten miles.

“You should go.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’ll ruin it.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growled. “You don’t know what I think about. What I’ve done with your name in my mouth and my fist wrapped around my cock at night.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned in, just enough to brush your cheek with his breath.

“I think about your voice. The way you say my name when you’re irritated. The way your eyes look when you’re bleeding but still walking. You fight like you’ve got something to prove and love like you don’t owe anyone anything.”

You felt dizzy. Hot.

“And you think I don’t notice,” he rasped. “That I don’t hear you. But I smell you at night. When you cum. When you moan into your hand and bury your face in the pillow, thinking about me. I know the difference between your post-mission sweat and when you’ve just gotten off.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

“You wanna pretend I don’t know how fucking sweet you smell when you’re turned on, baby? That I haven’t gotten off to it a hundred fucking times?”

You didn’t even realize you were reaching for him until your fingers brushed the edge of the towel, and his whole body jerked.

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered.

He didn’t.

Instead, he caught your wrist in his metal hand. Gentle. But firm.

“Last chance,” he warned. “You walk out now and I’ll never say a word about it. No one has to know.”

“And if I stay?”

His eyes met yours. Hunger. Devotion. Desperation.

“I won’t be able to hold back.”

You didn’t say a word.

You just stepped closer.

Bucky’s grip on your wrist tightened, barely but it wasn’t out of anger. It was restraint. His eyes dropped to your lips like he was trying to memorize them. His breathing was shallow, chest rising in small, shaky bursts.

You reached up, slowly, deliberately, and touched his chest with your free hand. Right over his heart. His skin was still damp, still warm, muscles twitching under your palm like he was barely holding himself together.

“Tell me what you need, Bucky.”

His jaw clenched. You felt it before you saw it, the way his whole body tensed, like he was fighting himself.

“I need…” His voice cracked. He swallowed. “I need to feel something real. Just once.”

You leaned in. “Then feel me.”

He didn’t move.

So you closed the space between you.

Your mouth brushed his just barely, feather-light but it was enough to snap something inside him. His hand let go of your wrist only to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in so hard and fast your breath hitched against his mouth. The kiss was rough, messy, starving like he’d spent years imagining it and now couldn’t get enough.

You kissed him back just as hungrily, your fingers gripping his sides, nails biting into damp skin. His lips were soft but urgent, desperate in a way that made your knees weak. He groaned into your mouth, like the taste of you was undoing him.

“Fuck,” he hissed when he pulled back, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel so fuckin’ good. You smell even better. Like want. Like mine.”

You whimpered.

And that broke whatever was left of his control.

He turned you gently, backing you toward the bed. His towel slipped lower, dangerously low, clinging only by friction and a prayer. The sight made your mouth go dry. You couldn’t look away.

He noticed.

“You want it?” he whispered, hands sliding up your sides.

You nodded. Breathless. Desperate.

His lips brushed your ear. “Then take it.”

With trembling fingers, you reached down and tugged at the towel. It dropped.

And there he was.

Big. Hard. Thick and flushed, already leaking from the tip. You gasped softly, he was beautiful. Every line of him. Every scar. Every shadow.

Bucky watched your face the whole time.

“Touch me,” he said, voice rough. Almost pleading.

You did. Carefully. Reverently. Your hand wrapped around him, and he shuddered. His metal hand grabbed the back of your neck again, grounding himself, thumb stroking your skin as you stroked him slow at first, then with more confidence as you felt him twitch in your palm.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

He grabbed your chin, made you look at him.

“You sure about this?”

You nodded, eyes wide. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you again, slower this time, pouring everything into it. His hands tugged at your clothes, pulling your top over your head, dragging your pants and panties down in one smooth motion. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

You stood there, bare before him, trembling but unashamed. He took a step back, eyes raking over every inch of you.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured. “Sofuckin’ perfect.”

Then he pulled you down with him onto the bed.

The sheets were cool against your back, but his body covered yours in seconds. Hot and heavy and shaking with restraint. His mouth found your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your chest, sucking bruises into your skin like he wanted to brand you as his.

His fingers slid between your thighs, and he groaned again, deep, guttural when he found how soaked you were.

“Drippin’ for me already?” he rasped, breath warm against your chest. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

You could barely breathe.

“Yes—yes, Bucky—”

He growled, the sound vibrating against your skin, and kissed you again.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby. Gonna take my time with you.”

And he would. Because he’d waited so long.

And now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go.

Bucky moved over you slowly, carefully. Like you were sacred. Like this moment was the only thing keeping him sane.

His mouth found your chest again, kissing, licking, sucking softly until you gasped his name and his hand slid lower, fingers parting your folds like he was memorizing you by touch.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered. “So warm. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

You whimpered, hips rising into his hand, needing more. Needing him.

“Please, Bucky…”

His gaze flicked up, jaw tight with restraint. “You want me?”

You nodded, flushed and aching. “I need you.”

He groaned like it physically hurt to hold back. “Fuck. Okay. I got you, sweetheart. I got you.”

He lined himself up, dragging the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds. The way you reacted, hips bucking, lips parting with a broken moan made him twitch in his own hand.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, voice low, ragged. “So ready for me. Think I might lose my fuckin’ mind.”

And then, he started to press in.

The stretch made your back arch. Inch by inch, his cock filled you, and it was so much. so thick, so deep

you could feel him in places you never had before. Bucky bit down on a groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he sank deeper.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “You’re—fuck—you’re tight.”

You clung to him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, nails dragging lightly across his back. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He didn’t.

He moved slow, burying himself to the hilt. Fully inside. Fully home.

And he stilled there.

Just breathing. Just feeling you around him.

You were both shaking.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing your hair out of your face.

You nodded quickly, eyes wide, lips trembling. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that cracked something open behind his eyes. Then he pulled out just a little, then pushed back in, slow and deep, making you both moan.

The rhythm built like a wave. Deep, deliberate strokes, every one hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. He held you close with one arm under your back, the other bracing beside your head, chest pressed flush to yours. You could feel his heart pounding against your ribs.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmured. “You feel like mine.”

“Bucky…”

He kissed you again. slow and open, his tongue brushing yours and rocked his hips deeper. Every thrust was a promise. Every breath, a confession.

“I think about you every fuckin’ night,” he whispered against your lips. “Fist my cock thinking about this. About you. This tight little pussy takin’ me in like it was made for me.”

You cried out, your walls clenching around him.

“God, Bucky—”

He groaned. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nodded helplessly, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Then cum for me, baby. I want to feel you fall apart.”

He angled his hips just right, grinding into your clit with every stroke and that was it.

You shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you, intense and all-consuming. Your body arched under him, fingers digging into his back, mouth open in a wordless cry as your walls pulsed tight around his cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Bucky growled, driving into you harder now, faster. “You feel so good—too good—gonna cum, baby, fuck, I’m gonna—”

And then he was gone.

He came with a choked groan, buried deep inside you, cock throbbing as he spilled into you. His entire body shuddered with the force of it, forehead pressed to yours, lips whispering your name over and over like a prayer.

When it was over, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stayed there. Inside you. Around you. Holding you like if he let go, it would all disappear.

You stroked his hair gently, brushing the damp strands away from his face.

“I stayed,” you whispered. “I’m here.”

His arms wrapped tighter around you.

“I know,” he breathed. “And I’ll never let you go.”

Your body was still humming, sensitive and sore in the most perfect way. Every nerve felt like it had been kissed open. Your skin tingled under the cool air of the room, but Bucky was still inside you, still holding you like he didn’t want to let the moment end.

He was trembling slightly, chest rising and falling against yours, forehead still resting against your temple.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice hoarse, low. He leaned back just enough to see your face, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. There was something vulnerable in them, something wide open.

You nodded slowly, lips parting in a dazed smile. “Yeah… I’m perfect.”

Relief washed over his expression, and then he smiled, really smiled and kissed your forehead.

“I’m gonna clean you up, okay?” he whispered. “Be right back.”

You barely managed a nod before he slipped out of you with a gentle, careful motion that still made your breath hitch. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your knee, then stood and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he came back, he had a warm, damp cloth and a look of quiet focus, like this was something sacred too. He knelt between your legs, wiped away the mess between your thighs with slow, patient strokes, like he was afraid to hurt you.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, brushing his hair back from his eyes.

He looked up at you then completely, wholly and his throat worked like he was trying to swallow down a thousand things he couldn’t say.

“I want to be,” he said. “Every day, if you let me.”

You reached for him, and he climbed back into the bed, tucking you into his side like you were the most precious thing in the world.

One arm cradled you against his chest, and the other ran soothing lines up and down your spine. His skin was warm, his breath steady. You could feel his heart beating under your palm.

“Can I… stay?” you whispered.

He looked at you like you’d just offered him something he never thought he’d be allowed to have. “Sweetheart, I’d keep you here all night if you’d let me.”

You laughed, burying your face into the curve of his neck.

He kissed your hair, your cheek, your temple.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Always.”

And he meant it.

That night, Bucky didn’t fall asleep wondering if he deserved to be touched.

He just fell asleep holding you.

This isn't proofread btw! I chose to do the original avengers bc I've been feeling very nostalgic lol... I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

I can't believe you guys are actually enjoying my work so thank you so much for the support! It means a lot ^-^

[progooner123]

Obsessed with this!

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. ─────────

[progooner123]

YES YES YES YES

heavy in your arms

Summary: Bucky has big arms. And you've been dreaming about losing yourself in them since you saw him for the first time. Inspo: beefy!bucky wrapping his bicep around your neck to pull you flush to his chest while he pounds into you deliciously Pairing: beefy!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Warnings/tags: smut; porn without plot; breath play (kinda); arm kink; chocking kink; silent play; p in v; unprotected sex; praise kink (reader); no use of Y/N Word count: 2.6k Notes: quick drabble i wrote in like two hours because i couldn't stop thinking about this post by @fckmebarnes

You’re not entirely sure how you got to tonight’s events.

You met Bucky Barnes a few months ago in a local market. He seemed lost. Like buying tomatoes and plums from a sweet vendor on the street was the hardest chore someone could do in a lifetime. You approached. He looked uneasy, pulled away. You spoke, soft and tender. He barely answered. American. 

But you saw each other again. And again. And again, on the same market. At some point, you wondered if he would come just to see you. One day, you invited him to your home. You didn’t think he would say yes, but he did.

You know his name. He’s hiding something dark, deep, and he’s got a shiny metal arm instead of a left human arm. All the rest of him is… normal. He’s quiet, quieter than should be comfortable, but you’re okay with it. And his presence in your home comes like a balm. Becomes a routine. He comes over once a week, you make him his favorite soup. He always looks tired.

Then, tonight, something shifted. You made a comment about his arms. His big fucking arms, because, God, he’s muscular and big, so much bigger than you. And you’ve wondered what it would be like to lose yourself in those arms, to have them wrapped around you as he fucked you into oblivion, until you forgot yourself.

You’re both in the living room, and Bucky is the first to reach forward, towards you. He’s careful in his motion, but firm, his body moving with a certain precision. Flesh hand, warm, wraps around your smaller right wrist and tugs you closer, until your bodies are practically touching. Every inch of him on every inch of you - almost.

His icy blue eyes trail over your features like he’s studying you, learning, memorizing. They are directly locked into your own eyes for a moment, holding your gaze, and you think you detect something behind that look, like he’s about to say something, but decides against it. Then his eyes are on your cheeks, taking in the pinkish tone on your skin, and then lower, on your lips. Plump, a little trembling, as if they are begging to be kissed. To be devoured by his own. You don’t need to ask it out loud. Bucky’s memories are scattered across the continents, but the look on your face - the want - that one he recognizes.

His body towers over yours and he starts to lean down, and you still catch the moment he starts to close his eyes. And then, a hairsbreadth later, his lips are pressing to yours. The kiss isn’t tender, isn’t sweet. You didn’t expect sweetness from him, anyway.

Bucky is hungry and he kisses you exactly like a man starving. When was the last time his lips were on someone else’s willingly? When was the last time he felt like his body really was his own? He’s not sure he remembers, but this, right here, your small, fragile body on his - it feels good.

Your lips move together, hard and hungry, and he tastes like alcohol and fruit and the mixture is strange on your tongue but not unpleasant. He licks over your lips, inviting himself into your mouth before his tongue slides past your lips and tastes all of you. His flesh hand is still holding on to your wrist, but when he kisses you like that you moan and instantly, his hand moves to grip your hip tight. Bucky holds you hard against his body, and already you feel the outline of his hard cock through his jeans. Your hips roll forward, teasing, seeking friction, and he makes a noise into your mouth which you swallow like it’s your own.

Bucky breaks the kiss for a moment to search for air, and he takes in the sight of your flustered face. He seems proud of the work he’s done, metal arm reaching up and craddling your cheek as his thumb rubs over the reddened skin.

“You’re beautiful.”, he says, and his voice is rough with desire. You open your mouth to say something, but Bucky catches your lips in another lustful kiss that leaves you breathless before you can get a word out. Then he’s pulling away again. “No, love. No speaking unless I ask you to.” His head lowers and you think he’s about to kiss you again but instead his head dips between your neck and your shoulder and he licks a strip across your neck. Then, his teeth are digging into the skin before he sucks it into his mouth and that elicits another moan from you. His hand on your hip tightens and he groans in disapproval. “No noises either, love. You don’t make a sound. Do you understand?” You’re a quick learner, because his question doesn’t receive a spoken answer. Instead, you simply nod, your body already slightly trembling under his hold. “Good. Such a good girl for me.”

His words bleed into your ears like acid, burning their way through every inch of your skin, crawling, a brand being placed upon you. Such a good girl for me. It echoes inside of you, and you can imagine that, many moons from now, those words will still be glued to you like they are a part of your core.

Bucky is still kissing your neck, and his teeth graze the skin ever so slightly a couple of times. He’s testing you, testing your restraint. And you provide nothing. Not a single sound, only your eyes rolling into the back of your head, back arching slightly into him. He’s hot and warm and built like a wall - firm, big, his muscles so big they completely crowd your every sense. There is so much of him. Standing tall and strong, the red henley strained against his arms as his muscles flex as he grips you tight. And your mind is spiraling, because you had to be blind to not notice how big he was, but now, this close, you feel so small in comparison, so breakable. And you are sure he could break you if he wanted to. You’re not entirely sure he isn’t doing that, right now, just in an entirely different way.

You almost mewl in disappointment when Bucky momentarily pulls away from you, but you don’t, and he takes notice. You’re being such a good girl, and he’s never been quite this turned on, even though you’ve barely done anything at all. Both his hands move to the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head before discarding it somewhere in the living room. Then he’s walking forward, and you walk backwards, and somehow, you end up with your back against the couch. Bucky is grinning at you. Not a full grin, no, but a delicious half-smile, confident he’s tearing you apart bit by bit. His eyes are skimming over your torso, landing on your black lacy bra and he can’t help but immediately move his flesh hand to massage one of your breasts, grabbing, the size of it perfect in his big palm. His thumb brushes the soft material of the bra to the side, just enough to free your hardened nipple and he plays with it between his fingers. 

You still don’t make a sound. God, it’s the hardest thing you’ve done all your life - not making a sound when he’s teasing you like this. But you’re a good girl. You can be good for him.

“Love-”, Bucky breathes and he kisses over the expanse of your chest. “Tell me how you’re feeling.” His voice isn’t demanding like the rest of his body is right now, but it’s rough enough to make it clear he needs an answer.

“So good.” 

*

A while later, you’re both naked, Bucky stroking your bare back with his fingers as you suck in a breath.

You are slightly bent over your couch, legs spread, and your arousal is slowly dripping down the inside of your thigh. Bucky catches some of it in his fingers and uses it to stroke his cock as he looks at you. 

What a sight to behold. You, spread out for him. Wanting, needing, not making a damn sound, like he asked you to. The imagery makes his cock twitch in his hand and he has to take a deep breath, slow his thoughts, otherwise he’d be gone before this even started. 

Bucky runs his metal hand over your hip, around the base of your back, so close to your ass, and his touch is reverent, like he physically needs to touch every inch of skin to make this perfect. Then, the tip of his cock is pressing against your folds, and the intrusion is most welcomed. Your hips roll back into him, and Bucky rests both hands on your hips to stop your movement.

“Don’t be greedy.”, he breathes, but in the next second he’s slowly sinking himself inside of you. His cock stretches you out and you grip the edges of the couch hard, so hard maybe you’ll leave nail marks afterwards, because it’s the only way you can stop yourself from making a sound. Sweat coats your body, and his, and his metal arm circles your waist, gently pressing against your stomach to keep you pressed tight to him as he sinks deeper, and deeper, until he’s fully seated inside of you.

Bucky groans and it’s the hottest sound you’ve ever heard in your life. He doesn’t remember any other feeling quite like the feeling of being buried so deep inside of you. Your pussy feels divine, wet and warm, gripping him like a vice. It feels like it’s singing to him, a goddamn siren song, and he will never be able to leave again. 

“Oh, fuck, love- so tight.”, Bucky says, half a whimper, and he gives one tentative thrust. And you feel it then - his body shaking against yours. “Tell me this feels good. Tell me you want this.” Bucky’s pleading, a small contrast to the way he’s handling you, and you let out a soft gasp you had been holding on.

“Please, Bucky, I want you. I want you so bad.”, you respond, and the arousal in your voice is confirmation enough that you’re not lying. “Please, your cock feels so fucking good-”

And then your sentence is interrupted, because Bucky slides his flesh arm around your neck, hard bicep wrapped around you as he pulls you flush to his chest. He uses his knee to lift one of your legs from behind, resting it against the back of the couch, and then he starts fucking into you, thrusts slow, hard, deep, his bicep pressed so hard around your neck that you feel almost light headed. The grip of his arm is not enough to take your breath away, but it is enough to hold you in place, to stop you from moving, from doing anything at all. Anything but moan for him. You’re not sure he wants you to right now, but you can’t really hold it back when his cock is buried so deep, hitting every sweet spot, his balls slapping against your ass in a slow, sensual rhythm that sends you flying.

“Bad girl.”, he moans into your ear, but he doesn’t make a move to stop, and instead, fucks you through it, a little harder, a little deeper. “Making noise when I told you to be quiet.”, he continues speaking, voice hoarse, but his hips don’t snap out of their rhythm, and so you still moan. One of your hands comes up from the back of the couch and you drag your nails over his large arm, the one wrapped around your neck, and his hips stutter for half a second. “Naughty. And I fucking love it.”

He angles his hips better, lifts your leg a little higher with his knee and then he’s changing the pace, his cock driving in and out of you a little faster. The noises coming out of you are pure filth, obscene, and you’re glad he isn’t asking you to be quiet now, because you don’t think you could. Bucky’s lips drop to your neck, and he kisses the soft skin as his metal fingers slide down your stomach and start rubbing circles around your clit in time with his thrusts. He feels you trembling in his arms and he tightens the arm around your neck, keeping you more in place.

“I’ve got you, love.”, he moans against your neck, and his metal hand doesn’t stop, his hips don’t stop and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with your moans. “You’re so amazing. Could stay inside this tight pussy for hours.” Your body shudders against him, teeth digging into your bottom lip as his filthy praise makes his way into you. God, you want, need, more of this, more of him. 

But he has you pressed flush against his chest, against his body, and you’re his to take. He doesn’t let you move anything other than your arms, everything else in his total control. And you love it, you’d beg for it if he made you.

His metal fingers fasten the movements on your clit, and the cold metal feels perfect against the heat of your folds, so perfect. Your stomach feels tight, muscles coiled with the pressure of the orgasm that is building right in the back of your gut, spreading over your every limb, expanding and threatening to make a mess out of you. Bucky feels it, feels your walls clutching around his cock and it only spurs him on. His hips snap faster, fucking you with renewed vigor and his lips trail from your neck to your ear, whispering all the filthy things you seem to love.

“Gonna cum so hard inside this pretty pussy.”, he says and you whimper. He responds to that by thrusting particularly hard inside of you. “So good for me. My favorite girl. You gonna cum for me, love? Gonna cum all over my cock? Let me feel you.” 

Your arms are clawing at the bicep still tightly wrapped around your neck, not because you want him to move it but because you need to hold on to something as you come apart, in all senses of the word. “Bucky, I’m so close- please don’t stop.”

He wasn’t planning to. 

And shortly after, he tips you over the edge. You see white, your mouth opening to let out a strangled gasp as your orgasm washes over you and your whole body trembles against Bucky. He whispers soft praise into your ear as you cum, hold you through every spasm and moan, flush against his chest, and his hips don’t falter. He fucks you fast and hard and hot until you’re going limp in his body, and then he thrusts a couple more times, his rhythm broken, before he curses your name under his breath and spills himself inside of you, his seed filling your pussy to the brim. 

For another minute he just fucks lazily into you, like he’s just making sure no second of his or your orgasm go to waste. His arm around your neck loosens up and it seems like he’s about to move it completely out of the way, but you hold on to it. You feel his gaze on you, almost confused.

“Don’t move.” You ask, a little pleading. Your eyes are closed as you try to get your breathing back to normal. “Stay. For a while.”

He does.

For a while.

[progooner123]

MASTER LIST

BUCKY BARNES FICS

In The Hallow- angst

Teasing- 18+, little angst

Always come back to you - 18+

Until the bed breaks (it does)- 18+

Never Let You Go- 18+

[progooner123]

heavy lifting 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (domestic au)

warnings: fluff!!!

summary: moving is hard, but teasing bucky about his knees and getting kissed breathless on the floor makes it all worth it.

word count: 1.2k

author's note: hi loves! its been a very long day, but here i am with another fic based on this request 💓 love ya guys and stay safe out there ❤️

The box labeled KITCHEN – VERY FRAGILE!! teetered dangerously in Bucky’s arms.

“You know,” you said from across the room, one hand on your hip and the other holding your phone like a clipboard, “I did say we could hire movers.”

He narrowed his eyes at you over the top of the box.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” you teased. “You’ve been sighing like a victorian widow for the last twenty minutes. Pretty sure I just heard you say ‘my knees’ when you bent down.”

“That was one time,” Bucky muttered, gingerly setting the box down on the countertop and flexing his vibranium fingers. “And it was the heaviest box in here.”

“It was dish towels.”

“Yeah, well, you roll them up weird, sweetheart”

You grinned, watching as he straightened up with a dramatic grunt — the kind of exaggerated groan that only made him sound older than he already pretended not to be.

His Henley clung to his back in damp patches—not gross, just unfair—the kind of warm, sleepy domestic sweat that made your stomach flutter.

You could see the shift of muscle underneath, the way his shoulder blades flexed with every movement, broad back tapering into a trim waist in those worn-in jeans you were starting to think should be illegal.

Strong arms, one flesh and one vibranium, worked in quiet rhythm as he moved—solid, capable, and completely oblivious to the fact that he looked like the poster boy for “hot guy helping you move.”

“You good, grandpa?”

He shot you a look that was all bark and no bite. “Watch it.”

“Oh no,” you said, wiggling your fingers playfully in the air, “am I provoking the super soldier? Is he gonna get all big and scary because I teased his joints?”

Bucky stalked toward you with exaggerated menace, footsteps slow and heavy like a cartoon villain. “You’re gonna be real sad when I let you carry the mattress up yourself.”

You laughed, backing away with the same deliberate slowness. “I knew you’d crack eventually. Maybe we should call some actual movers.”

He caught you before you could duck behind the couch, arms wrapping securely around your waist like you were the most precious thing in the room—which, to him, you were.

You squealed, high-pitched and delighted, legs kicking in the air as he spun you once and then dropped you gently into the mountain of blankets on the floor that used to be your bed.

“Take it back,” he said, hovering over you, smirking like he already knew you wouldn’t.

“No.”

He raised a brow.

“Not unless you admit you said ‘ow’ picking up a box of tupperware.”

“That tupperware was packed dense,” he said, nudging your nose with his. “You put the pyrex in with the lids, didn’t you?”

“Obviously. I’m not a monster.”

“You are a menace.”

“You’re in denial about your age.”

Bucky laughed, low and warm in his chest—the kind of sound that made your heart ache in the best way—and kissed you mid-giggle, his mouth brushing yours like it was the only thing that mattered.

The kiss was sweet and lazy, the kind of thing you could sink into and stay in forever. His hands were warm against your waist, steady. He smelled like fresh soap and worn cotton, and you felt completely and stupidly in love.

“You’re real mouthy for someone who hasn’t lifted a single book box,” he murmured, lips brushing yours.

You gasped, all mock scandal. “Excuse me, I’ve been organising! And labelling! And supervising!"

“Supervising, huh?”

“Yeah. Making sure you don’t, I dunno, break a hip.”

He lunged again and you shrieked, scrambling away on all fours. He chased after you with no shame at all, laughing as he snatched at your ankle, dragging you back into his arms while you both dissolved into helpless giggles.

You ended up tangled together in a pile of pillows and limbs, cheeks flushed and smiles wide. He tugged you close and kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheek—like he couldn’t get enough of touching you, even in the middle of a chaotic mess of moving boxes.

“We are never going through this again,” Bucky declared, arm flung over his eyes.

“You said that last time.”

“Because I meant it.”

“And yet here we are.”

There was a pause.

“I did it for you, you know,” he said softly, peeking at you from beneath his arm, cerulean eyes soft in a way that always made your breath catch.

“What, moved into a shoebox with peeling cabinets and suspicious light switches?”

He rolled onto his side and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Moved into a shoebox with you.”

Your heart squeezed. The air shifted—a little quieter, a little heavier with the kind of affection that lived in the small, quiet moments. He always slipped it in like that. Like love was a throwaway comment. Like it wasn’t everything.

You reached over and smoothed a piece of lint off his chest. “I like it. Even if the sink screams when you turn on the hot water.”

“It’s got good bones,” he said, imitating the landlord.

“Terrible windows.”

“Charming character.”

“A light switch that sparks.”

“A fire hazard,” he grinned.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I love our little fire hazard.”

He hummed and pulled you closer, hand spreading over your back, holding you like he didn’t want you to leave—like he never would. You let yourself melt against him, your nose tucked into the curve of his neck, his fingers stroking gentle circles at your waist.

The floor was stiff and the apartment was still half-unpacked, but none of that mattered. Not when his thumb brushed over the hem of your shirt. Not when the light from the crooked blinds painted your skin gold and dust floated in lazy spirals around you like a snow globe.

“You know,” he said after a long beat, “next time, I am hiring movers.”

“Oh? So you are admitting you’re not strong enough.”

He made a soft noise of protest, shifting until your noses touched. “No. I’m saying I wanna save my strength for better things.”

“Like what?”

He kissed the top of your head, voice low. “Like carrying you to bed.”

You smiled against his shirt. “Smooth.”

“I try.”

There was a pause.

“…Do you remember which box the coffee maker’s in?”

“Top of the stack in the kitchen. Behind the one labeled Definitely Not Just Snacks.”

“You’re amazing.”

You sat up together, both groaning in unison like the prematurely elderly couple you were proudly becoming. Bucky stood first and offered you a hand, which you took—mostly to watch the way his arm flexed, which he definitely noticed.

“Still strong,” he said smugly.

You patted his chest. “Sure you are, babe.”

He narrowed his eyes, and you took off, barefoot, laughing as he chased you around the room again like you were kids playing tag in your first home.

Later That Night

You were both completely wiped. The mattress was on the floor, the sheets a mismatched pair of cozy old cotton sets, soft, worn, and comforting.

Bucky walked out of the bathroom in grey sweats and a black tank top, towel slung over his shoulder, hair damp and curling just slightly at the ends.

He caught you staring.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you said sweetly. “Just thinking about how strong you looked carrying that lamp earlier.”

He snorted and dropped the towel on your head.

“Hey!”

“I am strong, for the record.”

“Oh, I know,” you said, pulling the towel down and tugging him in by the waistband of his sweats. “Strong enough to lift a box of pyrex and my entire heart.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile. “That was worse than your 'supervising' joke.”

“Shut up and kiss me, grandpa.”

He did—slow and sleepy, like he had all the time in the world. Like he didn’t mind that you were both surrounded by chaos, by boxes and dust and a half-eaten bag of trail mix somewhere under the dresser.

Somewhere in the background, a box labeled LIVING ROOM STUFF PROBABLY?? fell over with a soft thud.

Neither of you moved.

Unpacking could wait.

[progooner123]

Navigation

Welcome! I'm Ash Thanks for stopping by! I hope you enjoy my work. Feel free to send a message, request, or just say hi! 18+ blog — minors do not interact! Requests are always open, and I'm happy to write for almost any character. This is a side blog! If you want to follow my main, it's @windshieldwipers123. Thanks again! ^-^

Master List

Recent Fic

[progooner123]

I’m obsessed! So good😊

Love was something you never heard enough ~ Joaquín Torres

Time has taken its toll on you. As a reformed member of what was seen by many as a terrorist group, working for Captain America under the conditions of a pardon seemed like nothing much to you. But working for Captain America brought you Joaquín Torres, and he was everything. 

Reader addressed as y/n, minor mentions of death

Me and @daredevilenthusist were chatting and I just had to get to work. Also Sam was right, “Flag Smashers” is such an awful name, like yuck. Where Do Broken Hearts Go was on repeat while I was writing this one. Four is a top- tier 1D album. The vocals are immaculate on that record. I’m still madly in love with Joaquín, obviously. 

Happy reading!

Five years can do a lot to a person. 

It did a lot to you. 

To this day, you still wait for someone to assure you that The Blip was a dream, you were still living in your family home, and that your parents and siblings were very much alive and well. 

You have yet to receive that desired confirmation. 

From a suburb of the United States, to a camp for displaced people in Eastern Europe, to ending up on the run from the American military due to a growing movement that you aided in creating; a lot has changed. 

The affinity you had for computer science while in school back home made you a vital asset for the movement. Every message sent out to supporters, and signal blocked, that kept the group safe, was facilitated by you. 

Despite not being a fan of violence, you believed in what the Flag Smashers wanted in the world. Global governments and organizations continued to make empty promises, and you couldn’t bear to see one more child orphaned or family displaced in the name of getting things “back to the way they were.” 

Taking that serum was the beginning of the end. 

If you never took it, you would have never started to reconsider the group's methods of resistance. 

If you never took it, you would've never found yourself in New York City building a bomb.

If you never took it, you would’ve never been in the basement of that unfinished building. 

You would’ve never been shot. 

You would’ve never begged Sam Wilson to take you to the location where the bomb was planted. 

You would’ve never disarmed the bomb three minutes before it was set to destroy an entire sector of New York. 

If you never took the serum, you would’ve never had the courage to make your own decisions, form your own thoughts, and do what you believe is right, no matter what. 

Yeah, those five years did a lot to you. 

Your work on that fateful night provided you with notoriety in the public eye and pity from the US government. 

You were free of all charges as long as you worked under Sam Wilson, Captain America, so that they could “keep tabs” on you. 

“We don’t need another super soldier running around!”,an old senator complained as you sat in your court hearing. 

Whatever. 

You didn’t bother to argue. You had lost so much by this point that you didn’t care.

One whole year since then and you feel like you’ve been working among Sam’s team for your whole life. 

You were sent on missions to all sorts of interesting places, all over the world. Even if you didn’t completely understand what was going on at all times, you loved getting to be useful and work for something bigger than yourself. 

Working alongside Joaquín Torres didn’t hurt either. 

Well, how could it?

He was such a sweetheart that you worried that if you spent too much time around him, your teeth would begin to rot.

“Hi y/n!”

“How are you, y/n?”

“Great work out there, y/n!” 

“I’m proud of how far you’ve come, y/n.”

"Oh, really? Tell me more, y/n."

Oh, it made you sick. 

And you loved every second you spent with him. 

You constantly asked him questions about himself and his family. You knew his favorite foods, movies, books; his long term goals and aspirations. 

You memorized his habits. The way he smiled awkwardly when he made a mistake; or how he leaned in when attempting to get information on a situation that has, in Sam’s words “absolutely nothing” to do with him. 

You even subliminally changed the way that you held your phone after noticing how he held his.

You basically knew everything about Joaquín. 

Or so you thought. 

The two of you were on a mission in Colorado. You were staked out near the bottom of a canyon. It was hot, dusty, and terribly boring, as you had no intel on when the people you were waiting for were going to pass through.   

Joaquín was sitting outside of the vehicle because he, “needs space” and “being all cramped messes with my vibe.” 

Naturally, you joined him.

Now you both sat on red dirt, backs leaning against the truck, legs outstretched. 

He took a swig of his water bottle. You took note of how his jaw clenched as he swallowed. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. 

You would have been incredibly turned on by this action if it wasn’t so damn hot outside. 

“I haven’t been this bored since that mission in Lithuania where we were at that safehouse for three days.” you grumbled. 

Joaquín leaned his head back and turned to face you. 

“Hm? What made it so bad?” he asked.

“There’s only so many rounds of monopoly I can play before I start to lose my mind, Torres.” you replied. 

“Ah, I didn’t mind it so much.” he said.

You scrunch your face up. “Why?”

“I got to hang out with you for three days straight and get paid for it. I’m not sure what more a man like me could ask for.” 

You were well aware that with the heat feeding into your delusion, emotional maturity was at an all time low in your department. However, you were also aware that what he said had you heart doing a gymnastics floor routine inside of your chest. 

This is just the kind of person he is, you told yourself. Just because everyone you’d ever cared for in your life is gone now, does not mean that you have to latch on to the first person to give you attention. 

You gave a slight chuckle. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. 

Joaquín began to pick invisible lint off of his suit. He only did that when he was nervous. 

Was he nervous? 

Your thoughts got the better of you and him blurted out your respective questions simultaneously. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

You stared at each other in silence and, for a moment, the scorching heat, mission, and dust in your boots didn’t matter. 

There was just him, only him. 

Joaquín rubbed his face and mumbled to himself, “I’m so stupid…” 

“You’re not stupid Joaquín. You did nothing wrong.” You assured him. 

As he looked at you, his deep brown eyes were filled with something you had never seen from him before. 

He sighed. “I feel like I know so much but so little about you at the same time. You know everything about me. I wanna know you better, I guess.” 

You readjusted yourself as you took a deep breath. 

“After everything that happened last year, every person that really knew me was dead.”

You paused

“I was alone.” 

Joaquín’s eyes softened, he was hanging on to every word you said. 

“But you cared. You know me better than anybody.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was damp, both from sweat and the water he poured on his head to cool down. His forearm muscles flexed as he formed his fingers into a fist in his hair. 

“I don’t know why I waited so long.” Joaquín said. “I’d love to see you outside of canyons and safehouses in the middle of nowhere.” 

Maybe this was a hallucination. A strange byproduct of sitting in the heat so long. 

Maybe he was a hallucination. There is no way he’s real. He can’t be. 

“I’d like to see you too, Joaquín.” 

His eyes shined and his skin was even more golden under the intense sun. 

You were burning up and you wouldn't have it any other way.

When he began to lean in, you knew that once you had his face in your hands, you would never be able to let him go. 

And every part of you was fine with that. 

Just as Joaquín reached out to touch you, Sam’s voice came on through your in-ears. 

You and Joaquín bolted to your feet. 

“You two have got approximately 40 seconds before special ops flies directly overhead. Get in position.”

You gave Sam confirmation as Joaquín prepared to drive off. 

“And I heard all of that too.” Sam added. “So don’t come around me acting like nothing happened.” 

Joaquín gave you a knowing smile and you felt a warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in years. 

The reason definitely wasn’t the tempurature outside. 

Time has taken its toll on you, there was no denying it. But it brought you Joaquín too, and that’s got to count for something. 

Gif and photo from pinterest, divider credits to @enchanthings here on tumblr!

thanks for reading!

[progooner123]

[progooner123]

Obsessed!

Honey, you’re in trouble

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!reader

Summary: You need to go for a grocery run with Bucky when your cravings start and he finds something out that upsets him

Warning: sex in the back of a car, you’re pregnant, you have kids, smut, fluff, Bucky gets a little upset

word count: 1.2k+

A/N: Idea from @xplicitviewz and divider by @strangergraphics

You and Bucky are lounging on the couch when you start to grow restless, his hand on your baby bump drawing small shapes to soothe the growing life inside you. “What’s wrong doll?” He asks softly, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your temple. “I’m hungry, but I don’t know what I want I just- agh it’s so frustrating” you whine. Bucky frowns, he hates when you get upset and he knows how sensitive you are now that your due date is approaching. “Okay how about I go see what we have in the fridge and you tell me what you like” he lifts you off his lap and gently places you down on the couch, you sink into it with a sigh.

Bucky calls out everything he can see in the fridge and you reply with an array of ‘no’s’ at each suggestion. “Baby there’s some fruit, there’s strawberries and Kiwi and those really nice plums we got from the market-“ he says desperately trying to find something that you like. “Are there blueberries ?” You got off the couch and waddled over to him, he turn at the sound of your voice. “Baby why’d you get up?” he walks over to you quickly and moves you to the nearest seat at the dinner table. “Are there blueberries James”.

There it was, his name. Not ‘baby’ not ‘Bucky’ but ‘James’, his breath hitched for a moment. “N-no doll…there’s no blueberries”. Your eyes tear up and he sees the slight wobble in your lip. “No no no, hey no tears, cmon let’s go get some yeah ? We’ll go get some-“

“NO GROCERY STORE IS OPEN JAMES IT’S 8PM, I JUST WANT MY BLUEBERRIES AND-” Bucky quickly shushes you and wipes your tears away with the pads of his thumbs “I will find one that’s open baby, I swear. Don’t cry please, it’s killing me”

That’s how you guys ended up walking down a long dimly lit isle, and a heavy basket filled to the brim with much more than the blueberries you initially came for. You hum to yourself as you grab anything you can reach, once you reach the frozen section your eyes scan for the blueberries and once you spot them you smile. You walk up to the fridge and try to reach for it but it’s too high, Bucky sets down the basket and stands behind you, his hand resting on your lower back as he reaches and grabs the blueberries. “I could’ve gotten them” you say with a smile, he huffs and rolls his eyes playfully. “I know babydoll but you shouldn’t strain yourself too much” he kisses your cheek softly. He leans down to put the blueberries in the basket

Bucky’s eyes travel down your body, he notices the pebble of your nipples due to the cold air. Bucky smirks - you’re body reacts to the slightest things because of the pregnancy, it’s one of his favorite things. His hand moves up to your chest and his fingers squeeze the hard buds softly. He stands back up and looks down at you. You moan softly, “S-stop that, I-it’s too much ah” you bite your bottom lip hard when Bucky squeezes just a bit tighter. He chuckles softly, “What, I can’t play with my pretty wife now?”

Bucky’s pace is slow but his thrusts are hard and deep, his hands holding your hips gently and his lips on yours. Your dress is thrown somewhere on the car floor and his pants are pooled by his ankles. His tongue fights yours, your sounds being swallowed. Suddenly your phone rings out loud though the car, Bucky’s movements don’t falter.

"Who's calling?" Bucky huffs, his lips tracelling down your neck and stopping by your collarbone to suck, his hips keep snapping into you. Your teary eyes glance at your phone while you let out a small whimper.

"I-it's Grant." You breathe out. Bucky groans, of course one of your kids had to try and cockblock from miles away. Your legs are trembling beside his thighs as you straddle him, Bucky’s metal hand strokes your back gently. “Le-let it go to voicemail”, he kisses you hard as he pushes his cock back into you, inch by inch. He stretching you so wide open you think you’re gonna see stars. Bucky’s head is resting on your chest, his face a mix of pleasure and desperation, it’s been just one day that you two didn’t have time to fuck, and any day Bucky couldn’t be consumed whole by you and balls deep in your pretty pussy was his worst day.

Bucky grunts as his cock pound’s relentlessly in you, your wetness dripping down to the leather seat beneath you. Between Bucky’s busy work schedule, going on missions and now being a congressman, as well as you taking care of your kids and making your house a home, there isn't always the most time for you and Bucky to spend alone, so you two had to get creative or just take advantage of the moments you had where you could sneak off.

There was this one time you guys had your Grant, your oldest, watch his siblings while you guys went to the pharmacy to pick up some medicine for your sick toddlers, which ended up being you two fucking in the back of his truck, in the dark parking lot before heading home. Kind of like now.

Or the other time your family was enjoying themselves at the beach and you went inside your beach house to grab some sunscreen, Bucky following you quickly after. Safe to say that you two were very sunburnt after that beach trip, but neither of you cared. Both of your days are busy, but Bucky never fails to make some time for you and your, his pussy.

Bucky’s cock touches that gummy spot deep inside you, he kisses your cheek softly, “Hey baby you still with me”. His voice is raspy, his hair messy from how your hands gripped it. You nod dumbly and he kisses you again, his hand tangles in your hair and your eyes gloss over. Bucky grips your hips softly and helps you bounce up and down rhythmically on his cock, his hand traveling from your hair to your back to hold you in place.

The phone rings again, Bucky breaks the kiss, “Fucking hell” he grabs the phone irritably, he looks into your eyes, his expression softer now. “I’m gonna answer okay, you just focus on feeling good”. You nod and your hands tighten their hold around his shoulder.

"This better be important Grant" Bucky answers the call, buried deep inside you. His eyes are hooded and he licks his lips. He rests the phone between his shoulder and ear, he needs both hands for you right now. He sticks two of his metal fingers in your mouth and his flesh ones slap your pussy softly.

"Oh dad ? Where are you guys, where’s mo-"

"She's busy, everything alright?" Bucky cuts your son off. His eyes focused on your movements, you’re biting your lip to keep any lewd sounds hushed while he was on the phone with your son. He sucks in a breath when you clench tighter around his cock.

He clenches his jaw as he tries not to make any noise either, his thumb pinches and toys with your clit, your eyes roll so far back into your skull that your vision goes white. You whimper and he quickly moves the phone further away from you. You grab Bucky’s wrist and push his fingers deeper inside your mouth, his cock twitches and he breathes out shakily.

"I-is everything all right?” Grant asks sounding worries, Bucky grunts. “Fine, what do you want kid” Bucky removes his fingers from your mouth and grips your hair. He leans down to your chest and takes one of the swollen buds into his mouth and bites softly.

“Im going out to the movies with Tommy after this and I need some money for the snacks and tickets, mom said-"

He moves his mouth switches between your breasts, sucking and licking them both. "How much?" Bucky asked wanting him to get to the point so he can get back to his wife. Bucky loves his son, all of his kids, of course he does. But he loves you too, and right now he wants to make you feel good. He guides your movements gently, helping you take his cock, he spreads his legs wider and this new angle has his cock sinking in further.

Your hand quickly covers your mouth as you shut your eyes. Bucky definitely isn't holding back, not when you both need each other so desperately. Bucky was planning on showing you just how much he appreciated all that you do, fingering you until you couldn't talk properly, eating your pussy like it personally offended him, fucking you left, right, up, down, all up until your phone kept interrupting up.

He lifts you off his lap effortlessly and gently lowers you to your back and gets in between your legs, the back of the car not giving you much room but he makes it work. He pushes his cock back into you and bites his lip so hard that he draws blood.

"Like about $60."

"Okay, give me a minutes." Bucky’s eyes are clenched, his balls slapping against your ass, the way you squeezed his cock, your eyes in the back of your skull, all of this was enough to make him cum right there. He feels himself throb inside you and pulls the phone away from his ear, breathing heavy. Your head rolls to the side, you feel him-all of him.

"Thanks da-"

Bucky hangs up the phone and tosses it on the floor, he lifts your head up slowly so you look at him. He peels your hand away from your mouth, he pushes them above your head. He holds you tight as he stops his movements "Tell me something honey." He hums kissing your swollen lips. You whimper as he fucks into you, slower this time, "y-yes?"

"When the kids ask for money, do you send it to them from my account?" He looks into your eyes, sweat dripping down his head watching your reaction to his question.

You're fucked, literally and physically. "Not alwa- o-ooh god yes right there right there." You moan, his finger now thumbing your clit. Bucky fucking hates when you use your own money, hell, even when you were working, he never ever let you use any of your money.

From the day Bucky laid eyes on you he already knew you were going to be his wife and that meant that he was to take care of you. Mind, body and soul. Bucky would pay all the bills no matter the amount, what ever you wanted, you got. He spoilt you rotten and he wouldn’t have it any other way. You would constantly protest against it but he didn’t care, he would always take care of you. His world.

It wasn't until you got pregnant with your first, did his wish come true that you’d stop using your own money. He was ecstatic that you’d finally come to terms with using his money in order to pay for any and all needs, and wants, you had. It made him feel needed.

"All the hours I work, going on missions, being kept away from our family, my perfect wife, fuck- my perfect wife's pussy, and you still insist on- fuck right there baby-, using your own money when you have access to my money- no fuck not mine, not even ours, your money." He moans grabbing your face between calloused fingers. He kisses you roughly and pulls back.

"Y-you pay for e-everythi-" you whimper

"I'm supposed to sweetheart. I want to, I need to." He interrupts you, his eyes dark but his words soft and sincere. He grabs your phone again with his free hand and sends your son $300 from his account.

"Why won’t you just let me do what I’m supposed to baby. I am the man, it's my job to take care of you, our family. Use my money for the kids, the house, the cars, those pretty nails, those cute babydoll sets you wear for me, whatever it is, I have enough, more than." He kisses your lips softly, opposite to his thrusts. "You don’t ever need to use your money, the only reason you should use it is if you want to buy something for yourself, even then, you should be using mine.

Everything I do is for you. It will always be all for you. Everything I make, it's yours, ours on paper, but it's all yours. All for you." He grunts into your ear, as if he’s trying to get it through your head.

"I don’t ever want to find out that you’re using your money every again, okay baby?" He hums at you softly and thrusts deep inside you. “Y-yes Bucky I promise”. He smiles at you softly.

“That’s my good girl”

[progooner123]

HELPPPP MY PUSSY’S GONE CRAZY

[progooner123]

Did you at least kiss the brick before throwing it?

rewind - nsfw bucky barnes x reader

word count: 6.3k based on an ask received in dms. disclaimer: depictions of depression, PTSD, trauma, psychiatric drugs, mental institutions, guns, violence, gore, war. graphic mentions but no occurrences of suicide, self-harm, and domestic violence. a/n: this one ripped my fucking heart out to write... this is the first time I've ever cried writing a fic.

~~~

Bucky was a tortured soul.

the turn of events that had occurred in his lifetime were quite unlike those anyone had ever experienced before.

not only was he permanently branded by the mental and physical subjugation he'd endured for 70 years, but he was entirely alone in his experiences.

he could talk to Steve. he could talk to fellow veterans. he could talk to his therapist.

he could talk to you.

but no one could ever truly understand him.

~~~

the relationship you had with Bucky Barnes was beautifully tragic.

before you even met him, you knew who he was and what he had been through. you knew he was simply a product of the experiences he'd been through; what happened wasn't his fault. he was most certainly not the monster he saw himself as.

you had always done whatever you possibly could to ease his struggles. holding him through the nightmares, and the panic attacks, and the weeks on end he spent in bed when he couldn't force himself to get up.

you were there for him, always. you loved him with every cell in your body. you silently vowed to him and to yourself that you would never do anything to hurt him. ever.

you loved him so much that you would never walk away, even in his darkest moments.

you would be his rock for the rest of eternity.

~~~

he truly loved you the same way you loved him.

he wanted to be enough for you. he wanted to be the man you deserved.

for years, he tried. he tried to do better, to be more present, to let you rely on him.

he wanted to be able to catch you if you fell.

except he was the one who continued to trip, stumble, and fall, time after time. never once did you fail to catch him and hold him close when that happened.

deep in his soul, he loved you. he fought himself for not being more, better. he was the man in this relationship. he was supposed to take care of you.

for how badly he wanted to be more for you, he never could.

~~~

if you had known when you got together that you would be carrying all the emotional weight for both him and yourself, it wouldn't change a thing. you'd have done it all the exact same.

he was simply a man trapped inside his own head, bound by the weights of his past.

he'd tried therapy, and a million different medication changes. you stood beside him for every dosage change, every withdrawal symptom, all of it.

"something's wrong, baby," he once told you, looking at the way his hands shook, unable to control the tremors. "I'm not myself. I don't... something is wrong."

his voice was frantic, terrified of what was happening to his body and mind. he looked at you with a wild look in his eyes, bloodshot unlike you'd ever seen, tears pooling.

"I feel crazy. like nothing even hydra could do," he admitted to you in that moment. "I've never felt so disconnected from my own mind."

that was a monumental confession for him to be making given his history. you almost didn't know how to respond to it, unsure how to help, what the hell you were supposed to say.

"you're coming off the medicine, baby. it's okay. this is supposed to happen," you tried to reassure him, joining him on the wrinkled bedsheets that he sat atop. you reached out a hand to pet his hair back, trying to summon your own courage as you told him with a shaky voice, "you'll get through this."

he shook his head violently, burying his head in his hands, trying to get the words out. "I won't, I won't," he cried to you. "what if I hurt you? what if..."

you took a pause. normally, that wouldn't be a concern.

but he was in crisis.

"baby, are you thinking about hurting me or yourself right now?" you whispered to him.

you weren't afraid of what he could do to you. you didn't flinch, or make to walk away from him. you didn't care if he swung at you because you know that your Bucky would never mean to hurt you.

he paused, not responding, sniffling as the tears fell. he whined low in his throat, trying to hold on for dear life.

"myself," he whispered before sobbing out, "please help me."

that was the first time Bucky ended up in the psychiatric hospital.

~~~

over the years, you saw how he tried. he was so devoted to making the effort to be there for you.

you saw how even on the bad days, he forced himself out of bed to pick up so you could come home to a clean house.

it always ended with him crashing, another week of days even darker following.

he forced himself to leave so he could buy groceries to try and make you dinner, something simple, so you wouldn't have to do it when you got off work.

it always ended with him calling you, having a panic attack, forcing you to leave the office in the middle of the day to go pick him up.

you hated everything he'd been through. you hated that hydra had done this to such a man of great integrity, to a man with such a beautiful heart and a pure soul.

you wanted only the best for him, so you always tried to be the best for him.

he loved you. he appreciated everything you did for him.

you knew he spent most of his time thinking he was a burden to you, even though you tried with all your efforts to convince him that it wasn't true, that you truly wanted to take care of him.

it only got worse over the years as the idea settled into his mind that he could never get better, that he could never be what he wanted to be for you.

although he never vocalized those fears, you watched carefully. you saw how the faith and hope he once had, even in his depression, had slowly crumbled. you watched as he became even more detached from himself, from you, from reality.

you couldn't bear to see him continue to deteriorate. you couldn't bear to watch the inevitable happen.

you couldn't bear to come home one day and find him lying in a pool of his own blood, gun in hand, a hole in the side of his head.

so you made the hardest decision you've ever had to make in your life.

~~~

the day came.

you got out of bed at the usual hour, got yourself ready as though you were going to work, and resisted the urge to cry.

normally, you didn't wake him up in the mornings. you thought it best to let him sleep.

you woke him up this time.

"hey, baby," you whispered, sitting gently on the edge of the bed, rubbing his shoulder carefully. "wake up."

he groaned, stirring from his slumber, rubbing his eyes before opening them to look at you.

"g'morning," he whispered to you, "what's going on?"

"I'm going to work," you lied, feeling the knot in your throat get worse, making it difficult to speak. "I wanted to let you know that I'm leaving. I love you."

"I love you too, baby. I hope you have a good day," he told you. you leaned in to give him a kiss, and you savored the moment for as long as you could.

you wanted to cave. to not do this.

with every ounce of strength in your body, you stood from the bed, and walked to the bedroom door.

"maybe when you get home this evening, we can go for a walk?" he offered as you stood in the doorway. "I think I'll feel up to it."

"yeah, baby," you smiled at him sadly, "we can do that."

you stepped out of the bedroom and shut the door behind you.

you couldn't stop the tears as they fell down your face as you walked out of the house, walked away from the love of your life, never to see him again. every ounce of your being told you to turn around, to not do this, to be selfish.

but you had to do this for him.

you were going to change history.

~~

that's how you ended up standing on the Quantum Platform in the Avengers' compound, destination: October, 1944. four months before the accident.

you stood there, trying to decide if this was the right thing to do. if you were absolutely sure about this. your life would never be the same.

but what's more important?

his life would never be the same.

and that's all it took for you to tell Bruce Banner to hit the button to send you back in time.

in hindsight, you probably should have had a more detailed plan. there were a million logistics you hadn't worked out, like the fact that you had no identity. you didn't exist. your dollar bills would be out of date, if anyone looked too closely.

it didn't matter. you would get by, somehow.

you had a mission to complete.

~~~

apparently, it's a lot easier to get a job as a field nurse in the army in the 1940s than you think it would be.

with a desperate need for all hands on deck, they took your word when you said you had all the necessary qualifications without actually having to provide proof.

that was the hardest part, and somehow? it managed to be a breeze.

now all you had to do was get close to Bucky. figure out a way to convince him not to get on that damned train, to keep him from getting recaptured by hydra.

that's how you found yourself in the middle of a war you'd only ever heard about in history books, in the tales that you'd heard from Bucky and Steve.

you were hired and put to work immediately. you learned the ropes fairly quickly, how to triage the worst of the worst and how to quickly assess a patient in the terrible conditions of the battlefield.

you saw gore and violence like you'd never seen before. you battled with your stomach every day, trying not to vomit at the blood, and the smells of dying bodies.

nothing can prepare anyone for this.

you can't even imagine being one of the men getting shot at. the men doing the shooting. being able to inflict such violence...

you thought about your Bucky back home. your version of Bucky in the modern day. no wonder he struggled so much, every day of his life, trying to come to terms with all the murders he'd unwillingly committed as the Winter Soldier.

you were at wartime now, sure. but committing such offenses against innocent people, in times and in countries not at war?

your heart broke for your Bucky.

~~~

in the medical tents, you heard rumors of the brilliant Captain America and the daring Sergeant James B. Barnes.

your baby. your Bucky.

you heard of how Steve Rogers had saved him from hydra a year prior, and how they'd been a leading force in battle to put an end to the war.

you knew more of this story than any of the rumors would say. you'd heard it firsthand from Steve and Bucky themselves 80 years from now.

you had to carefully consider every word that came out of your mouth. you couldn't jeopardize yourself or your mission by accidentally speaking on things that hadn't happened yet.

you kept your conversations with co-workers to a minimum, enough to be friendly, but cautious. careful.

you missed your life. you missed your Bucky.

you had to tell yourself your Bucky was already gone.

sure, you'd been here weeks already. but at home, for your Bucky? you'd only just left the house that morning.

you had a mission to make sure he didn't get on that damn train come January, and you couldn't sit around and wait any longer. so far you'd just been learning the job and learning how to exist in a time of widespread crisis.

you had to make a move.

~~~

so maybe you did have the advantage of knowing that Bucky would be attracted to you. he is 80 years from now, after all.

when he came into your tent one day in need of stitches on his arm for a grazed bullet, every woman flocked around him, trying to be the one to tend to the attractive young Sergeant who had survived and returned from being a prisoner of war.

you took a step back, trying not to crowd him like everyone else, instead hoping he would meet your gaze from across the room.

that's how you'd met your Bucky.

fuck, you missed him.

he'd always told you that when he saw you, it was love at first sight. he knew you were the one for him, forever and always. he reiterated to you constantly that even in the 40s, he'd absolutely adore you.

your Bucky was right.

the instant you caught Sergeant Barnes' gaze from across the way, his face perked up, and he flashed you a charismatic smirk that replaced the frown that had previously decorated his face.

he stood from the cot where he sat and pushed through the crowd of nurses in front of him to get to you.

you knew what was coming. he would come up to you, say something enchanting, and tell you that you were the prettiest nurse here. it had to be you that would patch up his arm.

that's not what happened at all.

"have we met before?" he asked you, holding a patch of gauze to his bleeding arm. he was smiling, and yet, the look in his eyes was one of confusion. "because... I feel like I know you."

those words shocked you, surprising you in every fiber of your being.

"no," you assured him, "we haven't met. I'm new here."

you so badly wanted to tell him, yes, baby, you know me. one day you'll know me. I love you.

you had to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for a hug.

you proceeded to give him the same fake name you'd given your employers and co-workers.

"really?" he'd asked, as though in disbelief.

"yeah, really. that's my name," you told him sharply. "need me to stitch your arm?" you offered, reaching for the gauze he was holding, now bled-through.

"yes, please," he said, sitting down on the nearest cot. as you sat on a stool next to him and began to assess the cut, you sat in silence until he spoke.

"your name doesn't suit you," he began.

"that is... incredibly rude of you," you responded with an amused laugh. you might have been offended if he wasn't entirely correct in his assumption.

"I didn't mean it like that, doll, I apologize," he tried to assure you.

he had no idea what you knew. the fact that something in him could sense that something was off...

...your soft little heart took it as a sign that you were soulmates. that Bucky really did know you, through and through.

he had no idea how badly you just wanted to kiss him right now, how badly you wanted to fold him up and put him in your pocket just to keep him safe forever.

"I'm sorry, this is going to sting," you warned him as you began to stitch the skin together.

he hissed at the pain, but didn't flinch, simply letting you do your job.

you looked closely at the cut, and it pained you. "damnit, Bucky, how the hell did you do this..." you whispered to yourself, not intended for him to hear.

"Bucky? wow, most of the nurses here call me Sergeant Barnes," he teased at you.

you didn't have the time to think about how there was no way he could've heard you. you'd spoken so quietly, the only way he could've heard is if hydra had already...

"I'm very sorry, sir," you backtracked. you had to remember your place, remember the rules around here. right now, you worked for him, in some capacity. he wasn't your boyfriend, and you weren't his girlfriend.

not here. not now.

"don't worry, doll, my name sounds awfully pretty coming off your lips," he smirked.

there's the Bucky you anticipated meeting in the 1940s. the man your Bucky had always told you he was.

"I was a player, I guess you could say, yeah... but I promise, I wasn't an asshole. I never treated a woman with anything less than the utmost respect. it was a different time, I know. but I promise, baby, I wasn't an asshole."

you heard those words running through your head as you sat with this version of Bucky you'd never seen before.

sure, the Sergeant had been through unimaginable things and had already been taken and tortured by hydra once.

but his soul wasn't broken. he still had passion, fervor, hope to make a difference, to put an end to the violence and go home. his mind hadn't yet been overrun by the demons that your Bucky never seemed to be able to escape.

you missed your Bucky dearly. but something about seeing this Bucky, meeting him, if only for a few minutes healed something in you. it healed a part of you that needed to know that Bucky had once known some type of peace, even if he'd never be able to find it again.

you quickly patched him up and sent him on his way before you could say or do anything stupid, like planting your lips on his, or begging him to run away with you and never look back.

he promised he'd come back to see you, the mysterious nurse he felt he'd met in another life before, the one who wasn't afraid to call him by his name.

and lucky for your plan and your longing heart, he followed through on that promise.

~~~

he came to visit you whenever he could, typically a few times in a week. way more often than most soldiers visit the medical tents.

"but doll, I've got this terrible headache... you got any suggestions for me?" he asked you as he followed you around the tent, winking at you as he said it.

it made you blush.

"my, my, Sergeant. real appropriate," you would tease him.

"what happened to calling me Bucky, sweetheart?"

~~~

"can you look at my arm? make sure it's healing okay?" he would ask you, even when it was already completely healed, a lot faster than any other soldier normally did...

you had to hide your smile as you appeased him, looking at his arm, pretending to carefully inspect it just so you had an excuse to touch him.

"your arm is fine, Sergeant," you assured him before ripping your hands away as though he'd just burned you.

"come on, baby, call me Bucky."

~~~

you were only a girl.

and you were madly in love with this other version of Bucky, just the same as you were with your own Bucky.

every night as you slept, it still hurt to think about your Bucky back home. you'd never see him again, if all went to plan. he wouldn't be forced to live until your time. he wouldn't be subjected to the tortures that would forever haunt him.

but as you thought about how hurt your own Bucky was, and saw this shining, gleaming version of him, you knew you owed it to him to make sure hydra never happened.

not long after he began flirting with you, you gave in. of course you were in love with him, this entire mission was for him. but you had to pursue him now in the hopes that you could somehow convince him not to get on that train.

~~~

"when do you get off work, doll?" he would question as he trailed you once more like a lost puppy. "I'd love to get a drink with you."

"I'm on call 24 hours a day, Bucky," you began to protest, but you stopped in your tracks suddenly to turn to speak directly to him. you weren't actually about to turn him down. "but maybe when things die down, I can have that drink with you."

you called it drinks.

what it really was?

~~~

his hands clasped themselves around your waist, pulling you against him as he kissed you with the passion of a young man, of a soldier truly infatuated with the beautiful nurse he now held in his arms.

you held him equally as tight, your eyes shut to hide the pained desperation in them. how badly you missed your Bucky. how much you loved the man holding you now.

he backed you against the wooden door, shut and locked so you couldn't be bothered.

"you're so gorgeous," he whispered in your ear as his hands travelled down to your hips, his mouth finding the soft skin of your neck as he began to nip and suck marks on your flesh. "so perfect."

you were paralyzed with how needy you felt. how badly you wanted to feel Bucky, how badly you wanted him to hold you and never let go.

you don't even know the last time you and your Bucky had sex.

it didn't matter. you loved him.

but it felt so good when this Bucky held you, kissed you like you were something worth desiring. reminding you that you could be wanted like this. that deep down, your Bucky did want you like this.

"Bucky, please," you whined out softly. you loved the feeling of him being on you, of his hands gently pushing up under your skirt, pulling and tugging at your uniform.

as his knee came to press between your legs, pushing closer, higher, pressing up against you...

"fuck," you whined, voice cracking, sounding so terribly desperate.

"gonna let me touch you?" he asked you, moaning out the fake name you'd given him.

it suddenly made you feel like shit. you didn't want him to think you were this other person, you wanted him to know you.

first, you had to be sure.

"is this... a one-off?" you asked him quietly, fighting against every muscle in your body telling you to grind your hips down against his thigh, the pressure so perfect against you.

"nah, doll. gonna take you home. make you mine forever. fuckin' knock you up and marry you," he groaned out, reaching for his jacket, shrugging it off and tossing it to the ground before starting on his shirt.

you forgot how quickly they moved when it came to marriage back in these days, so you were shocked how forward he was being. if you were in the modern day, in your day, you'd think it was a ruse to get you to let him fuck you.

this wasn't the modern day, and this wasn't a ruse.

especially because you knew your Bucky. he would never make that promise if he didn't mean it.

a small sound escaped your throat at the sound of his words. you'd happily let him do all of that, and more.

you hurriedly corrected the fake name he kept groaning in your ear.

you wondered if he would be upset, if he would berate you for lying to him.

he didn't stop his motions as he untucked his shirt, practically ripping the buttons apart, and you watched as he smirked at the realization. "that's more like it," he told you, testing out your name on his lips. "much more fitting."

"playing hard to get, were you?" he teased, hands ripping at the buttons of your uniform now.

"something like that," you whispered as his leg began to move between your legs. "fuck."

soon, both your uniforms ended up on the floor, and he tugged you with him to lay you down on his bunk. he petted your hair out of your face as he eyed you laying under him, looking you up and down, taking in the sight of you in nothing but your undergarments.

you looked right into his eyes and you saw your Bucky. as though he was the one hovering over you, the one about to take you apart and make love to you so perfectly you'd go speechless.

"gonna let me make an honest woman out of you after all this?" he asked. "hmm? once the war is said and done?"

you couldn't stop yourself.

you said yes.

even though you knew you would be breaking his heart, knew that once you stopped him from getting on that train, you couldn't stay. you had to go home.

you said yes because you could picture it. you could picture a life where you stayed with this Bucky, where you got to make this Bucky happy. where you could give him the life he truly deserved.

you said yes because you needed him to believe it. you needed him to want you, to love you, to see a future with you so that he would listen to you. so that he would have a reason to not get on that train.

"yes, Bucky. yes. absolutely, yes. I'll be yours forever."

~~~

the course of the next two months went by way too fast.

every waking moment you could, you spent with Bucky. every minute you weren't working and he wasn't away, you sought him out.

you spent soft nights with him. you'd curl up together in the post-sex haze, enjoying just being together.

you were so happy to see him happy. to actually make him happy.

you had to remind yourself that more than that, you were here to make sure he could remain at peace. you were going to break his heart soon enough, no matter how badly you didn't want to. no matter how badly you wanted to stay with him and not return to a life where your Bucky wouldn't be there.

your Bucky.

your bed would be empty. your heart would be empty.

but you were doing this for him.

so as you whispered soft I love yous to one another, you savored every second of it.

when the holiday season came around, you weren't offered any time off. you were too new, and wartime didn't stop just because of the holiday. it's not like you had any family waiting around for you in this day and age. just Bucky.

Bucky was an absolute angel, pulling together whatever he could to make you a halfway decent homemade meal with half-burnt candles and the nicest alcohol, although still shitty, that he managed to find.

your heart ripped right open at the sight. it was small, and dilapidated, but it was yours. he'd poured his whole heart and soul into giving you what little he could to make you happy.

how the hell were you supposed to leave him?

~~~

after the first of the year, Bucky approached you and told you about the new mission they would be taking on: a mission to put an end to the war. to take down hydra for good.

"I won't be gone for more than a few days, doll, just like normal. we'll be in and out, and then I'll come back to you. I'll take you home and I'll marry you. I promise," he told you.

your heart fell to your stomach. this was it. everything you'd come here for, everything you'd done to promise him a future beyond the war. you had to pray it meant more to him than this mission.

"baby, I don't think this is a good idea," you tried to tell him. "there's so many other people that can go. why don't you stay with me?"

you tried not to let your nerves show too much. you couldn't let him know that you knew what was coming, that the future he faced if he did this would be nothing short of torment.

"why wouldn't I go?" he responded to you, taken aback by your suggestion. in all this time, you'd never fought him on leaving. he had a job to do, and you knew that. you promised you'd always be there when he came back.

"I just... I don't want you to," you tried to reason with him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to bring him in close. he resisted your attempts, stepping backwards, out of your reach.

"this mission is it. this will put an end to the war, once and for all. no more fighting, no more violence. no more hydra," he argued. you knew he was starting to get upset, confused as to why you were acting this way.

"but-" you began, but he wasn't having it.

"you know I have an obligation to do this. to my fellow soldiers, to the country, to Steve, goddamnit," he fought back. "why don't you want me to go? do you think I'm not capable? are you worried that once the war is over, I'll leave you? I promise you, baby, I'm going to come back and marry you. I meant it from the start. I love you, and I'll never stop. but I have to do this."

your heart sunk.

you see his future. you see how it's all going to play out and how it will follow him for the rest of his life.

he cannot go.

"Bucky, no. you can't go, okay? why can't you just trust me?" you tried.

"I do trust you, but this is important. the fate of the world depends on me!" he snapped back at you, voice straining. you caught the look in his eyes, a part of him hurt that you could even suggest that he not do this, that he doesn't see this through. "this is what we've been fighting for for so long! it can't be for nothing!"

"am I not enough for you?" you snap back at him. you know it's childish, and manipulative. but you have to do whatever you can to convince him.

"goddamnit, you know that you're more than enough for me. but I have a higher purpose that I have to follow-"

"-a higher purpose? are you fucking kidding me? you-"

"-I have to go! I have to put the job above everything-"

"-you wanna fucking talk higher purpose, Bucky? then let's talk higher purpose."

that finally caught his attention.

"what are you talking about?" he questioned, voice dropping low.

"Bucky, I'm pregnant!"

~~~

as you walk back up the steps to your apartment, you're in a daze.

your thoughts aren't your own. your emotions are conflicted, a million different questions running through your mind.

your mind doesn't even pay any notice to the facets of the modern world that you've missed out on for the last four months.

because you're back. you're home. absolutely nothing has changed in your world, lest the passing of a few hours.

you're what's changed. the war, the tragedy, the love you had with Bucky back then.

the only real changes are in your own mind.

as you step up to the welcome mat in front of your door, not a single tear falls from your eye. you're far too distracted, far too stuck in your head as you unlock the door to your apartment.

you step inside and shut the door behind you like it means nothing to finally be home.

just as the rest of the world, nothing here has changed. everything is exactly where you left it.

you think about everything you've been through. everything you've done, all with the goal of saving the love of your life.

you loved him with your whole heart.

you lied to him, manipulated him, gaslit him. you told yourself it was what needed to be done, even thought it hurt you. you did what you had to do to protect him.

you told him you were going to stay. that you would marry him. that you were going to have his child.

all of it, a lie.

you don't know where you drop your keys, or your bag. you feel uncomfortable in the clothes you're wearing, the same ones you'd left the apartment in four months ago.

no. four hours ago.

the clothes you'd last seen your Bucky in. the clothes you'd last kissed and held your Bucky in.

you're emotionless as you walk through the apartment and head right for the bedroom, opening the door and flicking on the lights.

"you're home early," you hear, a soft smile on his face as he sits up in the bed. "I think I still feel up to going out, if you are."

your eyes meet his, and even through the fog of your mind, you find yourself tearing up.

"I told you I was pregnant," you begin, devoid of any feeling as you speak. his head tilts up to look at you head-on, his eyes widening. "and you still got on the train."

his jaw drops, sharply inhaling, eyes blinking as he processes the words you're saying.

"why the hell did you still get on the train?" you ask him, and you can't stop the way the tears fall from your eyes. your body begins to shake, sobs wracking through you. "you told me you loved me. that you would marry me. and you still fucking left."

and then he jumps up from the bed, running to you.

"shit, baby, please don't cry," he tries to tell you. the look on his face is one of complete and utter shock, at the discovery that it finally happened. shocked at seeing you cry.

you don't know the last time you left yourself cry in front of your Bucky. you were always too scared to let him see you upset, that it would trigger something in him, that it would make him worse somehow.

right now, it doesn't fucking matter.

"why the hell would you do that?" you yell at him, smacking his arm and stepping back from him. "was I not enough for you?"

"baby, no, of course you were enough for me. you still are. I love you, but I had to-"

"you had to go and get yourself fucking captured! you knew you could've died on that mission, and you effectively did! you got on the train thinking you had gotten me pregnant, knowing that you could've died, or gotten captured again!" you scream at him. "why would you do that?"

"I had to!" he yells back at you. "don't you think I fucking wanted to stay with you? don't you think I wasn't tormented for years after I escaped hydra at the thought that I had a child I never got to know? that I fucking left you and my child behind?"

you haven't heard him this loud, this passionate, this lively in years.

"and then I met you for the second time, in this day and age, and I was so fucking confused! so I went digging. the name you gave me? the fake one and your real one? neither of those women existed back then. only you, now, did. I pieced it all together."

"then why didn't you tell me?" you cry. you feel like you're being ripped apart, torn at the seams. everything you ever knew seems like it's coming crashing down around you. "why didn't you tell me any of this? you knew I was going to go back and try and save you, and you didn't stop me!"

"because I loved you, even back then," he tells you, voice soft, pleading. "I love you. you finally got to see that once upon a time, I was more than this fucked up, broken person. that's what I wanted for you, for both of us."

you watch his own eyes grow red and wet with tears as he speaks to you.

"I wanted you to be able to see me."

"Bucky, I see you," you plead with him, grabbing at his hands, his arms, his shoulders, anything to make him feel real. "I love who you are now. I just wanted to protect you from ever having to go through what you did."

"so you didn't just want to get rid of me?" he whispers. "because all this time, I've been waiting. waiting for the morning that I don't wake up, because I might have actually listened to you. when suddenly hydra never happened, and I didn't exist anymore."

"I was not trying to get rid of you. I missed you so much," you plead with him, stepping even closer, holding his face in your hands. "but I see how much hurt you go through. I wanted to protect you from it."

you both take a pause for a minute as you gather your thoughts.

"why did you still get on the train?" you inquire.

"I don't know," is all he says back. "I really don't. but please don't be mad at me, baby, please."

how the hell could you ever be mad at him?

"I'm not mad, baby. I'm happy you're still here," you whisper, looking into his eyes, smiling through your tears. "I don't want to wake up without you by my side."

"even if I can't be who I was back then?" he asks, voice broken. "even though I'm a lost cause?"

"I don't care. you're everything to me. don't you dare say you're a lost cause, because you're not. I love you, and I'll spend the rest of my life doing anything I can to help you find peace."

as he wraps his arms around you, crying softly into your shoulder, you wonder if what you're feeling is selfish. if it's selfish of you that you're happy he's still here. if it's selfish that a part of you is almost glad everything worked out the way it did.

because you love every version of Bucky.

but for you, losing your Bucky would have been a fate worse than death.

~~~

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list part 1: (send an ask or dm to be removed)

@starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm @avengemepercy @mandoloriancookie @starstruck-cowgirl @doubledizzy22 @yvespecially @shereadzzz @blaineandergel @flow33didontsmoke @iiamlynn @belovedmoony @tellybearryyyy @doilooklikeagiveafrack @analovesmarvel @izzy698 @ketchumid24 @annabethboleyn @luv4koo @buckyseternaldoll @planetzeidy @thegirlfatherr @cieraboobear @wint3rbarnes @quinnofdrama @jeannie-beannie @buckysslut @peaceinourtime82 @poiscntree @sooberrt @yaboyguzma69 @dragonsoverall @barnesonly @drxies @morgan-getty

[progooner123]

Sebastian Stan as Winter Soldier Captain America: Civil War (2016)

[progooner123]

me with congressman bucky barnes

[progooner123]

ITS MEOWING LIKE CRAZY RN

Seb in these pics WHEW

[pics from pinterest

first pic: IloveBTRandHD

Second pic: Alexab_164

Third pic: currentlytomahawkingsomeone

Fourth/sixth pic: kyulils

Fifth pic: nikkixlynn1 ]