s-123-dont-know

[s-123-dont-know]

Nine Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)

Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x

-- Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.

And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.

You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.

Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.

And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.

You gritted your teeth.

“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”

Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.

Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”

Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.

Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”

Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”

You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“What?” you repeated, voice rising. ���You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”

“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”

Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”

Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”

Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”

And that? That was the last straw.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”

“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”

And there it was. That goddamn nickname.

You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”

“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”

“Enhancing.”

“You mean ignoring it?”

He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.

God, this man was going to be the death of you.

You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”

He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”

Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”

Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”

Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”

You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—

No. Focus.

You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”

His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”

Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”

Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.

Oh. Oh, that son of a—

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.

“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—

Nope. Not going there.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”

Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”

Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”

—

You didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.

Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.

He knew before you did.

And that was the worst part.

You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.

It had terrified you.

So you fought.

You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things—his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.

And it infuriated you.

How dare he?

How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?

How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?

How. Dare. He.

The memory took over before you could stop it…

It had been a disaster from the start.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.

But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.

You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.

“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”

You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”

Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit. 

Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”

“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.

Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”

“Still ruined.”

“You’re ruining it more.”

“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”

“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.

Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”

Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.

Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”

Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”

“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”

“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.

“No, I was waiting for backup.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”

You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.

But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”

“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”

“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.

You weren’t just mad.

You were terrified.

Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.

“Doll—”

“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”

Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”

Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.

But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.

“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.

You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.

You felt him watching you.

For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.

The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”

You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”

The smirk disappeared.

A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.

For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.

But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.

He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.

Because the truth was—

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—

Or the fact that, one day, he might not.

–

You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

No. Not thinking about that.

You couldn’t.

Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—

If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.

Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.

He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”

You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”

His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”

You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.

When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.

“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.

Your breath hitched.

He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.

“That it’s a good plan.”

Your pulse stuttered.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.

But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”

The question hit like a sucker punch.

It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I—” The words caught in your throat.

He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”

His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Completely, utterly furious at him.

And even more furious at yourself.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.

Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.

You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.

Why do you never take my side?

You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”

Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.

You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.

“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”

Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”

“I know you are,” you shot back.

He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”

The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“Forget it.” 

— 

Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.

And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.

In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.

You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.

Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.

There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.

And you hated it.

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.

Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.

Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.

And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.

But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.

No smirk. No I told you so.

Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.

By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.

The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.

But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.

It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.

Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.

“So are you.”

You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”

For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.

He noticed.

Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.

His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”

His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”

You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”

His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”

“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”

You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.

His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.

You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.

Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.

“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”

You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.

“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.

“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”

Bucky was still. Unreadable.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

—

The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.

You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.

But you couldn’t.

Because Bucky was still watching you.

He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.

It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.

Something softer. Something heavier.

Something you weren’t ready for.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”

You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.

You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.

And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.

“You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.

His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”

“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.

And God, you wanted to.

But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.

Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.

You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

You were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.

This was Bucky.

And you couldn’t lose him.

So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.

You just—needed to touch him.

Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.

Bucky stilled.

For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.

Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.

Your throat went tight.

Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.

Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.

Your eyes flickered around the cabin.

Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.

Something inside you snapped.

One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.

Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.

His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.

You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”

There was no bite to it. No real threat.

Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.

Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t shove you off like he should have.

Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.

Like he wanted to.

His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.

His touch burned.

His warmth was everywhere.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.

For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.

Bucky swallowed.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

It was enough.

Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—

You kissed him.

It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

Bucky froze.

Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.

Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.

Didn’t kiss you back.

The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.

He wasn’t—

Oh, God.

The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.

You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice broke.

Bucky was still silent.

And that was somehow worse.

It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.

You had kissed him.

You had kissed him and he hadn’t—

Your stomach plummeted.

“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—

But then—

God.

Then his hands tightened on your hips.

Hard.

Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.

Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

His expression had changed.

The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.

In its place was something darker.

Something heated and unrelenting.

Something like want.

Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.

Then—

Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”

“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.

Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.

Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.

And kissed you.

You had been right.

Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.

He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.

You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.

You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.

Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.

Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.

“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

The problem was—there wasn’t enough.

Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.

You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.

“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”

Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.

You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”

That did it.

Something snapped in him.

The hesitation vanished.

And then, suddenly, you were weightless.

Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.

Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.

You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”

You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.

There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.

The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.

You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.

“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.

His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.

“We have to be quick.”

You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.

“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.

Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”

Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”

A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”

His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.

“Bucky—”

“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.

“I do. I—”

The words faltered on your tongue.

Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.

This was everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”

His words were iron, unbreakable, true.

Something cracked inside you.

And then—there was no more hesitation.

His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.

“Jesus, doll—”

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.

You felt full. Too full.

Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.

Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.

“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”

He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.

The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.

“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”

Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.

Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.

The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.

His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.

You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—

“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”

“No.”

It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.

His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.

“Baby.”

Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.

You froze.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.

But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?

Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.

And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.

You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.

“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”

His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—

“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.

Bucky froze.

The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.

His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.

“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.

“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.

“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”

“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.

“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”

His jaw clenched.

“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.

Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.

“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”

You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.

“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”

Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.

“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”

And that—

That was what finally broke him.

Bucky snapped.

A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.

And you took it.

You craved it.

Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.

Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.

“Bucky—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”

You did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.

And that was it. That was everything.

Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.

His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.

For a moment, there was silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.

Bucky’s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.

You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.

You should let go.

You should move.

You should say something.

But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—

The words died on your lips.

Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.

Like you had just made him yours.

And you had.

Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.

His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.

It felt too big.

Too much.

But you couldn’t stop touching him.

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.

A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.

“You meant it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.

“Bucky—”

His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.

“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.

You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.

“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.

His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.

And maybe you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Because what came next?

What happened after this?

There was you before Bucky Barnes.

There was you after Bucky Barnes.

And they weren’t the same.

[s-123-dont-know]

happy birthday bucky barnes boi u old as fuck i’d still hit it tho

[s-123-dont-know]

In some universe I like to think Bucky likes to fuck. Hard. He holds back when he has his hands all over your body and he's trying desperately to shut out the monster in his brain screaming to ravage you because he. Wants. To. Fuck.

There are days where he wants that tender loving and he wants to be soft and sweet but on others?

The release feels to good and in that moment he's in full control, chasing that pleasure, hyper focused on the way his cockhead is dripping and swollen, more sensitive than ever. Its throbbing and his veins are pumping all the blood to his rock hard cock.

At first he does a good job of hiding it.

But then the mask begins to fall.

Primal urges want to take over but how can he ruin his sweet little bunny whose laying under him, moaning and looking at him with doe eyes.

How can he-

"Buck?"

Bucky's hips stutter at the sound of your soft voice laced with concern, your hand coming to cup his cheek.

"You okay?" You can tell he's not all there, his movements hesitant, body too stiff. You're plaint under him but his muscles are tight, jaw clenched. "What's wrong Jamie"

Jamie. The name you had for him alone made him want to fuck you till all you could do was scream his-

"We can stop if-

"No-" Bucky cuts you off before you could continue, petting your head reassuringly, "Everything's fine doll, promise" He pecks a kiss to your nose making you blink and it some how makes him harder. You're so trusting, spreading out naked on his bed, completely unsuspecting of all the dirty things he really wanted to do to you. You were checking in on him to see if he's okay, not having a clue he wanted to rail you so hard, you'd forget how to speak. Pound you till you were begging for him to stop because there was too much cum for your tiny cunt to handle and his heavy balls would still be aching for release.

"You can tell me" You whisper, wiggling from under him to wrap your soft thighs around his waist, stroking his scruffy cheek. "Please?"

Bucky doesn't think he can hide his needs for much longer. Not when your scent is all over him now; on his pillow, the sheets, its soaked onto his skin with how closely your naked bodies are pressing against each other. How can he be expected to have any self-control when you're looking up at him like that like a sweet little bunny caught in the wolfs den, cuddling into her predators chest.

"You really want to know?" His voice was husky, letting his nose trail along the column of your neck, breathing in your sweet smell, letting his tongue dart out to taste your sweat slicked skin. The action makes you gasp, clenching around him with a whimper, your eyes growing wide when a growl emits from deep in his chest, "Are you sur you really want to know?"

"Y-yes" You nod, your breath hitching in your throat at the dark smirk that appears on his face as his hand snakes up to softly clasp around your throat.

"I want to ruin you bunny" Bucky's nose nudges against your affectionately before leaning down to nip your pouty bottom lip.

"R-ruin?" You whisper, a wave of slick soaking his cock further which doesn't go unnoticed by him. He experimentally draws his hips back and snaps them forward, hitting your cervix, the salacious moan you let out driving him feral.

"I want to fuck. Promise I'll make love to you after but I want to fuck you pretty girl" He squeezes your throat a little tighter, moving to graze his teeth along your jaw. "Will you let me? Fuck this pretty little pussy?"

The breathy yes you let out is all he needs.

And fuck you he does.

-

"J-JAMIEE"

"That's it-scream-scream for me!" He roars, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips and he pulls you back to meet his thrusts, his balls slapping your clit each time. He has you on your hands and knees though your arms gave way, your face pressed against the mattress. He brings his leg up to get a deeper angle and the feeling causes white spots to blur you vision.

"M-more-Wan' more" You weakly beg, tears streaming down your face in pleasure, your entire body being held up by his grip as he takes you from behind.

"Greedy slut, begging for more as if she isn't already full of cock and cum" Bucky gritted out, having already emptied himself in your once, your combined slick making it easier for him to pound you. "Just a hole for me to fuck, you're just here to get me off aren't you baby, just a tight little pussy for me to stuff my dick into"

"Ye-ah" You hiccup, overstimulated from the orgasms he's pulled from your body left, right and center. "So-so-good"

"S'good huh, gotta keep you well fucked for my fat cock bunny" You have no idea where he got such a filthy mouth from, another orgasm building in your belly from his words alone, "Can feel you getting tight again, lookit you cumming all over me baby, messy girl, soaking me"

You can't respond aside from wailing with pleasure, trickles of squirt wetting his thighs, the sight making his balls pull towards his body.

"That's it, good girl, fuck gonna cum bunny, gonna give you my cum and keep fucking it back into you, keep you nice and full of me" He rails you faster, the serum in his veins pumping, sweat dripping down his body. He feels impossibly hot, head thrown back as immense pleasure shoots down his spine, his pace growing sloppy. There's not a single thought in his brain other than busting load after load in your sopping cunt till his cock his soft. He doesn't care that it almost hurts, overstimulated himself, panting and rutting into you, he's so far gone, his deep moans slipping into a whimper as his cock starks to leak, he's so close-

"OH-FUCKK" Hot ropes of his spend shoot from his tip as he lets his body fall on top of you, humping and rutting himself till he's all empty, "y'feel to good, can't even stop, holy shit" He moans into your neck, suckling at your pulse point while you writhe under him feeling his cum seep out of you. His movements slow till there's nothing left, his sensitive length still tucked between your folds, pink and soft and wet with your cream. He carefully moves you so you're resting on the pillows, his cool metal hand brushing your forehead.

"Come back to me bunny" Bucky coos, chuckling at your dazed state, your eyes still unfocused, panting and blindly reaching for him, "M'right here babygirl, c'mhere, I got you" He cradles your soft body close to his, kissing your hairline. "Did so good for me princess, so so proud of you"

You let out a sleepy yawn, curling up on his chest like a content kitten, closing your eyes while nuzzling into him. You've never looked so peaceful and happy and Bucky can tell just by your happy little sigh you want more of what he gave you.

[s-123-dont-know]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

pairing: history major!bucky x librarian!reader

summary: a reserved librarian and a history-loving student keep crossing paths in the cold library, where shared smiles and hidden glances will make them understand that burning hearts don't do well in a place that easily ignites.

word count: 6.7k

warnings/themes: fluff/a bit of angst, making out, insecurities, no real warnings except for two silly humans falling in love

a/n: hello hello!! i have not written this much in years, and i'm both excited and anxious to share this with you. i'm rediscovering just how thrilling it is ✍︎ i'd like to send my love to @elixirfromthestars @whatever-lmaoo and @buck-star for being unimaginably kind, lovely, supportive and encouraging whenever i was doubting myself ♡ and to anyone reading this, thank you so much for giving my little story a chance. i am over the moon if you decide to grace it with your time ♡

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

The library was quiet at this time of day, students scattered around finishing their projects and essays or studying diligently for the upcoming exams. Spending time here was a source of comfort and a therapeutic refuge, which is why you were one of the first ones to hastily apply for this part-time position.

As most of your classes were in the mornings, and you usually spend your afternoons and evenings studying in the library, you thought you might as well use this chance to get some financial independence.

Besides, the college library was quite calm and uneventful, and as long as you finished your given tasks, the other librarians were okay with you studying during your shift. You unconditionally cherished this place, the enormous time capsule that hid you from the world, a place where you could be yourself.

The metaphorical warmth you felt for the library didn't help much when it got cold outside, as it wished to live in eternal spring and couldn't be properly warmed up. Regular students and staff already knew to dress as warmly as possible in layers and thick sweaters, some even opting to bring blankets.

The library was old, but very well looked after. The wooden chairs and sturdy desks were meticulously placed near the tall, gothic windows that provided the most beautiful atmosphere when letting the sunlight through. The bookshelves crafted out of deep dark oak and walnut wood, with beautiful wood carvings alongside their edges.

Your favourite were days with rain or snowfall, as they stained the library in a muted, sort of hazy light that looked magical when the warm lights had to be switched on. The enormous windows acted as moving paintings in those days. 

The old wooden library door squealed in the deep silence of the study hall, announcing someone's arrival. Your eyes traveled towards the sound, a warm feeling washing over you immediately.

It's him. James Barnes. The history major prodigy with a sharp wit and gentle, old soul who is currently studying for his master's degree.

Despite his bookish academic personality, there was a part of him that was outgoing and a little wild. He loved being around his friends, and rarely declined an invitation for hang outs and parties. People like to be around him, as if they’re orbiting planets around the shining sun.

He was a presence to be reckoned with - with his soft dark hair, ocean eyes, a thickly built constitution that made him look effortlessly handsome in his well-fitted coats and cardigans;  with the addition of a genuine, outgoing and caring personality, it made him someone people can very easily be infatuated with. The two of you moved in the same friend circles so it was not rare for you to see him around, especially when Nat and Steve pressured you to attend house parties with them. You'd be left feeling fatigued for days, having drained your already depleted social battery as you were reserved and introverted by nature.

What made it worthwhile was spending time with your friends which is why you usually gave in to their pleas, and what came as a surprise to you, stealing glances at one particular history genius. 

Those subtle, unwavering glances didn't go unnoticed by Nat, who started paying a lot more attention to this newly perceived state of yours.

Your infatuation confused you, but it was nevertheless expected.

You saw him in the library almost everyday, and while you were not friends per se, you politely interacted with each other with small smiles and tiny nods whenever one of you arrived while the other was already there; uttering sweet thank yous when Bucky returned his books when they were due, or if you managed to find a book he was looking for. Those moments were precious and special, because you got to see a side of Bucky others did not.

Seeing him at parties, however, turned out to be bittersweet, as it was a recurring sight to witness him with a girl sitting in his lap with his arms around her, or having another girl's lips pressed to his. He was not a careless heart breaker as he was not the type to lead someone on, but he liked to have a bit of fun and blow off some steam in a harmless way.

It was such a contradiction to who he was when he studied diligently in the library's silence that you couldn't wrap your head around who Bucky genuinely was. But you wanted to know more, and he was a mystery you wanted unsolved, even if seeing him with someone else made your chest feel like it's caving in on itself; a deep, heavy heartache that left you with a sore feeling of emptiness that was left to fester.

Every time you saw him kiss and touch someone else, you felt the painful strain in your lower jaw as you held back hot, unshed tears, the fluttering feeling settling in your stomach but not of the good kind. These felt like wasps, stinging from within.

You had no reason or right to feel like this, as he isn't, and never will be, yours. There was no place for you in his solar system. 

Bucky, however, has always treated you differently ever since he became acquainted with you, whether because his childhood friend Steve was best friends with you or because genuinely considered you a good friend himself. He was more reserved when interacting with you, distanced but gentle. 

Now acutely aware of Bucky's presence, you watched him as he struggled to keep the doors open with his hands multitasking beyond reason - he somehow managed to carry his satchel, seemingly quite heavy as he was leaning to the other side to balance out the weight on his shoulder, black coat propped at the elbow, coffee and his phone in one hand with the dorm keys dangling from one of his fingers, and a stack of books in the other.

Trying to keep the door from closing with a crash, soft locks of hair fell on his forehead and over his eyes, obstructing his view. His hair was getting longer again, and to your infinite delight, he made no indications of getting a haircut any time soon. This was a recipe for imminent catastrophe, one which both of you would be more than happy to avoid. 

You quickly stood up from your chair behind the library desk and approached him, reaching for the books. "I've got you, I can take these,” you whispered to him so you don't disturb the other students. 

Bucky looked at you with gratefulness in his eyes, sighing a quiet sigh of relief. "You're a lifesaver, y/n,” he whispered back, offering you a smile. 

You walked with him to his usual spot where he likes to study, just to the right of where you work, next to a big window that provides him with much-needed natural daylight.

“For you,” he stated, placing his things on the table and outstretching his hand holding the coffee towards you.

You were completely taken off guard and all you could do was utter a small ‘It’s what?’ 

“Got it for you. The coffee. You seemed pretty tired yesterday. That's why I was rushing here, so it doesn't get cold.”

The silence of the library was deafening, the air as thick as the autumn morning fog. While you had an abundance of kindness and empathy to give to others, you always had trouble accepting it when it was offered to you. On top of that, this was not just anyone.

This was James, and the thought of him noticing your tiredness and caring enough to bring you coffee today has your heart skip a few beats. You realised that you were silent for a while because Bucky was looking at you with an amused look, and you had to clear your mind just enough to answer him and not embarrass yourself by acting like a lovestruck silly fool.

“You really didn’t have to trouble yourself,” you uttered softly. 

He kept the hand with which he held the coffee cup still outstretched towards you, nudging it a little bit as if saying that he had no intentions of taking no for an answer. “I didn’t, but I wanted to. Come on, have it while it’s warm. No take backs.”

You tentatively took the coffee from him, and your cold fingers brushed against his warm ones. Feeling the coldness of your hands made him glad that he risked a chaotic entrance just to get you a warm beverage. 

“Thank you, James,” you looked at him with warmth which makes Bucky try to hide the lump in his throat as he nervously swallows.

The fluttering in his belly always emerged whenever you looked at him like that, sweetly, lovingly. Bucky smiled and feigned nonchalance so you wouldn't notice.

“No need for a thanks,” he smiled gently at you, warmth rushing into your face as he made direct eye contact.

“Sorry, I’m keeping you from work. And these,” he gestured towards a significant pile of books sitting on his desk, ”are unfortunately waiting for me.”

With a final glance and a reciprocated smile, you nodded and went back to your chair, feeling all kinds of feelings that felt too loud for this quiet room.

He looked at you while he took out his notes, smiling to himself when he saw you hug the hot coffee cup with your cold fingers in hopes of warming them up.

After a long study session, during which night had already fallen and soft yellow glow bathed the library's dark wooden shelves in golden lights, Bucky started packing his things and getting ready to leave. The library had mostly emptied out by now. He walked towards you, confusion etched in his face.

“You’re not leaving?”

“Yeah, not yet,” you sighed. “There was a new shipment of literature workbooks that I need to file on the computer by tomorrow, and it’s going to take a while. I should be done in an hour or so.”

Bucky glanced outside, noting how dark it was, the thought of you walking alone making him feel uneasy. “Do you want me to stay with you? I can walk you home when you're done.”

His offer excited you the moment it left his lips but you didn’t want him to waste his time waiting for you. With a heavy heart, as your inside voice scolded you for being nonsensical, you declined spending time with the guy you’ve been daydreaming about every waking moment.

“No need, you were here for hours. You should go and rest. Nat will be coming by in about half an hour so we'll walk back together.”

Bucky hesitated for a brief moment, not sure if you said that just so he wouldn't stay, or if Nat was really coming by. He eventually decided not to push, and hummed in agreement. “Okay, sure. Be careful on your way back, yeah?” 

“I will James, you too.” 

He nodded and walked towards the entrance door. Hesitating with his hand on the handle, he turned around, and coughed awkwardly to get your attention.

You looked up, and his blue eyes caught yours. “Did you fix the extra heater you told me broke last week? The one you and the librarians use behind the desk.” 

“No, not yet,” you stated with slight disappointment. 

“Well, um- it's getting cold in here. Especially this late. Don't forget to bring an extra sweater tomorrow.”

He paused for a brief moment. “And just so you know,” he continued, ”I wouldn't have minded staying with you.”

He nervously scratched the nape of his neck and without waiting for your answer, opened the door and left, leaving you with a flustered look on your face staring at the spot he was just standing at. 

On one particularly miserable day, you burst into the library in a rush, as you finally slowed down your pace and strugglde to get your hectic breathing in order. Long breath in, long breath out. This whole day started as if you wore a big sign over your head saying “Do your worst, universe!”

First you overslept, jumping from the bed like you were struck by lightning, and barely arrived 5 minutes late to your first lecture. In your haste you realised you forgot to pack your lunch, and your mood’s been completely upside down since you had no time to have your morning coffee. 

As fate would have it, it was the coldest day so far and the freezing air was biting your skin almost out of spite as you walked towards the library, just having finished your last class.

The campus was coloured in beautiful autumnal shades of rust and crimson and mustard yellow, a slight burning smell hanging in the air from the neighborhood’s ignited fireplaces keeping everyone warm in their homes.

The library was colder than it was yesterday, and you stopped in your tracks realising you forgot an extra sweater in your rush to leave your dorm room. Today simply decided to be against you and you sigh in defeat, not looking forward to being cold in the most comforting place you could think of.

Bucky was already at his usual spot, his gaze following you as you were getting ready to start your work. You didn't offer him your usual wave and smile upon arrival, which he found unusual. He wanted to get up and talk to you, but something in your countenance told him you weren’t in the mood for a conversation at the moment.

Something felt off with you, and he decided to let you wind down a little first, fearing he’ll just make it worse. Little did he know he was one of very few people whose comfort you would never turn down.

He’s surprised when he realised how in tune he was with your feelings and body language, how much he could read the look in your eyes, the barely noticeable downturn of your lips and frown of your eyebrows, the way your shoulders were sloped down.

Bucky doesn’t remember when he started feeling this way about you - perhaps it was the way you smiled at him when Steve introduced the two of you, saying how important it was for him for his two best friends to know each other.

Or when he saw you placing books on the bookshelf in the library, humming a song from his favourite band.

Perhaps it was when your friend group went to the cinema to watch a horror movie and you reached for his hand as a reflex and held it tightly when a scary scene was playing out on the screen.

Or it could have been that one time he found you crying in front of your classroom having failed an exam you spent many all nighters studying for, and stayed with you hoping his presence would soothe you. He silently sat next to you with your head propped against his shoulder until your breathing calmed down, after which he took you to a café nearby for hot tea where you stayed and talked about everything and anything for hours.

There was something captivating about you, but Bucky noticed you were reserved and shy, at times a little anxious, and someone who’s not particularly enjoying being the centre of attention.

He struggled to find a way to express how he felt without overwhelming you, and one evening after a particularly unbearable overthinking session, he finally called Steve to confess how he felt about you and ask him for advice. Steve was delighted that Bucky had finally admitted his feelings and said - little acts of kindness.

Express it without making it straightforward. You should feel it in the gestures if he offers them with genuine kindness. Make her feel safe and comfortable with you, Steve said. And that’s exactly what Bucky started doing.

Bringing you hot tea, warm coffee, holding the door for you, reminding you to dress warmly, bringing an additional umbrella for you on rainy autumn days knowing how forgetful you can be, closing the window because you were in the cold draft, carrying heavy books for you, buying you cold medicine when you showed up sniffling and coughing.

He tried to convey his feelings in a way you'd notice, but it seems that it wasn't that easy getting through to you. However, his feelings for you grew warmer with each day in this cold library, so much so that even the library didn't feel all that cold anymore whenever you were in his field of vision. Unbeknownst to him, you felt very much the same. 

He noticed you shivering, your hands going up and down your arms to create some warmth. You’re in a thinner sweater and he assumed that you must have forgotten to bring an extra layer of clothing.

Taking his maroon cardigan off, he pulled out his chair and made his way towards you. Your eyes were tired and misty, but when you saw him in front of you the world seemed to shift back to balance.

Bucky's height was obstructing your view, and you found that him shielding you from the outside world felt comforting. 

“I'll be here for another hour, and then I thought I might go to our café for hot chocolate and raspberry muffins. I think I'll be bored without any company.”

He placed the cardigan in your hands, and walked back to his desk. You smiled for the first time that day, sending an inaudible “I'm in” his way. The oversized cardigan smelled like him, still heated by his body warmth.

You snuggled into it and for the first time in a long time, a person started to feel like home.

You walked down the street towards Steve's dorm, the sun slowly setting behind rust-coloured roofs. Dry leaves of every kind of earthy hue are swirling around you as if asked by the air for a dance.

They were crunching beneath your feet, having been scattered around the pavement on the wings of a chilly wind, as the daylight was slowly ending to make way for a starry night and visible warm breaths in the air. You wished you could savour this walk a bit longer, but the weather was growing increasingly colder.

You were aware that you should speed up your pace if you wanted to make it to Steve's before dark because you were only in a thin sweater, but this walk turned out to be a peaceful refuge of silence amongst the autumn trees. Your path eventually led you to a small park filled with other students talking and hanging out, most of them packing up to go warm themselves up in the nearby cafés.

You entered the dorm without anyone paying you attention and made your way up. The hall was barely illuminated but you already knew the way by heart as you've visited Steve a thousand times by now - 3rd floor, three sets of stairs and 25 steps each, the door with newly oiled hinges and someone's initials carved in the upper right corner. You knocked and waited a few moments, noticing soft footsteps approaching from the other side of the door, followed by a sound of keys jingling.

A set of crystal blue eyes landed on yours as the door opened, slightly widening as if he was expecting anyone but you. Another thing the universe has plotted for you, or against you - Steve's recently new roommate is none other than Bucky Barnes. 

"Oh, James- um, hello,” you said with a soft tone, cheeks dusted with an embarrassing blush. You face-palmed internally at your inability to react normally and not embarrass yourself at least once. Jesus y/n, way to go. 

Bucky wasn’t expecting you, but he hid his surprise way better than you. "Y/n, hey! And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Bucky?" 

"At least once more as always, James." 

He sighed, admitting defeat for the moment. It was something he secretly wished for; for you to call him by the nickname all of his best friends use. He wanted to be closer to you, and calling him by his name felt like an arms length between you. What Bucky doesn't know is that you considered it closeness to call him by his real name, and you simply love saying 'James'. It is timeless, gentle. Every vowel and consonant felt soft on your lips. 

Bucky's voice brought you back from your reverie. "So… are you coming to the pub with us or are you here in revenge because I completely forgot to return ”The Global History of World War II”? It's kinda long overdue,” he said with a sheepish grin. 

"Yes, Bucky, that is my favorite pastime when I’m outside of the library," you chuckled light-heartedly, basking in the feeling that he’s comfortable enough around you to be playful and at ease. "Full time student, part-time librarian, book vigilante out of campus for good measure,” you teased, elated when you see that it brought a smile to James' face.

"But now that we're on the topic, you don't have to worry about that. Steve told me that you've been really busy with a big history project for your modern world history class because I noticed you weren't coming by the library, so I took the liberty of extending the loan on your book for you." 

"Wow, pays off having an inside connection at the college library, that's for sure." Despite his playful demeanour, Bucky's features softened into a genuine, grateful smile. "Thank you, y/n.”

There was softness in his gaze that was disarming. He often looked at you like that, as if you were something precious and endearing, but you never allowed yourself to think that he might be feeling anything other than friendly affection for you.

At times it made you wonder if there’s something more he was hinting at, but perhaps you’re just projecting your own feelings where they did not exist. You've never felt like this strongly about anyone, and it's evident that you’re reluctant to allow yourself to have hope because his rejection would be a sting you weren't ready to experience. 

"Nothing to thank me for, really. I know how much that class means to you." 

"By the way - you asked Steve about me?" 

"I, well - I mean -uh. I did,” you stuttered your words and Bucky thought you were the prettiest thing he's ever. He noticed that you were flustered around him before, and he definitely stored that information in a special corner of his mind.

"You're punctual with your library visits, that'all. And I'm used to seeing you there, so of course I noticed you weren't coming as usual. Just wanted to check if everything is okay. It was actually kind of lonely without you around," the words slipped out before you even had the chance to stop yourself. 

Bucky's heartbeat increased hearing you say that. You were lonely without him.

"Well then, I'll have to make sure to come by more frequently and I'll definitely let you know about future absences. Wouldn't want to worry my favourite librarian now, would I?" Bucky said, gently tapping your nose with his index finger and reveling in watching you try to compose your flustered gaze and widened eyes. "You-" a breathy laugh passed your lips, "are incorrigible."

Bucky found you absolutely adorable. He noticed the way you act around him. He's felt your stolen glances in the library. You've never admitted it though, and Bucky is left to speculate. He burns with the desire to ask you how you feel, but he fears pushing you away just as you were getting closer. 

“Oh my god, I can't believe I'm making you stand in the doorway, come in.” He moved aside, motioning with his outstretched hand for you to enter. “Steve is in the shower, his football practice was longer than he thought.”

You stood awkwardly, playing nervously with your hands. It’s strange how Bucky made you both comforted and nervous at the same time. “That's okay, I'll just wait in his room. We can go when he's done.”

Bucky hummed in agreement, his eyes analysing your figure and motioning to the thin sweater you wore. “Y/n, is that all you brought? It must be cold outside.”

“Yeah, well, you know me. It was nice outside when I left the dorm this noon and I didn't plan ahead. Actually, the wind was kinda freezing to be honest,” you shrugged as Bucky gave you a disapproving look, as he always did when you failed to look after yourself.

He paused for a second as if he was mulling over a thought, and then he took off the black hoodie he was wearing. Your face burned hotter than a furnace as the t-shirt beneath rose up, revealing his hips and the heavy muscles of his abdomen. He put the hoodie over your head and the closeness of his body to yours made you light-headed. “Come on, arms through the sleeves. There we go.”

The hoodie was warm, like everything else he wore. If you glimpsed inside his soul you might even find that his whole being is fuelled by the sun.

He delicately took your hair out from the inside of the hoodie and tucked the stray pieces behind your ears, letting his touch linger before retracting his hand, gliding a finger along your jaw. It felt like traces of fire were left where his fingers had touched you. 

“You keep giving me your clothes.”

”And you keep forgetting yours. Maybe you're doing this on purpose,” he said quietly. 

I'm not but I might start doing so, the little voice inside your mind spoke against your better judgment. You looked at each other for another moment before the door opened abruptly and Steve came out followed by steam coming out of the bathroom.

Bucky was unnerved by the interruption but he tried to hide it. Steve looked at the two of you raising his eyebrows with a knowing look, especially when he noticed you dressed in Bucky’s hoodie, and sent a pointed look your way that suspiciously meant ‘we’re so talking about this later.’

Bucky moved out of the way while Steve hurried towards and tackled you into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you so much! I need to get you out of that library more often. You’re seeing Bucky more than you’re seeing me.” He pouted and you rolled your eyes, squishing his cheeks.

“How can a six-foot something human act like such a baby,” you teased. “I’ve missed you too. Now go get dressed, go!” You gently pushed him towards his room. “Nat and Sam are waiting for us.”

You took your phone to send a message to Nat that you’ll be arriving soon, completely oblivious of Bucky’s inner turmoil of feelings caused by seeing you and Steve interact so naturally. He wasn’t jealous of his childhood friend, he knew Steve’s heart like his own and there was not one tiny seed of thought that Steve harboured romantic feelings towards you or that he would hurt Bucky in such a way.

Bucky was jealous of the closeness Steve has with you, the light-hearted nature, the way you didn’t hesitate to hug him or touch him. He wanted that with you, he wanted to be the one your hands instinctively reach out to.

The feelings that were brewing are irrational, he knew this. He also knew that he was slowly snapping at the edges, stitch by stitch, and if he didn’t confess to you soon, the feelings pulsating like a dying star would go full on supernova.

"There she issssss, finally, finally!" Nat hurried towards you, hands outstretched expecting a hug that you gladly offered.

"You're late. You guys are late. Late for a group get-together, y/n! Was your nose stuck in a book again? Is the library holding you hostage?" She teased, as her voice held nothing but giddiness. Nat’s genuinely happy to finally see you out and about. 

"And my nose would still be there if you didn't drag me all the way here,” you repled to her, a playful smile on your lips. It's been forever since the last group hangout, and you sorely missed them.

"Steve was running late so we waited for him, Nat. We didn't mean for you guys to wait- hang on, where Sam?" You looked around the bar, but you didn't see him.

“Said he's rain checking, sudden emergency but nothing serious. He might be joining us later.” You nodded, a little bummed because you haven't seen him in a while and he was always good company to have around.

Nat scaned you up and down, trying to be unobtrusive about it so she doesn't make you uncomfortable or give you a chance to hide something from her. She’s been worried about you lately because you were pulling all-nighters often, going to classes, working part-time in the library.

Not to mention venting to her at 3am when you should be asleep how you think you're falling in love with Bucky and how frightened you were about it.

She was expecting you to shut down from exhaustion at any moment. However, she's glad to see you in a better shape than she  expected. Even with your slightly dark circles indicating lack of sleep, you seemed somehow lighter, happier. 

After a few drinks and a laughing fit about a story Steve recounted from his and Bucky's childhood that made James flush in embarrassment, Nat sighed and placeed her hand on your forearm.

"Is that yours?" she said, feeling the material of your oversized black hoodie between her fingers. "I don't recall you having this, did you get it when we were at the mall last week?" 

You were checking your class schedule on your phone and replied absent-mindedly, not even registering what your words would make Nat think. "It's not mine, it's Bucky's. He let m- ouch! Nat! What was that for?" Her eyes are slightly opened in shock, her fingers pinching you hard where she was touching the hoodie earlier.

The devilish grin appearing on her face made you regret saying anything to her in the first place. She will never let you hear the end of this. "You sly little- Bucky's? Is there something you're not telling me? I can't believe you kept this information to yourself. Tell me everything, and tell me now."

She gave you a pointed look you knew all too well when she saw the hesitation on your face. "Babe, you know I will find a way to find out. Please don't make me grind my ass for answers on why my best friend is wearing the hoodie of the man she's secretly pining for." 

You continued your hushed conversation while you recount what has happened, not noticing that someone has been listening to everything you've been talking about as you and Nat were not as silent as you thought you were.

Bucky sat with a love-sick grin plastered on his face, while Steve's knowing expression revealed a sense of relief because he was so damn tired of watching his two friends pining for each other and doing nothing about it. 

Bucky's thoughts were going a thousand miles a minute. You were pining for him. He was right. I mean, you didn't even negate what Nat said. That must mean something, right? Silence could be interpreted as agreeing, especially knowing how guarded you were and would have defended yourself on the spot.

But you didn't. You have feelings for him. And there's an additional something that made him smile even wider - you just called him Bucky for the first time since he met you. 

“Hey.” Bucky felt your hand on his shoulder, interrupting him in the middle of reading a paragraph. He turned his head to look up at you, your face apologetic.

“Hey.” He circled around in his chair to give you full attention, which was all you needed to push away your guilt for interrupting his studying.

“You wanna go to the history section with me? I think I found the book you asked for last week, the one about the most influential battles of the twentieth century? We could look for it together. Plus you've been sitting slouched for hours too, you need to stretch your legs.” Bucky’s heart soared at the invitation and your concern over his well-being, and he nodded in silent agreement while hastily bookmarking the page in his textbook.

You walked to the back of the library, searching the number of the bookshelf you saw written on your computer. “Section 1…..2….ah here, we go.”

You approached the shelf marked as 3. You felt him hovering near you in silence, and you felt the very atoms in the air vibrate with his presence. You were acutely aware of his every step. Your soft footsteps were muffled by the carpet as you finally spotted the book, high up and just out of your reach. Lifting yourself up on the tips of your toes, you reached as high as your hand allows you and all you  managed was to brush the spine of the book with your fingertips.

Without warning, you suddenly felt his chest flush against your back as he stood behind you and reached over your fingers to take the book from the shelf. His fingers ghosted over yours for a moment, and you whipped your head around, completely flustered by his actions. By the time you noticed how close you were, it was already too late as you sensed his hot breath mixing with yours. He towered over you, deep in thought and with a look in his eyes that had the appearance of a brewing storm, the book long forgotten.

Both of you stood stunned, gazes fixed into each other's eyes. You couldn’t stop thinking of how Bucky's irises you once thought were like the summer sky suddenly appeared green. The dying sunlight casted its rays through the windows straight into his eyes, and it suddenly made sense how the sunny yellow mixed with his blues gave a beautiful green. Bucky broke the trance you were caught in when he placed his left index finger under your chin to make you look up at him, while his other hand slowly inched closer to your face, brushing your cheek with a gentle, feathery touch.

"Eyelash." The low baritone of his voice in this close proximity made your blood rush straight to your cheeks and in between your legs. Wait, what? Did you just- ? You have always reacted to him innocently, with butterflies in your stomach and a warm blush on your cheeks, but it was never this physical before.

Not like you haven't thought about it, but it was just harmless daydreaming and to get this reaction out of you by simply touching you in innocent places bewildered you. The intensity of the moment catches you off guard, nervousness gradually setting in but something keeps you firmly in place. He glanced at your lips as his breathing got deeper and laboured, like the air he was breathing had become as thick as honey. He deeply inhaled once, and exhaled shakily, as if he was fighting an internal battle. His control was hanging by a thread which snapped the moment he saw your eyes look down at his lips while you slightly parted yours. 

In a moment of complete lack of self-control, he dived and captured your lips in eagerness as you immediately reciprocated the kiss, the two of you acting like magnets unable to fight the pulling force for connection. None of you knew who actually initiated the kiss but the sense of shock lasted but a second, and your body took over as you placed your hands at the nape of his neck, fingers lost in his silky, dark locks of hair.

Bucky's lips were soft, softer than you expected, and he was kissing you both delicately and with the fervour of someone who has waited a lifetime to do this. Bucky cradled your head with both of his hands, tilting it upwards to get better access to your lips, his heart wishing to turn this into something more heated but his brain holding him back so in fear of scaring you away.

The gratification you both felt of getting to act upon the pent up desires and bottled up feelings was beyond words, and it brought about a new wave of emotions that burned from within. Bucky gently licked your bottom lip, and his blood sang in his veins when you softly moaned, accelerating his heartbeat.

He captured your lips over and over again, his tongue dancing with yours with each wet, warm press of his lips that drove you insane. You reciprocated every kiss and every touch, your hands digging into his shoulder blades in an attempt to alleviate the intensity you feel, while his hands moved agonisingly slow down your spine until he reached your lower back and pushed you impossibly close against his body. 

You placed your fingers over his lips so both of you could catch a breath as your lungs screamed for air. Bucky pressed his forehead to yours, lips swollen as your faces radiated a pleasant warmth. Bucky gave you a chaste, sweet kiss just as a sudden slam of the library door sounds off and it harshly brought you back to Earth.

The air was filled with uneven breaths as you broke the kiss, your gazes still locked on the swollen lips of the other. Reality came crashing down on you, like icy cold water poured straight onto your head as you’re cruelly snapped back to present.

What has just happened? You weren't even thinking. How could you when all reason went to hell when his lips as soft as petals were just attached to yours? But now that your mind was clearing up, your insecurities rushed all at once in a fight of which one is going to prevail and ruin this for you. 

You couldn’t believe you just did that. Oh my god.

Oh my god, oh my god. There was no way in hell that he liked you like that. Maybe he just wanted to kiss, and you were conveniently there. From what you recall, he kissed you first. Or did he? God, you couldn’t recall a thing. You couldn't even trust your thoughts at the moment. James Barnes kissing you first was an insane thought, even for you. Daydreaming about it was one thing, but it actually happening?

No way in hell. You were out of his league, and he deserved someone as outgoing, beautiful and confident as he is. The whole ordeal was foggy to your overreacting mind, still under the influence of his lips. But James is kinder than that. He’d never be so cruel as to lead you on, his actions up until now resonated only with kindness and respect.

You guessed you must have kissed him first as that was the only thought you had when he had you pressed against the bookshelf. He probably didn't reject you because he didn't want to hurt your feelings. That had to be it, right? 

Nothing made sense to you anymore, and each new thought contradicted the previous one. Insecurities fought against rationality. That was definitely no ordinary kiss, but you're so overwhelmed that you couldn't even think straight, heart rapidly pounding in your chest. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” Bucky's voice was low, rich with warmth and worry, looking down at you as if your internal turmoil is etched on your face.

It was too much, the kiss, his warm hands holding you; the affection he so freely offered but you were reluctant to accept, the insecurity of not being good enough for someone like him but being in love with him nonetheless - if all hit you like a wave. 

“I- I'm-”you tried speaking but not one coherent word came out of you as your mind drew a complete blank.

Bucky watched in horror as your eyes filled with hot tears, one by one slipping down your cheeks in rapid succession. Kissing a man with ocean eyes seemed to have repercussions, as your own eyes were overflowing with salty ocean water. He was frozen in shock as you fell apart in front of him, and just as he was about to snap out of it and comfort you, you left his embrace and ran out of the library after gathering your things in haste, leaving Bucky stunned in silence amongst the empty shelves, the library feeling colder than ever.

[s-123-dont-know]

Needs & Wants Series Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x Reader, Sex Pollen

Parts containing smut are in red.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 (smut)

Part 4 (smut)

Part 5 (smut)

Part 6 (smut)

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9 (smut)

Part 10 (smut)

BONUS CHAPTER (smut)

This series has been completed. Thank you for reading!

[s-123-dont-know]

ASHES TO EMBERS MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Firefighter!Neighbor!Bucky x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Night terrors (bucky), copious amounts of fluff, angst if you don’t search too hard for it, smut, firefighter bucky is a warning in itself

SUMMARY: When an unfortunate event forces you to confront the crush you’ve had on your neighbour since you moved in, you learn that Bucky knows you better than you know yourself. As the two of you grow closer, how does he deal with his past without pushing you away.

CHAPTERS: 5 - Ongoing

tap whichever chapter title you want and enjoy reading <3

ONE: Forgotten Alarms

WARNINGS: Mentions of night terrors, trapped in small spaces, brief mention of reader being worried about bucky holding her weight, nothing else other than bucky being cute af

SUMMARY: When you get stuck in an elevator with your neighbour (who also happens to be your crush), you discover your interest in the firefighter isn’t as one-sided as you thought.

TWO: Shadows

WARNINGS: Fluff, talk about night terrors, ALPINEEE, reader continues to be oblivious, bucky being a flirt

SUMMARY: After yesterday’s elevator fiasco, you’re left with the guilt of overstepping in Bucky’s business. He could barely look at you when you went to the firehouse to thank the crew, so it’s fair to say you’re surprised when he turns up at the cafe you work at.

THREE: For You

WARNINGS: Mention of night terrors, Bucky being upset, fluff, flashbacks containing the death of a child, plenty of unholy thoughts, half naked bucky, dirty talk???, sexual tension, please let me know if i’ve missed something!!!

SUMMARY: You find Bucky at his most vulnerable when he’s sent home from work at 2 in the morning. While doing everything you can to comfort him, you realise you’re falling for him.

FOUR: Home Cooked Meal

WARNINGS: Smut (finally) - dirty talk, pet names, oral f and m receiving, fingering, tit play, praise kink, hand kink?, ball play, hair pulling, unprotected PinV sex, aftercare, reader and bucky have dinner, swearing, fluff, let me know if i missed anything!

SUMMARY: You surprise Bucky with a home cooked meal after his shift, and it’s the best damn thing he’s had in years. The pasta was pretty good too.

FIVE:

a/n: please lmk if you know the creator of the ai bucky images, full credit to them!!!!!

comment if you’d like to be added to my ashes to embers taglist 🧡

[s-123-dont-know]

I just update tumblr on my phone and realized that the links on my Recs and "to read later" list are not working. 😭

[s-123-dont-know]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲

The first day of any new job was always the hardest — all the rules and roles to navigate while establishing yourself as someone reliable, trustworthy, and far too interested in your employer.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ୨୧ DILF!Bucky Barnes x Babysitter!F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ୨୧ 8.3k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ୨୧ Swearing, pet names, fluff, slight angst/insecurity, pining, unspecified age gap, Bucky is a shameless flirt and he knows it, extreme sexual tension/implied smut, heated kissing, there is a kid in this fic

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ୨୧ Happy belated birthday, @duckybarnes1917 — I hope you enjoy the torturous collection I came up with just for you, love you long time. 😘 ୨୧ This AU and fic itself have skyrocketed into my personal top 5. I threw my all into this and I am fucking proud of it.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ୨୧ greedy by Tate McRae ୨୧ Like U by Rosenfeld

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 ୨୧ @smutconnoisseur — thank you for dealing with my flying by the seat of my pants attitude because oh my god—

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ୨୧ @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo  ჻჻჻  Babysitting (December), Teasing (January), Single Parent (February) —  Masterlist ჻჻჻  Aggressive Flirting (February) —  Masterlist ୨୧ @buckybarnesevents Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟯 — DILF AU —  Masterlist ୨୧ @mcukinkbingo 𝗜𝟱 — Mistaken for a couple —  Masterlist ୨୧ @anyfandomfluffbingo 𝗚𝟮 — First Kiss —  Masterlist ୨୧ @sweetspicybingo Sweetheart Bingo — Cloud Nine —  Masterlist

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The advertisement was like any other — a father looking for a babysitter to watch over his little girl while he worked, and from what you could gather, the father worked a prestigious job that took up a substantial amount of time when he had to visit the office. 

A sweet little girl that adored princesses and coloured her days away, if her description was anything to be believed, and you applied for the position straight away, not wasting a moment before you sent all of your credentials through. It seemed a perfect fit. 

To your shock (and relief), you heard back from your new employer within the hour. 

James Barnes, a leading engineer in his field of cutting-edge prosthetics, called you in the next half hour, voice deep and honeyed with a hidden sense of cunning curiosity. The conversation was brief before he invited you over for a drink — of your choice, “You can have whatever you want, doll, I don’t mind,” he purred after you stuttered a shocked, nonsensical reply.

It was intoxicating, the sound of his voice lulling into fantasies that your majorly unhelpful mind conjured after that encounter. The memory was barely definable through your lust fuelled recollections of your shared drinks. 

Over time, after spending time with the both of them, it took all of your willpower to not be lulled towards the forbidden curiosities you held for your new employer. He was enigmatic, playful, curious, and lethally charming with a smile to match — one that danced in your daydreams and slumber with far too sinful results. 

The rapport with your new charge came over easy, a blessed relief that instilled a confidence in you; a job that would both be a smooth and interesting challenge, sans complications of a tantruming child. 

James, however, quickly made it his mission to fluster you at every turn: asking you about your day and praising you for the smallest, littlest things, to bringing you home flowers and treats when he walked in the door to greet you. 

It never failed to make heat creep up your neck, and never failed to land elsewhere. 

You were no stranger to attraction, but James was something else — a broad, older man, single father to a little girl, incredibly handsome and intelligent, and far too suave for his own good. Just the thought of his attention made you feel giddy with the rush of endorphins. 

One particular video call stuck in your mind to this day, a loop of his voice and soft, enamoured expression on repeat. Both of you were discussing the particular habits of his little girl: how she loved certain movies and detested others, where she loved to have her meals and with what plush teddies and dolls had to sit with her, and so on, so forth. 

It was heartwarming to bear witness how much he adored his daughter, a clear example of love and devotion you’d only seen in very few circumstances. 

“She doesn’t mind having other movies,” James said, and the camera panned to the little girl happily playing with her dolls. “It’s just– She will pout and whine if she doesn’t get, y’know, that movie.”

You chuckled and noted it down on a piece of paper. “And we’re not saying the name of that movie because–?”

The phone’s camera flipped back to show James’ fearful expression, wide, bright eyes staring directly into the screen and through to your soul. “It’s because I don’t want a riot in my living room,” he said carefully, around your laughter — you couldn’t help it, he was too dramatic. “Besides, I would rather spend my time talking to my pretty Fawn.” 

The use of the pet name he reserved for only you made you splutter and hide — tilting the camera to the ceiling as you bit your lip hard enough for it to almost bleed. “Aw, come back,” James teased, “I was enjoying seeing your face—not the damned ceiling.”

You were sure it was some kind of sin for how often that comment played in your mind during the late hours of the night, but you couldn’t help it. 

In such a short span of time, you fell hard for your boss, the father of your charge, and it was a hell of a forbidden rush to think of him in such a way — above you, pinning you to the surface while he fucked you deep, hard, and fast. The deep, animalistic grunts that would fall from his lips, or the praises he’d sing of how tight you were for him. 

Not to mention, the way his deep, chocolate brown hair would fall from his shoulders to hang between your bodies, the ends of it tickling your skin when he would pull out; only to thrust hard back into your cunt with a wrecked, gravelly moan.

The clatter of your fork on your plate made you jump a mile high, and you came back to reality with a crash to find the sun casting its bright rays over the breakfast nook in your apartment. “Fuck, fuck,” you muttered, shaking your head to clear the heated images while your thighs clenched traitorously at the visual and auditory vision. “Goddammit.”

What lay ahead, however, made the burning thoughts turn to butterflies in your stomach. Today was the day, your first real test: a full day packed to the brim with activities you planned that would suit the young, imaginative mind you no doubt believed the girl to have, given who her father was. 

A loud chime sounded next to you, and you gasped in fright. “Shit!” you cursed, and you scrambled to grab your phone. 

Speaking of the devil; James’ name flashed at the bottom of your screen, and you read the text with an unparalleled eagerness. 

She just woke up and she’s already screaming about her new friend visiting today. We’re excited to see you, Fawn. 

Attached to the text was a picture of the little girl you affectionately called Starlet. She was holding a drawing up to the camera that had no doubt been hastily created — it was you, James, and her holding hands. The movement she artistically captured led you to assume the three of you were dancing in front of the giant, scribbled rainbow in the background. 

Tears welled in your eyes at the soft warmth that bloomed in your chest — only having had prominently video calls with her, she already considered you a friend. 

Memories pulled at your mind again, and you thought back to the time you received a video call from Starlet one evening — it was just starting to grow dark when your phone chimed, and you answered it without a second thought after seeing your employer’s name on the screen. “Hello?”

A bright, smiling face stared at you through the screen. 

“Oh, hello, honey!” you said happily. “What are you up to?” Then you remembered that she was a crafty, cunning little girl. With a sterner tone, you pressed on in the interrogation, “Where’s your dad—have you taken his phone again?”

“No, I’m here, Fawn,” James called distantly, and he laughed. “Starlet wanted to say hello—I’m just cooking dinner, you don’t mind, do you? Are we keeping you from something?”

“Nope.” The cushions against your back suddenly became very comfortable, now that you had company of your favourite two people. “Tell me about your day, sweetheart,” you asked of Starlet, and the little girl flew into an explanation that lasted one whole hour. 

It was only when James took his phone back did you have a moment to catch your reeling mind, only for it to start spinning at the sight of his broad, handsome smile. 

The phone in your hand buzzed once more, pulling you from the reverie. James sent another message asking if you would bring more of a specific set of gel pens — Starlet had taken to them and never quieted down about how sparkly they were. 

A giggle escaped from your lips in the quiet of your home, and your thumbs flew over the keyboard to type back: Sure can. I can’t wait to see you guys, I’ll be there soon! 

“Okay,” you said to yourself, picking up your plate of now stone-cold breakfast. “Let’s do this.”

You ignored the heavy weight of the secret bearing down on your mind as you padded down the hallway to your bedroom; how wrong it was to fall for your damned employer and harbour the lust over him, but you couldn’t help but revel in the thrill of it. 

After dressing comfortably, you made sure to grab an extra set of gel pens for the princess that awaited you before you walked out the door, locking it behind you. 

The journey to James’ home was thankfully uneventful, and you pulled up to where your directions led. 

Your mouth fell slack with shock at what you found awaiting you.

The driveway to James’ home was sprawling in the length and design. Flowering hedges lined either side of the luxuriously paved road, and there was a water feature — a water feature, you thought incredulously, placed dead centre in front of a set of stairs that led to a massive, windowed, double set of doors. 

“No wonder the pay was that high, he’s rich.” Your car travelled silently up the way while you took in the opulence of your new surroundings.

To the left of the stairway leading to the front door, was an empty space next to a fancy SUV. “I hope that’s for me,” you mumbled, and you parked your car while sure to leave space between the vehicles. The handbrake creaked and the engine shut off with a shudder, the sound of it made you grimace. “I have to get this checked; sooner rather than later.”

With no time to pause and consider your misfortune with vehicles, you slid out of the driver’s seat and popped the trunk to fetch the bag of delightful craft supplies you readied for Starlet. Through your raging nerves, you managed to hum a song quietly as you placed the strap over your shoulder. 

The sole of your shoes padded over the pavement of the driveway, and the mansion that loomed ahead of you in its majesty — the architecture alone made it appear like something from the cover of a magazine. 

“Whoa,” you breathed, spinning in place to take it all in. The beauty and aesthetic of the home was unmatched in the tidiness of the landscaping, and the facade of the home highlighted the contrasting use of colours in both the wood and steel that made up the accents. “Holy–”

A squeal of glee cut your admiration short, and one of the double doors of the home flew open to reveal a small girl dashing down the steps, clothed in a typical sparkly, princess dress. “Hi!”

“Oh!” you gasped, stumbling backwards with the force of the child’s hug. “Goodness, hello! You must be the little Starlet, huh?” The comment was teasing — you knew for certain this was your charge, but the girl beamed up at you through her fly-away hair. 

“Yeah,” Starlet giggled. Her small arms, decorated in sparkly lace, squeezed you tighter.  

A deep voice tinged with the worry only a parent could possess, suddenly called from the stairs. “Starlet! Honey–? Don’t run off on me like that–” They stopped, and you looked up — the breath in your lungs escaped as though you’d been punched in the diaphragm. “Fawn!”

You blinked, unable to form the words that would accurately depict the sight before you. 

James was smiling — the very same one that made his eyes crinkle at the sides. The tight, navy blue, rounded collar shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, while black dress pants hugged his thighs.  

It was true, you had seen him numerous times via your video calls and once in person, but nothing came close to preparing you for how he would be in the comfort of his own home; how his voice was just as deep, if not deeper, and trickled down your spine with the same heat as molten lava. 

Oh, fuck, you thought. 

Aloud, you said, “Mr. Barnes!”

James grinned and shook his head. “Fawn, sweetheart—please call me Bucky.” He neared you, his presence overwhelmingly close, and he leaned in for a hug that you nervously returned — all the while praying the hammering beat of your heart couldn’t be heard or felt against his muscled chest. “It’s good to see you again,” he rumbled, pulling away to look you up and down, and his eyes landed on your bag. “I’ll take that for you.”

“Th– Thanks,” you stuttered; the proximity allowed you to stare into his grey-blue eyes, a mix of colours you wished to capture and keep. 

Bucky’s hand brushed against yours when he grabbed your bag, but he kept that same, priceless smile on his lips. “We started the princess marathon early, if you couldn’t tell,” he added, looking down at the ball of energy that was his daughter. 

You grinned down at the little girl. “I can’t wait—I found so many things we can do, Starlet, and they all involve princesses.”

Starlet took off like a shot towards the front doors and into the house, her screech of glee loud enough to wake the neighbours — Bucky stood next to you wincing, while you rubbed your ear that was closest to the front door. The ringing only died down slightly. 

“Oh, boy,” you muttered, “Someone’s a bit excited.”

Bucky laughed. The sound rich and something you terribly needed to hear again. 

You looked at him, taking in his profile while he still stared towards the doorway of his home. The hair that looked almost black on the phone, was a deep, deep brown — where the sun bled through the surrounding trees, it shone a beautiful hazelnut. It was loose down his neck, and his beard was neatly trimmed with only a few grey patches to be seen.

The sign of his age made him all the more attractive — allowing a sense of maturity and allure to his already swoon worthy appearance. 

“So,” you hastily started, willing the heat that started to build in your stomach to simmer instead of boil. “You’re off for a full day in the office?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” Bucky replied, and he put a hand on the small of your back to guide you up to his home. “I’ve got back-to-back meetings that I can’t put off any longer, given my associates and their… inability to manifest a sense of patience. And I don’t like taking Starlet if I can help it—she’s such an active girl and she hates sitting in the corner.”

“That’s fair.” The stairs beneath your feet exhumed luxury you felt you couldn’t even stand in the presence of. “Have you been looking for a babysitter for long–?”

Bucky looked at you from the corner of his eyes. “Curious one, aren’t you, Fawn?”

“I–”

“I’m just messing with you, honey,” he said, barely holding back a laugh. “And to answer you, yeah, I have. They all either were too uptight or couldn’t handle how hyperactive Starlet is—‘cause as you may have noticed, she’s a lot–”

“She is not!” You frowned and looked towards the inside of the house where Starlet was no doubt impatiently waiting for your presence. “She’s beautiful and sweet—creative and passionate, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Thanks, honey,” he said softly, earnestly. The smile he gave you made butterflies erupt where there were flames only seconds ago. 

Bucky walked you through the threshold of the front door, and you gasped loudly at the interior — it was a brightly lit, open spaced home with only counters and half walls to divide up the rooms, and there were numerous hallways that lead off of the main area. A grand staircase led to the upper floors. 

“This is beautiful,” you said breathlessly, awestruck by the beauty. On the upper level, you heard the fast footsteps of a little girl running around, to gather things to show her new friend, you assumed, but what you focused on was Bucky’s prideful expression; a man that was happy and proud of the space he built for his family. “Really, really beautiful, Bucky. Wow.”

“You know how to make a fella feel special, Fawn,” he muttered bashfully with an accent you loved more than would ever admit to. A playful sense of amusement grew as you spotted a dusting of pink over his high cheekbones. 

The air crackled with tension as Bucky looked up from the floor and into your eyes. 

Before you could open your mouth and say something on instinct, Bucky looked towards the kitchen, then back at you. “Come here.” 

He led you into the sprawling kitchen — the size of it far too big to comprehend with counter space akin to a working, industrial kitchen. A ringed index finger pointed to the fridge. “Now, before you go getting any ideas of spoiling Starlet rotten…” 

There was a teasing tone to his voice, and it was raised to be loud enough for a certain pair of little ears to hear. 

You looked to where he was pointing and saw a whiteboard hanging high on the door. Neat, orderly writing on one side; childish scrawl on the other. It had rules listed in bullet form: no extra chocolate, no extra sugar, in bed by eight…

“As you can see,” Bucky said, still in that raised tone. His eyes wandered to the upstairs loft that was above the kitchen, and you didn’t repress the urge to grin at him. “There are rules to follow, and Starlet agreed to them; do not let her convince you otherwise–”

“But daddy,” a petulant voice whined. You only just managed to stifle your laughter. “She didn’t have to know.” 

“Starlet Barnes,” Bucky scolded, and the laughter you worked so hard to bite back almost broke free as he put his hands on his cocked hips, staring up at the loft. Your gaze followed his eye line and you saw the aforementioned troublemaker peering down between the railing, a deep pout on her lips. “You promised me you would behave, honey. Now come down here so I can say goodbye—daddy’s gotta go to work or he’ll be late.”

A loud whine followed Bucky’s words, and he shook his head before he looked at you. “Those are the rules, for her, anyway.”

You blinked. “What–”

The same fast footsteps from before now pelted down the stairs, and Starlet launched herself into Bucky’s arms, giggling as he lifted her small body from the floor and into the air with a grunt. “Are you going to behave for Fawn, honey?” he asked, resting Starlet on his side so her legs swung over his front and back. “You promised me you would, remember?”

Your heart swooped and lodged itself in your throat with the display of paternal affection. 

“Yeah, I will,” Starlet replied, her small hands grabbing Bucky’s stubbled cheeks. “Daddy, you need to shave.”

No he does not, you thought privately. 

“Thanks,” he replied, and he blew a raspberry on her chubby cheek. “Okay, be on your best behaviour; manners, honey, use them.”

“Mhm,” Starlet hummed. Bucky placed her gently down onto the floor, and her little, sparkled flats made a small click click sound as she walked towards you. “I’ll be good, daddy.”

You offered your hand to hold, and she took it eagerly, swinging your arm back and forth while Bucky grabbed his briefcase and bag. “I’ll be back late tonight, so don’t wait up for me,” he said to you. “Feel free to eat whatever or order in, my card is here–” He shoved a black card from his wallet into your free hand before you could protest. “And– Yeah, I’ll be back.”

“Bye, daddy!” Starlet called, pulling you along behind Bucky — who’s broad shoulders and muscled back was unfairly shown off by the cut of his shirt. “Talk to you later–”

“I promise, honey, I’ll call Fawn and say goodnight.” A dark blazer was pulled from its coat rack, and Bucky shrugged it on before he smoothed the wrinkles in the fabric, quicker than you could offer as you so desperately wanted to. “And in bed by eight, no later, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” You saluted, and the look Bucky shot you made you gulp — pure heat blazed in his eyes, and the flames that licked up your spine you dampened before reignited with a roar. “We– We’ll be good,” you stammered, praying to anyone that would listen above that you could survive the night with that visual at the forefront of your mind. 

Bucky smiled and walked back to kiss his daughter on the cheek. Then, to your absolute mix of horror and surprise, he kissed your forehead, too. “My good girls,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours. “I’ll talk to you later.”

And the door closed with a finality that left you reeling. 

“Can we go colour?” Starlet asked innocently, her bright eyes blinking up at you. “Daddy said he left me the best pencils and you brought pens?”

“Uh– Yeah, yeah—sure, we can go colour, sweetheart,” you said. Focus, you reminded yourself inwardly. 

For hours, you spent your time between the set of plush couches in the expansive living room and marathoning movies that ranged from cartoons to the most ridiculous animations, to a small child’s table — colouring with the closest thing you would ever come to spending time with royalty. 

Starlet certainly took it in her stride to act like a princess. 

“But daddy said I could–” 

“Go look at the fridge,” you said, smirking — you knew for a fact that she was attempting to pull the wool over your eyes. A deceptive, little lamb. “Daddy put the rules up there and he said, before he left, that you agreed to them—didn’t you, Starlet?”

Small, pink lips pouted heartily, and she stomped off towards the fridge, her shoes thudding over the floor. “Ugh.”

“Ugh, indeed.”

The night began to wind down a few hours later, and after colouring the whole duration, you decided a movie would be the best course of action to break up the monotony and brewing tantrum in the wriggling girl opposite you. 

As a treat, you allowed Starlet to play a movie while she ate — only after she swore to you that she wouldn’t tell Bucky. The ploy worked, for as well as any child loved the idea of a secret, she fell head over heels into the sworn secrecy and happily tucked into her dinner while the princesses on the TV screen sang another rendition of the chorus. 

You couldn’t help but watch her from the kitchen counter, where you were tidying away the dishes. It was with curiosity you admired the similarities between Starlet and her father, what you found and discerned during the short time of knowing the pair of them. 

Starlet had the same bright eyes, the colour of her irises as beautiful as her father’s with the addition of an irreplaceable hint of childish awe and wonder. Her hair fell in waves; shades of what you could only describe as beautiful in the strands that prominently populated her temples to crown. 

A sudden sense of contentment flooded you while you continued to gaze at her. Being invited and accepted into such a space was rewarding. 

It was evident that Starlet’s birth mother was no longer in the picture, and you never planned to ask or know more than what you were told, but still, you wondered how Bucky was not snatched up. He was a charming, sweet man that adored his daughter — you would be lying if you didn’t take to heart the imagined scenarios that played over and over in your mind, of what it would be like just to be part of such domestic bliss. 

The loud chime of your phone startled you from your thoughts, and you exhaled sharply just as Starlet’s head peered up and over the back of the couch. “Is that daddy?”

You looked down at your phone’s screen, smiling, and said, “Yeah, hang on, I’ll come sit with you and we can talk to him.” The screen flashed with colour as you swiped to accept his video call, and you were greeted with his bright smile. 

“Hey, Fawn,” Bucky said happily, though he looked exhausted — the furrow between his brow had deepened in his absence from home. “How are my girls, huh? Behaving, I hope.”

“We’re here, we just finished having dinner,” you said, angling the phone to show a distracted Starlet, sans her plate (that of which had hastily been placed on the coffee table in front of the couch), and then back to you. “Starlet jumped up on the couch with me to say hello.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Is that so? Alright, where’s my little girl?”

Starlet scrambled to sit right beside you, and her happy expression filled the screen while you chuckled. “Daddy!” 

“Hey, baby girl,” Bucky cooed, his smile heart-warmingly fond. “Have you had a good day with Fawn?”

“Yeah,” she replied, nodding quickly. “We coloured and then watched movies and coloured more and–” 

“A lot of princess duties,” you cut in, and Starlet giggled, her chubby cheeks turning pink with a blush. “We are in the presence of royalty, Sir Barnes.”

“Oh, do forgive me, your highness,” he replied with wide eyes. The camera shook as he moved, and you saw his desk top scattered with papers before the phone settled upright, pointing towards Bucky’s office chair. He bowed deeply — either intentionally, or ignorantly allowing his hair to fall over his face. When he looked up to the screen, loose tendrils of hair covered his forehead and danced over his eyes. 

The last reserves of your self-preservation and dignity vanished as you tried to force your heart to not burst free from its new home in your throat — the way his eyes appeared through the slicked strands was an image you would never let escape. 

“I humbly request an audience with the Princess.” Bucky neared the camera again, smirking — the bastard knew, you panicked. 

Before you could spiral, beside you, Starlet said fiercely, “Of course, Sir Daddy.” She shifted to better look at the screen. “The Princess always has time for uh–”

“King, or knight,” you whispered into her ear. 

“Knight!”

“How generous.” Bucky laughed heartily. He sat back in his chair and steepled his hands, showing off the glint of his rings and the generous muscle exposed on his forearms from his rolled-up sleeves. “Ah, my girls,” he sighed, looking into the camera. “I shouldn’t be too much longer—Uncle Stevie is being a punk–”

“Uncle Steeb!” Starlet squealed.

“Yes, uncle Steeb,” he echoed, and he looked off camera. “Get over here, she wants to see you.” 

“Is that my favourite niece?” A second voice called, the volume increasing as they neared the desk. Starlet was positively vibrating out of her seat with excitement. 

“Well, well, well,” they said, and suddenly, another handsome face came into view. He had blond hair that was slicked back, and his beard was neatly trimmed — deep, blue eyes glanced between you and Starlet with interest. “It is—hey, Bug!”

“Uncle Steeb! Uncle Steeb!” Starlet launched herself at the phone to hug the device to her chest and toppled it from your grip. “Oh– I sorry–”

“Don’t you worry, honey,” you soothed, and you ruffled her hair. “Just be careful, okay? Hang on, let’s pick this up–” The phone had thankfully been undamaged in the fall, and you smiled at the two men staring up at you with concern. 

“You two okay?” Bucky asked — he was poised as though to run at a seconds notice.

“Yeah, all is good,” you replied, settling back on the couch. “Here you are, sweetie.” 

Starlet held the phone as though it was a priceless jewel, and she spoke to her father and apparent uncle with such vigour it was as though she hadn’t seen them in weeks, rather than just a day. The topics broached what the princesses in the movie did, to what she coloured — it was an endless tirade of excitement that only made you smile as you watched on. 

Soon enough, she started to yawn, though she tried to minimise and hide them. A father’s keen eye was not to be underestimated, however. “Baby, I think you better get to bed—it is close to eight,” Bucky said softly. 

You glanced at the top of your phone’s screen to check the time for yourself, and you blinked — it was only seven when he first called. 

“I’ll be home soon, and I will come and kiss you goodnight, okay? Fawn can put you to bed; she’s pretty good at bedtime stories, I hear.”

She looked up at you through glazed eyes. “You are?”

“I am,” you confirmed with a proud nod. “Why don’t you say goodnight to daddy now and we can get you set up and comfy in bed?”

“‘Kay,” Starlet mumbled sleepily. “G’night, daddy. I love you.”

Bucky smiled. “I love you, too, baby. I’ll come give you a kiss when I get home, I promise.”

You ended the call with a promise to do your best impression of the characters for Bucky, and beside you, Starlet sighed happily. “I love daddy; I love uncle Steeb.”

“I see that,” you chuckled quietly. “Now, c’mon, up you get—bedtime for her highness.”

It turned out to be a smooth, tantrum-free process, readying Starlet for sleep — she followed your guidance to a tee and had the independence to fit her title when it came time to pick out her favourite pyjamas. 

She settled into the cocoon of blankets and plush toys that took up more room than her own small self on her bed, and you smiled down at her as you sat on the edge. Her small hand in yours made your heart leap. 

There was a strange glint in her eye when she uttered your name sleepily. You raised a brow in curiosity. “Yes, honey?”

“Are you daddy’s friend?”

“Yes,” you said honestly, smiling. “Your daddy is a kind, thoughtful man. I am happy to be his friend—why do you ask, sweetheart?”

“I–” She swallowed and furrowed her small brows. “He told me one time that there are special friends, and I– I–”

“Oh, Starlet– No, no honey,” you rushed, desperately smothering the rising panic in your chest at her implementation — the curious nature of a child was never to be scolded, but you did not think you could stomach this conversation, not on the first damned night of being under his employment. “I work for your daddy, and my job is to look after you when he can’t, okay? That doesn’t mean I am, uh– A special friend of your daddy’s.” 

As much as I wish to be, you whined internally — though saying that aloud would be catastrophic, you had no doubt about that. Focus.

“Oh.” That same thoughtful gleam returned in her eyes, and you braced for another round of interrogation — as intimidating as a child’s questions could be. “Well, I think you would be a nice special friend for daddy. He smiles a lot when he sees you.”

It was your turn to be absolutely dumbfounded. Words failed and escaped you; scattering to the winds, never to be seen again, while Starlet did nothing but stare up at you innocently, a soft smile pulling at her lips. 

“Uh– Ha, well.” You coughed and leaned back a little, willing your mind to connect back with an acceptable train of thought. “Um– Thank you, thank you for that, sweetheart. That’s very sweet of you.”

Starlet beamed, brighter than the stars above. “You’re welcome.”

When she finally dozed off to sleep after your indulgent tale of Rapunzel, you padded ever so quietly from her bedroom and carefully closed the door with a soft click behind you. 

You only made it a few steps towards the staircase before you had to stop and think — the dull thump of your back and shoulders hitting the wall made you grimace and look to Starlet’s door, though she did not rouse. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you rasped, rubbing your face with your hands, distorting the sound of your distress. “Goddammit all, ugh.”

Desperation and pure want clawed at your insides, savaging your attempts to control your impulses; the need for Bucky’s attention blew out of proportion tenfold with the words from his daughter. 

Carefully, you tiptoed down the stairs, one by one, until you stood in the kitchen. 

“He smiles—he smiles when he talks about me,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. The quiet sound of your feet padding over the tile grew in volume while you paced back and forth. “Bucky smiles—oh fucking hell.”

A war raged in your mind, split equal sides by morality and need; one side dead set on preventing you from making a fool of yourself, the other hell bent on allowing you in the indulgence of recklessness. 

The possibility of it all not backfiring upon you was slim at best, but something nagged– No, pulled at your thoughts: what if Bucky felt the same? 

“No, no,” you said aloud, grimacing. “That’s not possible—I can’t– He can’t, he’s older, successful–”

Your tirade was interrupted by a sudden beep from the security panel by the front door. “Front gate opened.”

“Shit.” You rushed to the front door and peered through the frosted glass. The fancy SUV that was parked next to your car before pulled into the driveway, headlights on and engine purring. 

A heavy exhale of relief fell from your lips, and you resolutely decided to push the dilemma of his affection to the side; a project for the back burner that was your ever running mind. 

The SUV parked and fell silent, the headlights and taillights dimming, and you turned back around towards the kitchen to heat up two plates of dinner in the oven — silently thanking your decision to make extra. 

Footsteps sounded by the front door, and it swung open, not even creaking. “Fawn?” Bucky called quietly, his voice lowered so as to not awake Starlet upstairs. “Honey, where are you?”

“Kitchen—getting dinner for us.”

Soft footfalls came from the entryway and towards the kitchen, when Bucky rounded the corner. You smiled at him, which he returned tiredly. “Hey, how was Starlet? You okay?”

“She was great, we had fun, and she was sweet. I learned that Rapunzel is far superior over Sleeping Beauty, but nothing, of course, beats her ultimate favourite.” The oven behind you beeped, and you turned to open it and fetch the dish of food, but Bucky put a hand on your elbow and gestured for you to continue with your tale as he grabbed the oven mitts. “And she tried to worm more chocolate out of me, naturally.” 

Bucky’s laugh sounded rich and deep, a sound you wished you could hear over and over. “I knew she would.” The dish in his hands was placed onto the countertop, and you set to cutting portions to eat; surreptitiously making sure Bucky had more than his fair share. 

“Do you want to watch–”

“Why don’t we sit on the–”

The two of you stared at one another, eyes wide and smiles playing at the corners of your lips. “You first,” Bucky offered, chuckling quietly.

“I, uh– Do you want to sit on the couch–?”

“Sure, honey,” he replied, and he picked up your plate with his free hand. “Grab us a drink?”

You took a deep breath when Bucky turned his back to you. You’ve got this, you intoned. 

Dinner was a quiet affair, and you were grateful for it — while it was your job and your pleasure to look after Bucky’s daughter, the little girl sure had boundless amounts of energy, and it was hard work keeping up with her. 

After clearing your plate, you set it down onto the coffee table. Bucky was still going, so you settled into the plush cushions and watched the plain, mindless show without taking it in. 

“Fawn, sweetheart?” Bucky whispered suddenly; voice close enough that you could feel the exhale of breath with his words. 

You startled and blinked rapidly — the room was dark, the TV off and the lights dimmed. 

“There you are,” Bucky cooed. He was sitting right next to you, his hand on your knee as he half faced you. “You fell asleep, honey—you feeling okay?”

“Oh– I, uh– Shit, I’m so sorry,” you rushed, sitting up. The blackened screen of the TV reflected the clock in the kitchen to show that it was only nine at night. “I better go—you no doubt want to go to sleep soon after such a big day–”

“Fawn, hey– Stop, it’s okay,” Bucky soothed, and he put a hand on your shoulder — the heat from his palm made your mind whirr with possibilities. “It’s okay. I let you sleep; you looked dead on your feet. I only woke you up because I thought you’d want to go home to your partner.”

Heat bloomed over your chest and up your neck, the way Bucky was staring at you made something stir that you would much rather stay dormant. “I, uh– Don’t have a partner, Mr. Barnes,” you whispered. 

The silence could have engulfed you whole — tension billowed in the air, and you fidgeted, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze. 

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Bucky said eventually, and you shivered at the sound of his voice; lowered an octave and raspy with what you guessed was shock. “I’m sorry, darling, I shouldn’t have assumed. But let’s get you home, okay?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, getting to your feet. 

Bucky handed you your bag, all neatly packed and organised, and walked you to the front door and down the front steps. “I don’t mean to presume, but can I ask you back again to watch Starlet–?” he asked, looking at you.

“Of course,” you blurted, and you meant it. “She was a fun bundle of energy, and you know how to contact me if you need me again.”

You tried, wholeheartedly, to fight the flutter of butterflies in your stomach as Bucky opened your car door, and then took your bag to place it in the trunk. In a roundabout way, you wished he would be insufferable, even arrogant in his disposition — it would have made it easier to banish the swelling crescendo of want that started to consume you. 

“Will you message me when you get home?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, nodding. “I– I will. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Bucky brought you close in an embrace you returned, and you savoured the warmth of his body; the feel of his arms around you as he held you tight. 

Though it had to end. 

You pulled away, out of his hold, and moved to sit in the driver’s seat of your car. 

“Get home safe, Fawn.” Bucky closed the door after you tucked your feet into the well, and he leaned against the side of your car. 

“I will.” You smiled up at him, and then you turned the keys in the ignition. 

The car spluttered and clunked back to silence. Bucky was looking towards the hood of your car with concern. “Oh, it’s just temperamental,” you said to reassure him, and yourself.

You tried again; you tried a third time, but there was only a piteous groan from the engine before it gave in, falling silent each time. “Great, just great,” you muttered angrily, cursing your luck that carried on from when the car first showed signs of kicking the bucket. “Fuck.”

“Pop the bonnet,” Bucky said, adjusting his sleeves. “I’ll take a look.”

Oh, boy, you groaned internally at the sight of his forearms flexing again, but you complied. 

The metal creaked and groaned its protest of movement when Bucky pulled the hood up, locking it in place with one hand while the other dug into the engine bay. A determined frown pulled his pretty lips at the corner. “The old girl is on her last legs,” he gritted out through clenched teeth while he fiddled and yanked at parts of the engine. “The mounts are close to giving out and it looks like the battery is… well, fucked.”

You sighed, the sound hitching on a frustrated sob. “Can you– Can you call me a cab? I’ll get someone to come tow it in the morning, or something–”

“Fawn,” Bucky said fiercely, and he looked at you while he closed the hood of your traitorous car. “Do you think I’m going to send you home with some stranger when you’re clearly and rightfully upset?”

“But–”

“But fucking nothing, sweetheart,” he insisted, his tone somehow soft — like he cared. “Please, I have a spare bedroom—fuck, I have several, and you are welcome to any one of them until we can get you home tomorrow.”

The use of a curse drove his point home, so did the earnest glare in his eyes. 

Your shoulders slumped in defeat, and you gestured at yourself. “But I haven’t brought clothes– What about Starlet in the morning? She doesn’t know–” She will get the wrong idea; Bucky doesn’t know what she’s said, you silently fretted, but there was no way to give voice to your worries, not in your distress.

“Honey, please, you can use some of my old clothes—they’ll be comfortable, and you’ll be modest. Just let me help you,” Bucky implored. He held a hand out, an offering to guide you back inside. “We can work it all out in the morning. I’m off tomorrow, and hell, Starlet would love having a friend over for breakfast—it’s pancakes and bacon.”

“That does sound pretty good,” you murmured, wringing your hands. The nagging feeling of imposing upon his hospitality would not dissipate, though. “Are you sure? I–”

Bucky shook his head, an exasperated smile on his lips. “C’mere, Fawn,” he said, and he slung his arm over your shoulder. You attempted to clamp your jaw shut around the shocked sound in your throat. “I’m sure. I can’t leave my Fawn high and dry; not when I can help.”

“Okay,” you squeaked, and you allowed Bucky to lead you back into the house and up the stairs towards the bedrooms. 

Without a word, he paused at the top of the stairs and retracted his arm, hanging it by his side as he walked towards a larger, single door — you moved to follow him, but he placed his index finger over his lips, before he disappeared behind it. The house was silent in the absence of Starlet’s giggles and rambling rants of royalty, and you found yourself fidgeting in place while you waited for that door to open again. 

As though he heard you, Bucky opened the door and walked towards you, offering a worn, soft, black henley, and a pair of dark sweats. “Back in my twenties,” he began, smiling down at the offered clothes, “I was twice the size—fucking obsessed with vanity. But these will be comfortable.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, taking the offered clothes. The movement made your fingers brush against his, and something changed — the air grew thick with crackling energy that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. “I– I will, uh, talk to you in the morning?”

Bucky nodded and stepped back; you tried not to whine from the loss of his proximity — luck was not on your side. Something must have shown of your inward pleading in your expression. 

“Fawn?” he asked quietly, tilting his head. “You okay, sweetheart? You look–” He licked his lips, the action drawing your whole attention. “You look lost.”

“I’m fine,” you replied weakly, and you nodded once as though it would make it reality. Truthfully, you wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole — the late hour naturally stripped you of your inhibitions, and God…

You cursed temptation to the high heavens. 

“You sure?” Bucky asked, and he stepped closer again, his presence looming near enough to make your heart thunder against the confines of your throat. 

“Mhm.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, and stepped forward again — you stepped back, forcing yourself not to melt onto the floor with how your knees shook. “Sweetheart… There’s something you’re not tellin’ me.”

The sudden dryness in your throat made you cough, and your eyes watered with the reflex. Bucky stepped closer and you backtracked until your heels hit the skirting board, your shoulders and back following close behind. “I– Ja– I mean, Bucky–”

His hands moved to either side of your head, effectively trapping you in place. “Yeah?”

Your mouth parted in shock, but nothing came to mind to defend yourself, or any urge to push him away. 

Bucky hummed, tilting his head. “Fawn, you know if this isn’t okay you are more than welcome to knee me where the sun doesn’t shine—but look at you.” The breathy quality of Bucky’s voice made your stomach knot with arousal. 

This was wrong, your mind screamed; this is what you want, your heart shouted.

“You’re desperately fighting against something, I see it; it's in your pretty eyes, baby,” he purred. “Talk to me—tell me what’s wrong, why are you fightin’?”

Bucky’s face loomed closer to yours, his lips parted only slightly, and you prayed for strength as you fisted his shirt, to pull or push him away, you couldn’t decipher — he was so, so close, if only you just reached out–

“What are you fightin’, my little Doe?”

“Oh– Bucky, please–” Thoughts swirled and escaped your grasp, faster than you could claim the words and the will to do the right damned thing. “Please, I– Hmph!”

His lips claimed yours, the softness of them insistent, desperate, and you moaned into his mouth from the rush of adrenaline. “Yes,” you breathed against his lips, and you threw your arms around his neck, forgoing your hold on his clothes. 

The sweetness of Bucky’s lips made you chase them when he tried to pull back; you were starved for more, and he obliged your hunger by pushing you harder into the wall, his hands moving down your shoulders, your sides, to settle on your hips with a bruising grip. 

Bucky’s tongue brushed along your bottom lip, and you moaned again, letting your tongue dance with his; the relief of finally allowing yourself to give into the urge you’d been constraining against was liberating in every manner, even if it were risky, you were determined to make the best of it. 

It was only when he pulled back for breath did you realise he had been pawing at your hip and ass, the fabric bunched in his fists while he panted for air. “Fuck,” he murmured, and he started to laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest through the gasps for air. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, that,” you agreed breathlessly. “Fuck.”

The two of you stood in silence, catching your breaths, and you waited for the fall out of it all; the implosion that lurked around the corner. 

“Fawn,” Bucky said quietly, and his index finger brushed along the underside of your chin; grey, inky eyes met yours with such intensity you almost collapsed under the heat of them. “I want you, baby—I wouldn’t have gambled my chances if I didn’t even have a hunch of what was going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“How did–”

“Never you mind, sweetheart. I’ve had my fair few rodeos with this; I can read you like a book.” The soft press of his lips against your forehead made your heart flutter. “Why don’t you get some sleep, hmm? We can talk in the morning—bright eyed and bushy tailed.” His quiet chuckle made your lips quirk up in a smile. “There’s my girl.”

You were unable to form the words to express the inner turmoil that brewed — that had been the best kiss of your life, Bucky liked you back, you hadn’t lost your job as you thought you would, and you were standing in Bucky’s home with an assortment of his clothes to wear while you slept. 

“Fawn, baby,” Bucky teased, and he pulled you away from the wall. His hands rubbed down your arms before he knelt and picked up his discarded clothes, handing them to you with a smile. “Go to bed—you look like you’ve seen a ghost and been given the best news all at once. Get some sleep.”

The bedroom he guided you towards was spacious and just as luxurious as what you had seen of the rest of his home. Light colours filled the room; pastels and darker pops of paint made it contrast in a tasteful way, while the linen and pillows looked divine. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed across his chest and a smile on his swollen lips. “If you need anything, sweetheart, I’m just down there,” he said, pointing down the hall, back towards the room with the larger door. “Sleep well and I’ll see you in the morning.”

You looked at him, blinked, then smiled. “Yeah– Yeah, goodnight, Bucky.”

Relief, elation, fear all flooded you at once as you sidled up the mattress and under the covers. They drowned you beneath the waves of overwhelming thoughts of what would happen now; fear for what your future held. 

Would it include Bucky? What would Starlet think?

It all amounted to the sheer relief that while you hadn’t initiated the risk, it happened, and your courage bound and leaped with joy for it. 

And if you did a little squeal of joy and grinned wide enough to make your cheeks hurt as you tucked yourself into the plush blankets to sleep, it was nobody's business but your own.

the next part is already written. 😉🤭

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

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This octopus candle holder that my sister hand made in a pottery studio.

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Help me find a fic

Yesterday a read the summery of a fic thinking I could remember the blog, which I totally forgot, and I can't find the fic.

It was a queen!reader that have to leave her home or something like that, and then she meets Bucky that is like a farm boy or works in something similar (Sorry, I just don't know the right word in english) and I can remember the writer :(

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bucky has a disability??

he doesn’t have an arm.

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I think that’s all my mind will be capable of thinking for the rest of the day. 🤤🥵

I know we hate AI but damn. Those picture. 🥵

Unfortunately I don’t find those fics I have read with Bucky being a firefighter. But if I find them I will link them. Or maybe some of you can send me links 😉

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taken.

mafia!bucky x f!reader

summary: when you are captured by Bucky’s enemy, he will stop at nothing to get you back, and remind everyone the lengths he will go to to keep you safe.

warnings: cursing, fear, mafia business, blood, dismemberment (not graphic), angst, bucky speaking russian (it’s a warning for sure)

word count: 2,373

Terror tried to wedge its way into your veins, but you truly could not find it in yourself to find a hint of fear inside of you. Even as you sat in a dim, damp, concrete room, your wrists bound behind your back and your ankles tied to a rickety chair, you found yourself… almost bored.

If you were anybody else in this position, you’d probably be suffering from a severe panic attack, shivering and shaking in the chair. But you were you, and you were infamously linked to him - the one who every single person had good reason to fear. Every single person except for yourself.

James Barnes ran New York and its surrounding cities. He was, by far, the most powerful, capable being within a 1,000 mile radius. And he was yours.

You and Bucky had met a few years earlier. The second he set his eyes on you, he knew you’d be his. You balanced each other out in a way that had other people longing for a relationship like yours. Where he was ruthless and mighty, you were benevolent and good-natured. Where you were anxious and unsure, he was collected and comforting. Of course, you were more than capable of handling the lifestyle that came with dating Bucky, but he dedicated all of his energy and resources to assure that you were carefully shielded and would never gain a scratch from his work.

He held his promise until yesterday.

All it took was one second of distraction, one second of Bucky’s porcelain eyes leaving your frame, and you were taken. Snatched from his sight, your shared home, his territory. You were gone, and he blamed himself completely.

You, on the other hand, felt fine. Your captors - some investors in Bucky’s business who got ‘screwed over,’ as they put it - knew that if they hurt you too badly, there’d be hell to pay. So far, you only sported a yellowing bruise on your cheek and raw skin where the restraints dug into your bones. You’d been gone for almost ten hours, meaning that Bucky was due any second.

“When do you think we can wrap this up?” You said through an exaggerated yawn, eyeing the two men who guarded you. One, a burly man with too much facial hair and a protruding belly, merely regarded you for a second before turning his gaze back to the door. The other one, named Charles, tensed his jaw and fluttered his eyes shut in annoyance.

“You shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you,” he spat.

You rolled your eyes, shifting in your seat. “All bark and no bite.”

“You fucking bi-” Charles began stalking towards you, malice in his eyes, but he stopped suddenly when an echoing bang sounded from outside of the room. “That must be your dear boyfriend,” he sneered, nodding to the guard by the door. “Took him long enough. Guess you’re not as important to him as you thought.”

“No, he just knows I can hold my own,” you snapped back. You couldn’t lie; you felt excitement at the prospect of Bucky finally arriving, not because you were scared, but because this had lasted much longer than anticipated and all you wanted to do was take a bubble bath with a bottle of Rosé and fall asleep in Bucky’s secure hold.

Charles studied you for a moment. “You’re really not worth all the money I’m askin’ for, sweetheart,” he said, scanning your body shamelessly. “Barnes can do better. But hey, I’m not complainin’. S’long as I get my cash, I don’t care that he’s outta your league.”

You stared back, eyes narrowing. “Your momma raised you better than that, Mr. Blackwood.”

Charles was about to reply when a dozen gunshots were heard from outside your room. His eyes widened a fraction, his gaze sweeping as he fingered the gun in his holster. “He’s here,” Charles said to the guard. “He must’ve gotten through the other men outside. Aim to shoot.”

You’d be lying if you said that his words didn’t spark some concern in you. Bucky was at the disadvantage here; he would be knocking down the door with an armed shooter behind it. You had to remind yourself that he’d been in far more dangerous situations than this one, though, and that he was more than capable of taking on two puny men.

“We don’t got all day, Barnes!” Charles shouted, the veins in his neck protruding as he waved his gun around carelessly. “Got your girl in here. She’s sitting here real pretty lookin’. Better act quick.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you said I… what was it?” you cocked your head, feigning confusion,“‘wasn’t worth it’?”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”

Two loud pops right outside the door had both you and Charles flinching. You could see his knuckles turning white from his death grip on his gun. “That’s not going to save you,” you mocked, eyeing his weapon.

“Shut the fuck up,” spat Charles. “I’ll fucking kill you before I let him screw me over again.”

You laughed out loud at that. “Your biggest concern is that he won’t give you the money?”

Charles eyed you, his body rigid.

“Let me tell you something,” you said, a small smile creeping its way onto your face. “You’re not going to get any money today. You’re also not going to walk out of here alive. I’m pretty forgiving, but unfortunately for you, James is not. And you took me away from him. The best you can hope for is a quick shot to the head. Painless and fast.”

You gauged Charles’ reaction, enjoying the way his face contorted in fear. He quickly attempted to hide it.

“But I don’t think that’s how James will handle you.”

Your eyes flew to the metal door as it was caved in, a large dent in the size of a fist protruding from it. The guard next to the door aimed his gun, but he was too slow.

Bucky kicked the door down, taking the guard with it. A sickening crunch told you that he wasn’t getting up anytime soon. Bucky stood in the shattered frame, his suit perfect save some blood splatters on his neck and down his collar. His gaze was on you first, relief and adoration filling his eyes as he took in your disheveled frame. He moved quickly, crouching down and cupping your face in his enormous hands.

“Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head. “I can handle it.”

“My sweet printsessa. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I let this happen.”

You shook your head again. “This isn’t your fault, Bucky.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead as his hands began to untie the restraints on your wrists and feet. As soon as you were free, he pulled back, cradling your face once again.

All of that relief in his eyes vanished, however, when his eyes fell to the small bruise on your cheek. He looked to your captor, who fumbled with his gun beside you.

“You know, I gotta say,” Bucky’s voice was eerily calm. He stood, keeping a gentle hand on your face. “I’m impressed.”

Suddenly, he brought his left hand up and pulled out a concealed handgun. He shot Charles in the wrist, whose gun clattered to the floor. You were quick to kick it out of reach. Charles wailed, holding his bloody hand as he backed up.

“I’m impressed,” Bucky continued, slowly approaching Charles, “that you had the guts to put your hands on my girl.” He cocked his head, studying the man in front of him. “But now that I see you up close and personal, shaking and shivering like a lost puppy, I’m leaning more towards stupidity. Yeah, that’s what it is. You’re not brave. You’re just really, really fucking stupid.”

You turned your head, watching as Bucky backed the man up against the wall without a single push. Charles was literally whimpering, cradling his shot wrist.

“I didn’t… I didn’t do anything to her,” he mumbled. His shaking voice was far different than it was when he spoke to you. Sexist men and their stupid egos, you thought.

“Oh, so you weren’t the one who put that bruise on her face?” Bucky questioned. “You weren’t the one who hurt my girl?”

“N-no,” Charles whispered.

“I gotta say,” Bucky said, clicking his tongue. “I just don’t believe ya. Do you wanna know why?” The question was obviously rhetorical, but Charles nodded in submission. “Because,” Bucky continued, “the bruises on your knuckles tell a different story.”

With that, Bucky landed a deep punch into Charles’ face. Charles spluttered, dropping to his knees as held onto his cheek.

You snorted at that. “Damn right.”

“My girl takes a hit better than you,” Bucky stated.

“Charles,” said Bucky, who crouched to the ground to be eye-level with his victim. “I was raised in a time where everybody knew not to hit a girl. You know what would happen if we did?” Again, Charles shook his head.

“We’d get a slap on our hand. Sometimes by a stick, sometimes a paddle. But since you left a mark on her pretty lil’ face, I’ll have to leave one on you, too. I’m going to cut off your hand, Charles,” Bucky said sweetly, a smile on his face.

Your eyebrows raised. You had never seen Bucky so hostile; usually, he’d simply shoot people and get on with his day. But since this was you, you began to understand, he didn’t need a solution. He needed vengeance.

Charles couldn’t even form sentences at this point. He was a blubbering mess, shielding his face from Bucky as he loomed above him.

“Steve,” Bucky called, not taking his eyes off of Charles. “Bring me my knife.”

Bucky’s second in command waltzed in the room, sending you a kind smile as he placed a ridiculously sharp knife in Bucky’s opened palm.

Bucky thanked him, and Steve walked back out of the room, leaving the three of you alone once again.

Bucky turned to you, the hatred in his face melting into tenderness as he met your eyes. “Oh, dorogoy, you do not have to stay for this. Wait in the car with Steve, if you would like. I’ll be out there with you soon.”

You shook your head. “I can stay.”

Bucky nodded. “As you wish.” With that, he turned back to Charles, flipping the knife in his hands.

You felt heat pool in your belly as you watched his talented fingers handle such a deadly object with grace. It reminded you of how he treated you; his hands, the same hands that were capable of such destruction and violence, only ever touched you with a certain fragility and softness. As if he were afraid to break you.

“You’re going to want to close your eyes,” said Bucky, crouching down to where Charles sat slumped against the wall. “It’ll hurt worse if you watch.”

Bucky yanked Charles’ wrist out, blood already seeping from the previous gunshot. Charles began to plead, begging Bucky to spare him, but Bucky only huffed out a laugh and placed the blade on his skin.

You looked away; gore always made you feel nauseous. You knew Bucky had done it when a blood-curdling scream was ripped from Charles’ chest, reverberating throughout the cell. You were positive that Steve and the rest of Bucky’s men could hear it from outside of the compound.

You glanced back, and Bucky was already on his feet, moving towards you. His enormous frame blocked your view, which you were partly grateful for. Bucky stopped inches in front of you, using his flesh hand to gently maneuver your face to peer up at him.

“Are you ready to go home?” He asked, looking deeply into your eyes.

“What about…” you trailed off, motioning to the figure behind Bucky.

“Steve will take care of him. I have you now, dorogoy, and that’s all that I’ve ever needed.” He ducked his head down, pressing his lips against yours in a skin-heating kiss. Your chest burst with warmth at the familiar feeling of him pressing against you, enveloping you completely into him. “No one will ever take you from me again. Not as long as I’m breathing.”

It was ironic, you thought - here you were, in the middle of an enemy’s compound, a severed hand and a bloodied man mere feet away from you, but you felt safer than ever. “I know, my love,” you whispered. “I know.”

Bucky grabbed your hand. He offered to carry you out of the compound, and when you refused, he gave you his best puppy-dog eyes so you quickly gave in and let him scoop you into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all.

You shielded the sun from your eyes when he stepped out into the daylight. Several black SUVs were parked in a row, with dozens of Bucky’s men standing at attention. Steve stood in front of all of them, speaking lowly into his phone. When he spotted you and Bucky, he shoved it into his pocket and walked briskly towards you.

“Is she hurt?” He asked, scanning you frantically for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

You rolled your eyes, practically falling out of Bucky’s arms to stand. “I’m fine. He just insists on carrying me everywhere we go as if I don’t have legs.”

Bucky chuckled behind you, looping his metal arm around your stomach and pulling you back against his chest. “Get used to it, doll. You aren’t leaving my sight for the rest of your life.”

Steve smiled, silently escorting the two of you into the first car. “If Bucky had it his way, you’d never take a step outside again,” Steve whispered into your ear, soft enough for only you to hear.

“Too bad for him,” you joked, sending Steve a nod of thanks as he helped you into the car and hopped into the driver’s seat. Bucky pulled you into his lap, which wasn’t unusual, but his grip was certainly tighter than normal.

“You will never be hurt again ,” he whispered, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “Promise you, milashka. Never again.”

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since january and i was getting tired of looking at it so here ya go

[s-123-dont-know]

Two Kingdoms Masterlist

Summary: Y/N, set to be a queen, is taken on her wedding day by King James, the ruler of another land. At first glance James’ Kingdom seems to be thriving but Y/N soon realizes something darker and more sinister is at work in James’ land. And she seems to be at the center of it.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 // Part 15 // Part 16 // Part 17 // Part 18 // Part 19 // Part 20 // Part 21 // Part 22 // Epilogue 

[s-123-dont-know]

Question, on Ao3 when you press clear history, it clears immediately or there's like a "are you sure you want to continue" warning?

I know is random but I wanted to make sure

Is there a kind soul who knows how to use Ao3 that can help me?