#Especially when one person (bucky) is in the wrong...

[buckysleftbicep]

soft hands, heavy heart 𐙚 b.b

pairing: inexperienced!new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, soft smut, praise kink (sorta), slow first time, unprotected sex, creampie, a tinge of angst if you squint, the fluff makes up for it

summary: bucky wants you, but he just doesn’t know how to let himself have you. but you’ll spend every second showing him how it feels to be wanted.

word count: 4.5k

author's note: hi my sweethearts! i'd like to think that after bucky returns, he would need a lot of reassurance and tlc, especially after all he has went through. i feel that he would love to be guided and to know he is loved. so i hope this fic encapsulates that 💌 love ya guys and stay safe out there! requests are open!

so in love with soft!bucky

It starts with his hands. Or rather, what they don’t do.

They hold yours when you’re walking down quiet halls in the compound, fingers interlocked, the brush of calloused skin a comfort more than anything else. 

They linger at the small of your back when no one’s looking—firm, steady, grounding you when the world gets too loud.

They cradle your face when you’re scared, trembling, coming down from the edge of something violent. Missions gone wrong, intel turned sour, blood on your skin. In those moments, his hands are everything you ever needed. Steady and safe.

But when your lips are on his?

When your body presses into his in the quiet dark of your shared bedroom, heat blooming between the both of you like something long-restrained finally breaking free?

That’s when they stop.

Always. Just… stop.

Bucky, your boyfriend, your partner, the man who has grown to be your person. He kisses you like he’s starving, like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world, but somehow, he never touches you when it matters most.

And it’s not like you haven’t tried. You have, god you tried.

More than once, lying against his chest at night, your fingers ghosting beneath the hem of his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen. Kissing along the sharp cut of his jaw, whispering how much you want him. How much you need him.

Each time, his breath hitches, his body goes rigid. Then, slowly, carefully, almost apologetically, he pulls away from your touch. 

Not with disgust, not with rejection. There’s no coldness in the way he moves. No sharp recoil.

But there is something worse that you have come to realise. Fear.

The first time it happened, you brushed it off.

He’d had a long day. The mission briefing with Val had been rough, all sharp orders, bad intel, and barely contained frustration within the team, Walker had quite literally stormed out of the meeting room.

Bucky had come back tense, shoulders tight, jaw set, that look in his eyes that meant he was still somewhere else. Still halfway in a fight.

So when you leaned in that night, pressing soft kisses under his jaw, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, and he stilled beneath you, gently shifting away with a quiet murmur of your name, you let it go.

You curled into his side instead. Told yourself he was tired. Told yourself you were tired too. You ran your fingers lightly along his arm until his breathing evened out, steady and slow.

And when sleep finally took him, you whispered a kiss to his shoulder and closed your eyes, thinking, hoping, maybe next time.

The second time, you wondered.

It was a few nights later. He wasn’t tense then, he wasn’t distracted or moody or freshly back from some dark place.. He was relaxed, even, the kind of rare, quiet ease you didn’t always get from him.

You both had laughed over dinner, some home cooked lasagna you had whipped up after finding the recipe online. You had teased him until he smiled into his fork and shook his head, muttering about how much trouble you were.

He’d watched you like he always did, like you hung the moon and the stars, like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, to deserve you.

And when you kissed him that night, slow and lingering, your hands soft on his jaw, you felt that same warmth in him. The way he kissed you back, like he meant it.

So you tried again. Slid your hand beneath his shirt, fingers brushing the firm lines of his stomach.

He flinched. Not much. But enough.

And then, just like the first time, he shifted away. Pressed a kiss to your forehead and murmured, “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

You froze. Pulled your hand back like you had touched something sharp.

And then you nodded, smiling just a little too quickly.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You turned onto your side, curled up with your back to him.

Tried your hardest to not let the sting behind your eyes show.

His arm came around you a few moments later, his chest pressed to your back like nothing had changed. Like everything was still okay.

You didn’t say a word.

But that night, long after you were sure he was asleep, your eyes stayed open. Staring at the shadowed wall. Wondering what it was about you that made him pull away.

The third time, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

It had been an easy day, all things considered. No missions. No debriefs. No emergencies. Just the two of you, and the rare kind of quiet that settled into the compound like a blanket.

You ate dinner in bed, greasy takeout balanced precariously on Bucky’s lap while some forgettable movie played low in the background.

You stole bites from his container; he rolled his eyes but let you. Laughed when you misquoted a line. Kissed your cheek. Brushed rice off your shirt with the softest smile.

And maybe that was what made it worse.

Because everything had felt right. Comfortable. Easy. The kind of night that warmed you from the inside out.

It was late when the movie finally dwindled into credits. You stacked the empty containers on the nightstand, slid back under the covers, and curled against his chest with a sigh. His arm came around you like it always did, instinctive, easy. Protective.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The glow of the screen lit the room in soft, flickering blue. Your legs were tangled with his. Your cheek rested against the cotton of his t-shirt. He felt steady beneath you. Safe.

So when you tilted your head up and kissed him, it wasn’t with expectation. It wasn’t about sex, or hunger, or even want.

It was soft. Familiar. The kind of kiss you gave someone when you were in love.

He kissed you back, of course he did. That part was never the problem. He always kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that could anchor him.

But the moment your hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, everything changed.

Just the pad of your fingers brushing lightly over his stomach. Just a touch.

And still, he tensed.

You felt it the way someone feels a tide turning, quiet, sure, inevitable.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t recoil. He just went still. Careful. Measured. One hand lifted to catch your wrist and gently moved it away from his skin, like it wasn’t a rejection. Like it didn’t mean something.

But it did.

He turned slightly, as if he meant to settle back into bed like nothing had happened. Like you could pretend this wasn’t the third time in a row.

But you didn’t follow.

Instead, you sat up slowly, drawing your knees to your chest, the sheet falling across your thighs. You stared at the far wall, lips pressed into a thin line, throat tight.

You heard the shift in his voice before he even finished asking.

“Hey,” he said softly, already sensing the change. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer right away.

The silence that followed wasn’t loud. It was thick. Still. The kind of quiet that feels like the moment before something breaks.

When you finally spoke, your voice came out low, shaky.

“Do you want me?”

He didn’t move.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You kept your eyes on your hands, twisting your fingers in the blanket like it might keep the rest of you from unraveling.

“Because I want you,” you continued, quieter now. “And every time I try, you pull away. I know you care about me, I know you do, but I can’t help wondering if maybe I’m wrong about all of it.”

He went very, very still.

Then, “Stop.”

His voice was sharp, and the suddenness of it made you blink.

You turned, startled.

He was sitting up now, scrubbing a hand over his face. His jaw was tight. His shoulders tense. Like your words had opened something he hadn’t meant to expose.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “I didn’t mean to—just. I’m sorry. Don’t say that. Ever.”

You stared at him.

“Then talk to me,” you said softly. “Because it’s getting harder not to take it personally.”

He didn’t look at you.

His gaze dropped to the sheets. His fists were clenched in his lap. The vibranium hand trembled slightly. The other, human and scarred, looked like it was holding on to something invisible.

You sat beside him again. Close, but not touching.

Your voice was quiet. Measured, ounded, but not accusatory.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at me?” you asked. “Like you’re in love with me?”

You swallowed hard.

“Because you do. Every day.”

He still didn’t say anything.

“And then I touch you, and you freeze. Like I’ve crossed a line I didn’t know was there. Like I’ve done something wrong.”

There was something in your chest pulling tighter with every second of silence. Something raw and anxious and aching.

His hands stayed clenched.

You reached for him, carefully, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. The human one. His skin was warm. His pulse jumped beneath your touch.

“Bucky,” you whispered. “What is it? You can tell me.”

He exhaled. Rough. Uneven.

For a second, you thought he might deflect. That he might dodge this like he had before — with a soft kiss or a change of subject. But then he swallowed hard, eyes flicking to yours for just a moment before dropping again.

“I haven’t…” he started, then paused. Cleared his throat. “I haven’t done anything since before the war.”

The breath caught in your chest.

He laughed, but it wasn’t amused. It was hollow. Embarrassed.

“Not just sex,” he said. “Anything. After HYDRA… after everything. I didn’t—I couldn’t.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly ashamed. Smaller, somehow. Like admitting it out loud took more from him than he’d expected.

“It’s been over eighty years.”

You didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched him.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” he said, still not meeting your eyes. “You’re here, and you’re kind, and you’ve never pushed. But I get so far and then it’s like—like my body just shuts down. Like some part of me still thinks I’m not allowed to want things.”

Your heart twisted.

Not from pity. But from the weight of it. The quiet devastation he carried like a second skin.

Then, more quietly:

“You think I don’t want you?” His voice dropped. “Fuck, sweetheart. I want you so bad it hurts. Every night I lie here hard as a fucking rock just thinking about you.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes squeezed shut.

“But I’m—” He shook his head. “I’m scared.”

You moved then.

Not away. But forward.

You reach for his wrist again, let your fingers slide gently down to his hand. His pulse was racing. His breath shallow.

“Scared of what?” you asked, softer now.

He looked at you. Finally. Really looked. And what you saw in his eyes made your chest ache, something wide and raw and terrified.

“That I’ll disappoint you,” he said. “That I won’t know what I’m doing. That you’ll want someone who’s not stuck in the goddamn 40s when it comes to this stuff.”

Your face softened. A small, aching smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, even through the tightness in your chest.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

You climbed into his lap carefully, like you were afraid you’d spook him. You framed his face with your hands, your thumbs brushing along the curve of his cheekbones.

“You’re already everything I want and more,” you said, steady and sure. “But I need you to believe that.”

His breath hitched.

“And if you let me,” you continued, voice barely above a whisper now, “I’ll show you everything. I’ll go slow. I’ll take care of you.”

He didn’t answer right away.

His eyes searched yours. Guarded, hopeful. Terrified. Like part of him still thought this might not be real.

But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

And when he did, something in you finally, quietly exhaled.

You don’t rush him.

After everything he’s said,  every word laced with fear and heartbreak and hope, the last thing he needs is haste. Or pressure. Or you moving too fast for him to feel safe.

So you just breathe for a moment.

You stay in his lap, arms curled gently around his neck, your forehead resting against his. And you breathe.

His chest rises beneath yours, shaky and tight. His hands are still in his lap, fists curled like he doesn’t know what to do with them,  like he doesn’t quite believe this is real, like one wrong move will send the whole thing crumbling to pieces.

So you start small.

You tilt your head and kiss the corner of his mouth. Once. Then again, slower this time, letting your lips linger against his skin.

His breath stutters. His lips part.

You kiss him properly next, slow, deep, but gentle, your mouth moving against his with no urgency, no push, just quiet devotion. Like he’s something sacred.

His hands twitch in his lap. He doesn’t lift them yet, but he doesn’t pull away either.

You murmur against his mouth, “Can I touch you?”

He swallows thickly. Nods.

You kiss him one more time, a promise, before you shift in his lap, your thighs bracketing his, and reach for the hem of his shirt.

The moment your fingers graze the fabric, he tenses.

You pause. You meet his eyes.

“I’ll stop any time you need me to,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure.

He holds your gaze. His throat bobs with a hard swallow. Then he nods again, slower this time. “I want you to.”

You offer a gentle smile. “Okay.”

You lift his shirt carefully, baring him inch by inch. You don’t rush. You kiss every strip of skin you uncover, the ridges of his ribs, the warm slope of his sternum, the sharp cut of his collarbone.

You take your time with it, as if mapping him out with your mouth, like you’re memorising every inch with intention.

When the shirt is high enough, he lifts his arms, stiffly, hesitantly and lets you pull it over his head. You toss it aside and look at him.

He’s bare from the waist up. All muscle and scar tissue, strength and survival. The room’s low light catches on the vibranium, glints over old wounds, highlights the long-healed lines across his chest and side.

You let your gaze roam.

He doesn’t meet your eyes. He looks away, jaw tight, breathing shallow.

You reach out, slow, deliberate, and place your palm against his chest. Right over his heart.

He flinches. Just a little. A twitch in his shoulder. A held breath.

But he doesn’t pull away. You lean in and kiss the skin just beside your hand.

“Is this okay?”

His voice is low and rough. “Yeah. Feels nice.”

You smile against his skin, then keep going.

Your mouth trails lower, painting a path down the plane of his chest. You kiss over his heart again, then rest your cheek there for a moment.

“Still beating,” you whisper, a soft marvel. 

You feel it stutter beneath your lips.

Your hands slide lower, down his abdomen, his skin warm, twitching under your fingers. You follow the faint trail of hair that disappears beneath his waistband, fingertips brushing gently, not demanding. Just exploring.

He exhales shakily, stomach tensing, hips shifting just slightly.

“There’s not a single part of you I don’t want to touch,” you murmur, kissing along his ribs.

He turns his face, like he’s trying to hide, like the intimacy of your words is too much.

“Hey,” you say softly. You reach up, cupping his jaw, gently guiding his gaze back to yours. “Let me say it. Let me mean it.”

His lips part like he might argue, but he doesn’t.

You rest your forehead against his.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper. “So strong, You’ve been through hell and still came of it.”

His eyes flutter shut. His breath catches.

Your lips brush his softly, like reassurance. Then again.

And this time, when your hands slide down to the waistband of his sweats, he doesn’t flinch.

You look up at him. “Can I take these off?”

His voice is strained. “Yeah.”

You move slowly, tugging them down inch by inch, watching his face the entire time. He lifts his hips to help, barely, and you kiss the inside of his knee as you go. Then the other.

By the time you’ve got them off, he’s flushed all over, from his chest to his ears to the very tips of his fingers. And trembling.

His cock is hard and leaking, resting against his stomach. Big. Heavy. Throbbing.

He tries to close his legs out of instinct. Reflex.

But you shift forward between them and place your hands gently on the outside of his thighs.

“You’re doing so good,” you say softly. “Are you okay?”

His nod is jerky. “Just—don’t look too long.”

You blink. “Why not?”

He swallows hard. “’Cause you’ll know I don’t have a damn clue what I’m doing.”

You smile, warm, never mocking.

“Baby,” you say gently, “I already know.”

You lean in, kissing the inside of his thigh, slowly, gently..

“But it’s not a problem,” you murmur, lips brushing his skin again. “It’s a privilege.”

His head drops back, his fists clench the blanket. You trail your mouth up his thigh, closer and closer, and then wrap your fingers around the base of his cock.

He jerks under your touch, breath catching sharp in his throat.

“Fuck—” His hips twitch. His mouth opens, like he’s trying to say something and can’t find the words.

You stroke him once, slow, deliberate, and his entire body shudders.

He’s flushed dark at the tip, leaking already.

“Nobody’s ever…” he starts, but doesn’t finish.

You look up. “Ever?”

He nods, barely. “Not like this.”

You smile. “Good.”

You stroke again, firmer now, and his jaw clenches, breath ragged.

Your thumb brushes over the tip, collecting the slick, and he whines, high, desperate, like he’s trying to hold everything in and failing miserably.

You kiss just below the head and he moans, low and broken.

“Holy shit—sweetheart, I’m not gonna—fuck, I’m not gonna last—”

You press a kiss to his hip. “That’s okay. That’s why we’ll take our time.”

You climb back into his lap, hand still wrapped around him, your other resting at his cheek to keep him grounded. He looks dazed, overwhelmed, like he doesn’t know whether to hold you or fall apart in your arms.

“Can I ride you?” you whisper.

His hands shoot to your hips like a lifeline. “Please,” he breathes. “I want you to. So bad.”

You guide him to your entrance, your slick soaking him already, and ease down, slow, careful, inch by inch — until he’s fully seated inside you.

Bucky’s head drops back, a strangled moan caught in his throat.

“F-fuck, baby—” he gasps. “Too much. Feels too—”

You don’t move.

You stay still in his lap, your hands on his chest, letting him feel you. Letting his body adjust. Letting the moment settle between you like something holy.

“You okay?” you whisper.

He nods, frantic. “Yeah. I—just give me a second.”

You wait. When his eyes open again, they’re soaked with emotion. Glassy and bare.

“You okay?” you ask.

“I think you’re killing me,” he says hoarsely. “But I don’t wanna stop.”

You smile.

Then you start to move.

Slow, gentle, rocking your hips, letting him feel everything, every squeeze, every inch, every slow drag of your walls around him.

His mouth falls open. He moans your name like a prayer.

“Feels too good,” he pants. “I’m not—fuck, I’m not gonna—”

You lean in, your forehead pressed to his.

“Then don’t,” you whisper. And he does.

With a choked cry, he spills inside you, body tensing, arms wrapping tight around you, hips bucking helplessly. His hands shake against your back as his breath catches in your hair.

He clings to you like he would fall apart without you.

And even after it’s over,  even after he’s finished, breathless and wrecked, he doesn’t let go.

He just holds you. And for the first time in years, he lets himself be held, too.

He’s still trembling.

You don’t move. You don’t shift or speak right away. You just stay where you are, wrapped around him, your body cradling his, the last aftershocks of his orgasm still echoing in the taut lines of his body.

His cock is still inside you, softening slowly. The stretch of him, the heat of him, the slick, overwhelming closeness of it all—it makes your heart ache in the gentlest way.

Your fingers stroke through his hair, trailing through the sweat-damp strands at the nape of his neck. Then down his spine. Slow, comforting passes, like you’re coaxing his body back into itself.

He clutches you tighter.

His arms are around your waist, strong and firm—not bruising, not panicked. But desperate. Like he’s afraid that if he lets go, this will all vanish. Like maybe none of this was real, and holding on to you is the only thing keeping him grounded.

You don’t pull away.

You let him hold you. Let him shake. Let his breath shudder against your neck while your hand keeps moving slowly down his back.

His face is buried against your throat, and when he finally speaks, it’s muffled—barely audible. Raw.

“I didn’t mean to finish so fast.”

Your heart breaks for him a little, even as your lips tilt into a soft smile.

You press a kiss to his temple—tender, grounding.

“I know.”

His voice is barely there. “I just—fuck, I couldn’t stop it. You felt so good. I couldn’t think."

You hum softly, stroking his hair again. “That’s kind of the point, baby.”

He lifts his head, just a little, pulling back enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are wide, glassy, dazed, those perfect cerulean eyes soft and unguarded, boyish, almost.

His cheeks are flushed. His hair’s a mess. His lips are kiss-swollen.

He looks completely ruined. Completely beautiful. Yours.

“But you didn’t—” he starts, then hesitates. His gaze drops. “You didn’t finish.”

You don’t stop smiling. There’s no hurt in it, no impatience, just quiet warmth.

“I wasn’t trying to,” you whisper, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. “Tonight was about you.”

His brows pull together, like he doesn’t quite know how to process that.

“That’s not fair,” he mumbles. “I want to make you feel good too.”

“You already do,” you murmur, your nose brushing his. “But if you really want to keep going…”

You pause deliberately, shifting your hips slightly.

Just enough for him to feel the movement, just enough to tease.

He gasps, high and sharp, his body jolting.

“…we can.”

His hands flex at your waist. His eyes flutter. His lips part like he���s trying to speak but can’t form a single thought.

“I’m still—,” he whispers, like it’s a warning. But there’s no hesitation in his tone. Only want.

“But I want it,” he adds. “I want you.”

You kiss him again, slow and deep, and begin to move. Barely. Just a gentle roll of your hips, enough to stir friction between your bodies again.

He moans into your mouth, soft and aching.

You rock slowly, dragging your walls against his still-sensitive cock. He twitches inside you, starting to thicken again already. It’s slow, but unmistakable.

“Okay?” you whisper.

He nods frantically, hands gripping your waist like he’s drowning in sensation. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just—shit. I’ve never… I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

You smile against his jaw. “You wanna come again for me?”

His moan is barely a sound. His eyes flutter shut.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Fuck, yes. Please—”

You tighten your thighs and roll your hips again, drawing a sharp gasp from him.

“Such good manners,” you whisper, kissing his throat. “So sweet for me.”

Your hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. You start to circle, slow, wet, just enough pressure to build your own heat.

He watches you.

Like you’re made of stars, like he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

“Touch me,” you murmur. “Please, Bucky. I want your hands on me.”

It’s the only encouragement he needs.

His hands move slowly, softly, trembling,  sliding up your sides, grazing your ribs, cupping your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, and you moan, arching into his touch.

The sound makes him groan, deep and wrecked.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “So fuckin’ perfect, baby—can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

His voice breaks on the last word.

You’re slick around him now, your arousal mixing with the mess from earlier. Every slow rock of your hips has him thickening more, twitching inside you, inch by inch.

His thighs are shaking. His jaw clenches.

“Feels so good,” he whines. “I don’t wanna stop. Don’t wanna come yet. Wanna feel you forever.”

You ride him harder now, the heat in your belly rising faster.

“You feel that?” you gasp. “How close I am?”

His hands tighten on your hips. His breath turns ragged.

“Please—please come around me, sweetheart—need to feel it—need to feel you—”

You bury your face in his neck. And let go.

Your whole body seizes around him, a white-hot wave crashing through you, stealing your breath, your balance, your thoughts. Your moan is broken, helpless, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Your walls clamp down hard around him.

And that’s all it takes.

He thrusts up once. Then again. Deep, desperate. A cry tearing from his throat as he comes again, shaking, gasping, flooding you with warmth.

His arms wrap tight around you.

He holds you close. Close enough to feel your heartbeat thunder against his. Close enough that the tremors in your bodies blur together, indistinguishable.

This time, his grip is softer. Still strong, but different.

Not desperate. Tender.

His hand strokes up your spine. His lips press to your temple, then your hair, then your jaw. Like he can’t get close enough.

You stay there, wrapped around each other, skin to skin, breath mingled and unsteady and you don’t rush to move.

Not yet.

“Jesus,” he whispers eventually, voice raw. “What the fuck just happened?”

You laugh softly, breathless, dazed. “That was called good sex,.”

He groans into your neck. “That was more than good. That was—fuck. That was divine.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his hair.

You collapse gently against his chest, boneless and warm, and he doesn’t let go. His arms stay around you, wrapped like a shield, like a promise.

Neither of you move for a long time. There’s nothing left to prove. Nothing to say.

Just the slow hum of your heartbeats and the safe, sacred space you’ve made between the two of you.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Bucky feels wanted.

And safe. And home.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it! if you did, drop a comment or a reblog! thank you my loves, your support means the world to me! <3333333

[the-seas-song]

I have a lot of issues with how the writers and directors adapted this story (badly. the word is badly). But! this is one of the MANY moments that makes me Team Steve as well as Team Stony, and one that deserves a lot more attention than it gets!

The context is especially important here:

The only reason Steve didn't immediately call Tony when he found out about the other super soldiers is because Sam stopped them. Even then, he insisted Tony would believe him - it was just that Tony's hands were tied by the Accords:

Sam Wilson: This would have been a lot easier a week ago. Steve Rogers: If we call Tony . . . Sam Wilson: No, he won't believe us. Steve Rogers: Even if he did . . . Sam Wilson: Who knows if the Accords would let him help. Steve Rogers: We're on our own.

Jump forward, and everyone's at the airport. Steve immediately tells Tony what is going on. Steve does NOT get defensive or start trying to excuse the lives the Winter Soldier took. Tony, on the other hand, not only refuses to listen; he starts insulting Steve and making personal jabs at Steve's relationship with Bucky:

Tony Stark: Wow, it's so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don't you think that's weird? James Rhodes: Definitely weird. Steve Rogers: Hear me out, Tony. That doctor, the psychiatrist, he's behind all of this. T'Challa: [T'Challa leaps over a truck.] Captain. Steve Rogers: Your highness. Tony Stark: Anyway, Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in. That was 24 hours ago. Can you help a brother out? Steve Rogers: You're after the wrong guy. Tony Stark: Your judgment is askew. Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday. Steve Rogers: And there are five more super soldiers just like him. I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't. Natasha Romanoff: Steve . . . you know what's about to happen. Do you really wanna punch your way out of this one? Tony Stark: All right, I've run out of patience. Underoos! [Peter shoots a web, stealing Steve's shield and binding his hands.] Nice job, kid. [cut] Steve Rogers: You've been busy. Tony Stark: And you've been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint. 'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place. I'm trying to keep . . . I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart. Steve Rogers: You did that when you signed. Tony Stark: Alright, We're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. NOW! Because it's us! Or a squad of J-SOC guys . . . with no compunction about being impolite. [Steve looks aside.] Come on.

(Just admit you're self-imploding from guilt and jealousy, Tony)

This brings us to Steve's interaction with Peter!

[Peter swings past, Steve snaps the web with his shield.] Peter Parker: That thing does not obey the laws of physics at all. Steve Rogers: Look kid. There's a lot going on here that you don't understand. Peter Parker: Mr. Stark said you'd say that. Wow. [he fires webs which stick to Steve's shield and ankle. He pulls and Steve slides towards him. Peter kicks him backwards, then rolls clear.] He also said to go for your legs. [As Steve runs to get his shield, Peter webs his hands and pulls. Steve grits his teeth, spins and somersaults, propelling Peter through the air.] Steve Rogers: [Steve catches a web and tugs Peter towards him, knocking him down with the shield. Peter recovers and pulls himself up on top of a gangway.] Stark tell you anything else? Peter Parker: That you're wrong. You think you're right. That makes you dangerous. [He swings down and Steve leaps to kick him backwards onto the gangway's leg.] Steve Rogers: Guess he had a point. [He throws his shield at the leg and the gangway falls. Peter holds it up.] You got heart, kid. Where're you from? Peter Parker: Queens. Steve Rogers: Brooklyn. [Steve smiles and leaves Peter holding the gangway.]

Steve "incurable mother-hen complex" Rogers is immediately taken with the new kid his estranged hubby has recruited. He then asks said new kid what Tony has been saying about him, and says said hubby might be right - even though he isn't, because Tony is the one refusing to listen and acting out emotionally during this scene. In fact, it will take less than 24 hours for Tony to do a complete 180 and side with Steve!

But Tony's so handsome and amazing, and he found a kid who's just like Steve was - a kid who has heart and just wants to do the right thing! 🥰

..... Steve, baby, we're still mad for how Tony's treating the other kid who's just like you. The one whose internment Tony justified with a blithe statement about how "they don't grant visas to weapons of mass destruction." Remember? Remember the agony and betrayal you felt? Because I do:

The two of them need marriage counseling and family therapy pronto. But no amount of problems changes how much they love and need each other.

In conclusion, Steve Rogers is a sweet cinnamon roll who's too good for this world, as well as a total simp for Tony Stark. 😂

underrated duo

tom holland and chris evans in captain america: civil war (2016)

[purple--queen]

Seeing a lot of SamBucky divorce stuff & friendly reminder married people are allowed to have arguments.

[sortagaysortahigh]

Taste | Joaquin Torres

A/N: Hey guysss, this is based on this req! for a sex pollen fic. NOW YALL DON'T BEAT ME UP OK THIS IS MY FIRST SEX POLLEN FIC EVER! But anyways, yall know i had to throw exes to lovers/idiots in love in the mix, I'm a plot girl what can I say! Everyone say thank you to @love-chx for beta-ing ts for me, love that hoe <3

Summary: Desk duty at the Avengers compound was simple work, but throw in your obnoxious ex-boyfriend Joaquin, and a plant from a different planet, and you have a whole other problem on your hands.

Warnings: spelling and grammar errors (girl it is what it is ok), 2nd person POV, use of y/n, cursing, SAMBUCKY SUPREMACY WOO!!!, mentions of overdose (ibuprofen/in a joking way?), implied childhood trauma, Smut: Dubcon bc sex pollen, kissing, handjobs, oral (f & m receiving), smacking/spanking, spitting, choking, hair pulling, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, hickies, joaquin is mister munch ok, multiple orgasms/overstimulation, creampies, squirting, dirty talk, praise, idk sex love confessions (i am who i am once again), switch!reader and switch!joaquin these two are UGH

Word count: 8k

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader

Honestly guys, i just wanna kiss this man on the mouth <3

Today is simply not your day. 

You had a terrible morning, waking up late with a headache that had you contemplating overdosing on Ibuprofen—if that was even possible—and because you were so late for work, you were stuck on desk duty. 

Desk duty wasn’t inherently bad or boring, not when you worked with the Avengers themselves, even if the team was an odd mixture of clearly depressed ex-criminals and happy-go-lucky heroes that loved their job.

But desk duty meant dealing with Joaquin Torres. 

A year and a half ago you would’ve been perfectly content working out of the compound with Joaquin at your side. At that point in time, you and him were actually in a happy relationship, but following his accident and his depressed period, the relationship got worse, and he constantly pushed you away.

Eventually, you were tired of being pushed away. It wasn’t as if he was subtle about it, you two would get into fight and fight, all of which revolved around him telling you that you were ‘too much’ or that you needed to ‘stop trying to make him feel better’. So you’d broken up with him.

It’s been almost eight months, and of course, the first few were awkward and tense. However, you both chose to swallow your pride and force the facade that nothing was wrong. Well, at least whenever everyone else was around. 

Technically speaking, you weren’t an Avenger, you just worked for Sam and Bucky post-Blip. Granted, they did recruit you in Madripoor when they’d realized you were a one-way stop for any and all information. 

You didn’t have any superpowers or enhanced abilities, you just knew your way around blackmail, fighting, and information reconnaissance. It was obvious that they needed someone like you, and after questioning why you were in Madripoor, they did feel a bit bad for you.

The whole ‘childhood trauma, parental abandonment in a country with no real laws’ thing solidified their need to take you in. Although if it was anywhere but Madripoor, their method of getting you on their side would’ve been considered kidnapping, especially considering one minute you were in Madripoor at a bar, the next you were waking up on a plane flying back to the States.

But that was several years ago, and you were over it.

For the most part.

Working for Sam and Bucky wasn’t exactly difficult, you just dealt with recon, sometimes going on missions with the team, and other times you’d be in the air or at the compound. 

Desk duty typically correlated to being at the compound.

Today, things weren’t difficult, all you really had to do was hack into a few satellites, pull some information, and that was it. Then you’d be free to wander around the tower or take a trip through the city—the same things you did every day.

However, it was as if Joaquin made it his end goal to piss you off every single day or maybe that was in your head. 

The second you’d gotten down to your typical workspace—a smaller room located off of the main lab filled with different sized monitors, a few seats, and of course, your series of neatly organized pens and stationary—Joaquin was already in your usual seat with one of your pens between his teeth.

He was slightly hunched over the desk, pulling geographical data from several different sources, brows knit together with his teeth grinding against the green pen as he concentrated. He also had a set of headphones on, so he didn’t notice your presence in the room, not until you were snatching the pen out of his hands with an annoyed expression.

You waited for him to push the headphones off, he looked at you as if you were utterly insane.

“The hell was that for? What, you woke up in a pissy mood or something?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Get the hell out of my seat. And stop chewing on my damn pens! Don’t you have another room to work out of! This compound is gigantic and somehow you always end up in my space.” 

Joaquin shrugged. “It’s nicer in here. You’ve got the whole room decked out like the blonde from Criminal minds. Besides, I’m supposed to be working with you—so why would I work somewhere else? Y’know if you would’ve gotten up three hours ago, you could’ve been on the plane out of here with Buck.”

He leaned back in the chair, still looking directly at you, a smirk on his face at the sight of you clenching your jaw. You were visibly angry, that much he knew. 

Joaquin always knew how to get under your skin, he also knew almost everything about you, the perk of being your annoying ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t as if he had it out for you, and he completely understood why you’d broken up with him in the first place. But, deep down, he did still harbor his feelings for you, so he liked being close to you.

Even if you hated it.

“You’re insufferable, Torres. Now get out of my seat!” you grabbed his arm, planting your feet firmly before practically hauling him off of the chair, the action catching him by surprise, leading to him stumbling directly into you.

The pain in your head was now in your back as you laid flat on the ground with Joaquin on top of you. He practically tackled you to the ground, you tried grabbing onto one of the large tables to brace yourself, however, you hadn’t let go of his arm.

“If you wanted me on top of you, you could’ve just asked baby.” He winked as he rolled off of you, softly laughing while he smiled, glancing over at you.

You stared at the ceiling, blinking several times as you tried not to scream at him. Plus you were in pain. Admittedly, you could take a hit, however, today wasn’t your day, and you were five minutes away from crying tears of frustration. So you opted to get off of the ground, giving him the middle finger before sitting in your usual desk chair, swivelling to face the screens, picking up directly where he’d left off.

Joaquin got off of the ground, pulling another chair beside you before plopping into it.

“You okay baby?” He placed a hand over your forearm, which you quickly shoved off.

“Fuck off Joaquin, I’m already have a shitty morning, now my back hurts and my head hurts and I’m tired. Just shut up so we can sit in silence and work.” 

He slowly nodded, except instead of scooting away, he stood up, moving behind you before lightly pushing your upper body forward. Then his hands were on your shoulders, thumbs applying the perfect amount of pressure into your tense shoulder blades. The way he always used to—except he used to do way more than just your shoulders.

You tried to shrug him off at first. Joaquin sighed, “Don’t start, just let me take care of you for five minutes. You can go back to being the Wicked Witch of the West after.”

You nodded, jaw clenched as you tried to remain annoyed with him. But it was always hard to be annoyed with Joaquin. Sure you absolutely wanted to wring his neck half the time, but following your break up, you’d gotten to see him recover in more ways than one. It’d taken time, but he was finally himself again, and he learned how to cope with the mental and emotional stress from the incident.

Part of you always considered what it would be like to get back together with him. The other part, the part that was still a bit heartbroken, always shut it down. 

It was easier to be mean to Joaquin than to be his friend. Being his friend was a slippery slope that you weren’t ready for. 

Or at least, you’d convinced yourself you weren’t ready for it.

The next hour passed in a peaceful silence. Joaquin eventually sat back down, pulling up different screens, comparing his information to yours, ensuring that the both of you were actually pulling the correct satellites and getting into the right systems. He’d even had time to run a few different programs, sorting through bits and pieces of foreign software.

But the lab going into lockdown caught you both off guard. The lights flashed red for several seconds before the typical lockdown alarm went off. Typically this only happened when foreign or dangerous substances needed to be contained. 

You were the first to stand up, shushing Joaquin when he tried to protest you going into the main lab. You blinked a few times, looking around the room, trying to figure out what would’ve set the security system off.

There were several different specimens that had been brought back from multiple missions worldwide over the past two months, most of them were deemed safe enough to leave in the open, as long as they were in their own containment cubes. So you walked through the lab, taking a mental note of everything, trying to remember what was what based on the information Peter Parker had provided.

Joaquin groaned, following right behind you. “Could you not run into the face of danger every five minutes?”

You shushed him again. “Please, this is a highly secured base. The only people breaking and entering would be literal aliens, and we would’ve already known that. One of the specimens is probably in a broken container or something.” 

He nodded, following you, eyes tracing the room, until they landed on a pink glittery mist surrounding a somewhat shattered glass case which contained a very large plant. He cleared his throat, then elbowed you lightly.

“Uh—like that?” Joaquin pointed directly at the mist, which was clearly spreading through the air.

“Yeah, exactly like that. Move so I can go get a better look.” He grabbed your arm as you tried to walk past him.

“Is this really a good idea?” 

You rolled your eyes at him. “Joaquin, we’re already in the room with the mist, it’s most likely already in our systems. It’s just a plant, it’s not like we’re gonna die.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head as you walked across the tiled floors, humming a tune as you got closer to the mist. Joaquin grimmaced as he followed behind you, teeth clenched tightly together as if he was anticipating getting hit by something.

But the mist didn’t do much, if anything it smelled just like you—like your favorite perfume mixed with your shampoo. It was nice and soothing, before he was even processing it, he took a deep inhale of it as you stepped around the broken glass to get a better look at the plant behind it.

Your brows knit together, the smell was incredibly familiar, it didn’t take much for you to recognize it as Joaquin—which was odd. Considering a plant wouldn’t smell like him. Then you were slipping your hand into the large broken gap of the glass container—this glass was supposed to be the equivalent to bulletproof so it was strange that a plant managed to shatter it.

Then you felt the thickness in the air, as if the container was humid and the air was condensed. 

“What the hell are you?” you whispered as you got closer, getting a better look at the large vibrant plant. It was clearly not something earthly, probably one of the items found at an old Hydra base. But you couldn’t deny that the plant was beautiful, however, when it spurred a gust of pink air into your face, you inhaled deeply as you gasped, coughing from the impact.

Clearly that’s how the glass managed to shatter, a buildup of pressure from whatever the hell the plant was releasing.

You stumbled back, directly into Joaquin—who managed to steady you. His hands were on your waist while you stared ahead. Then you felt it, the heat overtaking your entire body. You were practically on fire, and incredibly uncomfortable in the confines of your clothing. 

The second you moved away from Joaquin, the heat became painful, your eyes widening at the shooting pain in your waist specifically. Then you turned to look at him, his eyes were blown with lust—you recognized that look. You’d known it well at one point. 

He bit his bottom lip as he stared at you with hooded eyes, a clear red flush to his skin, chest rapidly rising and falling as he tried to process what was happening to him. Joaquin’s entire mind was consumed by you, consumed by memories of you writhing beneath him, moaning his name like a prayer, your hands on him—his hands on you, it was as if his brain was managing to replay each and every time the both of you had sex.

Joaquin was hard, harder than he’d been in a long time, and he was sweating. His skin was on fire to the point that he was shrugging off the U-Miami hoodie he had on as he stepped away from you, and away from the slowly dissipating—or rather slowly spreading—mist. 

“Shit—baby you need to get the hell away from me. Like now.” 

You blinked a few times, looking at him, watching as he ripped his sweater off, tossing it on the ground before reaching for his belt—that’s when your eyes caught the prominent bulge. The sight sent a shock through you, then you had goosebumps. You were somehow freezing and burning simultaneously.

Then the memories started flooding in, the sight of him on top of you, below you, between your thighs, the way he’d moan in your ear, his teeth and lips against your skin. It had you taking several steps back, nearly falling after walking directly into a metal side table, knocking its contents to the ground.

Joaquin groaned, running a hand through his hair, the heat unbearable at this point. He pulled his shirt off, throwing it elsewhere as fast as possible. “Shit—don’t look at me like that baby.” He ran both hands along his face, looking up at the ceiling, hands clenching and unclenching. 

The pain that came with the heat made it difficult to breathe, Joaquin leaned against the closest table to him, letting out a few laughs, shaking his head at the circumstance.

“You mean to tell me, there’s a sex plant just sitting in the lab, and of all people to get stuck with it—it’s you and me baby? It couldn’t have been like Sam and Bucky—or John and Ava? Or really anyone else?” 

You scoffed at that, pulling your own sweatshirt off, tossing it on the table to your side. “Oh what, you wanted to get stuck in here with Ava or Yelena—or maybe even Kate?” 

He now turned to face you, blinking several times as he shook his head. “Are you trying to start a fight with me right now? As if I’m not over here dying—thinking about you and all of the things I’ve done and want to do to you? Now you choose to act jealous and mean?”

You shook your head at him, taking a few deep breaths, trying to fight the pain, but your knees were feeling wobbly, and you couldn’t stop staring at Joaquin’s chest—eyes tracing his defined abdomen and the familiar trail of hair that had you licking your lips. You did your best to lean against the metal table, both hands gripping the edges of it.

“It hurts doesn’t it? Fuck—I know it’s hurting me.” Joaquin winced as he spoke, gaze on you, watching as you struggled to hold yourself up. He knew better than to go help you, he truly did, but that didn’t stop him from walking across the area and pulling you closer to him before picking you up bridal style, practically whimpering at the feeling of you against him—then he walked away from the broken glass, scattered tables, and the plant. 

He put you down on the small sofa you’d forced him to move into your office space a year ago. Joaquin tried not to focus on the way you winced the second he let go of you.

Then you looked at him, holding eye contact as you licked your lips. “Joaquin I need you to fuck me.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in your words, and that had his eyes widening.

“Are you sure this is what you want—baby I don’t think I can control myself—like once we start I just—” 

You sit up, ignoring the pain shooting through your body as you pulled him into you, smashing your lips against his.

Joaquin easily melted into the kiss, and the relief you both felt at the contact was mind-numbing. 

You pulled back first, biting his bottom lip. “I don’t give a shit about control Joaquin, I want you to fuck me—I’m in so much fucking pain.” Your words were harsh before kissing him again, hands in his hair, tugging at the strands while he leaned closer into you, lips parted, tongue against yours, moaning against your lips.

He pulled away for a few seconds, just to sit on the sofa and pull you into his lap, lips back on yours, his hands on your waist, bunching up the old t-shirt you had on. Fingers now digging into your skin as you started grinding yourself against him.

“You gotta take these off, Hermosa—” He tugged on the waistband of your sweats. You nodded at him, biting his bottom lip again before standing back up, letting him tug them off before you were kicking them to the side.

It wasn’t long before you were undoing his belt and tugging at his jeans. 

Joaquin moaned beneath you, you were like a woman possessed, and he would do anything and everything for you. 

His lips moved along your jaw, then down your throat, leaving a series of nips against your skin. Joaquin moaned against your throat as you slid your hand below his jeans, then as you grasped his cock, he bit against your shoulder—earning a loud whine from you. 

“Fuck—okay stop—shit.” His strained voice caught you off guard, you blinked a few times, pulling your hand away while he rested his forehead against your shoulder. 

Joaquin’s head was spinning at this point, all he could think about was being between your thighs. “I need to taste you—shit baby y’gonna let me taste you?” He sounded so breathy and desperate as he looked at you.

You nodded, without any hesitation and let him manhandle you back onto the couch. He was shoving you against the cushions while making his way between your thighs.

Joaquin moaned at the sight of your damp panties, a large dark spot on the grey fabric. He leaned in closer, nose against it, inhaling your scent before licking a flat stripe along the gusset of your panties. He then kissed along your inner thighs, biting into the skin a few times—leaving marks while your hands were in his hair.

“Fuck—missed you so much. Taste so good—all the time. I dream about this—about you like this.” He spoke as he kissed along your panties again, then he was pulling them to the side, moaning while taking in your glistening cunt.

Your back arched the second his tongue was on you. Joaquin licked a flat stripe along your cunt from top to bottom—over and over again. Groaning against you before sliding his tongue along your sopping entrance.

“So fuckin wet—” Then his tongue was inside of you and you were practically seeing stars. Joaquin liked it messy, that was a fact that you’d learned early on in your relationship with him. He practically pressed his entire face against your cunt, the sharp angle of his nose pressing firmly against your clit as his tongue darted in and out of you.

He was allconsuming. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, your back arched even more as you tried to close your legs—attempting to push him away. 

Joaquin wasn’t having that, he held your thighs in place, practically pinning you down as he continued his motions, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until you were moaning his name and creaming all over his tongue. 

He was a moaning, whimpering mess between your thighs. But he didn’t let up, making you cum somehow made him feel better—it soothed the burn throughout his entire body. He moved from your fluttering hole to your clit, tongue swirling around the swollen bundle as he finally looked up at you—your eyes squeezed shut as you bit your bottom lip, grinding your hips against his face as best as you could.

“Joaquin—fuck—fuck!” The overstimulation had all of your nerve endings on fire, or maybe it was the pollen, you didn’t know and you didn’t care. Not when he was sucking on your clit and moaning against your cunt. 

Then you felt his fingers against your entrance, two easily sliding in, the stretch was so familiar. It had your head spinning.

Joaquin alternated from sucking on your clit to swirling his tongue against it. Even taking the time to rapidly flick his tongue along it, listening to your high pitched moans as his fingers slowly curled into you. He pulled away from your clit to look at you. “Look at me baby, let me see those pretty eyes.”

You nodded slowly, eyes fluttering open as you looked down at him, his mouth back on your clit, fingers moving a bit faster inside of you. Your ears were ringing, and the heat in your body was finally dissipating, but there was a lingering pain—as if this wasn’t enough.

You shook your head at him “Joaquin—I need more.” 

He raised a single brow, fingers rapidly fucking into you as he slid in a third, the newfound stretch had you practically mewling, tugging his hair so hard his scalp was starting to sting. Then you were whimpering his name, struggling to keep your eyes open as he sucked on your clit—pushing you right over the edge.

Joaquin’s fingers kept going, fucking you through your orgasm, ushering a new wave of heat in your body.

You were shoving him away this time, shaking your head, low pleas for him to stop. 

Then he sat back on his haunches, looking up at you, his lips and chin covered in your slick as he slowly slid his fingers out of your cunt. 

“S’fuckin greedy—look at you. Just begging for more huh? Tell me what you need, baby, I’ll give you everything.” His voice was deeper than usual, he was still on fire, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin as he looked at you, eyes trailing over your figure, still wearing the same loose t-shirt. Except now he was processing that the shirt was his.

“I need you—” 

He nodded his head, brows raised, smirking, “Yeah, what about me?” 

You rolled your eyes a bit, sitting up further before taking off the shirt and tossing it at him, fanning yourself with a hand, trying to combat the heat, wincing at the pain in your abdomen. 

“Joaquin, please I need your cock—please.” You sounded so needy and miserable as you looked at him, shaking your head slightly “It hurts—need you to make it stop hurting.”

That’s all it took for him to be up, kicking his jeans off, letting his clothes fall to the ground before he was back on the sofa, pulling you directly onto his lap without a care in the world. He took a few seconds to undo the frilly pink bra you had on, moaning at the sight of your tits in his face.

“Missed these a lot.” Then his hands were on them, massaging them before tugging on your nipples. A few high pitched gasps leaving your lips. Then his tongue was along your throat again, licking across your salty skin, letting out a low moan as he sucked a few marks against the swell of your breasts. 

Joaquin didn’t hesitate to run his tongue along your nipples, then he pulled one into his mouth, sucking on it before lightly biting into it. 

Your hands were all over him, moving from his hair, to his shoulders, to his chest. Nails scratching along his skin—the feeling had his eyes rolling back slightly.

Then you were grasping onto his cock again, hand wrapped around the thick shaft, slowly rising and falling, then your thumb was rubbing against the head of his cock, spreading his precum all around—using it to move your hand faster. 

He moaned against your chest, pulling away, resting his head against the wall, lips parted as he moaned your name. Then you leaned forward a bit, spitting directly onto his cock, moving your hand even faster before kissing along his neck, biting against his pulse point slightly—the way he liked it.

Joaquin bucked his hips up into your hand, guttural moans leaving his lips while you kissed along his exposed skin. Your open mouthed kisses cooled him down just enough, then you were practically mirroring his previous actions, licking a flat stripe along his neck, from the base of his shoulder to his ear. Then your tongue was trailing the edge of his ear before you tugged it between your teeth.

“C’mon baby—you know what I like.” His voice was strained as your hand moved faster. You let go of his ear, now inches away from his face, your free hand caressing his jaw as your thumb tugged on his bottom lip. He nodded his lead, licking his lips slightly before opening his mouth a bit wider. 

You didn’t hesitate to spit.

His tongue was against yours in seconds, the kiss was sloppy, spit practically gliding along your chin as he kissed you with his all. 

You moved the hand on his cock, gently angling it down a bit before sliding it right along your dripping cunt. He moaned into your lips at the feeling of you grinding against his length. Your hips moving back and forth against him. 

When you pulled back from the kiss, a thin string of spit connected your bottom lip to his, and he couldn’t stop staring at it. So Joaquin kissed you again.

Your hips shifted again, you whimpered against his lips the second you managed to line the head of his cock up with your hole—then you were sliding yourself onto him—moaning against his lips as he slowly stretched you out.

The burning pain was slipping away, but all you felt was want. You wanted all of Joaquin—every last part of him and then some.

He bit your bottom lip before moaning against your mouth. Joaquin practically shuddered at the feeling of you sliding down his cock, his entire head hazy now.

“Fuck—missed this pussy so much baby, feels so good wrapped around me. So fuckin’ tight, need you to move. Fuckin use me—” He moaned your name, head back against the wall as he bit down on his bottom lip. Joaquin’s eyes were shut as you started slowly rocking against him, then you were lifting up and dropping yourself back down. His hands dug into your waist, fingers bruising against the soft skin while you bounced on his cock.

You’d never felt this good before, the pleasure was short circuiting you. All you could focus on was fucking yourself against Joaquin’s cock. You barely registered anything you were saying. “So fuckin big—fuck feels so good—oh my god—Joaquin.” His name slipped past your lips in a low whine.

You used his shoulders as leverage, nails digging into his skin as you kept your motions up, chasing your own high without a singular care in the world. You smiled and bit your lip, head thrown back as you bounced.

You felt as if you were simultaneously fully conscious and absolutely out of your mind.

The pleasure had you on cloud nine, in a state of pure ecstasy. 

Joaquin looked at you, moaning at the sight of your tits bouncing with each movement, then he looked down, biting his bottom lip at the ring of your cream on his cock, watching as you practically swallowed his cock. 

“Just like that Hermosa, you take it so fuckin good—so fuckin pretty. Cunt’s so fuckin wet—missed me didn’t she?” 

You nodded at his words, eyes slowly opening as you looked at him. The second you’d made eye contact his hand was around your throat, fingers pressed against your pulse point—restricting enough to make you feel light headed. 

“Joaquin—fuck I’m gonna”  You took a sharp inhale one of your hands now grasping onto his forearm, hips slightly faltering as you gushed along his cock. He thrusted up into you as you came, nodding his head, mumbling praises that you couldn’t comprehend while you made a mess of him.

“Fuck—love it when you get messy for me baby.” 

You nodded your head at him, slightly out of breath as he kept fucking up into you. 

You thought the pain would’ve been gone by now, but even for the few seconds of relief you felt, another surge of painful heat would spread throughout your entire body. 

Joaquin was still painfully hard, he’d never lasted this long in his life. Especially not with you bouncing on his cock. His hips snapped up into yours as you leaned further into him, your face resting against the crook of his neck. His hands moved now, one still on your waist, the other planting a series of firm smacks against your ass.

You were whimpering, low moans and whines directly against his skin. 

This wasn’t enough for either of you.

Joaquin was gentle as he helped you slide off of him. You two shared a look, a silent agreement that had you on your hands and knees, while he used the sofa for leverage, two hands on your waist as you slowly spread your thighs apart more. He laughed as you gave up on holding your upper body up with your hands, instead resting your face against one of the decorative cushions on the sofa. 

Then he was teasing you—gliding his cock along your glistening cunt, tapping the head against your swollen clit a few times before fully lining himself up with you. 

“Ask for it nicely, Sweetheart.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes slightly, feeling a little more like yourself now. Or at least you did until he landed another smack to your ass, then you felt it—he used one hand to spread you open, spitting directly onto your other hole, his thumb now teasing it. There were a few things that you and Joaquin hadn’t tried before—and this was one of them.

“Joaquin—please.”

You blamed the pollen, it had to have been the pollen that was making you move your hips back into his hand, practically inviting his thumb in. 

“Fuck, you’re so filthy baby, missed you so much. I’ll be nice to you today.” Then Joaquin bottomed out, cock filling you in a way that had you practically drooling. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the new angle, he was so deep—you loved every second of it.

It wasn’t long before his thumb was sliding directly into your ass, the newfound stretch made your toes curl as your cunt clenched around him. Then your hips were meeting his strokes, grinding yourself back against him—lost in the pleasure.

Joaquin was a moaning mess, muttering curses under his breath as he fucked into you, thrusting hard and deep, listening to your whines and whimpers. 

“I’m sorry baby—It’s a lot I know—but, fuck, you feel so good.” He bit his bottom lip after speaking, you whimpered in response, then he was picking up the speed of his thrusts, practically pounding into you—the couch rocking against the wall with every movement. 

“Don’t worry pretty girl, I remember how you like it.” Joaquin’s voice was low as he spoke, gaze focused on the way your cunt welcomed every single thrust, your inner thighs with a sheen wetness from your dripping center—this had to be what heaven felt like.

Then he was leaning forward, practically caging you in before sliding a hand below you, wrapping it around your neck again. The closeness sent a shiver of relief down both of your spines, he paused his movements for a brief second as you did your best to look back at him.

“What's wrong baby? You need something?” 

You nodded at him, Joaquin always knew how to read you—even during sex.

“I need you to kiss me.”

He smiled at that, nodding his head before leaning further into you, lips on yours as you struggled to kiss him back. Then Joaquin started fucking into you again, holding you in place against him—forcing you to take everything he gave you.

You loved every second of it.

You were moaning against his lips, doing your best to kiss him back, your efforts were pathetic. Joaquin was all consuming, you couldn’t think of anything else but Joaquin and the pleasure coursing through your veins, your legs shaking as another orgasm swiftly approached.

“That’s it baby, squeezing me so good—fuck you’re gonna cum huh? Cum all over my cock—give it to me. Want you creaming all over me again.” His voice was low as he spoke, a mix of moans slipping out between his words while he kept fucking into you, the pace brutal—but so fucking good.

You nodded your head, forehead resting against his slightly, the angle a bit awkward as you whined his name, cunt squeezing his cock in a way that had his head spinning.

But Joaquin still couldn’t cum—and he was getting frustrated.

He fucked you through your orgasm, trying to chase his own, but it wasn’t working—he was so close but something was missing.

“F-fuck it’s too much baby—Joaquin please—” 

He nodded, kissing your forehead before pulling out of you, moaning at the sight of your fucked out pussy. Something possessed him in that moment, suddenly he was on his knees, hands on your upper thighs, holding you in place as his tongue was back against you.

Joaquin licked into your cunt as if it was his last meal—he loved going down on you so maybe it made sense that he just wanted to be between your thighs again. 

You were practically shaking as he tongue fucked you, landing rough smacks to your thighs and ass every now and then, your whines only spurring him on more. 

He had you cumming again in minutes—your back arching even harder as you reached back, tugging on his dark curls, grinding yourself against his face as you were coating his chin in your nectar again.

Joaquin kissed against your cunt one last time before pulling away. You were a panting mess on the sofa, ass in the air as you gripped against the cushions with tears falling along your cheeks.

Then you finally looked at him, eyes widening at the sight of his still hard cock. “Quino you still haven't finished?” you were so breathless as you spoke, but the old nickname had him biting his bottom lip, nodding his head at you.

Joaquin watched as you slowly sat up, now looking up at him while he stood a few steps away, then your gaze dropped to his cock, a shiny layer of your juices coating him. His tip was flushed red as he grasped himself, running a hand along his shaft—moaning softly at the sense of relief.

“Let me help you—I know what you like.” 

He nodded his head as you reached forward, grabbing his hand, a silent plea for him to sit down. Then you grasped a pillow, placing it on the floor between his legs before kneeling down. 

The sight of you on your knees between his thighs was enough to have him twitching, you bit your bottom lip as you looked up at him—right into his eyes. Then you grasped his cock, leaning forward to spit on it again, spreading it with your hand as you maintained eye contact.

At this point, your pain was gone, the lingering heat still there—but manageable.

Nothing compared to Joaquin, who felt as if he was burning alive in the deepest layer of hell.

You trailed your tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock, slowly—deliberately. You repeated the motion a few times before swirling it around the tip of his cock, pulling it into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you harshly sucked on it. 

His hand was in your hair in seconds, then you moaned against him—and that had him bucking his hips. Joaquin’s eyes widened as you gagged against his cock. Then he gently pulled you away from him. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry baby—that was a lot.” 

You giggled, nodding your head “Yeah? You wanna fuck my face Quino?” 

Joaquin practically choked on air at your sultry tone, eyes wide as he looked down at you. “Please—fuck please.”

Then you wrapped your lips back around him, winking before taking more of his cock into your mouth and down your throat, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head. Then you grasped one of his hands in your own, a reassuring squeeze—a soft message. Joaquin nodded his head again, moaning before he started bucking his hips.

He started off slow, testing your limits, moaning every time you’d gag around him. But the pleading look in your eye—he knew that look and he knew you wanted it.

Before you knew it, Joaquin was guiding your movements and full on fucking your face, letting out strings of moans mixed with curses at the feeling. 

You were taking it, looking up at him with teary eyes, spit drooling along your chin. 

Joaquin was positive he was still in love with you—this exact moment solidified that. 

You tapped on his thigh a few times, he got the message, slowly pulling back, giving you a second to catch your breath. Your drunken giggle had him blushing—if that was even possible at this point. You looked so cockdrunk and fucked out as you stared at him.

“Joaquin” 

He nodded his head, looking at you, brows raised as he caught his breath.

“I want you to cum inside of me.” 

His jaw was practically on the floor at your words, and it wasn’t long before he had you flat against the couch again, slotted perfectly between your thighs as he looked down at you, a few loose curls slightly brushing against your forehead before you pulled him into a kiss.

As you kissed him, Joaquin lined himself up with your entrance and you locked a leg around his waist. Then he was bottoming out inside of you again, both of you moaning against one another’s lips. 

He kissed you with his all, pouring months of unspoken emotions into this as he rocked his hips into you, fucking you much slower than before. Hard, deep, and slow—the way he knew you loved it. 

Your nails dug into his back, scratching along his skin as you rolled your hips against him.

“Fuck—feels so good baby—still so fuckin tight.” He rested his head in the crook of your neck while he fucked you, his body still on fire, but this was different—he was chasing his high. He was so close, he could feel it in his bones, a numbing pleasure taking over.

“Just like that Quino, fuck, just like that! Oh my god—Oh my god!” your back was arching into him as you felt yourself getting closer and closer, the coil in your abdomen so tight it hurt, you needed to cum—desperately.

So did Joaquin.

Then you grasped his hair, tugging him back slightly, he looked down at you as you looked into his eyes. “I missed you—fuck missed you so much.” Then your lips were on his gain, pulling him into another sloppy desperate kiss.

He didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, and he kissed you until he felt as if he couldn’t breathe, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours, feeling himself right on the edge. 

“Want you to cum Joaquin—wanna feel it—please cum for me.” Yourwords were quiet whines as you pressed a few quick kisses to his lips. But that didn’t send him over the edge.

No, what sent Joaquin over the edge was your breathless whispers, praising him, and a short, almost shallow “I love you—”

He moaned your name like a prayer as his hips stilled, warmth spreading through you as thick ropes of cum decorate your walls. You moaned against him, feeling euphoric as you came again.

The two of you stayed like that for several minutes, neither speaking a single word as he practically collapsed against you. Your hands tracing circles into his back while he rested his head in the crook of your neck—avoiding looking at you. 

Then you cleared your throat. 

“As much as I like the whole, post-sex cuddle. We need to talk about what the hell just happened, Joaquin.” 

He groaned, nodding his head as he slowly pulled out of you, pressing soft kisses against your neck as you winced at the feeling. 

“Sorry baby, I know—shit I’m sorry.” He spoke softly while moving back, eyes trailing your face as you clenched your jaw and hissed, back arching uncomfortably. As soon as he pulled out of you, he was up, on his feet, pulling his jeans back on for a quick second before rummaging through your drawers until he found a box of tissues and an unopened water bottle.

You sat up on your elbows, brows knit together as you watched him. Then he was sliding your legs open, a breathy “fuck—missed seeing this” leaving his lips before he was gently cleaning you up, touches featherlight as he did his best to take care of you.

“Stop staring at me like I have three heads, you know I always do this for you after we have sex.” He spoke without even looking up at you, now focused on cleaning up your thighs, tossing the used tissues into a small trash can he also dragged over. 

“Yeah but we don’t have sex anymore, and we’re not together—so you really don’t need to do this.” You spoke softly, confusion evident in your tone while you looked at him. 

Joaquin rolled his eyes, raising a single brow as he finally met your eyes. “So I’m supposed to fuck the woman I’m in love with and leave her a jumbled, fucked out mess on the couch? Over the past eight months have you just been dating assholes or something?” 

You blinked a few times, now sitting up, arms crossed over your chest—trying to cover yourself as if he hadn’t seen you before. Joaquin handed you the shirt you’d been wearing before, one of his older worn out U Miami t-shirts that you’d stolen a month into dating him. You mumbled a quick ‘thanks’ before slipping it on. 

“And before you start thinking too hard, the way you always do. Yes I said I’m in love with you, I’ve never stopped loving you, and I know why you broke up with me. It was valid, and I don’t think I was ever really mad at you for it. I love you, without a single doubt in my mind, I love you. It didn’t take that weird sex plant for me to know that, I’ve known it since the day you punched me in the face.”

You blinked a few times, brows knit together. “I punched you on the plane leaving Madripoor because you scared the shit out of me!” 

“Exactly. Why the hell do you think I chased after you for so long? Because I just had a crush on you. I feel like we’ve had this talk before. What matters now is I tell you, I’m in love with you. I like to annoy you because I think you look pretty when you’re irritated with me.”

He paused, looking around for his shirt, brows knit together at the realization that it wasn’t there.

“I’m not sure if it’s safe to go back out there—but anyways. I like spending my time with you, I choose desk duty sometimes just to be around you, even if it makes you mad. I know you don’t hate me, not when you were whimpering that you loved me while we’re fucking in missionary of all positions.” 

Joaquin spoke with his hands, the sight made you laugh, then you bit your lip, trying to remain serious. He easily caught on to you laughing at him, shaking his head slightly.

“So, since we’re both on the same page—being you’re totally in love with me and I’m totally in love with you. I think we should go on a date tomorrow, give us a second shot?” 

You smiled at him, rolling your eyes. “Only if you promise not to chew on my pens anymore.” 

He scoffed. “Hell no! I can’t promise that, it’s a habit, besides, your pens are the perfect kind of plastic for it.”

“You’re such a child Joaquin!” You were full on laughing now, shaking your head at him.

“Okay, at least I can admit to having childish habits, little miss I still wear clothes I stole from my ex-boyfriend. Wait—did you ever wear my clothes around other guys?!” 

You rolled your eyes at him, now standing up and heading back into the main area of the lab, ignoring his protests as you looked around, now noticing a minor glitter in the air—but nothing as major as before. The plant itself looked calmer, as if it fulfilled its purpose and was now lying dormant again.

You were quick to collect your clothes and his, tossing it at him while he followed you around.

“Well! I need an answer baby, I’ll be heartbroken if any other losers got to see how sexy you look in my clothes!” 

You rolled your eyes, walking back into your office space as Joaquin followed suit, now pulling his shirt on.

“Joaquin Torres, do you really think I dated anyone over the time that we were broken up?” 

He shrugged as you turned to face him. “I dunno, maybe you tried the whole ‘get over one person, get under another’ thing. But you’re not really good at casual sex—I mean look at how we ended up.” 

You scoffed, shoving him. He was right though, the entire reason your relationship with Joaquin had ever started was because you were both drunk and decided to hook up on a random night, from there, casual sex quickly turned into something that wasn’t casual whatsoever.

“So that’s a no then? Good because I thought I was a desperate loser for holding onto the hope that I’d be able to win you back.” He pulled you against him, hands on your waist as he looked at you, a wide smile on his face. “You’re it for me baby.”

You rolled your eyes again, smiling before kissing him.

Then a loud shout caught your attention, both of you pulling away from one another at the sound of Sam and Bucky arguing over the mess in the lab.

“What the hell happened here?!” 

A scoff followed by, “Well Buck, maybe if you listened to me instead of leaving all of the weird shit we find on missions out in the open, there wouldn’t be glass all over the ground and that freaky ass plant sitting there.”

When Sam and Bucky came into sight, both of them paused, eyes wide as they noticed you and Joaquin’s disheveled appearance, the pile of clothing on the small coffee table in your usual office, and the very evident bruises along Joaquin’s throat.

“I told you it was a damn sex plant! Bruce said to burn it! Now look, those two were getting freaky on camera! Jesus Christ—” Sam turned his gaze from Bucky to you and Joaquin, voice louder now “You two, pull the last few hours of footage from in here and burn it! I don’t need to be traumatized tonight.”

Bucky sighed, patting Sam on the back as they started walking out.

“I’m glad you two made up!” was the last thing you heard before the lab doors shut again.

“If those two ever got stuck in a situation like this, who would break first? Sam or Bucky?” Joaquin glanced in their direction, then back at you while wiggling his brows.

“I’d say Bucky definitely, he’s touch starved—he’d be all over Sam. Now onto important subjects, where are you taking me for our date?”

Joaquin smiled, kissing you again. “Wherever you want.”

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Job Transfer

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You're Representative Bucky Barnes' personal assistant. However, after a certain turn of events, you may need to start looking for a new job.

WARNING: THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS!

You walk beside Bucky, hand resting in the crook of his arm. Your floor length dress swishing around your ankles with every step.

You feel a little out of place being here, especially considering that Bucky is trying to get evidence on Valentina to get her impeached.

You, technically didn’t have to be there. As Bucky’s assistant, it wasn’t required of you to be there, but Bucky needed extra eyes and ears.

Bucky leans in and murmurs, “You’ll be fine,” he clears his throat, “Don’t think too hard about it. Just see if you catch anything, if not, at least enjoy yourself.” As a server passes, he grabs a flute of champagne and offers it to you.

“Thank you,” you give him a small, grateful smile. You sip the champagne and try not to feel a little out of place.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Bucky says, “Well, you always look beautiful, but even more beautiful now.”

“Thank you,” you run a hand down the dress to smooth it out as the both of you walk around the venue. A fluttering sensation settles in your chest, a feeling you’ve become familiar with any time Bucky compliments you or looks at you a second too long.

You interrupt the comforting silence between you, “Shall I leave you to the wolves?”

He sighs, “If you must,” he lets you slip out of his arm and wander off. He keeps a careful eye on you until he spots Valentina.

____________________

Congressman Jones was droning on and on about where he was during the alien invasion of 2012, when Bucky approaches you, “Pardon me, Senator Jones, I need to speak with my assistant for a moment.”

“Of course! You two enjoy the rest of your night,” the older gentleman heads in another direction while Bucky tugs on your hand.

“Something wrong?”

“No. I just spoke with Valentina’s assistant. Her loyalty is waning, so I think we have a good chance with her.”

“Did you give her your card?”

“I did. Good thinking on making me carry those.”

You snort, “Well I’m not always with you, so it’s best to carry some of your own.” You playfully nudge him and he chuckles.

“Oh, Congressman’s Gary is coming this way,” you murmur, nodding in the other direction.

You stand to the side as Bucky pulls the congressman into the alcove and they discuss the next steps of taking down Valentina.

“Packets?” Bucky confusedly looks at Congressman Gary, then at you.

You sigh, “I set them on your desk yesterday.” You give him a stern look because Bucky has a habit of not reading documents as soon as they’re given to him.

“Read the packets, Bucky,” Congressman Gary murmurs before departing.

When the congressman is gone, Bucky runs his metal hand through his hair, “Wanna grab something to eat?”

“Yes, please.” You follow him out of the venue and to the valet. He helps you into the passenger seat and then hops into the driver seat.

—————————————

“You’re resigning?” You look at Bucky with surprise written all over your face, “Wh-Why?”

“I thought I could make a difference through politics, be able to change the system, but…” he shakes his head, “I can’t just sit by and wait for the evidence to come to me. I’m going to catch Valentina and get her impeached one way or another.”

“So I should probably start looking for a new job?”

“I-not necessarily. I mean, I could always use your help for other things. Wait, that didn’t sound right. I-“

You chuckle, “Bucky, it’s fine,” you place a hand on his chest, “Relax.” You see his eyes soften at you and you pull away with a clear of your throat, “If you still want me as your personal assistant, I’d be happy to continue working with you. If not, it’s okay.”

“I want you with me, but…maybe not as my assistant?”

“What’re you saying?”

He steps closer to you and places his hands on your hips, “I’m saying maybe after I get this done, you’ll go on a date with me?”

“As long as you come back in one piece, then yes.”

Bucky smiles brightly at you, “Great.”

—————————————

“You resign from Congress and become an Avenger a few days later? What on Earth happened while you were away?” You ask as Bucky enters your home, bouquet in hand.

“…so much. But I’ll tell you at dinner,” he hands you the bouquet with a soft smile.

You accept the flowers and give him a smirk, “Better be a good story, Barnes, or I might cut our date short!”

“Trust me, sweetheart, it’s definitely an interesting story.”

[navybrat817]

Give Me One More

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You don't need Bucky. He's going to prove you wrong. Over and over and over...

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: DUBCON to be safe, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, masturbation, established and slightly toxic relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, family drama, betrayal, threats (not against reader), loose backstory, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit mean, okay?).

A/N: I spoke about prisoner!Bucky ages back and I couldn't let this go. Especially not when I'm looking at that beautiful edit by the more beautiful @nixakimbo! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own (but thanks to @whisperlullaby for discussing this man with me!). Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You pushed the curtain aside to look out the bedroom window, the clouds dark and thick in the sky. Your home used to be your safe haven, a place of comfort, and all you wanted to do now was escape from your prison of sorts. Not the kind of place your boyfriend, Bucky, spent time in. The bars that kept you in couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

“Can't stay in there all day,” Bucky said from the hall, his deep voice reminding you that you weren't alone.

You’d never be alone again.

“Yes, I can,” you called back. You had been in your bedroom for well over an hour since you snapped at him and left him alone in the living room. If staying in there meant avoiding him, you were fine with that.

You half expected him to stomp down the hall, but he only said, “You’re being a fucking brat.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. “Leave me alone, asshole!” You shouted, feeling every bit like the brat he said you were.

You weren’t sure what set you off today. It could've been because you were still angry that Bucky used you. How long did it take for an empire to fall? In your case, six months.

Half a year ago, Bucky Barnes bumped into you at your favorite coffee shop. Literally. He was large, built like a powerhouse, but his grip that kept you from falling was so gentle. One look in his cerulean eyes and you were a goner. He easily charmed his way into your life and bed. He treated you like a princess, better than any boyfriend before, and you naively believed it was fate that brought you together.

You should’ve known it wasn't the beginning of a happy new chapter in your story. It was a clock winding down to your doom. More specifically, your father’s doom. Because Bucky wanted to destroy the man who helped land him in jail.

The White Wolf, a nickname for Bucky you recently learned about, wasn't a good man. Far from it and far from being a reformed criminal. He took it personally that your dad got him put behind bars for a short time. So he tore his life apart. Took his job away. Urged his friends to abandon or turn on him. Got him put in jail. Bucky even rubbed it in his face that he fucked his daughter. All in six months.

It would almost be impressive if you weren't the one living with the aftermath.

Had your dad known exactly who you were seeing, he may have tried to stop you.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

What Bucky didn't plan on was falling for you or so he said. You were, apparently, his chance at happiness. Because of that, he wouldn't let you go. And he expected you to just forgive him and move forward.

How could you forgive him?

He promised he’d hunt you down if you tried to leave him. You naturally tried and didn't get very far. The sick part was how much you enjoyed him chasing after you and bringing you back. After he fucked you where he found you.

As if he read your mind, he called out, “I know you're frustrated. Bet if you sit on my cock you'll feel better.”

Your cheeks flamed, your panties damp. Damn him for still arousing you with so little words. “Go fuck yourself.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He was right. You were frustrated and itching to get out of your own skin. Maybe if you got yourself off, you’d feel a little better. Not happy, but better.

“I don't need him,” you said.

That was what you told yourself as you stripped down and got on the bed. But as you ran your hands along your breasts, gasping as you moved one hand lower, it didn't feel right. The normal fire within you didn't burn. Didn't even a flicker. A raw ache instead outweighed the pleasure you tried to give yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

You heard Bucky’s dark chuckle from the doorway and made the mistake of looking his way. You weren't sure how long he'd been standing there, but his cock was free from the confines of his pants and he lost his shirt at some point, too. He didn't attempt to hide the array of scars and tattoos that littered his torso. Ones you traced with your fingers and tongue more times than you could count. Back when you weren't a pawn in his game.

But if you really were a pawn, why did he have your name tattooed over his chest?

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, brushing back his long hair as his eyes moved along your body from head to toe.

You ignored your racing heart as you said through your teeth, “Go away.”

He tore your life apart like a tornado, leaving destruction where there was once calm and beauty. Instead of letting you pick up the pieces, he continued to wreck everything around you. He broke you, too, but you were also the only thing he put back together.

The smirk he gave you was one you used to adore. “What’s wrong, princess? Still mad at me?”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Still mad about the past? Or is it because you can't get out of your own head long enough to make yourself come?” He taunted, slowly stroking his thick cock. “Did you ever actually get yourself off before me? Or did you not know what an orgasm was until I gave you one?”

You watched with a lustful gaze as his hand moved up and down, your eyes not leaving the sight as you desperately tried to get some sort of relief. “I had plenty before you showed up,” you hissed, sliding a finger into your tight hole.

“You know, all you have to do is admit that I'm right: That I've ruined you and all you can think about is how good it feels when I'm fucking you. Admit it and I’ll get you off.”

Pushing another finger inside yourself, you refused to admit that he was telling the truth. Nothing felt as good as he did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? You shouldn't want or need him. Not after everything he had done to your family.

He groaned as he watched your fingers sink in. “You're so pathetic laying there. My pretty little slut wants to prove the impossible. Just wants to prove that she doesn't need me when we both know that's a fucking lie,” he grunted as his cock twitched, making you clench in want despite your anger at his words. “Better hurry up and say it. Otherwise I'm going to come all over you and you're going to be left begging to come and not get off at all.”

You whined as a tear fell from your eye. “You're an asshole. The lowest of the low.”

He chuckled as he brushed his thumb along the tip, watching as your eyes followed the motion. “Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings and that's mean, princess. That isn't you. I'm the mean one in this relationship.”

Your fingers froze as you narrowed your eyes. “Relationship? Don't you mean your prisoner?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he smirked, something darker than before. “You think you're a prisoner? You have no fucking idea. I’ve been to prison. This is a fucking walk in the park,” he said, pouring more salt in the open wound when he added, “And your dad knows all about prison now, doesn't he?”

You choked on your next breath. “How dare-”

“Relationship, prisoner, my girl. You're still fucking mine,” he snarled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “And I'm still right. So just say it. Tell me you need my cock and I'll get you off. Fuck that pretty pussy so good you cry for me. Won't even make you apologize for repeatedly calling me an asshole.”

“I wish I never met you,” you blurted out.

Guilt churned in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. Why did you still care after what he did? Why did he matter to you? “You don't mean that,” he whispered before he blinked, ice in his gaze. “You’re just being a fucking brat.”

You let out a small scream of frustration when you removed your fingers and reached for your side drawer where you kept your vibrator. If Bucky was going to keep being an asshole who wouldn't get you off, your toy would. But he didn't let you get very far. Not when he was on you in a flash, throwing the toy far behind him and pinning your wrists above your head.

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours.

“Oh no, princess. You're so confident you can come without me then that must mean you don't need any help at all coming,” he smirked, gripping your wrists tighter as you squirmed beneath him. You didn't dare look down when his cock brushed against your skin. “It's cute that you think you're stronger than I am. That sexual frustration must really be fucking with your head. I can fix that.”

“You're fucking sick. I don't… I… I don't need you,” you said, not having to see your eyes to know your pupils were blown with lust. Your tongue darted out to lick bottom lip before your gaze settled on his, challenging. “You need me more than I need you. What was it you said? That I was the best pussy you ever had? And you’d be happy to keep your cock in me all day every day?”

“Just like my cock is the best you ever had.”

You opened your legs a bit more when he clenched his jaw. “And you don't want to finish on me. You want to be in me. If it were any other guy, he'd-”

He growled when he grabbed your chin. It was a reminder of just how strong he was and how he could hurt you if he wanted to. “There are no other guys. Do you fucking hear me?”

It was your turn to smirk. Bucky was a lot of things, but he never strayed. Not once. He would forever be faithful. “You sure about that? Maybe I can't relax right now, but if you won't fuck me I’m sure I can find someone who-”

He flipped you on your stomach and gripped the back of your neck before you could finish that statement. “If you think I wouldn’t kill any guy who touches you, you’re out of your fucking mind. Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

You bit back a moan at the gravel in his voice as you turned your head to the side, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. It was dangerous to poke the bear, but you were past the point of caring. Especially when fury looked beautiful on him. “What's wrong, Bucky? Don't like the taste of your own medicine?”

He leaned down, his breath harsh against your ear. “I prefer the taste of your pussy. Always so good for me. You wanna hear that I need you? Fine. I fucking need you,” he rasped, biting at your earlobe. “Happy?”

“And that you’re sorry?”

“For hurting you? Yes,” he whispered, nosing along your neck. “Never meant to hurt you.”

You shuddered, almost delirious from needing to come. And the fact that he admitted that he needed you. That he was sorry for hurting you. But you weren't ready to play nice. “I'll be happier when you finally decide to fuck me, but you're just a fucking asshole, aren't you?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole.” He nipped your earlobe roughly again in retaliation before settling between your legs and teasingly brushing the tip of his cock along your folds. “And I'll fuck you when you say you need me, too.”

You tried to push back to take him in, but he kept a firm hold on your hips. You tried to wiggle out of it, but it only brought you frustration as you groaned. “If you're really going to make me say it, don't hold your breath. You can't threaten me, Bucky. You're all talk. And guess what?” You said, smiling sweetly. “I can find another guy to fuck me better than you can.”

You couldn’t see the thunderous look in his eyes, but you heard the low and menacing chuckle in his throat. It sent chills down your spine. Maybe you pushed too far this time, but you didn’t care. He deserved it and worse.

“You're trying to piss me off and I want you to remember that you pushed me to this,” he said more to himself than you before sheathing you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a cry at his sudden intrusion. “Hope you enjoy the bed since you won't even be able to walk out of this room.”

You stared at the wall, your eyes unseeing as Bucky tore you apart. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. The sound of his grunts from behind you filled your ears, along with the brutal slap of skin-on-skin. Your body burned, the overwhelming stretch from his cock making you lose sense of yourself. You told yourself he’d finish fucking you soon, but that felt like ages ago.

You also told yourself there was no way you’d have another orgasm, but he proved you wrong. Climax after climax, your release practically flooded around him. At this rate, you really wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

“Bucky,” you gasped, trying to grip the sheets for purchase as he pulled out and slammed back into you. “Please…”

You were boneless, exhausted, and he just kept going. “Oh, no, princess. You wanted to get off.”

Tears of ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, whimpering when you felt yourself on the cusp of another orgasm. How was that possible? How many had he given you? “Bucky, I…” you moaned as you clenched around his cock again.

He cooed, a taunting sound when you choked on a sob. “So good, but I want another.”

“I don't… ” Your eyes rolled back, your head spinning. “I can't.”

You’d seriously lost count at that point how many times you’d come. And your whimper didn't stop Bucky from mockingly cooing again. “Aww, you don't think you can? My poor little fuck doll can still talk which means she hasn't had enough yet. This pussy is so fucking wet for me, so swollen,” he taunted, reaching underneath you and flicking your overstimulated clit as a choked moan escaped you, your walls tightening around him once again. “See? Your greedy little cunt can't get enough of me.”

Why did your body need him so badly? “I can't…” you whined as he licked one of your tears away, seemingly unbothered by the sheen of sweat on your face.

“You think anyone else can do this? Work your body up like this over and over again?” He grunted against your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut at his harsh panting, his pace not slowing. “All you had to do was say that you need me. But no. You just had to be a fucking brat.”

You practically wailed as you teetered on the edge of another orgasm. “I-I need you. Just you, Bucky,” you said. At least, you thought you said it. You had a tough time stringing any thoughts together with his cock splitting you open.

But his thrusts don’t slow. They were just as relentless as before. “Oh, no. You had your chance to say it,” he snarled, leaning up to pull your hips back against his. “And my pussy is telling me all I need to know. So just lay there and give me another.”

The pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as a sob escaped. There was no possible way you could come again. As much as you thought you couldn’t take it, your body tensed. You still craved him and wanted to give him one more. So you did. You shattered. It was almost too easy that he managed to pull another orgasm from your pliable body.

Or maybe you were just easy for him.

Bucky smacked your ass hard enough to make you cry out, his hand kneading the flesh with a delighted groan. “Fuck, each one is better than the last, princess. You want me to fill you up huh? You wanna feel me dripping from you?” He chuckled darkly, finally slowing down as you let out another sob. He shushed you before he put a hand on the back of your neck and kept you down. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it. Then, I'm gonna lick you clean until I'm satisfied.”

“No…”

He gave you one more smack for good measure when you made a sound of protest. “C'mon, princess. Beg for me to fill you up. If you can talk.”

You didn’t know if you could. You were practically a drooling mess as he drove in as deep as he can go. “Pl… Pl… Bu…” you tried to moan, another tear falling as he shushed you again.

“Got you cockdrunk, didn't I? Need to be pumped full? Then let me give you every. Fucking. Drop.”

A tired moan came out when he filled you up, giving a few slow thrusts as he finished. Your body trembled beneath him, a whiplash of chills and heat. You barely registered him pulling out before he flipped you onto your back. Glassy and unfocused eyes. Makeup smeared all your face. Tears stains on your cheeks. You must’ve looked quite the sight.

He relished in ruining you.

And the beautiful bastard didn’t even look like he broke a sweat.

“Should I call you a dog? You’re drooling, princess,” he smirked. You didn’t have it in you to argue as his eyes drifted down to your pussy. It was still twitching and leaking with your mixed release. He licked his lips as he slid down your body more to fully take in the sight. “And you look good enough to eat, so I think that's just what I'll do.”

“What…” you gasped. He couldn't. Not after all that.

You whimpered as you tried to push him away with a tired hand, but he grabbed your wrists with a tsk. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You keep your hands to yourself. I told you I wasn't done with you and it's rude to keep a man from his meal.”

You were still floating from the multiple orgasms he gave you when he took his first lick. Your shivers picked up again and he groaned at your taste before diving in. Any strength you had to try to push him away depleted immediately, even with how sensitive your walls felt. You couldn't stop him.

You’d never be able to stop him.

After a minute, your eyes widened when you felt him build you up again. “No,” you moaned, but the sight of him between your legs, eating you like he was starving, was too much.

He just hummed against you. "Give. Me. One. More.”

Your back arched when his lips latched onto your clit, forcing the orgasm from your worn out body. You weren’t sure if you made a sound, but you trembled as your release went on for what seemed like forever. Bucky’s tongue lapped it all up, humming before he sat back and looked at your wrecked form again. He made a show of licking the shine from his lips and looked just as proud as ruining you with his tongue the way he did with his cock.

“If you ever try to threaten me with another man or refuse to admit you want me again, I'll make sure to tie you to this bed for a week and refuse to let you come even if you beg for it. And I shouldn’t have to mention what else I can do. Do you understand?”

You trembled, knowing exactly what Bucky was capable of. While he never laid a hand on you to inflict pain, you knew the damage he did to others. Like the bodies buried and cold in the ground because of him. Not to mention the connections he still had at the prison. All he had to do was say the word and that would be the true end of your dad.

With unfocused and teary eyes, you gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered.

“Now tell me you love me and that you’re sorry,” he ordered.

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. “…Love you. I’m sorry.”

His smile was tender and for a second you forgot about everything else. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, your heart betraying you like your body did when he kissed your lips. “And I love you, too.”

You whined as he left your line of sight, but he came back almost right away to sit beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Drink it, princess,” he urged, his voice gentler than before he helped you take a sip of water. He even smiled again when he wiped another tear of yours away. “We can go back to the way it was before, you know. When you were blissfully unaware and we just quickly fell in love.”

The pain in your heart came and went as your breathing evened. You wished you could go back to innocent movie nights and meals. To waking up beside him with a smile on your face. To making love so passionate that you believed you were made for each other. There was no changing anything or going back. You could only move forward with him by your side.

Bucky sighed when you didn't say anything. “I know I’m a piece of shit, but I won't stop loving you. And I think you learned your lesson.”

You blinked a little as you took another sip, on the verge of passing out.

“You’re mine and I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, brushing the gentlest of kisses against the top of your head. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

So... I know he isn't all good, but I had fun writing this and I hope you lovelies enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts and maybe I'll expand on this? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[notarmedandnotdangerous]

+18 mdni! faux innocence; a fic where you're the newest member of the thunderbolts*, and bucky tries to bed you the entire week, thinking you were a virgin. boy, was he so wrong.

cw: faux innocent!m!reader, bucky tries to fuck you the entire week, no actual smut yet, mention of the thunderbolts*, suggestive, (accidental) thigh grinding, drinking (alcohol), dirty talk, bucky is weirdly affected by you ..

word count: >3.9k

- part 1 - part 2

!! @swiftie-fault

a/n: so i broke my phone, changed to this new one and it lags like crazy whenever i type out something long in my posts, someone please help! also .. showed my irl this acc.. if ure reading this, hi .... next part is actually filthy i swear

-------------------------------------------------------

you’re the kind of person that people overlook in rooms like this.

hq was all harsh lights, and harsher personalities, and then there’s you.

you always wore dark colours, sleeves rolled up carefully to your forearms, like you were trying to stay neat in a place that doesn’t care about it.

this persona of yours worked for most of the team. you’re the quiet, shy, polite one, somewhat similar to bob, in a way. you always nodded when spoken to, said ‘please’, and ‘thank you’ in the softest tones, you don’t spar loud, you don’t flirt, and you definitely don’t brag. you have those soft, kind eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made to whimper.

bucky decided you’re soft, a little shy, and a little delicate, completely forgetting the fact that you were a dangerous person. he also decides you’re definitely a virgin, definitely a bottom, definitely needs someone to show you the ropes.

he had built a whole delusion around it. in his head, you didn’t know how to touch yourself properly, get nervous when someone flirts with you, and you would probably blush the moment someone said something slightly perverted.

he’s a slut for the chase, especially for the ones who look like they wouldn’t know what to do with a tongue down their throat, and a hand down their pants.

—

for your first day on the team, you sat quietly at the edge of the gym, watching the others train while reading a book. you weren’t part of the session today, not technically.

to bucky, you looked like you belonged somewhere much gentler than this place, somewhere with tea, blankets, and not five ex-assasins trying to kill each other for warm-up.

he pauses mid-spar, because what the actual fuck are you doing looking like that?

his mouth went dry the moment he noticed you. he completely forgets what he was doing, and ends up walking right off the mat. he walks over to you, and he leans over.

“hey.”

your eyes blink up to meet his, slow, curious, and wide. you didn’t even notice him at first, so caught up in your book that it takes him standing right in front of you to pull you out of it.

“hi, sergeant. did you need something?”

he blinks hard.

god, your voice is soft. so soft like you’ve never raised it before in your life, so soft in a way that makes his stomach flip.

“nothing. just thought i’d keep you company.” he shrugs.

“oh, sure.” you blink, and smile faintly.

bucky let his eyes roam, subtle, but hungry. you were wearing simple athletic gear: a compression shirt, and black shorts. he swore there was no edge to you, just mild, harmless stillness.

“you always sit like that?” he quirks a brow.

“like.. what?” you tilt your head.

“innocent.”

you laugh, it was small. to him, it felt like you didn’t quite know how to take a compliment, or maybe you thought he was joking.

“i guess so.” you glance back down at your book, thumb brushing the edge of the page like you’re debating whether to return to it. “i just like watching everyone train. learning.” you don’t turn away from him completely, you’re still listening, still open, and kind.

bucky though? he takes it the wrong way, kinda. he looks you, and sighs. you’re the kind of guy he thinks he could pin down with one hand, the kind who would grab the sheets if he so much as touched you.

he doesn’t realise he’s staring.

“you ever get out there?” he asks, trying to sound casual, as if he didn’t just think about you in the most perverted, depraved way.

“sometimes.” you nod.

“bet you’re good.”

“i try to be.” you shrug.

you were so modest, it was unbearable. you could tell bucky you’d never thrown a punch, and he’d fucking believe it. he thinks you’re hiding behind all that softness because you’re shy, because you’re submissive.

“you don’t talk much.”

you look down at your book for a moment.

“i don’t really need to.”

that makes him pause, just for a second. he thinks it’s flirtation, thinks you’re just being shy, thinks he’s charming enough to wear you down if he keeps at it.

he doesn’t know you’re hiding behind it because it’s fun watching people misjudge you. and he definitely doesn’t know you could break his nose in three moves, or the fact that you’ve been thinking about what he’d look like sobbing on your cock since the moment he approached you.

“well, i’m around, you know? if you ever want to.. spar.” he leans back with a grin.

“sure, maybe.” you gave him a small smile.

bucky leaves thinking he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

but you? you’re barely affected at all.

—

the next day, you finally participate in training.

bucky clocks the teams forming around him. former mercenaries, spies, assassins, all vicious in their own way, except for you.

you’re adjusting your gloves with precise little tugs, head slightly downcast. you nod politely when called, even your stance was humble, like you’re expecting to take the first hit,

he smirks, he can’t help it.

you’re sweet. he’s seen the way you sit in the common room with your knees tucked up, not wanting to take up space, the way you tilt your head when you’re listening. to him, you weren’t built for violence.

bucky walks over, and taps you gently on the shoulder.

“guess we’re partners?” he says. “try not to go easy on me, handsome.”

“i’ll try.” you glance up.

the whistle blows, and he makes the first move, you let him.

bucky circles you with a cocky smirk, going for a quick jab to your ribs to test the waters, but you dodge it easily.

you’ve already calculated his reach, angle, and the slight giveaway in the way he shifts his weight.

he tries again, and you sidestep, letting him chase you. he wasn’t used to being toyed with like this.

and then you strike, quick, clean, and efficient. you catch his arm, use his momentum against him, and suddenly he’s on the floor.

the air slams out of him. he’s stunned, not because it hurt, but because he didn’t see it coming.

you straddle him smoothly, knees planted on either side of his hips. your hands find his wrists, and you pin them above his head. you don’t flinch, don’t even tremble. you were just focused, eyes narrowed, lips parted, breath calm. you weren’t smiling, you looked like someone solving a puzzle.

bucky’s heart was pounding. not from the impact, but because he realised how heavy you felt on top of him. your hips were pressed flush to his, your ass right against his lower stomach, your fingers tight on his wrists, and you’re looking down at him. he tries to break free, but you stop him.

“careful,” you murmur. “nearly dislocated your elbow with that angle.”

he blinks up at you, dazed.

then you get off of him smoothly, as if the whole thing wasn’t significant. you stand, dust off your palms, and offer him your hand to help him up.

“you’re good. fast, really good.” you said it like a genuine compliment, like you didn’t just pin him down like a wet dream on a tuesday afternoon.

he takes your hand, and fuck he’s hard. you walk off the mats, while he stays on his knees for a second longer than necessary. he doesn’t talk for ten minutes.

in the locker room afterwards, he peels off his shirt, and stands under a cold shower, trying to will his boner away. he was this close to embarrassing himself, almost came in his shorts like a fucking virgin. he couldn’t stop thinking about your thighs, your breath, and the tone of your voice telling him to be careful.

you’re dangerous, but he still thinks you’re completely oblivious.

—

it’s a late-night operation, storm clouds gathered around the ship. it was a standard sweep: infiltrate a suspected black-market weapons hub, disable the network, extract any hostels for questioning. it seemed easy, until it wasn’t.

the thunderbolts* split into a few teams. ava, yelena, and bob were together in the control center, alexei, and john covering the perimeter, while you, and bucky get to the main floor.

he was pleased with you. you’re easy to be around. quiet, respectful, doesn’t talk too much, just good traits for a partner in general. sure, he may have a habit of letting his eyes linger a bit too long when you bend over to check a crate, or wipe your face off with your sleeve, or just exist in general. but it’s fine, he thinks you’re soft, innocent, and he’s bored.

“stay behind me.” he says as the both of you step into the main hall. there were rows of crates, wires, and the overhead lights flickered like a horror movie.

you nodded, gripping your weapon neatly. your steps were quiet, and precise. you were calm, eyes alert, almost like you were playing along with his little game.

bucky doesn’t notice that part though.

you keep a polite half-step behind him as he leads the both of you through the warehouse. he peeks around corners, give hand signals, and you follow him. you weren’t just surveying the mission, you were surveying him.

everything goes sideways five minutes later. motion sensors trip, the lights slam red, steel shutters start closing, fast.

“shit, ambush.” he spoke. before he can react, a spray of bullets tore through the far wall. there were men shouting in spanish, the hallways were crawling with these armed men.

“this way.” you grab his wrist, and shove him down the nearest corridor. you move fast, faster than he expected. he barely registers the blur of your body until his back slams into a supply room door. you shut the door with a quiet click, then flip the lock without hesitation.

it was dark, cramped. bucky’s back was pressed against a metal shelf, and you, fuck, you’re right up against him. chest to chest, thigh between his legs, arm braced by his head.

‘oh fuck.’

you weren’t even breathing heavily, not flustered, not apologising for slamming him into a room, and standing obscenely close. you’re facing him, one hand braced against the wall near his head. your thigh slots naturally in between his legs as you leaned forward, listening at the door. your body was pressing him into the shelves, like you don’t even notice how intimate the position is, like your thigh wasn’t grazing his half-hard cock, like you didn’t set this up perfectly.

he was trying so hard to keep it together, trying so hard to not let his hips shift forward.

you pressed your index finger to your lips, signalling for him to stay quiet.

bucky chokes on his own spit.

“you okay?” you ask after a second. your face was close, too close, and your lips looked so soft in the dim light.

he swears he’s going to pass out.

“f-fine.. peachy.” he rasps.

then, your thigh shifts. just slightly, unintentionally.

unfortunately, the pressure lands perfectly against the underside of his hardening cock, and he lets out a broken noise.

“..mmph.” he instantly regrets it.

‘did he just hear that?’

your head turns, just a little.

‘fuck. oh fuck. i’m done for. please don’t look at me-’

“did i hurt you, sergeant?” your voice was so soft, so sincere, it was criminal.

bucky couldn’t even look at you. he shook his head quickly, breath catching. “no- uh, just surprised me.”

‘holy shit, that felt good.’

‘does he know?’

‘there’s no way, he’s so.. sweet.’

‘god, what if he does know?’

you nod, and go back to listening at the door as if nothing had ever happened. your thigh doesn’t move, you don’t step back, you stay exactly where you are.

his pulse was in his throat now, he clenches his jaw as he feels the flush spreading all the way up his neck, and to the tips of his ears. his cock was throbbing, and your thigh was right there. you were just so calm, so quiet, so innocent, it’s unbearable. he swears that it is.

you were so calm, like this wasn’t the most unintentionally filthy thing you had ever done to him.

when you finally step back, unlock the door, and glance over your shoulder, he can’t find one single piece of proof. your face was polite, your eyes were gentle.

‘i swear to fucking god, if he tells me i did great when we leave this closet, i will actually cum in my fucking pants.’

“let’s move. you did great, bucky.” you walk off, silent, and graceful.

‘i hate it here.’

bucky stumbles after you, his pants are way too tight, his face is flushed, and his dignity shattered.

—

your room was quiet, dim. your tv screen glows with a soft, desaturated colour. you were playing a foreign film, and half curled under a blanket. a soft lamp light glowed on your bedside table.

you don’t even look up when bucky knocks.

“yeah?”

“just me.” he says, as if it explains anything.

“you want to come in?”

he hesitates, before he opens your door.

“hey, everything okay?” you scoot over a bit on the bed, making just enough room for him, still polite, still gentle.

“yeah, just- uh, couldn’t sleep.” bucky sits down on your bed.

his stomach flips. he doesn’t deserve this kind of invitation. the way your voice hums so gently when you speak to him? the way you smell like clean sheets, and honey tea? the fact that your god damn room felt safe? it was all too much for him.

“what’s this?” he broke the silence.

“it’s called wings of desire. it’s german, and really pretty.”

“sounds depressing.”

“a little.” you smiled faintly. “but it’s soft, i like that.”

you rest your chin on your hand, elbow braced on a pillow, fully focused on the screen. you were so quiet, but so present at the same time. to him, you seemed like the type of person who listens to old jazz vinyl records, and writes real letters, the type of person who really means it when he says “i like this part.” when watching a movie.

bucky was going to fucking combust.

after a minute, you lifted your blanket, and offer it to him.

he takes it, and slips beneath it with a very awkward inch between your thighs, and his.

“you sure you’re okay?” you sipped your tea. “you wander around at night often?”

“just needed some quiet.”

you hummed, nodding.

“i’ll rewind a bit, it just started.”

“you don’t have to-”

“i don’t mind.” you did anyway, with no hesitation, like bucky belonged here, like you don’t realise just how hard he already is.

you shifted under the blanket, and your thigh bumps against his. you don’t move away, or tense, just rest your mug against your knee, and lean slightly forward to press play again.

“you’re warm.” he blurts suddenly.

you glance at him, and blink, as if the comment surprised you.

“am i?”

“yeah.”

“probably the tea.” you smile again, barely, before turning back to the movie.

ten minutes pass, and bucky doesn’t watch a second of the film.

his focus was entirely on you. the occasional shift of your shoulder brushing his, the sound of you chuckling whenever the film makes a silly joke. you’re so close, so sweet, so gentle.

he wants to bite you.

“you always this quiet?”

“mhm.” you glance at him. “too quiet?”

“no- no. it’s.. nice. peaceful.”

“you can talk if you want to.” you say it like an offer.

“you always let people just hang out in your room?”

“not really, no.“

“so why me?”

“you looked like you needed it.” you shrugged.

finally, bucky does the one thing he swore he would never do. he closes his eyes, rolls onto his side, and pretends to fall asleep. he lets his arm ‘accidentally’ settle across your waist.

still, you don’t say anything, you don’t move it, you don’t react at all. you just reached for your mug, and sipped again.

a few minutes pass like that, then you adjust slightly, stretch your arm, and accidentally bumped into something.

bucky gasps audibly.

you pause the movie.

“sorry, did i hurt you?”

“no, just sore from the mission yesterday.” he’s beet red, and half-hard.

“you should ice it, or get a massage.” you frown. concerned. your tone is so sweet, so genuine, and so unassuming.

bucky just nods like an idiot.

“yeah, maybe i will.”

and you? you just unpause the movie.

the thoughts inside his head were running wild.

‘i could fucking die right now.’

’he’s so sweet, so good.’

‘i can’t corrupt him, i won’t.. unless he asks for it, then i’m ruined.’

you don’t move again, don’t say a word. but when the movie ends, and he’s still lying there beside you, you glance down.

“falling asleep?”

“..maybe.”

“you can stay, i’ll wake you up before sunrise.”

‘he has no idea.’ bucky thinks. ‘he has no clue what he’s doing to me.’

except you do, you’re just playing along.

—

you don’t normally drink like this. usually, you’re measured, calm, and a quiet presence at the edge of the crowd. you were the gentle teammate, polite, steady, respectful.

so bucky definitely wasn’t expecting this.

the mission a few days ago went well, the thunderbolts* actually worked like a team. there were minimal injuries, and clean execution. so naturally, alexei offered to pay for drinks, and now all of you are cramped into a dark booth at a bar two blocks away from base.

ava’s in a heated pool game with john, bob’s trying to finish bingo, bucky’s sipping his whiskey, alexei’s talking to the bartender, and yelena’s slumped beside you with an arm around your shoulders, she’s the reason you’re already five drinks in.

“come on, sweet thing.” yelena grinned, pushing another glass into your hand. “we didn’t nearly die for you to sip water.”

“that’s.. not water.” you blinked.

“exactly.”

you laughed, soft, and tipsy.

bucky sat across from you, drink in hand, and he’s watching you with a downright feral fascination. he didn’t think it would be this easy to get you drunk.

you were drunk. you kept blinking slowly, and rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands. every time yelena laughed too loud, you’d just smile softly. you were touchier than usual too. your knee kept brushing his under the table, and you’re leaning into yelena’s shoulder with a soft hum.

when yelena slides out of the booth to get more drinks, he decides to strike. he leans forward, grinning.

“going to grab another round, don’t move.” she shoots the both of you a quick grin, and heads to the bar.

he waited for yelena to walk a bit further, before starting.

“you alright, sweetheart?”

you tilted your head at bucky, and your pupils were blown wide.

“mhm. you’re always so nice to me.”

“well, you make it easy.” he drawls.

“you’re just saying that.. you always tease me.”

“would you let me, if i wasn’t joking?” he tilts his head at you.

“hm?”

“if i actually tried something, would you stop me?” he raises his brows.

that shy smile of yours spreads again, and you don’t answer. instead, you lean in closer, not even on purpose, just soft, and unsteady, and your thigh brushes against his again.

bucky’s heart pounds. he sees an opening, and leans in closer from across the table.

“careful, sweetheart. someone might think you’re trying to get me to touch you.”

the second yelena was out of earshot, he got bolder. he leaned forward, just a little more, but enough that his voice can drop low, and filthy.

“if we were alone right now, i’d have you under me. spread out, moaning so loud i’d have to cover your pretty mouth.”

you kept sipping your drink.

“you’d be shaking for it, wouldn’t you? i’d have you begging for more, gripping my arms like you can’t handle it.” he’s grinning now, drunk on his own confidence.

you sigh, and then you speak. quiet, steady, and terrifyingly soft.

“bucky, you’d be crying before i even touched your cock.”

his jaw drops.

‘what the fuck?’

“you’d be the one begging. you’d forget your own name before i’m even finished with you.”

bucky lets out the tiniest breath, half a gasp, and half a moan.

‘what the actual fuck was that.’

his pupils were blown wide, and his hand clenches on his own thigh like he needed something to hold onto to physically ground himself. his mouth opens like he’s about to say something, maybe ask you to prove it, until yelena comes back.

“okay, i’m back. here’s your drinks, what did i miss?” she sets down three more drinks on the table, and drops back into her seat next to you like she had never left.

“thank you, ‘lena.” you smiled softly at her.

he lurches upright like someone had just yanked a collar around his neck. his eyes darted to yelena, and then back to you, then down to the table. he was panicked, flushed, and clearly hard.

“you good, barnes?” yelena asks.

“me? yeah. great. fine. normal.” he replies.

“what’s going on?” she turned towards you, and you shrugged.

“nothing. we were just.. uh, talking. about the mission.” he stutters.

bucky doesn’t hear the next sentence.

his mind was still stuck on your voice, stuck on the way you said such obscene things with such a sweet tone as if it wasn’t dirty at all.

you took another sip of your drink, knuckles brushing the condensation off the glass, and his gaze drops, just for a second, to your hand, to the way your fingers wrapped around the glass.

something short-circuits in his brain, because the glass looked small, like it didn’t belong there. it wasn’t even a shot glass, it was a full rocks glass.

and now bucky’s thinking about something else, about your grip. he thought about how solid it is, how sure, and how your palm alone could probably cover half of his stomach.

‘what would it feel like-’ he cut himself off by pressing his fingers to his temples. this definitely wasn’t the time to be having depraved thoughts about his fucking coworker, not when the coworker in question was literally sitting across from him.

no, no. he shouldn’t be thinking about that. except he is. he’s thinking about your fingers wrapping around something else, about your palm dragging over his cock with that innocent look in your face.

‘if his hands are big, then his cock is-’

bucky swallows hard, and shifts in his seat. he crosses his legs, and looks anywhere but at your hands, anywhere but at the fingers that could probably hold his wrists down like they’re nothing.

it broke something in him, because he definitely wasn’t prepared for all that.

fuck. he’s going to hell.

[mallory524]

Can I request thunderbolts and how they handle female reader whos feeling down? About a person thing or a mission or whatever, it doesnt matter, just maybe some hugs if its not too much to ask? I love love love your thunderbolts reactions to reader getting kidnapped!! Im also so obsessed with them rn <3

(ahhhh you're so nice thanks)

thunderbolts when you're feeling down

tags- fem!reader, comfort, hugsss, vague mentions of injuries, people are mean but the thunderbolts love you

notes- i know i've been taking so long to get back to requests i've been busy and i barely went on tumblr the last few days but i'm turning that around now let's go babyyy

Yelena

You’d gotten hurt during a mission that went very wrong and Yelena had to help you hobble out of there herself. Your body may have healed pretty quickly, but you were definitely acting differently for the next few days. You were just so … sad. It was surprising for Yelena, especially since this was by no means the worst mission you’d ever been on. Nonetheless, you weren’t your usual bright self, and Yelena knew something was eating away at you.

Yelena won’t let you pretend nothing’s wrong, of course. She eventually gets to the bottom of it, hearing you say it made you feel weak after needing so much help the other day. "Yelena, you and Ava have such cool abilities, and we’ve got three super soldiers Plus, a guy who can’t even go on these missions because he’s too powerful to be let loose-" She quickly cuts you off. "No, do not start that. Don't start comparing yourself to other people. You are one of the most capable people I know. You've saved me and the others so many times. You don't even give it a second thought," she tells you, taking your hand into hers. "This is just one of those times we get to help you. You deserve to have someone take care of you for once." Just the way she says that she gets to help you really shows how much she cares about you, and how much she wants to be there for you when you need her.

If going out and taking a brisk walk around town would make you feel better, Yelena's got her shoes on, ready to go. If you want to fall asleep watching a movie with her, she'll grab some snacks and a big blanket to wrap around you. She won't leave your side until she's seen you smile - really smile - and even then, she's still spending as much time with you as she can. No such thing as too many hugs or too many kind words for you.

Bucky

Being with a congressman, you already had a lot of events you had to attend, but now you're both in the New Avengers sort of against your will, so double that. It's constant formal events and conferences and banquets, and talking to some of the most arrogant people in the world at all of them. You try to make friends, or at least find someone to talk to, but your efforts aren't often met with the response you want. Some are nice, but a lot of these high society types look down on you. You try not to take it personally, because they look down on everyone, but it's hard not to be discouraged when you're constantly surrounded by people who believe themselves to be so much better than you. They're so cold, and Bucky is often the only real source of warmth or kindness you have all night.

After you get home after an especially exhausting evening, Bucky waits for you to get changed into your comfy clothes so he can talk to you. The moment you walk back into the room, he pulls you into a hug. "You're so patient for putting up with all these things," he mutters to you. You try to tell him that you don't mind, but he knows. These events have gotten to be draining. You finally tell Bucky how those people are really starting to bring you down. He reminds you that he loves you so much, and you shouldn't spend time worrying about anyone who can't see how wonderful you are.

Bucky will cook you some comfort food or draw you a bath if you want, or the two of you can just spend the rest of the night quietly enjoying each other's company, watching something or listening to music. He'll do anything you want. He hates when you're discouraged like this and he just wants you to feel better.

Ava

Life with the Thunderbolts/Avengerz has been great, but lately things haven't been as fun. The team is getting really busy, so you aren't taking the time to hang out anymore. It feels like when you're not on a mission, you just sit around the tower and everyone does their own thing. It was nice at first, but it's gotten lonely. You're spending all your time alone or working, and you've been in low spirits as a result.

Ava's concerned by your change in demeaner, and one day she asks you about it. When you finally open up and tell her how lonesome you've been lately, she feels terrible. "You're right, we haven't been spending enough time together. I'm sorry," she tells you, gently reaching out to embrace you. "We should be making more of an effort to hang out throughout the day. We've had a lot of big changes in our lives lately, and you shouldn't be processing it all by yourself." She sits with you for the rest of that afternoon, talking, laughing, watching tv and holding each other. When you leave the room for a moment to grab a blanket, Ava texts Yelena and asks that she make sure no one has anything planned later tonight; the team should do something together, even something simple like a movie night with everyone crammed on the couch. Ava likes her solitude, but she knows you'll love spending some quality time with the group. She doesn't want you to have to spend another night isolated in your room.

John

The mission had been pretty rough, and nearly failed completely. It was a rescue mission, and in spite of the chaos and darkness, you thought you'd figured out where the hostages were. It immediately became clear, though, that you'd fallen into a trap and led your friends right into it with you. You eventually got out of there and saved the people you were looking for, but you were all injured to varying degrees because of your mistake.

Back at the tower later, you're laying down on your bed all alone while everyone chats in the other room. John walks in, sits beside you, and asks what's going on. "I almost got us all killed, Walker. I can’t face any of them,” you say, sitting up but not turning your head to meet his eyes. Hearing you talk like this breaks his heart - and hearing your voice tremble a little like you might cry sends him into a panic. "Hey, hey it's okay! You made a mistake. Everyone does... you know I have."

"Well, Ava was pretty mad at me back there. She has every right, but you know... it hurts." He gently turns your face so he can look at you. It's sad, you're blaming yourself for everyone else's injuries, but you're looking pretty banged up yourself. "Well I'm not mad at you," he says softly. "You helped a lot of people today. It just didn’t go very smoothly. You did your best, don’t beat yourself up about this." You've got him by your side for the rest of the night. He doesn't want to rejoin the group, he just wants to be there for you. You lay there with your head on his chest, as he gently strokes your hair. He occasionally leans further down to quietly compliment you: telling you how smart you are, how beautiful you are, how strong...

Alexei

The news is rarely on in the tower. It's a lot of the same stuff over and over, and many channels don't have anything nice to say about any of you. It's usually not anything surprising or even very personal, just repetitive. A lot of "Who even are these people?" and "How can we trust them?" and "Captain America is suing those frauds " and "Remember when John Walker killed that guy?". It starts to get to you, though, when the press starts to find out more and more about your past. Turning on the tv and seeing literal footage of the things in your life that you regret the most is the worst feeling.

Alexei catches on to what's happening. You seem sort of down all the time and you're not talking very much anymore at those galas and charity events that you all have to go to, or even to your friends for that matter. You eventually confide in Alexei about how much this is all beginning to bother you. He grabs you by the shoulders, looking you in the eyes and immediately trying to cheer you up. "Do not listen to any of them. You know who you are and we all know who you are. These vultures just look for the worst in everyone. You have come a long way and you are doing your best. Do not forget that." You now have someone standing up for you whenever some reporter tries to give you a hard time. Alexei is a very friendly guy, but he can be intimidating when he needs to be. He texts you throughout the day to see how you're feeling, even after you insist you're fine. He will do anything you want to do if he thinks it'll raise your spirits, even if that's just a big hug at the end of a really tough day.

Bob

Most of the time, the team works on their own, but you do have to check in with Valentina occasionally. No one enjoys that. Her career is almost entirely in the hands of the New Avengers, so she kisses up to you when she thinks it will help her, but she's still kind of the worst. You meet up with Valentina on your own today and you try to be cordial, but she keeps throwing in little digs. She asks you if you’ve slept because “you look so tired”, she asks if that's really what you're wearing to the press conference, and before you leave, she tells you to leave the talking to her tonight. "We really want them to root for us, and with your past... well you understand,” she says. You carefully remind Valentina that she's one to talk about bad press, and that shuts her up, but her words stick with you regardless.

Bob's in the other room, listening to the constant slights. He knows all too well how Valentina can be so inviting, and then belittling a second later. It’s not clear whether or not she even realizes she's doing it. Maybe it makes her feel like she still has a little power over you and the team. You brush off all her words, but Bob knows it's gotten to be too much. Throughout that long, boring press conference, Bob keeps glancing your way, and you seem sort of off. Bob pulls you to the side afterwards and asks you about that meeting with Valentina, checking in to make sure you’re okay. You just wave it off and tell him you don't care, and that "being a little rude is definitely not the most egregious of Valentina's many crimes". He nods and takes your hands as he tells you, "I know, but I don't like hearing her talk to you that way. You’re just… you’re just so great. I don’t want you thinking otherwise. Especially not because of people like her.” You wrap your arms around him and thank him for his sweet words. Bob doesn't just move on after that, though. He knows how much impact words have. He makes sure to regularly assure you, tell you how nice you look, and comment on how kind and strong you are whenever he can. The world isn't kind and he wants to make up for it. He doesn't want you forgetting how wonderful you are.

[thedevilsoftruth]

riding congressman bucky’s face. that’s it. that’s the request.

( ily and your writing, make sure to stay hydrated!! wishing you the best in everything!! <3 )

Thank you so much, anon. 💜💜

All I can say to that is yes. Yes yes yes.

Smooth

Congressman Barnes x F! Reader

Sum - an interview with a very hot congressman goes wrong.

W/c - less then 1k (if you would like a fuller version, please let me know!!

I do NOT consent to my work being reposted or translated on any website.

MDNI!! I am not responsible for what you find on the internet!!!

[my request box is currently open. PLEASE see my pinned post for more information regarding my request rules.]

You don't even know how it happened. One moment you're interviewing a congressman, and the next that same man is fingering you on his bed in his expensive penthouse. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't the absolute sexiest and hottest thing you'd ever been through. He was so persuasive and smooth. His flirting was subtle and was the kind that had your mind reeling and overanalyzing every single little thing he said. But his sex? Even better.

He'd been going at it for over and hour and a half, mouthing and slurping down your over-used and sensitive drooling cunt. He kept going and didn't seem to stop. He had your hands tied to his bedposts with the red wine tie he had previously worn to a campaign event that evening. Everything was so overwhelming and overestimating, especially since you weren't used to hook ups. Especially from ex assassins turned democratic congressmen.

So when he had wiped his mouth and soaked beard off with his white button down shirt and crawled up your body to untie you, you finally thought he was done. That was at least until he stripped himself of the white shirt dress shirt he was wearing and gave your wet pussy a slap with an even wetter palm (which you had previously came on four times.)

"Want you to come sit on my face." He panted, his voice scratchy and hoarse as he quickly threw the shirt on the ground like it had personally offended him. You blinked at him, your face flushed and sweaty with your hair sticking to it.

"Wha?" You breathe, confused and dazed. The both of you are so fucked out, but he is not stopping. Not until his jaw goes fucking numb. He lays onto the bed next to you, how heavy body plopping down into the mattress.

"Sit. On. My face." He commands, pointing to his face with a vibranium finger. You look down on him, confused. His patience snaps and he grabs your hips and throws you down onto his stomach.

"I'm not repeating myself again, babydoll. You either start riding it and soaking my fucking beard or I'll stop touching you all together." He huffs, his teeth gritted and his voice gruff with need. You never would have expected your congressman to have such an oral fixation, but you were not complaining. So, up you went; shaky legs parting as you positioned yourself above his head, your knees pressing deep into the mattress as you hovered above your face.

"Is this okay? Can you breathe?"you ask him worriedly, looking down at him. His eyebrows knit tightly, and his strong hands grab your hips and slam you down onto his face.

"Breathing's overrated." Is the last thing he says before his mouth was on you. His thick tongue licked a long line across your messy folds. Your head tipped back in pleasure, low moans escaping your mouth as he licked you up steady and slow. You're already so overstimulated and overwhelmed from the previous orgasms he pulled out of you, and he hadn't even fucked you yet.

You try to hover away from him. Instinctively. The pleasure is just too much for you to handle.

But his vibranium hand squeezes your hip and he spanks your ass with a flesh hand, making you yelp in surprise.

"No. None of that. Sit." He tells you, pushing you down onto his face. You pull off of him again, bracing your arms in the headboard for support.

"I just want to make sure you're okay--"

"I have your pussy on my mouth, of course I'm okay. Im not stopping until I make you cum or unless I black out. Now quit your yapping and let me eat."

You let him pull you back down onto his greedy lips, and he moans in approval the moment he feels your weight on him.

"Ride me." He says against your pussy, kissing your folds and flicking your clit with his tongue. You look down at him again, confused snd sex-dazed.

"Don't make me repeat myself." He said, gripping your flesh hard enough that you were sure he'd leave bruises behind. You whine and press your face into the headboard before slowly, steadily rolling your hips across his face. His nose bumps against your clit and you can feel his beard dampening at the warm slick of your used cunt. The full, thick streaks of facial hair brush against your inner thighs.

You bite down on your finger and moan loud, your hips rocking against your lovers face. The way his lips brush and caress your flesh should be a crime. The way he rolls his tongue against your clit and labia just feels so right but so wrong.

"Mr. Barnes," You moan, your hips beginning to stutter as they try desperately to keep up. "I c-cant--"

He pulls away and smacks your ass. You yelp aloud, gripping the headboard like it owed you money.

"Do you want me to tie your wrists together with my belt and muffle your mouth with my tie?" He questioned, looking at you with mean blue eyes that made your pussy flutter.

"N-no sir." You responded weakly, your voice wobbly with the rest of his threat.

"Then shut the fuck up and ride me like the good little journalist you are."

[mandoalorian]

his body, her fury [bucky barnes x f!reader]

pairing: new avenger!bucky x f!reader

synopsis: tensions crackle as the mission to track down reed richards spirals into chaos beneath manhattan’s streets. with tempers flaring and powers unleashed, lines blur between enemy and ally—especially when instincts overpower intention.

word count: 6700

rating/warnings: 18+ explicit content, male masturbation, bucky has a steamy shower moment, canon typical violence/action, angst, bucky/sam still aren’t friends, enemies to lovers, details of injury, avengers tower fic, thunderbolts spoilers

masterlist

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The street was dead. Not the kind of dead that came with sleep or silence — the kind that buzzed with something wrong. Static in the air. Lights in the buildings overhead flickered like they were trying to whisper warnings.

“You sure this is the place?” John’s voice cut through the fog as he slung his taco-shaped shield over his back, boots clunking loudly against cracked concrete. “Because it looks like a dump.”

“It’s supposed to,” Bucky muttered from the front, barely glancing back. “That’s the point.”

You adjusted the strap of your tactical vest, the weight of your comms gear pressing against your shoulder. The tip you’d received from Valentina said there was energy movement underground — something not registered by satellites but pulsing with dimensional interference. And supposedly, Reed Richards had something to do with it.

“I’ve seen dumps with more personality,” Alexei grumbled beside you. “In Russia, we have garbage fires that are warmer than this city.”

You smirked in spite of yourself. “You talk a lot for someone who nearly tripped the last three sensors.”

“I am stealthy,” he replied, squinting ahead like a bloodhound in war paint. “You are simply not perceptive enough to notice.”

“She’s plenty perceptive,” Bucky snapped, stopping at a rusted manhole cover etched with what looked like claw marks.

John rolled his eyes. “Oh good, here comes your moody boyfriend routine.”

You stiffened.

“I’m not her—” “He’s not my—”

You and Bucky spoke at the same time, then glared at each other.

Bucky was already kneeling beside the manhole, wrenching the cover off with one gloved hand. You watched as he pulled at it with ease, managing to tear away something which would usually take a whole team of men and machinery. The scent that came out was metallic and wrong, like burnt ozone and bleach. He didn’t look at you when he said, “Stay in front of me when we go in. Don’t touch anything.”

“Why? Scared I’ll break something?” you shot back.

“No,” he said without blinking. “Scared you’ll get hurt.”

That stunned you more than it should have. You recovered fast.

“I can handle myself.”

“We’ll see.”

“Can we save the foreplay for later?” John drawled as he dropped into the opening. “Some of us are trying to save the world.”

You felt your eye twitch.

Alexei went next, grumbling something about “American sarcasm” and “no damn manners.” You followed, fingers tight on the ladder rungs, the cold metal slick beneath your gloves. When you landed at the bottom, ankle-deep in shadow and ancient water, you were surrounded by whispering pipes and humming machinery.

It felt like the underground had a heartbeat.

“Oh, gross,” you muttered, waving a hand in front of your face as the sewer air clung to your skin like rot. “Smells like Bucky’s personality down here.”

Behind you, a heavy thud echoed as Bucky dropped in, the metal grate clanging back into place above. His arm brushed yours, and you shifted away reflexively.  “Cute,” he said dryly, brushing dust off his tactical vest. “I didn’t realise we were rating sewer systems now. Are you always going to be this pleasant on missions? Or am I just that lucky tonight?”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “Only when I have to share air with someone whose idea of charm is brooding and breathing too loudly.”

Bucky scoffed, stepping just close enough to brush your shoulder as he passed. His touch made a shiver crawl over you. “Lucky for you, I don’t need charm to get the job done.”

Your jaw tightened, pulse flickering. “No, just a personality like sandpaper and the warmth of a corpse.”

He paused, just a beat, then smirked — barely. “Still can’t stop staring, though.”

You scoffed, biting down the flush rising to your cheeks. “Only to remind myself what not to work with.”

Alexei, trudging just behind you, looked between the two of you with big, gleaming eyes. “Is this flirting?” he whispered—not quietly. “Because it kind of feels like flirting.”

John Walker snorted. “Lover’s quarrel,” he muttered under his breath, wiping sewer grime off his gloves. “They just need to kiss already and save us the tension migraines.”

“Say that again and I’ll show you a migraine,” you snapped, not even bothering to look at him. “I don’t have time to play babysitter to two men with over-inflated egos.”

“Two?” Bucky echoed, cocking a brow. “So I’m sharing that title now?”

“You’ve always been number one in my heart, Barnes,” you drawled sarcastically. “Right next to paper cuts and food poisoning.”

Alexei coughed to hide his laugh. “I like this team dynamic. It keeps me sharp.”

John grunted. “It’s gonna get us caught if you two don’t zip it. We’re not exactly stealthy when we’re bickering like high schoolers.”

“I’m not bickering,” you and Bucky said in unison, then scowled at each other like the very sound of being in sync was offensive.

Silence stretched briefly before Alexei whispered to himself, “Definitely flirting.”

You’d been walking for what felt like hours. The tunnels split and curved endlessly, coated in rust and algae, with flickering industrial lights above giving everything a sickly yellow tint. The deeper you went, the warmer it got. Not in any natural way — in a “maybe the Earth’s core is bleeding” way.

“This is a dead end,” John grumbled, shining his flashlight down a hallway that looped back into itself. “We’re wasting time. Probably a just bum’s hideout, and Val’s intel was bunk.”

“Valentina’s intel is never bunk,” Bucky said sharply, voice low and certain.

Alexei nodded vigorously. “She once told me to dig under a hot dog cart in Queens. Said I’d find contraband tech. I found a squirrel with a USB drive in its mouth. She was correct.”

John blinked, then scoffed. “Not what I meant. Why is that even a sentence?”

Alexei grinned. “She’s never wrong. Just like Bucky—sharp instincts. That’s why I listen.”

John snorted. “Yeah, well, maybe if Bucky grunted less and actually led like a human being, we wouldn’t be crawling through Manhattan’s sewer system like Ninja Turtles on a midlife crisis.”

Bucky didn’t dignify that with a response, but Alexei turned with a grunt. “You don’t respect him,” he said to John, stabbing a finger in Bucky’s direction. “This man saved the world.”

John raised a brow. “Yeah, and he also killed a couple dozen people before that. You forget about that part?”

You held your breath, waiting.

Alexei crossed his arms. “We all have skeletons. This one just happens to be a very efficient skeleton.”

You let out an involuntary snort. Even Bucky’s lip twitched.

“I’m checking this hatch,” you said quickly, pointing to a rusted grate high above. You stepped onto the ledge of a cracked pipe but the vent was just out of reach. You adjusted your footing, arms stretching — still not high enough.

“Here,” Bucky said.

You looked down just as he approached, silent again. His hands found your waist before you could object and suddenly — you were airborne. Lifted like you weighed nothing.

You gasped. “Warn me next time.”

“You would’ve said no,” he said simply, keeping you steady with terrifying ease.

His fingers were warm through the fabric of your tac gear. Steady. Strong. Too strong.

You wrenched the vent cover loose and peered through, catching only the stretch of more tunnel — until something flickered across your vision. A thread. A shimmer. An aura.

You froze.

It pulsed in slow motion, soft as a heartbeat. Blue. Cool. Controlled. Intelligent.

He was here.

You dropped down, landing hard on your feet, and Bucky steadied you again before you could stumble. You looked straight at him.

“He’s here,” you whispered. “Reed Richards. I can feel him. He’s close.”

The others tensed instantly.

“Where?” Bucky asked.

You pointed. “Past the wall. There’s another level above. I don’t know how to get there yet, but—he’s not alone. There’s… something with him.”

Bucky’s expression darkened.

“I knew it,” Alexei muttered, fingers twitching by his belt. “I felt something earlier. My toes were tingling.”

“You sure that wasn’t just mold?” John muttered.

“Silence, peasant,” Alexei snapped.

Bucky turned to the group. “Weapons ready. Eyes up.”

You exhaled slowly. Whatever was coming, you’d found him. The aura was unmistakable.

Reed Richards.

But if he was here, hiding beneath Manhattan… why hadn’t he made contact?

And what — or who — was he hiding from?

Bucky’s hands had left you minutes ago, but you could still feel the imprint of them on your waist — like a brand. The way he’d lifted you — no hesitation, no strain. In his arms, you’d felt like nothing at all.

You hated that your heart had skipped when his fingers brushed your sides. Hated the way you felt warm where he touched you. Hated that he hadn't even looked winded, his jaw set, eyes scanning the dark with focus so precise it made you ache.

You shook it off.

Now wasn’t the time.

Reed’s aura pulsed just ahead, still faint but constant, like a low hum in your bones. You pressed your hand to the concrete wall beside the grate and narrowed your eyes, channelling out every voice, every footstep, and every mocking comment from John.

The path revealed itself slowly. A faint shimmer along the right wall. Not a doorway, but a structural weakness. Like someone had reshaped the building. Not broken it — just… bent it.

“I know where to go,” you said firmly, already stepping forward.

The team fell into step behind you. You didn’t need to look to know Bucky was closest. His steps were quieter. Measured. The aura around him buzzed, still dim and grey and sad and full of edges.

John, on the other hand, radiated loud red, all ego and bravado.

Alexei was harder to read — his aura shifted between an affectionate gold and bright, crackling blue, like he felt too much at once and had no idea how to rein it in.

“So,” Alexei started, peering around your shoulder. “This aura power… does it let you see through walls? Do you feel heartbeats? Emotions? Can you sense guilt?”

You gave him a side-glance. “Kind of. And yes. Sometimes.”

John rolled his eyes. “She’s not a damn lie detector.”

Alexei gasped. “Can you tell if someone finds me attractive?”

That actually made you smirk. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Alexei grinned and bumped your shoulder like an overgrown golden retriever.

“Let her focus,” Bucky said from behind, his voice sharper than before. Not cruel. Protective. “She’s tracking something.”

You exhaled again, steadying your steps. You passed the cracked grate and turned into a narrow corridor. The ceiling sloped low and the air smelled charged, like static and smoke. Reed’s aura was stronger here, along with another.

Hot, bright. Reckless.

Whoever was with him — they were nothing like Reed.

You stopped at the end of the corridor and placed a hand on the wall again.

“There’s a door here,” you murmured. “But it’s cloaked. They don’t want to be found.”

Bucky moved to your side. “But we found them anyway.”

You didn’t look at him.

“They’ll know we’re here now,” you said softly. “We’re close enough that the heat of their auras is radiating through the wall.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Heat?”

Alexei adjusted his grip on his shield. “That means fire. I am certain.”

You didn’t answer. You just stepped back, heart pounding, and nodded once toward the sealed doorway.

“You ready?” Bucky asked.

You hesitated. Then nodded again.

This wasn’t just about finding someone anymore. It was about what you might unleash when you did.

The door didn’t open so much as melt.

One second it was solid wall. The next, it shimmered out of existence, sucked inward and twisted like taffy before folding into nothing.

You all stepped back instinctively.

Then came the voice — low, calculated, smooth as wet marble.

“I was wondering when one of you would find us.”

Reed Richards stepped into the corridor like he’d been waiting.

He was around 6 feet. Unassuming at first glance — built strong, hair dark but silvering at the sides, and a moustache adorning his top lip. His suit was grey-blue, faintly glowing at the seams, moulded to his frame in a way that hinted at lab-engineered fibres. But his aura… it shimmered like quicksilver. Smooth and opaque. Too controlled. You couldn’t read it. Not really.

And that disturbed you more than anything.

Beside him stood a younger man. Blonde. Lean. Arms crossed over his chest, leaning with one shoulder against the melted frame of the wall, looking bored. His aura, unlike Reed’s, blazed golden-orange. Fire. Excitement. Recklessness. You didn’t need to know who he was to know what he could do.

Johnny Storm.

“Aw, man,” Johnny said, grinning at Alexei. “They sent the big guy from the Cold War. That’s adorable.”

Alexei puffed his chest out, entirely unbothered. “And you are fire boy. Like spicy little meatball.”

Johnny raised a brow. “Okay, what cartoon did you crawl out of?”

Alexei shrugged with a grin. “One where fire boy always loses to big, handsome Russian.”

“Enough,” Reed cut in, voice calm but firm. “You found us. Now what?”

You glanced at Bucky — he said nothing, expression unreadable. This was his op. But you knew better than to wait for him.

“We’re not here to bring you in,” you said, stepping forward. “We just want to know why you’re here. Why now. After all this time.”

Reed tilted his head, studying you like you were a thesis. “You’re new.”

“She’s not your concern,” Bucky snapped, finally stepping up beside you.

Johnny looked between the two of you and let out a low whistle. “Whoa. Is there—”

“No,” you and Bucky said in unison.

Alexei beamed. “There is tension. I love this.”

John stepped forward, impatient now. “Look, Richards, we don’t care what you’re doing. But if you’re planning something that puts New York at risk—”

“We’re not,” Reed said.

Johnny cracked his knuckles, literal sparks flying. “Depends on your definition of risk.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then why hide?”

Reed hesitated — and that was the first real tell. A flicker. Not of fear. But caution.

“We’ve been watching what’s happening,” he said finally. “Valentina’s grip is tightening. Heroes are being drafted, monitored, muzzled. That’s not freedom. That’s control.”

“And what you’re doing—sneaking through Lower Manhattan—isn’t control?” John said.

Reed looked past him, eyes meeting yours.

“Control,” he said slowly, “is about fear. And power. You’d be surprised how easy it is to lose yourself in both.”

You felt Bucky shift beside you — a movement so slight you might’ve missed it. But you felt the tension spike in his aura. Like Reed’s words hit too close.

You didn’t like this. You didn’t like Reed’s blank aura. Or Johnny’s flippant confidence. Or the way Bucky kept himself between you and the others without even thinking.

“Valentina will want to speak to you,” Bucky said eventually. “You’ll come with us. Cooperate. Maybe you’ll get some say in your future.”

Reed’s smile was thin. “We’ll consider it. But first—”

From the depths of the warehouse, something groaned. A machine, maybe. A generator kicking to life. The sound trembled through the floor and sent a gust of warm air spiralling up the corridor.

Johnny rolled his neck. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?” Alexei echoed.

Johnny’s smile widened. “Yeah. That usually means you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

You barely had time to register the shift.

Reed’s eyes narrowed. A ripple — subtle, controlled — surged through the air. Energy, molecular, electromagnetic, something you couldn’t name. But you felt it in your bones. A warning.

And then everything exploded.

Johnny went first, launching into the air with a blast of flame that singed the warehouse ceiling black. Heat bloomed around him as he hovered, arms glowing like sunfire.

“You might wanna duck,” he shouted, and sent a fireball straight toward John.

Walker threw up his shield in time, catching the blast — but the impact sent him sliding several feet back, boots screeching across the floor. “Goddammit,” he muttered, shaking the singe off his arm. “I hate hotheads.”

Alexei roared, barreling forward like a battering ram toward Reed — only to be yanked back mid-stride by some force. His body twisted unnaturally for a moment, mid-air, until Reed flicked a hand and sent him crashing into a stack of metal crates.

You moved before you could think. Instinct. Training. Rage.

You sent out a wave — not full power, not like earlier with Bucky, but enough to shove Reed back into a wall. His body stretched and twisted as it hit, limbs warping and bending, like water trying to reform. He absorbed the blow with ease.

“Impressive,” he said, straightening. “But don’t overexert. I’m not the one you should be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of anyone,” you snapped.

Behind you, Bucky was a blur. He ducked a fire blast from Johnny, vaulted over debris, and slammed into the Human Torch with a tackle so powerful it knocked the air from Johnny’s lungs. They crashed into the scaffolding overhead, flames licking at Bucky’s sleeves, but he didn’t let go.

“Stand down!” Bucky shouted over the roar of heat. “This doesn’t have to end in a fight.”

“Too late!” Johnny coughed, blasting flame directly between them and launching Bucky back.

You turned in time to see John and Alexei regroup — Alexei’s suit was partially scorched, but he grinned like a lunatic, cracking his neck.

“I love this job,” he said, and charged again.

You focused on Reed, trying to get close — but he dodged like liquid, impossible to pin down. Every move you made, he anticipated, twisting out of reach.

The fight was chaos, fire and fists clashing in bursts of movement across the crumbling basement floor. Reed had stretched himself like a whipcord around Alexei’s limbs, trying to pull him down. John was ducking plasma blasts, while Bucky fought like a man possessed — until he wasn’t.

Johnny Storm roared overhead, his body engulfed in searing flame, eyes glowing like molten coals. He dove like a meteor, striking Bucky hard across the chest and sending him skidding across the floor, metal arm scraping against concrete, flesh side vulnerable. He didn’t get up.

Your breath hitched.

“Bucky!” you shouted, the sound tearing from your throat before you could stop it.

Johnny surged forward again, fire arcing from his palms.

“Get off him!” The scream escaped you like it had claws, primal and sharp.

Johnny didn’t even look at you — just raised a blazing hand, ready to strike Bucky again.

Something inside you snapped.

“He’s not yours to kill!” you yelled, voice shaking with fury. “He’s not yours!”

The air warped. A pulse of aura erupted from you like a wave — raw, hot, blistering with energy and emotion. Anger. Panic. Hate. Power.

It knocked Johnny sideways midair like a ragdoll, extinguishing his flames in a violent sputter. He crashed against a pillar with a groan. Your body seized up with power. Aura flared out in a violent, blinding wave. It knocked Reed backwards. Everyone felt it.

Your knees buckled.

You didn’t even hit the ground.

Strong arms caught you — cradled you against a broad, sweat-dampened chest. The scent of steel, warmth, and aftershave grounded you for a breath before the world tilted again.

“Hey—hey—stay with me,” Bucky’s voice was tight with panic. You were dimly aware of the fight pausing, of Johnny landing hard nearby, eyes wide with guilt.

“She’s out!” John barked.

Bucky lowered you gently, brushing a hand against your cheek, trying to keep you conscious.

“You did good,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “You did good, okay? Stay with me, please.”

Everything spun. Your skin burned. Your powers roared in your veins, then flickered out like a dying match.

The last thing you saw before darkness took you was Bucky's face — tight-jawed, terrified — calling your name.

And then, nothing.

“Back off,” Bucky snapped, his voice like a razor.

He didn’t mean to sound so sharp — but Reed had taken a step forward, and that was too damn close. Too soon after you collapsed in his arms. Too close to the scorch marks still staining the floor.

Johnny’s flames had died down, but the air still shimmered with heat and tension. He held his hands up, guilty but defiant. “We didn’t know she’d react like that.”

“No one did,” Alexei muttered, hoisting his shield onto his back, eyeing your limp form with an expression unusually sombre for him.

John Walker hovered at the edge, his jaw tense. “Let’s get out of here.”

Bucky didn’t look up. He was kneeling beside you, one arm cradling your shoulders, the other checking your pulse for the third time.

Still there. Still steady. But faint.

“Are you okay?” he whispered under his breath, knowing you couldn’t answer. The question was mostly for himself. Because the longer he looked at your face — sweat-slicked, brow furrowed in unconscious pain — the more the ache in his chest grew.

You weren’t supposed to do this. You weren’t supposed to get hurt.

You were supposed to hate him. And yet, you saved him.

“Take a message back to Valentina,” Bucky finally said to John who was fingers were already tapping away on his comms device. Bucky rose to his feet with you in his arms. “Tell her this mission isn’t over. Reed Richards knows something. And we’re not done.”

Reed didn’t argue. His eyes were guarded now — calculating.

Johnny looked down, face lined with something close to regret. “I’m sorry,” he offered, voice quieter than usual. “Tell her I said that.”

Bucky didn’t respond.

He just walked past him, your body limp against his chest. John opened the door to the quinjet, letting him pass first. Alexei followed, his face unusually grim.

As they lifted off and the city shrank beneath them, no one spoke.

Not even John, who usually couldn’t shut up.

Alexei finally muttered, “She’s tough. She’ll bounce back.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the weight of you was still in his arms, the scent of smoke and lavender still in his lungs, and the echo of your power still ringing in his bones.

But worse than all of that — far worse — was the fear he couldn’t shake.

That maybe this wasn’t just a mission anymore.

That maybe he cared too much.

The quinjet touched down on the Avengers Tower rooftop, all smooth metal and humming engines, but Bucky didn’t wait for the platform to fully lower.

He was out of the hatch before anyone else moved, your body still limp in his arms.

Bob was already waiting by the med bay doors, having been alerted mid-flight. His holographic display flickered anxiously in one hand, the other pushing open the door with too-human urgency.

“In here, in here,” Bob chirped, worry lining every word. “Vitals first. Lay her flat.”

Bucky did. Gently. With more care than anyone had ever seen from him.

Your hair spilt over the crisp white pillow. You didn’t stir. Not even a wince.

“Her aura’s stabilising,” Bob muttered, scanning your forehead with a soft blue light. “But she pushed too far. Power surge like that? Burned straight through her neural pathways. She needs rest. Fluids. Maybe—”

The doors slammed open.

“What the hell happened?”

Sam.

Storming into the room, panic written all over his face, breath short like he’d flown in from five boroughs over. His eyes locked on you, then flicked to Bucky, and rage bloomed.

Bucky stood slowly from your bedside. He didn’t flinch.

“She lost control,” Bucky said, voice low.

“You were leading the mission.” Sam’s voice cracked, tight with fury. “You were with her. You said you had her. What did you do?!”

“I didn’t—” Bucky looked away. His jaw tensed. “She overreached. Tried to protect us. The power backfired. I didn’t see it coming.”

Sam stepped forward, fists clenched at his sides. “You should’ve. You’ve known her powers are unstable, you’ve seen it up close, and you still let her throw herself into the fight?”

“She made the call.”

“She's not a soldier, Bucky. She's still learning.”

“She’s not helpless either.”

“She’s hurt.” Sam snapped.

The room fell quiet.

The hum of the machines. The steady beep of your heart monitor. Bob’s hands moved gently, measuring your oxygen levels and watching your brainwave fluctuations, but his eyes darted nervously between the men.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Bucky said finally, almost like a question. “Right?”

Bob nodded. “She’s strong. Just... drained.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped back to you.

Your breathing was soft. Uneven. And your hand twitched against the sheet — the only sign of life he could focus on.

Sam stepped forward again, his voice quieter now, but just as sharp. “This doesn’t happen again. You don’t get to act like her pain doesn’t cost you.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened. His voice was hoarse. “It does.”

And then he turned, heading for the door — because if he stayed a moment longer, he might say something he couldn’t take back.

Something like: I should’ve protected her first.

────✪────

The water roared as it slammed against Bucky’s back, hot enough to sting. But it wasn’t enough to wash away the gnawing feeling in his chest, the weight that settled into his bones every time his mind wandered back to the mission, to you.

His hands gripped the shower wall, fingers digging into the tiles as the steam surrounded him. He needed to feel something, anything, to get out of his head. The warmth of the water was almost painful, but it wasn’t the temperature that made his skin burn. No, it was the memory of your face, unconscious on that cold metal floor, your body limp in his arms.

It hit him in waves—how fragile you were, yet how strong, how... alive—but still so much like him. Like him in the ways you shouldn’t be, in the way you fought for others without thinking of yourself. And now, he’d let you fall. He’d let you suffer the weight of your own powers without catching you.

His breath caught. He dropped his head, feeling the cascade of water streak over his face. The guilt felt like a noose around his neck, tugging tighter with every breath. He had to save you, had to make sure nothing else happened to you—but it was too late.

The droplets ran down his body, the slickness of the water making his muscles ache as the steam filled his lungs. His mind drifted, despite his best efforts, to your face, your eyes. Those damned eyes that had read through him so easily. That moment when you said you were just looking at him...

It had driven him crazy. More than it should. More than it had to. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about you like this.

And then, your last words: “He’s not yours!”

He was supposed to be focused. Protecting. But all he could think of was the way you held yourself, the way your body had felt when he lifted you into his arms, so delicate but strong. The tension between you when he touched you, when he lifted you up to the vent, when he fought alongside you.

He hated it.

But then, he hated how much he wanted it, too.

His hands ran down his face, brushing away droplets, but the heat of the shower only made him feel hotter. His chest tightened as his mind replayed those moments: the brush of your lips in the chaos, the wildness of your energy, the way your scent lingered in the air.

He couldn’t stop himself. His body reacted without his permission—his breath deepened, chest rising and falling in rhythm to his pulse. He gritted his teeth as his muscles flexed, suddenly aware of the way the steam clung to his skin, the slickness of his hands trailing over his hard abs in frustration.

He wished they were your hands.

He closed his eyes and tried to block it out, but the thought of you—of the way you looked at him, of how he wanted to touch you again—made his pulse spike, his body betraying him as he pushed away the thoughts.

“Fuck.”

The word escaped his lips before he could stop it, his hands slamming against the wall in frustration. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to want you.

And yet, here he was, drenched in guilt, drenched in steam, drenched in something else entirely.

The water kept pouring over him. Cold in the places it hit the skin that hadn’t been touched by the steam. Hot where his body burned with thoughts of you.

His body, however, didn’t care about his guilt. It only cared about the heat, the desperate desire that pooled low in his stomach as his thoughts of you grew more intense. He tried to shut it down, tried to focus on the sound of the water, but it was no use. His body betrayed him. The ache between his legs was unmistakable.

He reached down, his hand trembling slightly as he touched himself, the rough motion a quick, desperate attempt to rid himself of the thoughts that swirled around in his mind. His heart raced as his hand moved, fingers curled around his length that was already achingly hard, thoughts of you filling every inch of his being. He imagined the way you’d feel beneath him, your breath quickening as his lips brushed against yours, your body pressed against his.

Bucky pumped at his cock with one hand, and used the other hand to steady himself against the slippy tile wall. This was wrong, this was so wrong. Bucky cursed your name under his breath, over and over again. He’d never felt this way before, not about anyone. And if you found out about this… God, the mere thought terrified Bucky.

But the more he imagined, the faster his hand moved, the pressure building until it became unbearable. He couldn’t think of anything else—just you. Your lips, your skin, your defiance and strength. The way you made him feel so alive.

With a low groan, Bucky came, the release overwhelming him. Bursts of his cum painted the tiles on the wall white and the tension in his body shattered like glass. He grabbed a washcloth to clean the mess he made and turned the shower off. 

But as the high faded, so did the sense of relief. Guilt and shame flooded back, cold and heavy.

“Get it out of your system, Barnes,” he muttered to himself, voice rough, almost bitter. “You’re not some damn kid.”

But even as he said the words, he knew the truth. He wasn’t over you. He couldn’t be. He’d never be able to stop wanting you.

The hallway lights buzzed faintly as Bucky stepped out of the elevator and into the sterile calm of the med bay floor. His damp hair was slicked back, a dark shirt clinging to him like it didn’t want to let go of the heat still rolling off his skin.

He moved toward your room on instinct.

Bob was sitting beside your bed, hunched over a monitor, glasses sliding down his nose. He didn’t look up until Bucky’s boots scuffed the tile.

“She’s stable,” Bob murmured, adjusting a dial. “Vitals are strong. She just needs rest. Should wake up in a couple days.”

Bucky nodded once, silently. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Not yet. Not while guilt still twisted in his chest like a blade.

Bob glanced up at him. “You did everything right, you know.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He turned, jaw tight, and left the room.

Back upstairs, the tower buzzed with low voices and hurried footsteps. The tension was thick. People moving with purpose. Focus. Victory humming just beneath the surface.

The others had succeeded.

Yelena was the first to spot him as he stalked into the main briefing hallway.

“Bucky,” she called, jogging to catch up. Her short braid swayed as she fell into step beside him. “Valentina wants to debrief you. Alexei and John too. She’s… not thrilled.”

“Big surprise,” he muttered.

“She thinks you screwed the pooch.”

“She’s not wrong.”

Yelena paused, then nodded toward the security wing. “Sue Storm and the orange guy—Thing? They’re in Interrogation Two. Sam and Joaquin are with them. They’re cooperative. Friendly, even.”

Bucky arched a brow. “They just walked in?”

“They said they were waiting to be found.” She gave him a teasing glance. “Unlike your guy.”

He grunted.

Yelena’s voice softened. “Seriously, you okay?”

He didn’t answer. He just kept walking.

Inside the observation room, through the two-way glass, Bucky spotted Sam leaning on the edge of the table, mid-conversation with Sue and Ben Grimm. Joaquin was typing something into a tablet, and Ben was eating what looked like his third protein bar.

Sue noticed Bucky’s shadow at the door and offered a nod. Cool. Controlled.

He didn’t go in.

“Come on, Soldier,” Yelena nudged, jerking her thumb down the corridor. “Valentina’s waiting in Briefing Room C. She’s already got Alexei and Walker in there getting grilled.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose. As if the steam of the shower had done nothing to purge the fire still simmering in his veins.

Valentina always had a way of making everything worse.

And if she asked what went wrong…

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to say it aloud.

That you’d been the strongest one there. And that he let you fall anyway.

The briefing room was dimly lit, the air stale with the cold scent of old coffee and control. Bucky walked in to find Valentina seated at the head of the table like a queen bored with her kingdom. Legs crossed, tablet in hand, red lips pursed in mock interest.

John sat off to the side with his arms crossed, wearing that smug “I’m not responsible for anything” expression. Alexei, by contrast, was visibly restless, bouncing his knee and cracking his knuckles like a teenager waiting to be scolded by a parent he could probably snap in half.

Valentina looked up as Bucky entered, and smiled—not warmly.

“Well, look who survived the sewer.”

Bucky didn’t rise to it. “Get to it.”

“Straight to business,” she sighed, tossing the tablet down with a dramatic clack. “No apology. No explanation. Just straight-up Alpha Male Cold Shoulder. Your charm is truly wasted on national security.”

Alexei shifted, muttering under his breath. “Is she always like this?”

“Worse,” John replied.

Valentina ignored them. She leaned forward, her tone suddenly razor-sharp. “You had one objective: locate and safely extract Reed Richards. Instead, you lost control of the situation, engaged in a firefight with allies, and brought back nothing but an unconscious asset and a headache.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed. “They attacked first. Reed was lying low for a reason.”

“Don’t feed me lines like I wasn’t watching the feed.” She tapped the table, where blurred thermal footage flickered to life. “You lost control of the situation. The girl blacked out. Walker was flailing. Alexei was—well, Alexei-ing. And you?” Her gaze pinned Bucky like a needle. “You froze. You rushed to her instead of finishing the fight.”

“Because she was—” He stopped himself. Took a breath. “She was down. She needed help.”

“She is not your priority, James,” Valentina said flatly.

Alexei bristled. “Hey. She saved our asses. You weren’t there.”

Valentina’s eyes flicked to him. “And I’m not sure you belong there either, Red Guardian. This isn’t the Soviet circus.”

Alexei leaned forward, grinning with too many teeth. “You’re just mad because my team actually likes me.”

John smirked, but Bucky spoke over them. “The mission’s not over. We made contact. We know where Reed and Johnny are. We can work with that.”

“You lost the element of surprise,” Valentina countered. “And what you can work with is my patience—which is thinning by the second. Richards is slipping through your fingers, and I’m not sending the entire tower to clean up your mistakes.”

Bucky held her gaze. “Then don’t. Just send me.”

Valentina’s smile curled like smoke. “Oh, honey. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

A tense silence followed, broken only by the low buzz of the projector screen behind her.

Then, cool as ever, she stood and smoothed her blazer. “Debriefing’s over. Get her stable, regroup, and next time—try not to let your personal feelings compromise the mission.”

She walked out without waiting for a reply, heels clicking like gunfire against the floor.

Alexei muttered something in Russian.

John finally uncrossed his arms. “I hate that woman.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He was already heading for the door.

────✪────

The med bay was still, cloaked in sterile shadows and the low, persistent rhythm of machines beeping beside your bed. It was late—most of the tower had gone quiet hours ago—but Bucky stayed.

He sat in the chair beside you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he was praying. He’d changed into a dark hoodie and sweatpants, damp hair curling slightly at the ends from the shower. The exhaustion in his eyes ran deeper than the mission. His body was still, but tension hummed beneath his skin.

He watched the steady rise and fall of your chest, studied the furrow in your brow like you were fighting even now, even in sleep.

"I don’t know if you can hear me," he said finally, voice low and scratchy. "I’m guessing not. But I... needed to talk. And you’re the only one I think I can say this to."

He leaned back slowly in the chair, letting his head hit the wall behind him. His jaw worked as he tried to shape the next words, fingers flexing in his lap like he wasn’t used to speaking them aloud.

"You ever get tired of carrying ghosts?" he asked, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “'Cause I do. Every mission, every second of peace I get—it’s borrowed time. I used to think if I just kept going, if I kept fighting, the guilt would shut up. But it doesn’t. It just gets quieter. Trickier."

His gaze dropped back to you.

"I hated how loud you were, at first. You just... came in swinging. No fear. No filter." His mouth curved, faintly. "You called me an asshole before you even knew me."

He paused. Swallowed.

"And I miss it. I miss the way you rolled your eyes at me. The way you pushed every button like you were born to do it. You made me feel like I was still real. Like I wasn’t just the guy in the file. The weapon. The relic."

He reached forward without thinking, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek with calloused fingers. He stopped himself before his hand lingered too long.

"I don’t know what happened to you out there. I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve protected you. But all I could think about was—was how scared you looked, right before you fell. I can’t get it outta my head."

His voice cracked slightly, but he cleared it before continuing.

"And now I’m sitting here talkin’ to you like you’re gonna wake up and start yelling at me again. But part of me hopes you do. That you wake up, call me a dick, and ask for food." A breath of a laugh. "I’d take that over this silence any day."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, hands raking through his hair.

"You’re stronger than you think. Whatever’s inside you, whatever’s chasing you—I’ve seen people break from half of what you’ve survived. But not you."

Silence stretched for a few beats. Then, quietly:

"Come back, alright? I need someone to argue with."

And he stayed there, beside you, long after the machines hummed on and the world outside forgot how soft he could be.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

Fic taglist: @ruexj283 @avengemepercy @espressovz @sebastians-love @cherryandsugar @torntaltos @ficr3ccs @sexyvixen7 @starstruckfirecat @mikaylacriiistina @imaginecrushes @1000shipsnh @bcksgirl

Want to be added to a taglist? Let me know which one!

[dameronspector]

Challengers (Avengers edition)

Pairings: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Stark!Reader (Established Relationship); Bob Reynolds x Fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: Coming back from a mission, you discover that Bucky has joined a whole new team, lead by a freak like Valentina. In order to get information and protect Sam, you and Joaquin decide to visit Bucky and his new team before taking the next step. But a certain golden boy laid his eyes on you and is instantly head over heels. How will everyone navigate this, especially when you have a boyfriend?

Warnings: Fuff, Banter, Angst, Cameos, Joaquin loves Reader a LOT, Joaquin being a cutie, SamBucky being angsty husbands and protective dads, Poor Bob suffers :(, Mentions of Bob’s Addiction and Mental Illnesses, Yearning and Longing from Bob, Jealous!Joaquin, Jealous!Bob, Reader is a littleeee short tempered, Reader is mentioned to have hair long enough to be let down loose, thats all i think! Let me know if i should add something else!

DISCLAIMER: i have not seen challengers yet, this is just my imagination and i have shifted some events from thunderbolts to fit the time frame better for the fic.

AN: this was so juicy to cook……I love the concept of both of these men loving me and yearning over me. HEHE. 😛 Enjoy!

If someone would've told you a few years ago, that you'd be in the same team as Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, you would've laughed in their face.

And if someone would’ve told you that you’d start dating Sam Wilson’s protégé, you’d maybe chuckle.

But if someone would've told you that Bucky Barnes would join a government controlled Avengers team, you'd have laughed hysterically because there's no way, that the man who fought against your father about letting the government handle the Avengers would do this, right?

Wrong.

Here you were, fuming on the couch at Sam’s base, with Joaquin, your boyfriend, sitting on your right, with his usually composed face hardened with anger.

And poor Sam, he was simply leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees, face set into an upset frown, eyes slightly glossy.

You see, the news channels were flashing with the hottest news of the hour: 'CIA Director, Valentina Allegra De Fontaine forms her own Avengers team: The New Avengers.'

The members?

Yelena Belova: Ex-Widow and Natasha Romanoff’s sister.

Alexei Shostakov: Russian Super Soldier, Yelena and Natasha’s ‘father’.

Ava Starr: Most Wanted Assassin in 15 countries.

John Fucking Walker: Grade A Asshole, your personal enemy.

Some guy named Bob: who wasn’t even visible in the footage?

And the sixth member? None other than James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes.

The same James Barnes, that had visited you three a few months ago, after Joaquin’s accident and had hugged you while you cried into his suit.

The same James Barnes, that had hugged Sam and said that he loved him, his first ever admittance to another human, since he went under the ice.

The same James Barnes, that had told Sam that he believed in him to reestablish the Avengers and lead them, and that he’d be the first one to join his team.

And now all this. Him in the same team as John Walker? In a team that was formed by Valentina? Evil and corrupt Valentina, who was also the CIA director? He didn’t even think once about consulting Sam?

Boy, were you pissed.

You see, the three of you were off completing an assignment in Belgium for the past week. Which means, that you had completely missed out on the whole blackout stuff that happened.

The team was a proper mess, and you had just entered the base when Sam received a call from Sarah, asking him turn on the TV immediately.

You dropped your bags and settled down in front of the TV, watching the atrocious press conference with Bucky standing there in the background.

“Has he—is he serious right now?!”, you glowered, looking at the TV screen and then Sam, incredulously.

“Dude. This should be considered treason like, I don’t care”, Joaquin added, looking at Sam with his face awash in irritation.

Sam let out a weary sigh, “Guys, just…leave it”, he lifted the remote and turned the TV off, sinking into the couch with a hand dragging down his face.

You exchanged a worried look with Joaquin, who noticed your clenched fists and gently held them in his hands, thumbs caressing the back of them to soothe your anger.

As if it wasn't bad already, your phones went off, notifications pinging one after the other. Joaquin opened his phone and sighed, showing the texts from the group chat you'd made for Sam's Avengers.

The Avengers

Ant-man: Did you guys check the news?

Kate: @/Sam Wilson what are we going to do about this😵‍💫

Carol Danvers: What's going on?

Princess Shuri: is that Bucky??? and is that Ross’s ex wife??? has white boy lost it?? im sending this shit to ayo

Shang-Chi: @/Carol Danvers Bucky joined a new team 🤐 Turn on NBC

Kamala: Umm...@/Scott Lang isn't that Ghost...😦

Ant-man: @/Kamala Khan Yes, she is...I didn't know she was allowed to roam around in public..

Kate: @/you where are you girl

Kamala: omgggg yessss @/you the audience needs you here

Carol Danvers: @/Sam Wilson Should I come over? What is our next plan of action?

Shang-Chi: @/Joaquin Torres Don't leave us on seen bro tf

You groaned and Sam looked up at the noise, his eyes narrowing at you two.

"What is it?", he mumbled.

"The team is going crazy, Sam. Princess Shuri is talkin' about sending this news to the Dora", Joaquin replied, his fingers still scrolling through the endless chats. He put up a text in the chat that he was with Sam and you right now and that's why none of you were answering the texts.

"Sam, we need to do something. At least sue them, or whatever. They can't just take up the name like that", you argued, fingers fidgeting with each other restlessly.

You were never known for your patience, much like your dad. Always bouncing off the walls with stress and your short temper. And now that he wasn't around to keep you grounded, you just got worse. Your grief bleeding into your frustration. And right now, Bucky was not helping you by abandoning you, Sam and Joaquin like that. Just when you thought that it was all falling into line, Valentina had to fuck it up and break your family apart, again.

"Can we even do that?", Joaquin asked in confusion.

Sam beat you to it, "Yes, but it'll be messy. We need a good lawyer for that. And besides, I don't wanna hurt him.."

“Nobody wants to hurt Bucky. But you can’t possibly excuse this…this stupidity, yeah? And we’ll get the best lawyers in the entire country. You’re Captain America, don’t forget that”, you urged earnestly.

Sam exhaled deeply, closing his eyes before continuing, “I need some time to think about it. I’ve gotta meet Riri Williams and this Spider-Man after that. We’re doing nothin’ for now.”

He sat up and grabbed his phone, about to get ready to leave for New York to meet up with Riri Williams, the team’s possible new member.

“And both of you aren’t going anywhere, you hear me? I swear, if I see y’all’s faces on the TV or in the papers, you’re benched. For months, this time. We’ll do this legally. And we need to be as careful as we can be, to make our case stronger”, he chided gently, his face stern as if he was saying there would be no arguments about this.

He was referring to the time you’d confronted Walker outside the police station, after Bucky was bailed. Walker being a piece of shit, gave an interview about it and trash talked you in public, basically. All that PR training that Pepper had taught you, had gone out of the window when you saw Walker’s arrogant face.

You swore that you’d punch him atleast once, then.

You grumbled at Sam’s words, Joaquin immediately responded in defense.

“Dude, come on. We gotta give it back to them! Bucky will understand, he probably even hates being there. None of them look like they wanna be there, if I’m gonna be honest”, he shrugged and smiled in disbelief.

Sam chuckled and messed your hair, patting Joaquin’s back after.

“Don’t let her do somethin’ dumb”, he teased, making you grumble once again.

Sharing a smile with Joaquin, he promptly left the room and prepared to leave.

-

After Sam left, you absentmindedly made your way back to the living area, plopping down on the couch with your teeth stressing your lips.

In your daze, you didn’t notice Joaquin sit down next to you, his eyes trained on the lost look on your face.

He could see the gears turning around in your head. He knew exactly what you were thinking. Knew it right after he saw you gasp at the news. Nudging you slightly, he brought you out of your trance, you jumped before looking at him with furrowed brows.

“You’re gonna meet Bucky anyways”, he simply stated, brown eyes shimmering knowingly. He knew you too well.

You paused, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and kissed your cheek, standing up to bring his laptop to the couch. You watched him go in amusement.

“Well, we gotta see where they’re headquartered first, Miss Stark. Then, we ride at dawn!”, he quipped as he sat back down next to you.

“Wait. Really? You’ll help?”, you asked in disbelief. Him breaking Sam’s rules wasn’t shocking, but he was protective of you. You thought he’d listen to Sam and make you stay back.

His hands jumped across the keyboard, him replying to you without taking his eyes off from the screen, “Of course, baby. I’m not letting our cyborg hurt our old man like that. And, I’d love to punch Walker as well, so...”, he trailed off and flashed you a dopey smile, one that made his cheeks look squishable.

You shook your head, pinching his cheek gently. He leaned into it before going back to his research. The sunlight coming in from the large window behind you made his golden skin look like he was the sun himself, his flannel making him look cozy.

A few beats passed and he suddenly froze, hands gripping the laptop tightly and lips pursed, eyebrows scrunched in distress. You instantly straightened up, your hand falling from his cheek and resting on his shoulder instead.

“What is it?”, you asked in urgency, your mind already conjuring unrealistic scenarios.

He looked at you nervously, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Joaquin, just say it, I’m freaking out”, you pleaded, a hand squeezing his shoulder.

“They…Do you know what happened to the Tower?”, he murmured hesitantly.

You made a face, “The tower? You mean, the Avengers Tower?”

Joaquin nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah, Dad sold it to Valentina- or rather, OXE, after the Sokovia shit”, you informed.

“Uh—what are the chances of you guys-like, the Starks- having any control over it?”, he asked hesitantly.

You frowned, “Well, none, because she owns it now. If she suddenly decided to auction it, then it’s possible. Stark Industries can buy it back. Why?”

Joaquin pursed his lips and shifted the laptop so that it faced you, “Baby, she’s made the Tower the official HQ of their team.”

“What?”, you blurted out, a deep ache settling into your chest, your hands moving on their own accord and grabbing the laptop, reading the headline displayed on the screen.

‘“As they say: History repeats itself!”’—CIA Director Valentina De Fontaine speaks out about turning the iconic landmark, 'Stark-turned-Avengers' Tower into her new team’s HQ!’

You gritted your teeth so hard, your gums hurt. Joaquin could feel the anger radiating off you, the emotion mixed with a high bout of grief and sadness. The kind that came after going through too much shit for too long. The kind that came from bone deep exhaustion and a weird mixture of emotions.

He knew that. And he knew you.

He knew you weren’t taking this easy. This was personal. That tower was your home, made by your father, a place where you’d spent a good chunk of your childhood, a place where your family spent most of their time together.

Now? Now it belonged to that manipulative leech who was trying to pull you all down. And she was parading it around like it was some fucking trophy. Like the legacy was a joke to her.

“We’re going. Now. I don’t—”, you choked on the lump your throat, Joaquin extending an arm to tuck his hand behind your ear, thumb gently caressing under your eye.

“I know, I know. We’ll be going. But not now, okay?”

You opened your mouth to disagree when he stopped you, the other hand coming up to brush your hair behind your ear.

“Listen to me, angel. We’ll go tomorrow, yeah? Let Sam settle in New York. He’s gonna introduce Riri and Kate, will have a meeting with them tomorrow, so he’ll be busy. Till then, we’ll also get some time to think and plan before marching there. I understand how you’re feeling. But we need to be careful, okay?”, he soothed you, hands cradling your face like you were made of glass, eyes oozing with concern and love.

Your bottom lip trembled, unable to hold your tears back after his gentle words. What did you do to deserve him?

He set the laptop aside, bringing you in his arms and letting you bury your head in his chest. A hand came behind your head to keep you there, the other hand smoothing over your back and his lips pressed into your hair.

You fisted his flannel tightly in your hands, tears dampening the soft fabric of the t-shirt he wore inside the flannel, sniffling constantly as more tears fell.

“It’ll be okay. I promise”, he murmured, lips brushing against your hair.

Although, you weren’t sure it’d be as easy as it sounds.

-

“We’re not entering from the main entrance.”

Joaquin looked up in confusion at your words, “What?”, his hands halting on the cursor as he scoured through Valentina’s files to get some more information on her.

It was the next day, Sam had been busy in meeting with Kate and Riri, as Joaquin had said. The two of you were planning to visit Bucky today, in the Tower, but it needed to be done discreetly. Without the media finding out.

You came up with the only option you knew: using your suits to get in.

You pursed your lips before smirking, “You know, there’s a launch pad in the Tower for a reason, right?”

Joaquin’s eyebrows creased before his face lit up with realisation.

“You mean, the suits? Angel, at least you can hide yours but Sam will take away my privileges to fly, for sure”, he quipped nervously, hating the fact that he’d lie to Sam but also thrilled at the thought of entering the Tower with his wings. He loved his wings like he’d birthed them.

You walked over to his chair and hugged him from behind, leaning down to press your cheek against his. His hands came up to hold your forearms, nuzzling his face back against yours.

“I know. I’ll help you, don’t worry. And you’re literally his son, when has he ever been strict with you?”, you teased lightly and he chuckled. He definitely took advantage of the fact that Sam had a soft spot for him.

It reminded you of someone, but you blanked out, your mind restarting mid-thought. As if you weren’t supposed to think of that.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. But—”, he turned his face to look at you in the eye, “You’re gonna stay calm and protect your peace, hm? I don’t want you to stress about those dollar store Avengers more than it’s necessary”, he proposed, his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes, admiring your side profile. How did he manage to get distracted every time he looked at you, was beyond him, but it was always a welcome distraction.

You bit the inside of your cheek in thought. You both knew that was going to be a task, because you’re not qualified to be a Stark if you don’t have the drama and flair in you. It was natural.

“We’ll tackle that problem when it arises. For now, let’s move before we lose our window”, you murmured, nuzzling your nose against his lightly.

Joaquin hummed and brought you closer with a hand on your cheek and pressed a loving kiss to your lips.

-

Bob’s POV

Bob was having a relatively normal day.

Well, as normal as it got for being a new avenger, moving into the Tower with a bunch of assassins, and battling with his own powers and demons, then yes, it was a normal day.

He woke up, had waffles and his iced coffee and lounged on the sofa in the living room, with a book in his hands. They had another press conference today, the rest of the team buzzing around the area, minus him, because he was not cleared for any activity for the next few months, at least.

He was fine with it, honestly, having no energy to put up with the other guys and the memory loss that followed. He had promised Yelena and Bucky that he’d go to therapy, Bucky even suggested his own therapist, saying that she’s a bit tough, but she gets the work done. Bob agreed to taking a trial session with her and proceed further.

“Where the hell is Ava?!”, Yelena cried out in irritation, stomping into the room.

Bob looked up from the page he was reading, Yelena panicking around the room, John sauntering in like he owns the place, Bucky looked perpetually tired and Alexei was missing. Ava too, apparently.

“She might be inside the walls, knock on ‘em, maybe”, John quipped.

“Shut up, John, I don’t need your lame jokes right now. Bob, have you seen Ava?”, she asked heatedly, hands resting on her hips.

That’s when he noticed—all of them were wearing nice clothes. Like, tailored suits for the guys and a formal dress for Yelena, their hair set perfectly and faint scent of perfume wafting in the air.

Bob was surprised. All of them looked really good. He stood out like a sore thumb in front of them, his oversized blue sweatshirt and black joggers making him look smaller and homely.

“I’m not sure, she’s not been here since I came in…”, he trailed off, his blue eyes looking at Yelena sheepishly.

She huffed, pressing a hand to her forehead, “Valentina is already on our ass and now Ava decides to disappear, I’m—”

“Wowww. That was an oscar worthy performance. Although you could relax, I’m here.”

Ava suddenly appeared behind John, who jumped at her voice next to him.

“Fuck—what is wrong with you?!”, he scowled.

Ava quirked an eyebrow, “Seriously? Whatever happened to being in the military and being a decorated soldier—”

“Don’t go there—”

“And being in several war zones, like oh, look at me! I’m John Walker! I’m fearless—”

“Oh, shut up—”

“QUIET.”

The entire room was quiet after Yelena’s shout.

“Both of you, shut the fuck up! Valentina has dressed us in these super tight, uncomfortable, fancy clothes and is going to show us off like we’re some trophies, so you better get your shit together and move”, she ordered. Furiously.

Bob was watching the whole scene with his mouth open, Bucky couldn’t be anymore bothered, and Ava and John had to decency to look ashamed.

Bob was having a normal day.

But then they heard some noises coming from the launch pad and all of them stiffened up. Bob was the closest to the window, so he slowly stood up, resting his book face down on the couch.

Bucky slowly raised his head in confusion, Ava and John exchanged a look and Yelena walked a little closer to Bob to protect him.

“What the hell is that?”, John grumbled from above the sofa pit, his face scrunched up as he tried to decipher what or who was there.

Bob’s curiosity peaked. He shuffled closer to Yelena so that he could get a clearer look at the pad and then—

He saw a flash of red and silver. A pair of thrusters. And a flash of green and silver behind.

The green and silver belonged to a guy, that much was clear. But the red and silver suited person had their face covered. There was something distinctly familiar about the red suit.

They found out soon enough, when Bucky finally spoke up behind them.

"Oh, fuck", he groaned lowly.

And the two figures finally stepped in.

The guy with the green and silver wings had curly, dark hair. His jaw was clenched tightly, eyes trained on the entire team as if they had personally hurt him by simply existing.

And that's when John spoke up, "Hold on. Torres?", he exclaimed and looked at Bucky, who was looking at his shoes instead.

"So, that's-", John didn't get a chance to finish that sentence because the red and silver suit dissolved and revealed you.

Bob almost fainted.

Because not only were you The Tony Stark's eldest daughter, who was an all rounder and a literal hero, but you were also drop dead gorgeous.

Clad in a simple emerald green cardigan and dark blue, high waisted jeans with shoes, your soft and luscious hair was let down loose, not a single strand out of place, a dainty silver necklace rested just below your collarbones, weighted down by a red pendant, which is where the suit disappeared in.

And your eyes. Oh, your eyes. Bob could just feel the power radiating off them, your body held in such elegance and poise that he was feeling intimidated to even stand in front of you.

It felt like time had slowed down for him, and while he was busy fawning over you, he didn't take notice of the fury inside your eyes and how they were piercing through Bucky.

"Whoa, whoa. Who are you, and what is going on here, huh?", Yelena protested, looking at you, John and then Bucky.

Your sharp gaze shifted to Yelena, "I'm gonna excuse that, only because you're Nat's sister. But this is my house, as my father literally built this place and also because your team has kept my family member hostage. So, please, don't interrupt."

Yelena blinked in shock. Bob stared at you in awe.

"Barnes, what the hell?", you called him out, your face tugged into a sneer.

Bob managed to turn his head around and saw Bucky wince. The Winter Soldier just winced at the words of someone. The same Bucky who didn't even smile around them. If he was being honest, Bob found you incredibly hot at that moment.

"Hold on, what are you doing here, (Name)? And Torres? Really? We weren't gonna hurt her or anything", John scoffed.

"Oh god", Bucky murmured lowly and shook his head in disagreement at John's words.

Bob suddenly turned around, his breath hitching when his eyes passed you, before they landed on the guy next to you- someone whom Walker kept calling 'Torres.'

This...Torres guy was attractive, sure. But he was standing way too close to you and that caused Bob's jaw to tick in irritation.

Torres chuckled, "Actually, be glad that she didn't come alone, Walker. Now that I'm here, she might think of carrying this forward peacefully", he shrugged casually.

Bob didn't miss the way Torres’ eyes shone with pride when he talked about you. He felt an ache in his chest, again.

"I'd listen to him", Bucky rasped and the entire room looked at him in shock.

Bob almost laughed as he thought: did you beat Bucky in combat?

"I need to talk to you. Alone", you admitted, arms crossed around your chest, face set tightly as you looked at Bucky.

He pursed his lips and nodded grimly, "Let's go-"

"No, no, hold on. You can't just come here and take him away. We have a press conference to attend-", Ava protested and was cut off with your scoff.

"You know damn well, you don't give a fuck about that. And I can take him away, because he’ll join me willingly, isn't that right, James?", you quipped.

Bucky swallowed and met Ava's piercing gray eyes, Yelena and John observing him closely.

Bob's eyes darted from you and Bucky, lingering on you for longer.

"Guys, I'll...I'll be back. Come on, there's a room-"

"I know", you cut Bucky off and gestured Torres to join you.

And Bob wished he hadn't looked at you then, because Torres had his hand on your lower back and he looked at you with so much concern, that it made Bob clench his hands tightly, his blue irises surrounding themselves with a golden ring.

Bob watched the two of you go, Torres’ hand touching you so gently, as if you were something precious (you were.)

The worst part of it though? You didn’t stop him. It looked like the world was mocking him for even thinking about falling for someone as out of reach as you.

And soon enough, he felt that demeaning, cocky voice echo in his mind: ‘You’re out of your depth, Bob. She’d never look at someone as broken as you.’

And he slowly felt himself slip, the lights flickering around him when Yelena put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump in surprise.

“Bob? What’s up? You’re doing the…thing”, Yelena asked in concern, her eyebrows creased tightly.

Bob swallowed thickly, a trembling hand coming up to rub his eyes.

“Uh- nothing. I’m-I’m okay. I’m alright. Don’t worry”, he replied nervously, voice pitched high because of the lump stuck in his throat.

How was he going to tell her that he had just fallen in love with somebody he was meeting for the first time?

-

“Bucky, why’d you do this?”, you almost whined, your glossy eyes looking up at him in disbelief and hurt, the front that you had put up out there, had completely disappeared. There was just a deep betrayal shining in your eyes, your body coiled tight with tension.

Joaquin was torn between glaring at Bucky and pulling you in his arms, your teary eyes and the ache rolling off your body hitting him in waves.

Bucky stood there helplessly, his own tearful eyes were trained at his shoes, hands clenched tightly which caused his vibranium arm to whirr softly.

“Sam has been working so hard”, your voice cracking at ‘hard’.

“He’s been going to one end of the world to the other, just to recruit people. Half of them are either dead or off world. The pressure is on him. You know he gets scrutinised for everything he does. All this time, we held out hope that you’d join, just like you’d promised. And now you’re going against him? You guys wanna make history repeat itself and become Tony Stark and Steve Rogers? You promised!”, you jabbed a finger in his chest.

Bucky stumbled back and looked up at you, hurt flashing over his face like a splash of water.

“No, don’t cry, kid, please”, he almost begged, his hands held up in a placating gesture.

You sniffled, vision blurry from the tears pooling in your eyes.

“Man, do you have any excuse for this? We get back from a mission to find out that New York was in a backout, and you were standing there, behind the devil herself, with a whole new team, with the same name!”, Joaquin said incredulously.

“I know, I know. I didn’t do this on purpose. I swear, (Name)”, he pleaded.

You frowned, “What does that mean, Bucky? You can’t be possibly saying that someone forced you.”

“Not forced. Valentina has threatened to release the files and documents related to us in the public if we don’t cooperate”, he clarified.

“But, it’s not like they don’t know about you?”, Joaquin asked in confusion.

“True. But she’ll put back the parts that were omitted. And she’ll get us acquitted of all the crimes we were pardoned for.”

You furrowed your brows, “What? Maybe she should look into the mirror once, because I know shit about her that she wishes I didn’t.”

And then he told you about everything that lead to this. The vault, the mission, the Sentry project, the Void, Bob's profile—everything.

“You mean, that blackout thing, that was because of one, singular guy?”, Joaquin sputtered, his face frozen with an incredulous look.

“Yeah. And…he’s here. He’ll live with us now”, Bucky replied tentatively, watching you closely.

You frowned as you realised Valentina’s intentions, “You said he struggled with addiction and mental illnesses. So, Valentina is manipulating him to become the Sentry and the blackout thing?"

"Yep. All that happened because she provoked him to hurt everyone", Bucky sighed before continuing, “He’s not dangerous when he’s not being…the other guy. The guy who was standing next to Yelena? That’s him. Bob. He’s actually not allowed to leave the tower for a while, so…”

Joaquin froze, “Wait, Bob. We saw his name in the news but….we couldn’t see him?”

Bucky scoffed, “When he’s not being an all powerful god, he hates social interactions. Very awkward and shy. Think me, but from a few years ago.”

You made a surprised voice, “Huh. He’s the guy in the blue sweatshirt?”

Bucky nodded. You sighed, mulling the fact over. Joaquin chewed on his lips.

“Anyways…we need to send her ass to jail, Bucky. What are you gonna do next?”, you asked. Waiting for him to propose something before you could spoil Sam’s plans.

Bucky let out a bone deep sigh. The exhaustion clearly written across his face, “I don’t know. They’re all just as hopeless as me, if not worse.”

“Hold on. That reminds me, Walker?”, Joaquin quipped, his arms tightly crossed around his chest.

You perk up, “Oh, yeah. What, you’re buddies with him suddenly? Is this an enemies to lovers thing?”, your eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Bucky sputtered, “No, no. It’s not like that. You—”, he let out a breath before continuing, “Okay, there’s no friendship or anythin’ between me and Walker. I just have to put up with him. I don’t even talk to them much, apart from Yelena and Bob. But, getting back to the topic at hand, no, we can’t do anything against Valentina right now. My hands are under rocks. I’m sorry, kid.”

His face had melted into a sad puppy look, one that made him look older and exhausted. Like he just needed a nap.

And you felt your anger melt away. You could never stay mad at him and his puppy dog eyes for long, anyways.

“Sam…is he…how is he?”, he asked softly, his voice getting caught at Sam’s name. You and Joaquin exchanged a look.

The two men were practically each other’s soulmates. This was killing them more than any one else.

“Oh, he’s proper mad at you. Blocked you and everythin'”, Joaquin decided to tease. You elbowed him gently, coaxing a small chuckle out of him, his shoulder bumping against yours.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, “Not surprised”, he said dryly.

You clicked your tongue, “Shut up, Jay”, chiding Joaquin gently. He pressed a kiss to your temple as an apology.

“He’s naturally upset, Buck. Just…try talking to him. It’s better if the two of you converse with each other, rather than us being the mediators, yeah? You guys will figure something out. He’s broken the law for you, twice. What’s one more time?”, you reminded him gently, a hand resting on his arm.

Bucky looked at you and gave you a nervous smile, vibranium hand coming up to cover yours on his arm.

“See? We’ll get the band back together just fine, angel”, Joaquin smiled, tapping Bucky’s shoulder with the back of his hand. Bucky looked at it and stared at Joaquin blankly.

“Tell your boyfriend to tone it down with me, doll”, he deadpanned.

Joaquin gasped dramatically. You giggled.

“C’mon. I’ll introduce you to them”, he urged, pulling you and Joaquin with him to the main area.

-

The team was now seated around the sofa pit, mindless chatter and bickering being passed back and forth. They stopped when you entered, looking at you warily instead.

The sight almost gave you a very real flashback.

Instead of Yelena, you saw Natasha. Instead of John, it was Steve. You could hear their laughs, your dad and Steve’s useless arguments, Pepper fussing over your dad, Rhodey and Thor annoying Bruce. It felt real.

You almost smiled, your eyes teary and lips twitching, when Joaquin pulled you out of it.

“Baby? You okay?”, he murmured into your ear, hand smoothing over your back.

You snapped back to the present, suddenly feeling everyone’s eyes on you and you shrunk back, Joaquin’s arm coming around your waist to ground you.

“Alright, stop staring at her, you’re putting her on the spot”, Bucky announced and all of them coughed, shifting their attention to Bucky instead.

You looked around the room skeptically and that’s when you saw him.

Bob. Clad in a blue sweatshirt, black joggers. His hair was curly and shabby, brown in colour and it fell around his face in waves. Are we sure this was the same man who was deemed as a weapon?, you thought.

Joaquin seemed to have been observing him too. But he noticed his nervous and jittery body language. The way he made himself small, even though he was 6 foot tall, at least. How could this man be capable of ending the world with just a flick of his hand?

Another thing that Joaquin’s sharp eyes noticed: Bob’s eyes kept nervously darting around the room, lingering on you every now and then. Except, Bob’s eyes lingered on you for too long. A dazed look on his face whenever they landed on you.

Joaquin made note of that and kept a close eye on him, just to test something. His hand brought you closer to his side, finding comfort in your warm body pressed against his.

“I’m sure you all know who she is. She’s (Name) Stark, Tony Stark’s daughter, philanthropist and genius. You might also know her as Iron-Lady, her alter ego”, Bucky introduced you to the others.

Of course, John had to speak up first.

“I’d introduce myself, but you know me already, so”, he smiled like a dumbass.

��Unfortunately”, you deadpanned and everyone snickered.

Except Alexei, who chortled like a bear. John grimaced and covered his ears, as the man began talking in that thick Russian accent of his.

“You very funny, Miss Stark. I like that. I like funny people. Welcome to the team. I will give you a customised track suit as well. Just—”

“Dad, stop it, she's not joining the team”, Yelena groaned.

“Why’d you say unfortunately, I—”

“Why wouldn’t she join, Lena? This merch so soft. I bet she’s never felt anything like this before—”

“She’s literally royalty, you idiot-”

“All of you, shut up”, Bucky ordered and suddenly the room fell quiet. You and Joaquin looked at him impressively.

The role of a leader suited him quite a lot. You felt your heart bloom in pride, to be very honest. And you were sure, that Sam would be very proud as well. More reason for Bucky to be a part of Sam's team, instead of this mess.

Suddenly a voice spoke up from next to Yelena, “And who’s that?”

All eyes snapped to look at Bob, who’d asked the question. He’d not said a word until now, his eyes intently focused on Joaquin and you.

Joaquin narrowed his eyes in challenge, the team exchanging confused glances, Bucky observing the situation closely.

“Uh…That’s Captain Joaquin Torres. He’s in the Air Force and he’s Sam’s protégé. The new Falcon”, Bucky gestured towards Joaquin.

Joaquin gave everyone a two fingered salute, his eyes lingering on Bob, who clenched his jaw.

Alexei’s eyes widened again, “Air force?! Oh, you do great work, Captain Torres. And you’re the falcon, you’re literally a a bird yourself. That is so cool. Thank you for protecting the country, from the skies, like a free bird. We salute you—”

“Oh my god”, John grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“You guys are so irritating”, Ava groaned.

“What—I was just comp-”

“Okay! Okay. Hi. Um. Nice to meet you all”, you cut their banter off, nudging Joaquin lightly to return the greeting back.

But Joaquin’s gaze was fixed elsewhere.

His brown eyes were staring intently at Yelena and Bob, Yelena’s face twisted in worry as she kept checking Bob’s eyes, whereas Bob kept staring at Joaquin and darting his gaze away.

“Quino?”, you asked him softly, worriedly looking up at him.

He saw your worried face in his peripheral and brought his attention back to you, immediately, “Yeah?”

You gestured at the team.

“Oh. Yeah. Hey, guys”, he awkwardly smiled. They returned a half hearted ‘Hey’ back, the inevitable tension clouding the room again.

“Are we going to talk about it, or not?”, Ava finally asked, ripping the bandaid off at once.

You hesitated, looking at Bucky for answers.

“Uh-not now. Later. We need to go for that conference thing before Valentina sends somebody up here. And (Name)”, he turned towards you, “You should go back. I don’t want you two getting into trouble, okay?”

You and Joaquin simply nodded your heads.

“I’ll see them off”, Bucky announced to the team and they absentmindedly chorused a ‘Yes’, waving you and Joaquin ‘Bye’.

-

Bob’s POV

If you would’ve stood there any longer, Bob would’ve set this whole thing on fire. Like the damn incinerator back at the vault.

He was feeling particularly charged up, right now. And watching you and Joaquin together, standing so close, had just triggered him more. The way you instantly leaned into Joaquin. The way his hands were around you all the time. Protective. Loving. He knew he was in denial, but he prayed that Joaquin was just a friend to you.

Bob was jealous. Which was, ridiculous, because he just met you. And he wasn’t hiding it from Yelena or Bucky's observant eyes. Like, at all.

All he wanted to do, was walk over to you and introduce himself. But the crippling self doubt rooted him to his place. Because why would someone like you, want someone like him.

He was doing it again. His eyes were turning golden. His hands trembled. The lamp behind him flickered. Yelena sat up in alarm.

“Bob. What’s going on. Do we need to call help? Should I stay back?”, she asked rapidly, her head blocking his eyes from others.

Bob scoffed, his sass dialed up to a hundred. Yelena quirked an eyebrow in interest.

“You can’t fix this”, he stated cryptically and got up, sauntering over to the launch pad. Yelena followed closely, the other three engaged in some useless discussion.

Part 2

-

AN: at this point yall should know im incapable of writing one parters LOL! but also, this concept is too scrumptious and ill be including this in another fic w joaquin and bob hehehehe.

Fun fact: the reader’s outfit was inspired by kaia gerber LMAO.

Please like and reblog!

taglist: @hearts4barnes @msfirth @spideybrie @parkersjoy @joaquinsgf @wolflikesstuff @frvv @99buttowski @eggyboyoart @superchatnoir07 @wierdlyinlike @peachyrue-777 @makinurbed @abc1234y @ba-space-geek @elyi-o @ph-1isagod @missbrekker @patheticgirl127 @lookitsgrim @spinstertheuncommon @bcystar @yelenaseyeliner @dormammuiivecometo @justeveeeee @lilajoy-ily @spvctor

Sorry if I forgot anyone or reply if u wanna be removed from the taglist!

[shadowbriar]

Bucky Barnes — Make a Lover of an Enemy

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x (she/her) agent!Reader Word Count : 4.1k Warning : Kissing. Foul words. Cliffhanger. Synopsis : A kiss exchanged during a mission has made Bucky toss and turn in turmoil. Notes : don't ask me for part two, idk if i can write another part that could live up to this fic. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

The itchiness around his neck was only getting worse as he whisked himself deeper into the crowd. He hates undercover ops, especially ones where he’s out in the open with no knowledge of what he’s up against. It wasn’t that he was afraid—he made peace with fear years ago to ever actually be bothered by it—he was more anxious about the other end of this rope. The partner that he’s supposed to cavort with.

“Lose the frown a little, you’re scaring all the women,”

Bucky closes his eyes in annoyance, breathing in a good amount of air to help ease the building temper as he speaks through the comm, “I have no business with the women here,”

“Yeah? Where do you have business with women, then?”

“Will you hurry up on finding this Gerald, already?”

“I’m working on it,” she seethes, taking a sip of her champagne “And it’s Harold, not Gerald,”

“Doesn’t matter what the asshole’s name is, just get the intel,”

Bucky could see from where he stands, one of the big pillars where he’s currently seeking discretion from, the vexation that’s threatening to bleed out of her. The ridiculously low cut of the back of her dress was making it easy for him to see the rise and fall of her shoulders, moving in an undeniably provoked manner. He’s pulled her hair alright, just like she pulled his.

His ears were still partly deaf from all the arguments they’ve shared over the past days. At this point, Bucky couldn’t decide if he should strangle or drown Sam for setting him up with her for this mission. A whole week of undercover, sharing one single hotel room where he would grumbly sleep on the floor because he’s too vexed to share it with her, was more than enough reason for him to ultimately end Wilson’s life.

It was the most cruel joke. Out of billions of people in this world, millions that he’s met, and thousands that he’s worked with, she just has to be the one person he could never find the middle ground with. There’s always something wrong, something to argue about whenever it comes to her. She’d always take too long to decide, too much calculations, and too much demands that it would just drive him nuts. Pairing him with her was certainly a choice. An absurd, diabolical choice.

Bucky’s train of bitter thoughts were put on a halt as he watched a man advance to her. He fits the description of Gerald—Harold. The three bodyguards that are doing their worst attempt of pretend-guests were following him like bees, making it easier for him to pinpoint their target.

“Cupcake at three o’clock,”

“Cupcake?” she asks, a sense of amusement evident in her tone.

“Harold,”

“I know what you meant, but cupcake? Really? Couldn’t have picked a better codename, James?”

Once again, Bucky seethes in anger. Even when he tipped her off, she still couldn’t find it in her goodwill to thank him and criticises his choice of word instead. He watches with bottled anger as she pretends to play with her earring, clicking on the item so that the comm would pick up the surrounding noise as their target approaches.

“Excuse me, Miss,” Harold greets her, plastering his disgustingly wide smile for her “You seem a bit lost, would you like a little help?”

“Oh, is it that obvious?” she feigns an embarrassed laughter, leaning on him to whisper “I was actually trying to hide from my partner. He’s been too much of a pain in my arse all evening, but I supposed I wandered a bit too far away, I couldn’t find my way back now,”

Bucky rolls his eyes, listening to their conversation in silence.

Harold chuckles, offering an arm for her, “Well, I reckon you wouldn’t mind another’s companion, then?”

“Certainly, Mister..?”

“Bricks, Harold Bricks,” the man introduces himself “I can show you around the club, if you’d like. Maybe we can find your partner then,”

She encircles his arm, smiling in an alluring way, “I would love that very much, Mr. Bricks,”

“Please, call me Harry,”

Bucky mocks their conversation in his head. He knows that being one of the most elite agents from SHIELDS, she must possess better than most skill sets and exceptional proficiencies, but watching her have Bricks right in the hook, boasting about all his illegal assets to her and spilling every illicit informations, Bucky would be lying if he says he isn’t impressed.

Now he keeps his distance from the flock. Walking a few metres behind, but still close enough to rescue her should anything happen. Not that she would need it. The three bodyguards that are following them would only be like a fight against toddlers for her should they try anything. Still, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.

“What about your study? I know men like you love to keep his toys where they spend most of their time,” she lures, leaning even closer to him now that it makes Bucky’s stomach twist for some reason “What would a girl find in your study, Harry?”

Bricks smirks as he moves his arm and places his hand on her waist, slipping his fingers under the hem of her low cut dress, “See, unlike any other men, I don’t waste too much time in my study. Why stay in just one room when you have a whole manor to occupy?”

And that’s when he knew he needed to step in.

Bucky rushes to her, not even bothered to hide the disgusted look on his face as he stops her, “We’re going.”

“Cupcake,” she greets, showing slight surprise of his unannounced presence “This is my friend, Mr. Harold Bricks. He’s been kind enough to show me around the club after I lost you in the crowd,”

“Pleased to meet you,” Bricks greets, taking the hand off of her and offering it to Bucky “The lady was distraught looking for you, I thought it would help to ease her mind by walking around the place,”

“How thoughtful,” Bucky comments unimpressed “Come on, we have to go,”

“You go ahead, Dear. Let me bid my goodbye to Harry,”

Bucky stares at her with a disapproving look, questioning why she would still spend another second with this repulsing man, but nodded anyway as he walked a few metres away. Waiting for her behind yet another pillar.

“I see the kind of pain you’re talking about,” Harold comments with a sneer.

“That’s hardly a fraction of what I truly have to bear,” she replies, this time placing a kiss on his cheek “Thank you for everything, Harry. You’ve no idea how much you’ve made my night,”

She walks away from Bricks, readjusting her comm as she walks to Bucky’s direction.

“It’s in his study,” she says as she joins him, walking on his side with long strides.

“Yeah, I heard,” he scoffed “Along with that pathetically disgusting attempt you call flirting,”

“Hey, I got the work done, alright! You think I want his filthy hand on me, rubbing his scummy fingers on my skin? I’m disgusted, alright, no need to rub me in,”

Bucky huffs in annoyance. He takes two glasses of champagne from the passing waiter, gulping down one after the other to help keep himself collected. The anger boiling in his veins is getting too hard to be kept to the curb.

“You’re not supposed to drink during missions,”

“Yeah, well, none of the alcohol served here is gonna get me drunk, so don’t twist your panties, woman,”

“What’s the point of drinking if you can’t get drunk, then? Isn’t that what you wanted to do, to lose a few screws in your head?”

“Can you just— Shut up for a few minutes?!” he explodes, pressing on the lift button “Please, just a few minutes of silence until we get to his study, is that really too much to ask?”

She glares at him, disapproving of his little outburst but shuts her mouth nonetheless.

This part of the mansion was eerily too quiet. No guests nor waiters crowding the hallways. There were a few cameras on the corners, ones that she could easily override through her watch, but other than those, the corridor was pretty much defenceless.

It took them little to no time to find Bricks’ study. The place was decorated with books and paintings that are too pristine, undusted to the point that they looked like they’ve never been touched by anything other than the fine feathers of a duster. Perhaps Bricks was an honest man, he never did step in his study.

She immediately looked for the reports in the stack of papers by the table while Bucky busied himself with the books by the cabinet. The piece of paper they’re looking for might be anywhere in this twenty five metre square room. They just have to figure out where someone would hide some confidential information in a room that they never even bother to visit.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bucky mutters as he hits the jackpot, looking at the stack of unopened letters “Is this guy stupid or what?”

She rolls her eyes, taking the piece of paper before tucking it in his chest pocket, “Come on. We better go before they realise I hijacked their cameras,”

Bucky follows as she leads the way out of the room. Their breath of relief was short lived as one of the patrolling guards caught Bucky’s shadow, calling him out as they began to run through the hallways.

“You know we can just punch these guys, right?” Bucky says he matches her pace.

“No, we have to do this discreetly. Bricks might become a useful asset for us,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Are you bullshitting me? He’s a criminal!”

“He’s a criminal with connections, we can use him!” she argues “Just run faster, alright? I’m with heels and I can still outpace you without breaking a sweat,”

Bucky lets out a small growl of annoyance, picking up a pace that he’s now in front of her.

They begin to look for an escape by turning each of the door handles, him checking on the left while she on the right. The mansion was big, but it seems like they’re reaching the end of it as they find no other turn to take. The right door by the end of the brick wall was their only hope of salvation but when she turned to face him, her back pressed against the white door and hand still clutched to the handle, the shake of her head was all Bucky needed to reach for the minigun in his suit.

But before he could take it out, before he could point it to the direction of where the guards were coming, she pushed his hand back in, “No,”

“What are you doing?” he asked, clearly confused about the course of action she’s taking.

“Just— Don’t punch me, alright?”

There was no time for another question as Bucky felt her lips pressed against his. She has one of her legs up, rubbing onto his upper thigh in a seductive manner that he couldn’t help but to hold it there, putting a hand to keep her thigh locked on his waist line. His other hand now rests on her neck, pulling her face closer as he deepens the kiss. Whatever dam that was around them has bursted, flowing with a tidal wave of emotions he wasn’t even familiar with.

Her hands were reaching for the paper in his suit before they found themselves around his neck, clutching onto him like he was her one tether to life. Their kiss was vigorous, almost animalistic as their teeth clash with each other. Bucky’s hands were just about to pull her other leg up to his waist before the guards finally called them.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Sir, Ma’am,”

“Oh, good God!” she exclaims, flushed from all the action the two of them have just committed “How embarrassing. Please, excuse us—”

“Not so fast, Ma’am,” the other guard says, stopping her from leaving “We’re gonna have to search you,”

“Search us?” she feigns deep insult from the inquiry “Whatever would you need us searched for?”

“It's just standard procedure, Ma’am. You’re not supposed to be on this side of the mansion. I’m sure you understand,”

“No, I don’t. Cupcake, tell them that this is ridiculous,”

Bucky was still quiet, not saying a word. 

Getting a little worried at his lack of response, she places a hand on his cheek and asks genuinely, “Hey, are you alright?”

“Alright, Ma’am, please step aside so we can search the both of you. This shouldn’t take too long,”

Bucky was still in a daze as the men began to run their hands around his clothes, not even giving the slightest blink when their hands were far too close to the gun he hides underneath. His eyes were still on her as he watched another guard search for her too. The only thing breaking his silence was when the guard’s hand was a little too close to her breasts, “Touch her any second longer and I’ll rip those hands off of you,”

She was stunned. Blinking as she tries to digest the venom that was thick in his tone. If he was just trying to keep the piece of paper she now hides under her bra safe from the guard’s search, then there’s no doubt to his apparent success, but the fury that was filling his eyes tells another story. Bucky’s eyes were locked on the guard now, showing on full display that he’s not the man you should mess with. A sight that she’s not sure she’s ever seen before, even after the countless missions they’ve done in the past.

“Gentlemen, I believe this is just a big misunderstanding,” she says, trying to diffuse the tension “Me and my partner might have just taken a little too much of the champagne and stumbled ourselves in places we don’t belong. Please convey my apology to Harry, we mean no harm,”

“You’re Mr. Bricks’ guest?” one of the guards asks.

“Why, yes, he’s a close friend of mine,” she says with a smile “We just took the wrong turn on one of these corridors, we didn’t mean to intrude on anything,”

The guards were exchanging looks now, clearly debating if they should let them go or bring this up to their boss.

“Or perhaps you could just lead us to Harry so I could explain and apologise to him myself?”

“No, there would be no need, Ma’am. We’re all good here,” one of the guards finally says, letting their hold on Bucky lose “Just don’t wander around,”

“Of course. We’ll find ourselves out. Thank you, gentlemen,”

Bucky’s eyes were still locked on the one guard that searched her as she pulled him out of the scene. He saw how the other guards opened the door of the room they were standing in front of, raising his brows as he thought it was locked.

He looks up front to see her. Her hand was still clasped with his, her dainty fingers interlocking with his gloved ones. Bucky takes a painful swallow, wondering what the hell just happened and how he’s supposed to take it in. Whatever it is that made her pull such a stunt was far beyond his comprehension. A little too bizarre, a little too unpredicted, a little too astonishing, but it certainly would be a lie if Bucky says he wasn’t pleased with it.

—-

Days passed fast and nights stretched incredibly long now that they’re back in the compound. Neither of them tried to melt the invisible barrier between them that’s altered from a concrete brick wall into an icy glass confinement. The silence that fell whenever they’re in the same room has only grown thicker, added by the new sense of tension and stolen glances that lingered a little longer than it did before.

Bucky didn’t know where to start or if he should do anything about it. The memory of that night from Bricks’ mansion always plays in his head before sleep like a broken record. A daunting introduction to the nightmare that would follow once he closes his eyes. He wonders if he should’ve said something on the way back, if he should have asked the one billion dollar question as they checked out of the hotel. He asks himself if there’s anything he should’ve done, anything he should’ve said before time spoils his short window to crush this conundrum.

Now trying to find the chance to bump into her, Bucky couldn’t recall if she’s always been this busy before their last mission. It was practically impossible to see her during the day. She was always out for some meetings with the government or entangling herself with reports and plans for future missions. He could still count it with one hand the few times he’s met her when the sun was still out after their return. They didn’t even get the chance to do their reporting together. Another thing for him to ponder at night: is she avoiding him?

“Are you even listening, Barnes?” Sam asks, sounding a little annoyed at the distracted man.

“No,” Bucky answers honestly, readjusting his seat “Sorry, can you repeat that again?”

Sam sighs, placing the report papers on his hand to the table, “I was saying, that as per the requests made before your last mission, you’re eligible for a week of vacation, but given the prosperous intel you’ve given us, I don’t think they would’ve minded if you take another extra week,”

“Right, the vacation,” Bucky sighs, rubbing his forehead.

It was one of the special requests she made before they agreed to sign up for the mission. At that time, Bucky thought that a week off sounded like a pass to heaven, especially since he’d be doing the mission with her—the very bane of his existence—but now that the mission’s past and a new splinter nested between them, Bucky feels rather regretful that he’s agreed to such a clause.

“So where’s she going then? For her vacation?” Bucky asks as he takes the report papers off of Sam’s hand.

“Nowhere. She’s not taking it.”

Bucky’s brow raised, looking up to meet Sam’s eyes, “What do you mean she’s not taking it? She’s the one who requested it,”

“I know, but she’s just not taking it,”

“Well, where is she then? I haven’t seen her in days,”

“West,”

“West? What’s she doing in West?”

“She’s looking for new intel about the suspected Hydra base around the area. Listen, I’m not supposed to be talking to you about this—,”

“I thought Sharon was taking that mission?”

“She was—,”

“Then why is she the one in West?”

“I don’t know, okay! Stop interrogating me, man, I’m not one of your suspects,” Sam bursts, but his anger was quick to simmer when he looked at the confusion in Bucky’s eyes “Look, I don’t know why she’s not taking her leave or why she’s in West now. All I know, and I’m not even supposed to tell you, is that she was looking for new missions right after you both came back. Now I don’t know what happened between you two in that mission, but whatever it is, I think you should really take that break and ease down a little,”

Bucky flashes an insulted look, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, man, you tell me! Why is she suddenly a workaholic now? And why are you an even bigger brooder than you usually are?”

“I don’t brood,” Bucky argues.

“Yes, you do,” Sam snorts “Much, much worse since the mission,”

Bucky glares, not sparing a word to say.

“Look, just take the vacation, Buck. Whatever issue you have with her, you can ask her yourself when you’re back,” Sam reasoned, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder in persuasion “Take the leave, come back in a week,”

Bucky nodded with a tight lip, watching as Sam leaves him alone in the meeting room.

He runs a hand through his hair in despair. So it’s true, she is avoiding him. Now the next question rings louder in his ears: why?

Was the hostility he showed towards the guards scared her? Was the possessiveness that leaked through his tone made her uncomfortable? Was the lack of response he showed as she dragged him away from the mansion irked her?

So many questions, so little answers.

—-

By the third day of staying in his apartment, doing nothing but watching cheap programs on the television and drinking cold beer throughout the day, Bucky realised that this vacation was doing him more harm than good. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. How she must be using her charm, coaxing all the information she could gather with her sweet words and that God gifted smile that would always tug on her lips whenever she wanted something.

That goddamn smile.

A beautiful ghost that haunts his mind, giving no space for anything else. He’s been living less life, sleepless with no rest as his eyes glued on the ticking hand of the clock. He worries not about her safety, hell, he knew better than to doubt her ability to handle herself. What worries him, he couldn’t even put a word.

Bucky knew, more often than not, that the sentiments he held for her were not so typical. He wasn’t just irritated nor bothered by her relenting arguments. The questions she asked and the orders she demanded were ones he would agree to most of the time. Yet, he still couldn’t stop himself from toying around with her. From jabbing on her stance a little too frequently than he should. He loves their squabbles. Their headstrong quarrels that would make his heart beat a little faster in his chest. He yearns for their arguments, keen on having her vexed over some stupid question he would throw or a slight change of action from what she’s ordered him to do.

To hell with the vacation, he thought as he grabbed his keys. 

There’s no telling what his ride would lead up. He’s not even sure he would still have the courage to ask her the question that’s been plaguing his mind. If he would even have the strength to drag himself and find her. But staying put gives him no better remedy. He needs to do something, to at least try and give whatever it is he’s feeling a fight. Whatever he will do then would be a question to be asked in the future.

And so he drives. Riding his bike through the night, ignoring the cold wind that seeps through the zipper of his leather jacket. The only thing in his mind was: the faster he got there, the faster he could find her and see if he could actually get some answers. That’s all that matters.

An hour turns into two as he reaches the hotel where she’s supposed to be staying. It’s far too late at night for him to find her now, so he reckons to just book a room and hope to see her during breakfast. That would be the better plan to take, to just lie his teeth out when they meet and say it was a coincidence because he was supposed to be on vacation, than to wait in the lobby the whole night like the complete stalker he discreetly is.

Bucky tossed the keys of his bike to the valet, walking in with his hands deep in his pocket. He didn’t even bring any clothes with him. An utter idiocy that he’s realised a little too late now.

“I’d like to book a room, please,” he says to the receptionist, tapping on the marbled table as he begins to feel the ache from the drive settling in.

The woman begins to prepare his booking, collecting his ID and card to secure his payment. He studies the hotel, taking in the unfamiliar setting to try and ease his mind. He runs his thumb on his lower lip, scratching the non itchy spot just to try to distract his mind from creating imaginative scenarios of their ‘accidental’ reunion.

But the thought of their happenstance encounter was put to a halt when his gaze found a familiar face. She enters the hotel, waist being held by some random man that he’s never seen before, not even on the reports he snitched from Sam. This face was new, a stranger, yet the comfortable smile on her face shows nothing but pleasant affinity. She leans her head on his arm, giggling when he seals their lips together.

It feels like all air was being sucked out of his lungs. Bucky’s gut twisted, a steel knife stuck on his windpipe. Suddenly, it all makes sense. She was an elite spy, afterall. Acting the part is what she does. Her brain is wired to take whatever action necessary to get the job done, even when such action might affect someone a little differently than her.

What they shared at Bricks’ Mansion meant nothing for her. Not the gentle touch, not the sweet vulnerable stare, not the kiss, nothing. They were all just part of the job. Nothing more, nothing less.

[the-winter-spider]

I Love You, I'm Sorry

Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 25k+

Warnings: Angst, fluff, sweater, small bit if barley anything smut

A/N: LMAOOO this is so unnecessarily long, I hope you like it! I definitely started to edit this and then just half assed did it and let this edit thing i have take over so hopefully it turned out okay because i was going cross eyed lol

I Miss You, I'm Sorry

-----

It had been almost two years since you’d last seen Bucky.

Two summers of carefully constructed avoidance. Two years of dodging mutual gatherings, leaning on Natasha and Wanda to run interference, and filling your days with work, hobbies, and everything else you could think of to keep yourself from looking back.

For the most part, it worked.

You had finally started to feel… free. Or something close to it. Your friends told you how proud they were, how much you were thriving, and sometimes, you almost believed them. You’d moved forward. You’d learned how to smile and laugh without his shadow hanging over you.

But there were cracks in your façade, ones no one else could see.

At night, when the world was quiet and there was nothing to distract you, your mind always drifted back to him. To the way his voice sounded when he said your name, the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way his arms would feel around you, the way his lips would peck your skin and the way his words would soothe you. Till they didn’t but even then it was Bucky. He’d been your person—or at least, you thought he had been.

The right person, wrong time. You held onto that idea like a lifeline, the tiny hope that maybe someday, when you were both different, both ready, it could work. You hated yourself for holding onto the hope of it all, especially with how he treated you. But hope was a fickle bitch.

But that didn’t stop you from trying to move on. You tried, over and over again. New faces, new kisses, new hands brushing against yours. And yet every time, your mind would betray you, comparing each new guy to Bucky.

They didn’t laugh like he did.

They didn’t understand you like he did.

They didn’t know you like he did.

They didn’t make you feel like he did.

You hated yourself for it. For clinging to something that had already broken you one too many times. For hoping for something that wasn’t yours anymore, something that truly never even was.

But you always brushed it aside.

When Maria invited you to her engagement party, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. She was your friend, after all, and Natasha had promised she’d come too. It wasn’t until the day of the party, when Natasha called to say she couldn’t make it—“I’ve caught some kind of flu. Don’t worry, you’re gonna be fine, its not like Bucky will be there” That made your stomach churn, because of course Bucky wouldn't be there, why would he, he wasn't friends with Maria, but the fact Natasha even said his name in itself made your anxiety spike. And Steve knew Maria but he wouldn't bring him when he knew you were going.

You reminded yourself that Natasha wouldn’t steer you wrong. “He doesn’t even know these people,” “Steve wouldn’t do that to you” she had said, her voice reassuring. “You’ll be fine.”

So you put on a dress you hadn’t worn in ages, did your makeup, and told yourself you could handle this. It had been two years. You were fine. He won’t be there.

The party was already in full swing when you arrived. The apartment was beautiful, a spacious loft with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the New York City skyline. You mingled easily, sipping champagne and chatting with Maria and her fiancé, Chad, who were positively glowing with excitement.

An hour in, you’d almost forgotten your anxiety.

Almost.

“Wow, you look amazing,” a familiar voice said, and you turned to see Steve standing beside you, his kind smile softening the sharp cut of his suit.

“Hey, Steve,” you said, your voice steady as you returned his smile. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckled, glancing around before leaning in slightly. “Listen,” he said, his tone dropping to something quieter. “I need to tell you something.”

Your stomach twisted at the seriousness in his voice. “What?”

He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to gauge how you’d react. “Bucky’s here.”

The world seemed to tilt for a second. “What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Your hand started to shake, making your champagne spill over.

Steve reached out wrapping his hand around yours, trying to ground you. “He works with Chad,” Steve explained, wincing slightly. “I guess Chad got hired at Bucky’s company, and Buck invited him out to show him around New York. ”

Your mind reeled, piecing it together like a puzzle you didn’t want to solve. Of course.

Steve touched your arm gently, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Are you going to be okay?”

“It’s been two years,” you said, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “I’ll be fine.”

Steve nodded, but the way his eyes lingered on you made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. “I’m sorry, I know what he put you through.”

You grabbed his arm before he could walk away, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Is he, um here with anyone?”

Steve hesitated, then shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “He hasn’t really dated in the last couple of years.”

Your heart clenched, but you forced yourself to nod. “Okay.” It wasn’t a huge party by any means but there were enough people crowded in the small house that there was no way he’d be anywhere near you, right?

But then you heard it. It was like all your senses finally turned into your surroundings. The laugh, his laugh. And you started to spiral thinking of the smile and the head toss that went along with it.

You tried to focus on the party, but your nerves buzzed under your skin, your gaze flickering to every corner of the room, your eyes searching for him involentarly.

And then, finally, you saw him.

He was standing by the bar, laughing at something Chad said, a drink in his hand. He looked different—his hair shorter, his beard neatly trimmed—but he was still him. It was still Bucky. His nose still scrunched when he laughed.

And then his eyes locked with yours from across the room.

Everything stopped.

The noise of the party faded, just the thumping of your heart beat was heard, the world narrowing to just the two of you. It was like something out of a movie, and that terrified you because this wasn’t a movie. This was your life, and he’d already broken your heart one too many times.

You couldn’t do it again. You wouldn't.

You made up your mind quickly. You weren’t going to wait around for him to come over, to say something that would unravel everything you’d worked so hard to rebuild. You were panicking.

You found Maria, congratulating her again and leaving your engagement gift with a polite smile. “Natasha sends her congratulations,” you added. “She’ll be at the next party, I promise.”

You headed for the door, your chest tight, your mind racing.

The cool night air bites at your skin as you step out of the building, your heels clicking against the pavement. The distant hum of the city feels a world away from the chaos swirling inside you. You just need to get away—away from the noise, the memories, and him.

But then you hear it.

Footsteps behind you.

And then, his voice.

“Wait!”

Your body stiffens, your heart slamming against your ribs. You don’t turn around. You can’t. Not yet.

“Please,” Bucky says again, his voice closer now, raw and pleading. “Can we talk?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, before finally turning to face him. He stops a few feet away, his chest rising and falling heavily like he ran to catch up with you.

“Bucky,” you say, your voice sharp as his name leaves your lips for the first time in years, cutting through the silence. “What is there to talk about? There’s nothing I want to hear from you, and there’s nothing I want to say to you.”

He flinches like your words are a physical blow, but he doesn’t back down. His blue eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you say anything.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, his hands trembling at his sides. “Please,” he whispers, the word barely audible.

The weight of his gaze makes it impossible to move, to breathe. You hate how much power he still holds over you, how much his broken voice and watering eyes make your chest ache.

So you linger. You linger in the stillness, saying nothing.

And that’s when he begins to speak.

“I love you.” he says simply, his voice raw and unsteady.

“No.” The word slips from your lips, fast, sharp and broken. “You don’t know what love is.” Your chest heaves as the anger bubbles up, tears pricking at your eyes. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have been with all those other girls. You wouldn’t have let me think, so stupidly, that I was the only one who had that part of you.”

His face twists, the words hitting him like a physical blow. “You were,” he says, his voice cracking as he takes a step closer. “I wasn’t with any of them when I was with you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “That is such bullshit, Bucky! I saw you. Multiple times, I might add! I know damn well you saw me too, out with different girls every other week like it was nothing—like I was nothing.”

His jaw tightens, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he takes another step closer. “No. I wasn’t with them,” he says, his voice desperate now. “I wasn’t sleeping with anybody else when I was seeing you. And for the record, you were never nothing to me. You were—you are everything.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask, your voice sharp and trembling. You laugh again, a hollow, cutting sound. “Because ‘for the record,’ we were never seeing each other, Bucky. You made damn sure of that.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You know what I mean,” he says, his tone softer now, almost pleading. “And I truly wasn’t sleeping with anybody else but you. Because I couldn’t.”

The words hang between you, heavy and raw, and your chest tightens as your breath catches in your throat.

“You couldn’t?” you ask, your voice trembling with disbelief. “Why? Because you were saving me from something? Because you didn’t want to hurt me?”

“No,” he says quickly, stepping closer. His hands are trembling as he lifts them slightly, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. “Because I didn’t want to. I didn’t want anyone else. I still don’t. Not like that. Not the way I want you.”

The admission feels like a knife twisting in your chest, and you take a shaky step back, shaking your head.

“And what? It took you completely ruining me to figure that out?” your voice cracks, your emotions spilling out like a flood. “Why couldn’t you have figured that out two years ago, Bucky? You hurt me so badly.” Your voice cracked.

His shoulders slump, and the defeat in his posture almost makes you falter. “I know,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. And I’ll hate myself for it for the rest of my life.”

Your throat tightens, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Then why? Why didn’t you just let me in? You made me feel like I was nothing, like I didn’t matter, when all I ever did was try to love you!”

His eyes snap to yours, the intensity in his gaze making your heart lurch. “Because I didn’t think I could love you back the way you deserved,” he says, his voice cracking. “I thought if I let you in, I’d ruin you. I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was make it worse. Because, God, do I love you more than anything.”

Your chest heaves with the weight of his words, and you wrap your arms around yourself as if it could stop the ache spreading through you. “You didn’t just make it worse, Bucky,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You broke me.”

He steps closer, his hand reaching out like he wants to touch you but stops just short. “And I’m trying to fix it,” he says softly. “I know I can’t take it back, but I’ll spend the rest of my time trying to make it right if you let me.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh slipping past your lips. “You think it’s that easy? That you can just say all the right things now and I’ll forget about the years I spent breaking myself over you?”

“No,” he says quickly, his voice firm. “I don’t think it’s easy. I don’t expect you to forget. I just… I want a chance. A real one. To show you that I can be better. That I am better. I'll do anything.”

The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, broken only by the sound of your shaky breathing.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

“I’ll earn it,” he says softly. “Every single day, I’ll earn it. Please, I love you.”

Your heart aches as you stare at him, the war between your love for him and your fear of being hurt again raging inside you, “I'm sorry” you say softly with one last glance at him you turn around and leave.

---

The morning after the confrontation with Bucky, you find yourself sitting at a coffee shop with Wanda, Sam, and Natasha, it isn't unusual, the four of you have at least one day a week to catch up on life events, something that Natasha implemented years ago, nothing changed minus Steve wasn’t always here and Bucky no longer came for obvious reason. The usual lighthearted banter feels like it belongs to another world, one you’re struggling to reach. Your fingers wrap around the steaming cup in front of you, the warmth doing little to thaw the chill in your chest.

Two years. That’s how long you managed to avoid him and seeing him for two minutes was enough to break down all the walls you worked hard to build.

Two years of carefully declining invitations where you knew Bucky would be, of sharing group messages where his name lingered in the background like a ghost. Two years of never asking Natasha or Wanda about him and dodging Steve’s carefully neutral mentions of “Buck.”

And now, here you are, breaking the unspoken rule you set for yourself.

You sit at the café table with your untouched coffee cooling between your hands. The three of them are laughing about something—some story Sam’s telling about Steve being too stubborn to ask for directions—but the sound feels distant.

When the words finally tumble out of you, they cut through the conversation like a blade.

“I ran into Bucky last night.”

The laughter stops.

Natasha freezes, her coffee cup paused halfway to her lips, her sharp green eyes snapping to yours. Wanda’s brows knit together in quiet concern, her hand resting on her mug as if she’s bracing herself. Sam, seated across from you, leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. His expression hardens instantly, his jaw ticking.

You feel terrible the moment his name leaves your mouth. Horrible. Stupid. Guilty. It feels wrong bringing him up to them, like tearing open an old wound you’d all worked so hard to ignore. They knew everything—every tear you shed, every question you asked when you couldn’t figure out why things fell apart. They were there for every breakdown, every “why am i not enough?” They bore witness to the wreckage, the raw, ugly truth of what Bucky had done to you.

And now, here you were, dragging his name into the one space he hadn’t tainted.

You knew they still saw him. They had to. Bucky was part of the group, no matter how much you wished he wasn’t. But they did a damn good job keeping you out of it. For two years, they’d honored the unspoken rule: No Bucky around you. No you around Bucky. It was messy, but it worked. Sam even went nearly a year without seeing him, a Herculean effort considering how tight Bucky and Steve were, and how close Sam and Steve had gotten.

You’d never forget the night Sam nearly lost it—when he almost went after Bucky, fists clenched, ready to beat some sense into him or shit out of him. Sam had always been protective of you, but that night, his anger burned hotter than yours. It wasn’t until that moment—seeing Sam about to cross a line he couldn’t uncross—that you realized what you’d become, how much of your pain was spilling onto the people who loved you.

The group dynamic had never been the same after you and Bucky started… whatever that was.

It had been perfect before. Bucky and Steve had been inseparable since they were kids. You and Sam were childhood best friends until his family moved away, forcing you to find new ones. You met Wanda not long after, then Natasha a few years later, and things clicked. Natasha introduced you to Steve, who introduced you to Bucky. When Sam came back into your life during college, it felt like fate—like all the pieces of the puzzle had finally snapped into place.

But you and Bucky had thrown everything off balance.

When it was good, the group had learned to tiptoe around it, even accept it. But when it was bad—when it was tears and shouting and silence—they all felt the ripple effects. And sides were taken.m, drawing a jagged line between the group.

And now here you were, breaking the unspoken truce.

For a moment, no one says anything. The silence is thick and suffocating, pressing down on your chest like a hand. You can feel Natasha’s stare, sharp and assessing, and Wanda’s soft, silent empathy. But it’s Sam who breaks the tension, like always, his voice clipped and tight.

“What do you mean you ran into him?”

You glance down at your coffee, your fingers tightening around the mug to steady yourself. The words sit heavy on your tongue, reluctant to leave. “He was at Maria’s engagement party,” you say quietly, your voice barely cutting through the tense silence. “I didn’t know he’d be there, he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Steve,” Natasha mutters under her breath, setting her cup down with a sharp clink that makes you flinch. Her green eyes narrow, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Of course he invited him.”

“No, he didn’t,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “Chad works with Bucky.”

“Who the hell is Chad?” Sam asks, his voice dripping with skepticism as he leans back in his chair.

“Maria’s fiancé,” Natasha replies, her tone clipped, like it’s obvious. She barely spares him a glance, her fingers drumming against the table.

“And who’s Maria?” Sam fires back, his brow furrowing as his annoyance builds.

“Oh my god, Sam, it doesn’t matter!” Natasha snaps, rolling her eyes with exasperation.

Wanda lets out a quiet sigh, leaning forward slightly, her gentle presence cutting through the rising tension. “Are you okay?” she asks softly, her voice calm but steady. Her dark eyes search yours, filled with concern. “What happened?”

You swallow hard, your throat dry as your gaze drops to the coffee again. “We… talked,” you admit, your voice tight, like it hurts to say the words out loud.

“Talked?” Sam repeats, his tone sharper now, disbelief flickering across his face. He leans forward, crossing his arms on the table. “What the hell could you possibly have to talk about after two years?”

“Sam,” Wanda says gently, her hand reaching out to rest on his arm. There’s a warning in her tone, but her touch is grounding, calming.

Sam exhales sharply, glancing at Wanda before turning back to you, his jaw clenching. “I just don’t get it,” he mutters.

You stay quiet, the knot in your stomach tightening. The weight of their stares feels unbearable, like you’re under a microscope. The silence stretches between you, and for a brief moment, you wish you’d never said anything.

But he doesn’t back down, his gaze locked on you. “No, seriously. After what he put you through, after how long it’s taken you to get to this point—what could he possibly say that’s worth hearing?”

You flinch, the words hitting harder than you expect. “He said none of them meant anything,” you say quietly, not looking up. “The other women. He said they didn’t mean anything to him, that he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else while we were…” You trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

Natasha’s voice is like ice when she finally speaks. “While you were what?” she asks, her words razor-sharp. “While you were breaking yourself over him? While you were bending over backward to love someone who couldn’t love you back the way you deserved?”

You glance up at her, tears stinging your eyes. “He said he was scared. That he didn’t want to feel whole because then he’d have something to lose.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” Sam let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Classic Barnes. Always finding a way to make his damage someone else’s problem.”

“Sam,” Wanda says again, but this time, her voice is quieter. She looks at you, her expression filled with the kind of sympathy that only makes the ache in your chest worse. “What did you say?”

“I told him he hurt me anyway,” you admit, your voice trembling. “That all his excuses didn’t matter because it doesn’t erase what he did.”

Natasha leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Good.”

“Then what?” Sam presses, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to catch you in a lie. “Please tell me you walked away and didn’t give him anything else.”

You hesitate, your silence stretching too long, betraying you.

Natasha’s sharp green eyes lock on yours, narrowing slightly. Wanda tilts her head, her lips parting like she’s about to ask something, but Sam beats her to it, his voice cutting through the quiet tension.

“Oh, come on,” Sam says, throwing his hands in the air. “Don’t tell me you let him get to you again.”

Your head snaps toward him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t let him get to me,” you snap, your tone sharper than you intended. “I didn’t say anything….”

The admission silences the table, but the tension only thickens. You can feel their stares boring into you, each one carrying a different weight—Sam’s frustration, Wanda’s concern, Natasha’s quiet scrutiny.

“But…” you start, your voice faltering.

“Always a but,” Sam groans, rubbing a hand down his face.

You look away, weary and defeated, the words catching in your throat before you finally manage to force them out. “He said he loves me.”

The words land like a grenade.

Sam’s jaw tightens, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing again in disbelief. Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, her fingers drumming against the table. Wanda’s brows knit together, the soft concern on her face twisting into something closer to pity.

No one speaks. The weight of the admission hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice low and measured. “And what did you say to that?”

You exhale sharply, your gaze fixed on the empty glass in front of you. “Nothing,” you say quietly. “I didn’t say anything. I just… left.”

“Good,” Natasha says firmly, though her tone is softer now, less cutting. “That’s what you should’ve done.”

Wanda leans forward slightly, her eyes searching yours. “How do you feel about it, though?” she asks gently. “About him saying that?”

You shake your head, your hands clenching into fists in your lap. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how I feel. Part of me wanted to believe him, but the other part…” You trail off, your throat tightening.

“The other part knows it’s bullshit,” Sam finishes for you, his voice hard. “He’s said crap like this before, hasn’t he? Made you feel like you’re the only person in the world, just to rip it all away the next second?”

“Sam,” Wanda says softly, placing a calming hand on his arm.

“No,” he says, shaking her off. “She needs to hear this. You can’t let him keep pulling you back in, Y/n. He’s only saying it because he knows you’re moving on, and he doesn’t want to lose that grip he has on you.”

“That’s not fair,” you say, your voice rising slightly as you turn to him. “You don’t know what he meant. You don’t know how he said it, he’s never said the word love to me before Sam…”

“Oh, I know exactly how he said it,” Sam fires back, his tone dripping with frustration. “Because it’s Bucky, and he’s been playing this game for years! Doesn’t matter, why the hell would he drop the L word after two years!”

“Enough,” Natasha cuts in, her tone icy and firm. Her eyes flick to Sam before landing on you, her gaze softening slightly. “What matters isn’t what he said. It’s how you feel about it. So stop deflecting and just be honest—what did it mean to you?”

You look down, your chest tightening as their words swirl around you. The truth is, you don’t know how to answer that question. Hearing him say those words—I love you—had shaken you to your core. It wasn’t what you expected, and it wasn’t what you wanted to hear, not like this. But that didn’t stop the part of you, buried deep down, that ached to believe him.

“I don’t know,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what it meant. All I know is… it hurt.”

Wanda leans back, exhaling softly as she folds her hands in her lap. “That’s valid,” she says gently. “It’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to not have an answer right now.”

“But it’s not okay to let him back in just because he said the right thing,” Natasha adds, her voice firm but not unkind. “Words are easy, Y/n. Actions are what matter.”

Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m coming off too harsh. I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt again. Not by him.”

You nod, your throat tightening as you look around the table. These were your people, the ones who’d seen you at your lowest and never walked away. They were only trying to protect you, but the weight of their concern felt suffocating.

“I get it,” you say quietly. “I do. And I’m not planning to just… run back to him. I’m not stupid.”

“No one’s saying you’re stupid,” Wanda says quickly, her voice soothing.

You glance at her, offering a small, tired smile. “It just… it threw me, okay? I wasn’t expecting him to say that, he wasn’t supposed to be there, that’s all.”

Natasha sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I swear, Steve and his damn loyalty to Bucky…”

“Don’t blame Steve,” Wanda says gently, glancing between you and Natasha. “This isn’t about him.” She turns to you, her voice soft. “This is about what you want. What you’re going to do next.”

You shake your head, your chest tightening. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sam exhales sharply, his frustration simmering just below the surface. “You want my advice?” he says, his tone blunt. “Do nothing. Block his number, delete his name, and move the hell on. Because if you don’t, he’s going to drag you right back into the same cycle.”

Wanda gives him a look but doesn’t contradict him. Natasha remains silent, her jaw tight as she studies you.

“Whatever you decide,” Natasha says finally, her voice steady but laced with warning, “just remember what it took to get to this point. Two years, no Bucky, and you’ve been good. Don’t throw it all away unless you’re damn sure he’s worth it.”

The words linger in the air long after they leave her mouth, sinking into your chest like stones.

You nod slowly, even though your thoughts are a chaotic mess. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I’ll think about it.”

But as you leave the café later, the cool breeze brushing against your skin, you can’t help but feel like it’s not really a choice at all. Not when his words are still echoing in your mind.

“I’ll earn it. Every single day, I’ll earn it.”

It’s late when you get home, the city quiet outside your window. You drop your bag on the counter and collapse onto the couch, the weight of the day pressing down on you like a physical force.

Bucky’s words won’t leave your mind.

“None of them meant anything.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I love you.”

You lean back, closing your eyes, but the memories come flooding in: Bucky with his easy charm, the way he used to pull you in so effortlessly, the way he made you feel like the only person in the world—until he didn’t.

You grab your phone off the coffee table and open your messages. His name is still there, right at the top from the missed calls and texts you haven’t answered.

There’s another message waiting for you now.

“I meant what I said. Please just let me explain.”

Your finger hovers over the notification, your heart pounding. You could call him back right now. Hear his voice, let him pull you back in like he always does.

But then Sam’s voice cuts through the fog in your head. “Block his number, delete his name, and move the hell on.”

You toss the phone onto the couch beside you, burying your face in your hands. You hate how torn you feel, how deeply he’s gotten under your skin even after all this time.

Your thoughts race, bouncing between your friends’ words and the way Bucky looked at you last night—like he was sorry, like he was breaking apart in front of you.

He’s always sorry after the fact, you think bitterly. But what about before?

You stand abruptly, pacing the small space of your living room as if movement will make the war in your head easier to handle.

On one hand, you’ve spent two years rebuilding yourself, proving you can live without him, even if it hurt like hell. On the other hand, the love you had for him—the love you still feel, no matter how hard you try to bury it—won’t let you forget how much you wanted him to choose you.

Your phone buzzes again. You don’t need to look at it to know it’s him.

You let it buzz this time, the sound grating against the quiet. You walk to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of water, and try to focus on the simple task of breathing.

But the questions won’t stop coming.

What if he’s really changed?

What if he means it this time?

What if I say no, and this time, it really could’ve been different?

Your eyes fall to the notes app on your phone, and before you can stop yourself, you open it. The unsent letter you wrote months ago still stares back at you, every word a wound you thought had healed.

“I love you, I’m sorry.”

“I hate what loving you does to me.”

“I wish I could stop waiting for you.”

You stare at the words for what feels like forever, your chest tightening. This is the part of him you know, the part of you he’s left behind time and time again.

But then you hear his voice in your head again, softer this time. “I didn’t want anyone else. Not like that. Not the way I wanted you.”

You slam your phone down on the counter, frustration bubbling up in your chest. It feels impossible—choosing between the life you’ve built without him and the possibility of something better with him.

Finally, you grab your coat and head for the door. The walls of your apartment feel too small, and you need space to think.

As you step outside into the cool night air, you glance at the lit-up city skyline and whisper to yourself, “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

---

The next day, you text Bucky. Just one line, short and to the point: “We need to talk. Can you meet me at the park in 20?”

Your phone buzzes almost immediately with his reply: “I’ll be there.”

You don’t let yourself think too hard about it—what you’ll say, how you’ll say it, or what it will mean. If you overthink, you know you’ll spiral. Instead, you grab your coat, slipping it on as you head out the door.

By the time you arrive at the park, the cold air has crept into your fingertips, and you shove your hands deep into your pockets. The bench you choose is damp from the morning dew, but you sit anyway, bracing yourself against the bite of the cool metal.

You focus on the world around you to keep your thoughts from drowning you. The faint rustling of leaves. The distant sound of children laughing. The hum of traffic just beyond the trees. It all blends into a calming rhythm, but your hands still won’t stop shaking.

When Bucky finally shows up, you feel him before you see him.

That familiar leather jacket, the way his hands are stuffed into his pockets as he walks toward you with hesitant steps. He stops a few feet away, lingering like he’s waiting for you to say something, to invite him closer.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice careful, measured.

You nod, gesturing for him to sit. He does, keeping a respectful distance between you, but it feels like miles.You hate that you have a need, a want to have him close.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The quiet feels fragile, as if one wrong word could send the whole thing crumbling. Finally, you take a deep breath, the cool air stinging your lungs as you turn to face him.

“I can’t do this, Bucky,” you say, your voice calm despite the storm swirling inside you. “Whatever this is between us, it doesn’t work. It never did.”

He blinks, the words visibly hitting him, but he doesn’t react right away. His brows furrow, and he shifts to face you fully, his expression a mixture of confusion and frustration. “That’s not fair,” he says, his voice low. “You can’t say it never worked. There were good moments—”

“There were,” you interrupt, your voice sharper now as you meet his gaze head-on. “But they weren’t enough. And you know it.”

He exhales sharply, leaning back on the bench. His hands rub over his thighs as if trying to ground himself. “So, what? That’s it? You’re done?”

You shake your head, the weight of it all pressing on your chest. “No, I’m not done,” you say softly. “But things need to change.”

He watches you, his expression guarded but waiting.

“I realized something last night,” you continue, your voice trembling but steady. “You and I? We were never really friends, Bucky. We jumped into… whatever that was—passion, chaos, love, I don’t even know. But we didn’t build a foundation. And I think that’s why it was so easy for you to hurt me. Because you didn’t really see me. Not like a friend does, not like a friend should.”

His jaw tightens, and his brows knit together as he looks at you, struggling to process your words. “What are you talking about?” he asks finally, his voice quiet but laced with disbelief. “We were always friends. You were always my friend.”

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “No, Bucky, we weren’t. Friends don’t treat each other the way you did. They don’t take without giving back. They don’t leave when things get hard. We skipped right past being friends and dove headfirst into something that was doomed from the start.”

He flinches slightly at your words, his jaw clenching as he looks down at the ground. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with regret. “I never wanted to, please know that..”

“I believe you,” you say softly, your fingers tightening around the edge of your coat. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you did. And I let you, because I thought love was enough to fix everything. But it wasn’t.”

The silence that follows feels heavier than before, filled with things neither of you knows how to say.

His hands grip the edge of the bench like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, and when he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. “So, what do you want from me now? What do I need to do? Because I can’t go any longer without you in my life.”

You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you respond. “I want to try being friends. Real friends. No more mixed signals, no more blurred lines. Just you and me, figuring out if we even know how to be in each other’s lives without falling apart.”

He turns to you, his blue eyes searching yours for something—answers, reassurance, maybe even forgiveness. “You really think we can do that?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, the honesty cutting through you like glass. “But I think it’s the only way we have a shot at something real. If we don’t start over, this will just keep happening.”

He nods slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he exhales, his breath visible in the cold air. “Okay,” he says finally, his voice steady. “Friends.”

You raise a brow, watching him carefully. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes,” he says, more firmly this time. His gaze doesn’t waver. “If that’s what you need, I’ll do it. Friends.”

The corner of your mouth lifts into a small, hesitant smile. “Okay.”

----

The friendship started quietly, almost tentatively.

At first, you kept your distance, careful and wary. It was easier that way. Safer. You told yourself it wasn’t about punishing him, it was about self-preservation. You weren’t ready to let him back in not fully, not even halfway, not after the chaos he’d left behind.

So you kept things light, meeting only at group gatherings or for the occasional coffee when he reached out. You’d sit across from him, smiling politely while waiting for the cracks to show. You braced yourself for the moment he’d remind you why you were so afraid of letting him close again. You were skeptical to say the least.

You expected the old Bucky to resurface—the one who smiled too easily at strangers and let his charm mask the ways he didn’t show up when it mattered. But as the weeks turned into months, something unexpected happened:

Bucky kept showing up.

Every. Single. Time.

It started with the way he carried himself. Before, being with him felt like bracing for a storm, like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’d been restless, distracted, always somewhere else in his mind. Now, though, he was steady. Grounded.

It was subtle—the way he lingered a little longer during conversations, the way his eyes didn’t dart around the room looking for an escape when things got serious. Instead of deflecting with a joke or brushing off questions about himself, he actually stayed. He listened.

You saw it in the small, quiet ways he started to show up for you.

“Your usual?” he asked one afternoon, sliding a coffee across the table toward you as you sat down.

You blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged, his lips curving into a small smile. “You like the extra cinnamon, right?”

It wasn’t the coffee that caught you off guard—it was the way he said it, like it was something he’d filed away in his mind, something important to him.

“Thanks,” you said softly, wrapping your hands around the cup.

For a while, you just sat there, the silence stretching between you. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though—not the way it used to be. He didn’t fidget or rush to fill the quiet. He just was.

When you finally spoke, your voice was quieter than you expected. “You’ve been… different lately.”

He tilted his head, studying you with those piercing blue eyes. “Different how?”

You hesitated, unsure how to say it without sounding accusatory. “I don’t know. Calmer. Present.”

His smile faded slightly, his gaze dropping to his coffee. “I’ve been working on that,” he admitted.

It wasn’t a dramatic declaration, but it stayed with you long after the conversation ended.

The little things, those were what really starting to get to you.

It was the way he remembered details you’d barely mentioned, like your favorite bagel order, the book you’d been meaning to read, the way you liked your eggs in the morning.

You had casually mentioned how the café’s muffins looked good but were overpriced. You didn’t think much of it until the next time you met him, and he slid a muffin across the table without a word.

“What’s this?” you asked, raising a brow.

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Thought you deserved to try the overpriced muffin.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. Before, he’d been inattentive, distracted, always somewhere else in his mind. But now? Now he paid attention. To everything.

“Thank you Buck,” you said softly, the warmth in your chest catching you off guard.

His mouth slightly parted, his cheeks lightly blushed with hearing you call him Buck “It’s just a muffin,” he said lightly trying to act cool, taking a sip of his coffee. But the way he avoided your eyes told you it meant more than that.

Of course, you still waited for him to slip. It was hard not to. You’d been burned before, and trust wasn’t something you could rebuild overnight.

At group gatherings, you watched him from the corner of your eye, waiting for him to flirt with someone new, to slip back into his old, careless charm.

But he never did. Not yet anyway.

At Wanda’s birthday party, you saw a woman lean in too close, her hand brushing his arm. The pang of jealousy hit you instantly, sharp and familiar. You tried not to look, but your eyes betrayed you, darting toward him as the moment unfolded.

And then you saw it.

Bucky gently stepped back, shaking his head with a polite smile before walking away.

When he sat down beside you later, balancing a beer on his knee, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, “You’re not interested?”

He raised a brow, his expression confused. “In what?”

“In her,” you said, nodding toward the woman. “She’s beautiful.”

He followed your gaze before turning back to you, his tone soft and matter-of-fact. “No.”

When you didn’t respond, he studied your face for a moment before adding, “That’s not what I’m here for. That’s not who I want.”

His words hung in the air, their weight pressing against your chest. You looked away, unsure how to respond, but the warmth spreading through you was undeniable.

It was in moments like these that you saw the difference in him, the way he wasn’t just trying to be better, he was. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was steady, patient, and consistent.

And slowly, so slowly you barely noticed it happening, he started to feel safe again. Like the way had once made you feel when you only had glimpses of him like this but now it was everywhere.

A few weeks later, you found yourself sitting on a park bench with Steve, waiting for Natasha to join the two of you. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the trees as you watched the shadows stretch across the grass.

“It’s nice to finally hang out with everyone again,” Steve said, his voice easy and warm. “To hang out with you again..”

You raised a brow, giving him a skeptical look. “You mean without the constant awkwardness of me avoiding Bucky?”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Something like that. But honestly, it’s been good. For all of us. Especially for him and I missed you, y’know?”

You hesitated, your chest tightening slightly. “What do you mean?”

Steve leaned back, resting his arms along the bench as he stared out at the park. “He’s more… himself. It’s like I’ve got my best friend back.”

His words caught you off guard. “Really?”

Steve nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah. He’s been putting in the work, you know? Seeing a therapist, digging through all the stuff he’s been carrying for years. I think he’s finally starting to let it go.”

The words stopped you in your tracks. “He’s seeing a therapist?”

“Has been for over a year,” Steve said with a small smile. “I think you’re part of the reason, honestly.”

You blinked, your stomach twisting. “Why would I be the reason?”

“Because losing you made him realize he had to change, that the emotional and self destructive path he was going down wasn’t a good idea ” Steve said simply. “And he talked about how he didn’t feel right months before you decided to keep him out of your life but he never changed anything but after Sam almost beat the shit out of him, and he realized you were actually done with him…he didn’t just say it—he did it.”

You looked down at the ground, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your coat. Bucky going to therapy? The man who once couldn’t even admit when he was wrong? It didn’t feel real.

“He’s really putting in the work?” you asked softly, still not quite able to believe it.

Steve nodded again. “It’s been good for him. Really good. He’s more present now, more grounded. It’s nice to see.”

You fell silent, your thoughts swirling as Steve’s words sank in. “For what it's worth, I missed you to Steve.”

--------

The friendship was delicate, like glass balanced on the edge of a table. Every step you took felt measured, calculated, careful not to tip it too far. Bucky was trying—you could see that. He was showing up, being present, doing all the things you’d always wanted him to do.

But trust wasn’t something that came back just because someone tried. And that was the problem.

It had been months of careful rebuilding, of letting him inch closer without letting him in entirely. You told yourself you were protecting yourself, guarding the parts of you he’d once broken. But the truth was, no matter how much progress you made, the cracks were still there, and some days it felt like they were growing.

It started small, the fights.

You were at his apartment, your first time back there in years. He’d invited you over for dinner, just you it was nothing fancy, just pasta and wine, and you’d agreed because things had been good lately.

Easy.

But something about being back in that space, sitting on the same couch where so much had gone wrong, made you uneasy. The walls seemed to hum with the echoes of old arguments, of broken promises and words you wished you could take back.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Bucky said, breaking the silence as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. He was watching you carefully, his brows furrowed in that way he always did when he was trying to figure you out.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, too quickly, your fingers toying with the edge of your wine glass.

He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You always say that when you’re not.”

“I said I’m fine, Bucky,” you snapped, sharper than you intended.

The tension in the room shifted immediately. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But if something’s bothering you, you can tell me. That’s what this is about, right? Our friendship?”

You hated the way his words made your chest tighten, hated how calm and reasonable he sounded. You felt the crack inside you widen, your unease bubbling to the surface in a way you couldn’t control.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked suddenly, your voice trembling as you looked at him.

His brows knitted together in confusion. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely around the room. “Cooking dinner, asking me how I feel, trying to—” You broke off, your throat tightening. “Why are you trying so hard?”

The frustration on his face was immediate, his calm demeanor finally breaking. “Because I want to, I told you I would..” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Because I’m trying to show you that I’m different, that I’m not going to screw this up again. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I don’t know!” The words came out louder than you intended, your hands trembling as you set the wine glass down. “I don’t know, Bucky. I don’t know what I want.”

He stared at you, his chest heaving as he tried to process your words. “I don’t understand,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “I thought we were doing okay. I thought this was working.”

“It is!” you said, the words tumbling out of you too fast. “It is, but… I don’t know. There’s this feeling, this—this gut feeling that something’s going to go wrong, and I can’t ignore it. I can’t pretend it’s not there.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration bleeding into every movement. “What am I doing wrong?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly. “Tell me, because I don’t know. I’m trying so damn hard, and I don’t know how to fix this if I don’t even know what’s broken.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong!” you yelled, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

He looked at you, his expression somewhere between heartbroken and exhausted. “Then what is it?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, your arms wrapping around yourself as if it could stop the ache spreading through your chest. “I don’t know what it is, Bucky. It’s just… there. This feeling that no matter how hard you try, I’m going to get hurt again, that you’re going to hurt me, that I'm going to see you with another girl…and I don’t think I could handle that again...”

His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, you thought he might give up entirely. But then he took a step closer, his voice trembling with frustration and something deeper, something raw.

“I don’t know what else I can do to prove to you that I’m not that guy anymore,” he said, his hands trembling at his sides. “I’ve spent the last two years trying to figure out how to be better, how to be the kind of person who deserves to have you in my life. And now you’re here, and I’m trying—I’m trying so damn hard—but it feels like nothing I do is enough.”

You felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your heart breaking at the raw honesty in his voice.

“It’s not about you not being enough,” you said quietly, your voice shaking. “It’s about me not being ready to believe it.”

His face fell, his shoulders sagging under the weight of your words. “So, what am I supposed to do?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just wait? Keep showing up and hope one day you’ll believe me?”

You didn’t have an answer for him. You didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t his actions, but the scars he’d left behind that wouldn’t let you trust him completely.

“I don’t know,” you said softly, the words heavy with defeat.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at you like he was trying to memorize every detail of your face. Finally, he nodded, the movement slow and resigned.

“Okay,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’ll wait. I’ll keep showing up. But you have to meet me halfway, okay? Because I can’t keep fighting for something if you’re not even sure you want it and if you don’t that's okay too but please tell me.”

------

The restaurant was bustling when you arrived, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. The table was already crowded with plates of appetizers and half-finished bottles of wine. Natasha spotted you first, waving you over with a bright smile.

“Finally,” she said as you slid into the chair beside Bucky. “We were starting to think you got lost.”

“Or bailed,” Sam added, smirking as he poured himself another glass of wine. “Not that I’d blame you, Steve’s been going on about his workout routine for the past ten minutes. We’re all suffering.”

Steve, seated across from Natasha, rolled his eyes. “I mentioned the gym once, Sam.”

Natasha smirked, resting her chin in her hand as she looked at Steve. “You do talk about it a lot, Rogers.”

“I don’t talk about it that much,” Steve said defensively, glancing around the table for support.

“You literally just told Chad last week that you PR’d on your deadlift,” Wanda chimed in, raising her glass of wine. “And then you made him guess how much it was.”

“That was relevant to the conversation!” Steve protested, his cheeks flushing.

“Oh my god,” Natasha groaned dramatically, leaning over to kiss Steve’s cheek. “It’s okay, I like your gym stories.”

“Gross,” Sam groaned loudly, tossing a piece of bread onto his plate. “Seriously, get a room.”

“Maybe we will,” Natasha shot back, smirking as she leaned closer to Steve.

“Guys, please,” Sam groaned again, turning to Wanda for backup. “Can’t you two keep your domestic bliss to yourselves for one dinner?”

“Oh, leave them alone,” Wanda said with a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re just mad because you can’t deadlift half as much as Steve.”

“Wow,” Sam said, feigning offense. “You know what, Wanda? You’ve officially lost your spot as my favorite.”

Wanda smirked. “I was never your favorite.”

“True,” Sam admitted. “But I was trying to be polite.”

“Who’s your favourite then?” Natasha asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Isn't it obvious?” Bucky’s voice cut through the conversation “It’s y/n, he almost beat the shit outta me for her.” He laughed

Sam raised his glass “And don’t you forget it!”

The group burst into laughter, and while you tried to join in, it felt hollow. The noise pressed in around you, too loud and overwhelming after the day you’d had.

Beside you, Bucky shifted slightly, leaning closer. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, not looking at him.

“Y/n…” he started, his voice gentle but concerned.

“Bucky, don’t,” you said quickly, your tone sharper than you intended. His jaw tightened, and though he didn’t push, you could feel his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he leaned back in his chair.

As the plates of food arrived, the jokes and banter only grew louder. Natasha and Wanda leaned over to share bites of each other’s pasta, while Sam and Steve got into a debate about which of them would survive longer in a zombie apocalypse.

“It’s me, obviously,” Sam said, gesturing with his fork. “I’ve got street smarts. Steve’s out here still trying to give people the benefit of the doubt, like, ‘Maybe the zombie just needs a hug.’”

“First of all, that’s not true,” Steve shot back, laughing. “And second, I’m stronger than you. I’d take them down before they even got close.”

“The gym thing again! And strength isn’t gonna save you when they’re sneaking up on you,” Sam countered. “You’d be too busy lecturing them about morality or something.”

Natasha snorted, twirling her pasta onto her fork. “He’s not wrong.”

Steve looked to her, feigning betrayal. “You’re siding with him?”

“Of course I am,” Natasha said, smirking. “Sam’s got a point. You’d probably try to negotiate with the zombies.”

“I’m starting to feel attacked,” Steve muttered, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

“Oh, poor baby,” Natasha teased, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek again. “We still love you.”

“Seriously, get a room,” Sam said again, throwing a napkin at them.

“Could we use yours? ” Natasha asked innocently, stealing a bite of Steve’s food.

“God, I hate you both,” Sam grumbled, but the grin on his face said otherwise.

Through it all, Bucky stayed quiet, occasionally chiming in with a comment or a chuckle, but his attention kept drifting back to you. Every so often, he’d glance your way, his brow furrowing slightly when he noticed the way you kept fidgeting with the edge of your napkin or how your smile never quite reached your eyes.

Midway through the meal, as the group debated whether to order dessert or move on to the bar, Bucky leaned in again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hey,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “I know a bad day when I see one. If you need to get out of here, just let me know. I’ll go with you.”

His words caught you off guard, and when you turned to look at him, his blue eyes were steady and calm, filled with an understanding that made your chest tighten.

For a moment, you couldn’t find the words, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. Finally, you nodded, your voice barely audible. “Thank you… and I’m, uh, sorry for snapping earlier.”

His lips twitched into a small smile as he shook his head. “You don’t need to apologize to me,” he said softly.

Beneath the table, his hand brushed yours, and before you could pull away, he wrapped his fingers gently around yours, his thumb moving in slow, comforting circles. The gesture was so quiet, so him, that it almost brought tears to your eyes.

Before either of you could say anything, Sam’s loud laugh broke the moment.

“To the bar!” Sam declared, raising his glass triumphantly.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You’re gonna be on your ass after two drinks.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Romanoff,” Sam shot back with a grin.

When the group moved to leave for the bar, you declined, mumbling something about being tired. Bucky didn’t hesitate, standing up beside you. “I’ll walk you home,” he said simply.

No one questioned it. Natasha raised a brow but didn’t comment, and Steve gave you a knowing look before following the others out the door.

The night air was cool, the breeze brushing against your skin as you walked side by side. Bucky didn’t try to fill the silence, and for that, you were grateful. His presence was steady, grounding, and for the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe.

But as the quiet stretched on, the weight of the day caught up with you. Your breath hitched, your vision blurring as tears began to well in your eyes. You tried to blink them away, but the lump in your throat only grew.

The moment the first tear slipped down your cheek, you stopped abruptly, turning away from him as you furiously wiped at your face. “God, I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice shaking. “I’m a mess.”

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, stepping closer. His voice was gentle but steady, the kind of tone that made it impossible not to feel like you could fall apart and still be safe.

You shook your head, your back still to him. “I hate this. I hate crying like this. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Not to me. Not for this.”

You felt the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, hesitant but grounding. That simple touch broke the last bit of resolve you had left. A shaky breath escaped you, and the tears came faster, slipping down your cheeks before you could stop them.

You didn’t turn around, but your voice cracked as you tried to explain, to justify your unraveling. “Work was a nightmare. My boss—he kept piling things on me, and then there was this meeting where nothing I said was taken seriously. And then—” Your voice hitched as you gestured helplessly. “And then the subway was late, and I was late, and I just—”

Your words dissolved into a sob as you clenched your fists, hating how small and exposed you felt.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said again, stepping closer. “Come here.”

This time, he didn’t wait for permission. He gently turned you toward him, his hands settling on your arms. You resisted for a moment, your pride warring with the need to let someone see you like this. But the warmth of his touch, the steadiness in his eyes, broke through your defenses.

Before you knew it, you were in his arms.

Bucky pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you with a care that made your chest ache. His hand moved slowly up and down your back, soothing in its consistency.

“You’re okay,” he murmured against your hair. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The words hit something deep inside you, and the dam broke completely. You clung to him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as sobs wracked your chest. It wasn’t just the stress of the day pouring out of you—it was everything. The years of pent-up frustration, the heartbreak, the lingering hurt that you’d buried so deep it had started to feel like a part of you.

“I’m so tired, Bucky,” you choked out, your voice muffled against his chest. “I feel like I’m failing at everything. I’m trying so hard, and it’s just—” Your words crumbled into another sob.

His arms tightened around you, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. “You’re not failing,” he said softly, his voice steady and sure. “You’re doing more than anyone else sees, I know you are. You’re just carrying too much, and it’s okay to let some of it out.”

You pulled back slightly, wiping at your face, though the tears didn’t stop. “I hate crying,” you muttered, your voice thick with emotion. “It feels so stupid, like I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Stop that,” he said firmly, his hands moving to your shoulders. His thumbs brushed over the fabric of your coat, grounding you as he leaned down slightly to catch your eyes. “It’s not nothing, Y/n. You’ve been holding this in all day—hell, probably longer. You’re allowed to cry, and you’re allowed to feel like this. It doesn’t make you weak.”

The sincerity in his voice made you falter, your gaze dropping as your throat tightened all over again.

“I just… I don’t know how to make it stop,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “It feels like it never ends.”

Bucky’s hands shifted, one moving to brush a tear from your cheek while the other cupped your jaw, holding you steady. “It’s not always gonna feel like this,” he said quietly, his blue eyes searching yours. “I promise you. It won’t. Only up from here right?”

The softness in his voice, the quiet conviction, sent a shiver through you. The spark between you was undeniable, and for a moment, you felt the world slow. The sounds of the city faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in the quiet, intimate bubble of this moment.

It scared you.

You stepped back abruptly, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to create some distance. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Bucky said firmly, shaking his head. He took a step back, giving you space but keeping his gaze steady on you. “You’re allowed to have bad days, Y/n. You’re allowed to fall apart and I’ll always be here to catch you.”

You nodded, wiping at your face again as you tried to steady your breathing. “Thank you,” you said softly.

By the time you reached your apartment, the tears had stopped, though your eyes were still puffy and your cheeks were flushed. Bucky walked beside you the entire way, his presence quiet but solid, like an anchor keeping you grounded.

When you reached your door, you hesitated, your hand resting on the handle as you glanced at him. “Do you… want to come in?”

His lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he looked like he might say yes. But then he smiled softly, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

“I want to,” he admitted, his voice low. “Believe me, I do. But…”

You looked down, your chest tightening. “There’s always a ‘but,’” you muttered bitterly.

“Sweetheart, it’s not like that,” he said quickly, his voice gentle as he stepped closer. “It’s just… we’re not there yet. You’re not there yet. And this time, it has to be right. I can’t—I won’t risk screwing this up again.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you felt tears threaten to rise again. But you swallowed them back, nodding as you looked down. “I understand. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, cutting you off. His hands reached out, brushing gently against your arms before pulling you into a soft, lingering hug. “It’s okay.”

When he pulled back, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead that lingered just long enough to make your breath catch.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he said softly, stepping back toward the stairs.

---

It was slow—not like before, when everything between you and Bucky had burned too hot and too fast. This time, the way things started to shift felt more like the gentle pull of a tide, subtle but impossible to ignore.

You told yourself it was still just friendship. That’s all it could be, all it should be. But the lines had begun to blur in quiet, unspoken ways.

It was late afternoon, the city basking in the golden light of an early summer evening. The streets were alive with the hum of conversation and the occasional laughter spilling out of cafes. Walking together had become something you did more often, something easy that didn’t require a plan or an excuse.

Today, the two of you strolled aimlessly, weaving through the crowd with no real destination in mind. The heat of the day had given way to a softer warmth, and the light breeze carried the faint scent of street food and blooming flowers.

You were mid-story, animatedly recounting a tale from your childhood, your hands gesturing as you spoke. “So there I was, stuck on top of the fence, and of course, he’s at the bottom laughing at me, not helping—”

You didn’t see the biker coming.

Out of nowhere, the sharp whirr of tires on pavement cut through the air, and a cyclist sped past, too close, the corner of his handlebar brushing the edge of your sleeve.

Before you could fully register what had happened, Bucky stepped in front of you, his arm instinctively reaching out. His hand brushed lightly against your arm as he guided you closer to the safety of the sidewalk.

“Careful,” he said, his voice low, steady, but protective in a way that made something tighten in your chest.

The world seemed to pause for a second. You stopped mid-sentence, the words caught in your throat as your eyes flicked up to meet his. He was close—closer than you’d realized—and the faint lines of worry etched on his face made your pulse stutter.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice quieter than you intended.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His hand still lingered near your arm, and his blue eyes searched yours, like he was trying to make sure you were really okay. The way he looked at you sent warmth flooding through your chest, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little rough as he cleared his throat and glanced away, dropping his hand. “No problem.”

The moment should have passed quickly, and in a way, it did. The two of you resumed walking, and you tried to pick up where you left off in your story, but the words didn’t flow as easily as before.

You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your arm, and the faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air between you, warm and grounding. You sneaked a glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His expression was neutral, maybe even a little guarded, but there was something in the way his shoulders stayed slightly tense, like he wasn’t as unaffected as he was trying to seem.

“Anyway,” you said finally, forcing a lighter tone than you felt, trying to shake off the moment. “I eventually got off the fence—no thanks to my brother—and my mom grounded him for laughing at me instead of helping.”

Bucky huffed out a small laugh, glancing at you with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sounds like he deserved it.”

“He did,” you replied, smiling back. But even as the words left your lips, your chest still felt too tight, the air between you charged with something unspoken.

For a moment, silence fell between you again, the sounds of the city around you filling the space. You thought about changing the subject, maybe shifting the focus to something safer, but then Bucky spoke again, his voice quieter this time, almost tentative.

“You never told me that stuff before,” he said, his gaze flickering to yours briefly before dropping to the sidewalk in front of him.

Your breath caught, the simple statement hitting harder than you expected. “You never asked,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He froze mid-step, his expression tightening as though your response had struck a nerve. Slowly, he turned to face you, his brows furrowing. “You’re right,” he murmured, his voice heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. “I didn’t. I should have. I… God, I was such an ass.”

The rawness in his tone, the weight of his words, caught you off guard. You stopped walking, your arms crossing instinctively as you looked at him. “Bucky…” you started, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to handle the way his voice cracked slightly at the end.

“No, let me say this,” he interrupted gently, holding up a hand. His eyes were fixed on you now, their usual guardedness giving way to something more vulnerable, more open. “I didn’t ask because I didn’t take the time to. I didn’t take the time to know all the little things about you, to ask the questions I should’ve asked. And you deserved better than that.”

You stared at him, the lump in your throat making it hard to respond. Part of you wanted to brush it off, to lighten the moment with a joke or deflect the way you always did. But the sincerity in his voice, the regret etched into every word, made that impossible.

“It wasn’t just you,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady. “I didn’t exactly make it easy for you to ask. I didn’t want to… I don’t know, bother you with that kind of stuff.”

His expression twisted, a mixture of frustration and sadness flashing across his face. “You could never bother me,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I just… I didn’t know how to show you that. And I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. You weren’t used to this version of Bucky—the one who didn’t deflect or shut down, who didn’t hide behind charm or easy jokes.

You looked away, your arms tightening around yourself as you tried to collect your thoughts. “You’re not that guy anymore,” you said quietly. “At least, not the way you were back then.”

When you glanced back at him, his lips twitched into the faintest hint of a sad smile. “I’m trying not to be,” he admitted. “But I’m still scared sometimes. Scared I’ll screw it all up again.”

Your heart ached at the honesty in his voice, at the vulnerability he wasn’t even trying to hide. For so long, you’d wanted him to let you in, to let you see the parts of him he kept locked away. And now that he finally was, you didn’t know what to do with it.

“You’re not screwing it up,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough for him to notice. “Not this time.”

His shoulders seemed to relax slightly, the tension in his posture easing as he nodded. “That means a lot, coming from you,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours again.

You smiled faintly, the warmth in your chest battling with the lingering unease that never quite left you when it came to him. “Well,” you said, trying to lighten the mood just enough to steady yourself, “don’t let it go to your head.”

A small laugh escaped him, and the sound was enough to ease some of the heaviness between you. “I’ll try not to,” he said, his voice lighter now, though the softness in his eyes remained.

As the two of you started walking again, the tension between you began to ease, replaced by a quiet understanding that felt… different.

“So, what happened after your brother got grounded?” Bucky asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

You glanced at him, surprised. “What?”

“With the fence story,” he clarified, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I feel like there’s more to it.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, unexpected but genuine. “There isn’t, really,” you said, shaking your head. “Unless you count me swearing off fences forever.”

“I don’t know,” he teased, his smile widening. “Sounds like a pretty big life lesson to me.”

The conversation felt easy again, the weight of the past moment lifting as you fell back into a rhythm. But even as you laughed and talked, a part of you held onto the warmth of his earlier words, the quiet vulnerability he’d let slip through.

As you walked, the city swirled around you, but the warmth in your chest lingered, stubborn and insistent. You told yourself it was nothing, just a moment of shared connection, the kind you could have with a friend.

But you couldn’t ignore the way your heart had raced when he’d stepped in front of you or the way his voice had dropped, low and protective, when he’d told you to be careful. And you couldn’t forget the way his eyes had lingered on yours.

---

The house was warm, filled with the smell of pizza and the faint tang of beer. Someone’s carefully curated playlist hummed softly in the background, though it was mostly drowned out by the laughter and loud debates that erupted from the living room.

The night had been a blur of board games, drinks, and playful arguments. Sam was his usual loud self, dramatically accusing everyone of cheating during Monopoly, even when he was. Wanda sat cross-legged on the floor, giggling at his antics while Natasha smugly stacked up her fake money, clearly winning. Steve, meanwhile, tried—and failed—to keep everyone in line, his voice cutting through the chaos.

“Sam, you can’t just take money from the bank whenever you feel like it!” Steve exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the board.

“It’s called resourcefulness, Rogers,” Sam shot back, grinning as he leaned back on his elbows.

“It’s called cheating,” Natasha said dryly, exchanging an amused glance with Wanda.

“Call it what you want,” Sam said, shrugging. “I call it strategic gameplay.”

“You’re impossible,” Steve muttered, rubbing his temples as Wanda giggled beside him.

You sat on the arm of the couch, sipping your drink and watching the scene unfold with a smile. Nights like this felt comfortable, even easy—though the comfort was always tinged with a quiet tension whenever Bucky was nearby.

From across the room, you caught sight of him leaning against the wall, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he watched Steve and Sam go at it. His hair was slightly mussed from earlier, when Natasha had flicked a piece of popcorn at him during a heated round of Codenames. He looked relaxed, but every so often, his gaze would flick to you, lingering just a little too long before shifting away.

As the night began to wind down, people started drifting off. Natasha leaned back against Steve’s chest on the couch, flipping through channels, while Sam loudly declared that he was “retiring undefeated” from board games. Wanda laughed softly, shaking her head as she began stacking up the pieces from Monopoly.

You slipped into the kitchen to rinse out your glass, grateful for a brief moment of quiet. The sink ran softly as you washed the remnants of red wine from the bottom of the cup.

A familiar presence entered the room a moment later, filling the small space without saying a word.

“Need help?” Bucky asked, his voice soft and low.

You glanced over your shoulder, finding him leaning casually against the counter. His sleeves were still rolled up, and his hair was falling into his eyes in a way that made your chest feel uncomfortably tight, your fingers twitching wanting to run your fingers through it.

“No, I’m good,” you said, turning back to the sink. But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he stepped closer, grabbing a towel from the counter. His presence was steady, grounding, but it made the space between you feel smaller, more intimate.

“You sure?” he asked lightly, and you could hear the faint smile in his voice.

You nodded, drying the glass in your hands. “Yeah. It’s just a couple of glasses.”

He stayed anyway, leaning a little closer as you reached for the towel he was holding. Your fingers brushed against his, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt up your arm.

You froze, your breath catching as you quickly pulled your hand back.

“Sorry,” you muttered, your voice too quiet.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, his tone gentle but firm.

When you finally looked up, you found his eyes already on you. The softness there caught you off guard—blue and steady, full of something unspoken. It was the kind of look that made your heart race, your thoughts scrambling for something to say, anything to break the silence.

But you couldn’t. You were frozen in place, caught in the quiet gravity of him.

The air felt heavier, charged, like the world outside the kitchen had faded away. Your fingers gripped the counter behind you for balance as he leaned in slightly, his gaze flickering briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“Y/n…” His voice was low, almost hesitant, and it made your chest tighten painfully.

You could feel his breath, warm against your skin, and for a moment, you thought he might actually close the distance. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to, weren’t sure if you’d stop him if he did.

But before either of you could move, a booming voice broke through the moment like a crack of thunder.

“Steve, I swear to God, I didn’t cheat!”

“Sam, you literally took money out of the bank when you thought no one was looking!” Steve yelled back, his voice full of exasperation.

“It’s just a game!” Wanda called out, clearly trying—and failing—to mediate.

Bucky exhaled sharply, pulling back slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. “Monopoly isn’t just a game,” he murmured, his voice light but tinged with humor. “It’s a lifestyle.”

The comment was loud enough to carry into the living room, and Natasha’s sharp laugh cut through the noise. “He’s not wrong,” she called back.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, though your chest still felt tight. The moment was gone, but the tension lingered, humming faintly in the space between you.

As you moved to step past him, his hand brushed lightly against yours again, a touch so brief it might have been accidental. But when you looked up at him, his eyes were still locked on yours, steady and unreadable.

“Y/n,” he said softly, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, his voice pulling your attention back to him.

But before he could say anything else, Natasha poked her head into the kitchen. “Hey, are you two gonna join us, or are you just gonna hide in here all night?”

The spell broke again, and you stepped back, putting more space between you and Bucky as you smiled faintly. “We’re coming,” you said quickly, brushing past him as you headed toward the door.

He lingered for a moment, watching you go, before following you back into the living room.

-----

The bar was packed, music pounding through the room as laughter and voices swirl together in a cacophony of chaos. You’re sitting at a table with Wanda and Natasha, nursing a drink and laughing at something Natasha said. Across the room, you catch a glimpse of Bucky leaning against the bar, his relaxed smile softening the hard lines of his face.

It’s one of those nights where everything feels easy. Because everything has been, you can't help but smile at the fact that letting Buck in your life was the right decision and you were grateful that you made it for once you felt that you were both close to crossing that line again but this time you were doing it right and your heart swelled up the thought of him being your right person at the right time finally after years of back-and-forth.

Until she shows up.The one from the farmers market, when you swore off Bucky for good.

You don’t notice her at first, too caught up in the conversation at your table. But when Natasha’s gaze flicks over your shoulder, her smile fading slightly, you follow her line of sight.

She’s tall, gorgeous, and entirely too familiar. And the feeling in your guy is dark, anxious and makes you feel sick.

Your stomach tightens as you watch her approach him, her confident smile and the way she places a hand on his arm. You don’t miss the way she leans in, her lips brushing his ear as she says something you can’t hear.

You force yourself to look away, trying to focus on the drink in your hand. But you can’t stop the wave of jealousy that crashes over you, your mind spinning with all the worst-case scenarios.

“Are you okay?” Wanda asks quietly, her voice barely audible over the music.

“I’m fine,” you lie, your throat tight.

You glance back toward the bar, and that’s when you see it.

She leans in, her lips pressing against his in a kiss that feels like a knife twisting in your chest.

For a moment, you can’t move. Your brain struggles to catch up with what you’re seeing, your breath caught somewhere between disbelief and devastation.

You look away immediately, not waiting to see him kiss her back. When you finally decide to look, one last time before you leave.

His eyes are scanning the room, panic taking over his face. And then they land on you.

The hurt in your expression must be clear, because his face falls when he realizes you saw. “Wait!” he yells, rushing toward you.

But you don’t wait. You grab your bag and slip through the crowd, ignoring Wanda and Natasha’s calls after you.

Sam watches as you storm past him, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on?” he asks, trying to reach out to you, when you ignore him he turns to Natasha.

“Trouble,” she says simply, her eyes following you before flicking back to Bucky, who’s shoving past the crowd and running after you.

Sam starts to follow, “That mother fucker…” but Natasha grabs his arm, stopping him.

“Leave it,” she says firmly.

Sam glares at her, his jaw tightening. “I don’t care if he was fooling all of us, she's my best friend.”

Natasha’s expression softens, but her grip on his arm doesn’t falter. “This time is different, Sam” she says quietly. “I can tell. He’s not going to let her walk away again.”

Sam exhales sharply, but he doesn’t argue. “For her sake, I hope you’re right.”

You’re halfway down the street when you hear him frantically calling after you.

“Wait! Please, just wait!”

You don’t stop, your chest tight with anger and betrayal. But his footsteps are faster than yours, and soon he’s in front of you, blocking your path.

“Move,” you say sharply, your voice trembling.

“No,” he says firmly, his hands up in surrender. “Please, just listen to me.”

You fold your arms over your chest, your whole body trembling with anger and something deeper—something you don’t want to name. Your eyes are burning as you glare at him, hot tears pooling at the edges of your vision. “I saw you, Bucky. I saw it! God, I’m so stupid!”

“I didn’t kiss her back,” he says quickly, his voice frantic, almost panicked. “I didn’t even know she was going to—she just showed up, and before I could stop her, she—”

You shake your head, cutting him off before he can finish. “I don’t care. I don’t care, Bucky. This—” You gesture wildly between the two of you, your voice cracking. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this with you. Why I didn’t want to trust you again!”

Your voice rises, each word sharper than the last, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill over. “You don’t understand what it’s like to feel this way, to love someone so much it hurts, and then watch them ruin you over and over again.”

His jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer, his hands raised slightly like he’s afraid to spook you. “I do understand,” he says, his voice low and hoarse. “I understand it because I feel that way about you. Every day.”

You laugh bitterly, a hollow, broken sound. “If you felt that way, you wouldn’t keep breaking my heart.”

He looks at you like the words physically hurt him, but you don’t stop. “Do you have any idea how hard this has been for me? How much it’s taken for me to even let you this close again? And now, after everything, I’m supposed to just stand here and believe you?” You poke him in the chest, your voice trembling as tears stream freely down your face. “Why should I?”

His lips part as though he’s going to respond, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just stares at you, his eyes wide, his expression wrecked. Finally, he whispers, “Because I love you.”

The words hang in the air between you like a live wire, crackling and sparking.

“You’re funny,” you snap, the anger masking the ache in your chest. “You love me? All you do is hurt me and make me cry, Bucky. I don’t even know why I’m still standing here!”

He flinches but doesn’t move, his blue eyes locked on yours. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts a hand, brushing away the tears trailing down your cheek. His touch is impossibly gentle, like he’s afraid you might shatter under his fingertips.

“I didn’t kiss her,” he says, his voice raw and quiet. “I don’t want to kiss her. I don’t want to kiss or feel or be with or love anyone but you.”

You close your eyes, his words hitting too close to the place inside you where the ache lives. “You can’t blame me for not trusting you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“I’m not blaming you,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “I’m not. I know I’ve screwed up before, more times than I can count.I know I’ve hurt you, and I hate myself for it.” His voice breaks, trembling at the edges. “I know I ran out of chances years ago. But please, you’ve gotta give me the benefit of the doubt with this one. Just this one, please.”

His desperation makes your throat tighten. You look at him, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. He looks completely wrecked, his blue eyes wide and pleading, his entire body tense like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will.

“I don’t know if I can,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Yes, you can,” he says quickly, stepping closer, his voice soft but insistent. “I know you can. Please don’t walk away from me. Not again—I can’t do that again.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they don’t. They fall faster now, hot and unrelenting. “I’m so scared,” you admit, your voice breaking. “I don’t think I can survive this if you hurt me again.”

His expression crumbles, and for a moment, he looks like he might fall apart too. But then he takes another step closer, his hands trembling as he reaches for yours. “You won’t have to survive it again,” he says quietly. “Because I’m not going to hurt you. I swear to you, I’m not. I can’t lose you. Not again. You mean everything to me.”

The raw sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache so badly it’s hard to breathe. You don’t move, torn between the love you still feel for him and the fear of opening yourself up to more pain.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

“That's okay, I’ll make you believe me,” he says, his voice steady despite the tears shining in his eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Just… don’t give up on us. Please.”

The world feels like it’s tilting beneath your feet, every emotion colliding at once. You look at him, your tears mingling with his as his hands tighten gently around yours.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you whisper, the vulnerability in your voice making you flinch.

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he says softly. “I’ll wait as long as you need. I’ll show you every day if that’s what it takes. Just… don’t walk away.”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is heavy, but it’s not empty—it’s full of everything you’ve both left unsaid, full of hope and hurt and the possibility of something better.

Finally, you nod, just barely, the movement so small it’s almost imperceptible. But he sees it.

His shoulders sag with relief, and he steps closer, his forehead nearly touching yours as he exhales shakily. “Thank you,” he whispers.

You don’t say anything, your chest still tight, your emotions too raw. But when his hands brush against yours again, you don’t pull away.

----

The routine of meeting Bucky for coffee came to a halt after you saw the kiss. Or, more accurately, her kiss him. It didn’t matter that you knew what you saw wasn’t the full story; it didn’t matter that you knew in your gut that he wasn’t the one who leaned in first. The sight of it had cracked something in you, leaving all your old doubts and fears to spill through the cracks.

For a week, you ignored his texts, his calls, even the coffee shop where you’d fallen into the rhythm of meeting him. He hadn’t pushed—not at first. He gave you the space you needed, though you could feel his presence lingering like a shadow.

It was Wanda who called you out, her name lighting up your phone screen as you sat on your couch, staring at the untouched glass of wine on your coffee table.

You answered on the third ring, your voice tight. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, her tone light but laced with something careful. “How’s it going?”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Fine.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly not buying it. “So… are you just going to keep ignoring him forever?”

Your chest tightened, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of a blanket draped over the couch. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

Wanda didn’t say anything for a moment, and the silence made you squirm. “He keeps asking about you, you know,” she said finally. “Every time I see him, it’s the same question: ‘Is she okay?’”

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Wanda. I just… it’s hard. He keeps saying he’s different, and I do believe it, I do. But then I see something like that, and all I can think about is how it felt before—when he ignored me, when he brushed me off like I didn’t matter.”

She sighed softly. “I get that. I do. But you should know… he didn’t kiss her back. I was there. He didn’t even hesitate before pushing her away.”

“I know,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “I know that. But it doesn’t make it easier. Because nobody gets to me the way he does, Wanda. Nobody ever has. He has this… hold on me, and it’s terrifying to feel that way about someone who’s hurt you before.”

Wanda’s voice softened, filled with sympathy. “I understand, Y/n. I do. It’s hard to let yourself be that vulnerable again when you’ve been burned. But I think… I think he’s trying, really trying. And maybe—”

There was a knock at your door.

You froze, your breath catching as you glanced toward the sound. “Hey, Wanda, I’ll call you back,” you said quickly.

“Bucky?” she asked knowingly.

“I’ll call you back,” you repeated before ending the call.

You hesitated for a long moment, your hand hovering over the doorknob. When you finally opened it, there he was.

Bucky stood there, his broad frame filling the doorway, a book tucked under his arm. His hair was slightly messy, and his blue eyes, normally so guarded, were filled with something soft and unsure.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough.

You blinked, surprised. “Bucky.”

He held out the book, almost like a peace offering. It was the one you’d mentioned weeks ago during one of your coffee meetings, a passing comment you’d thought he wouldn’t remember.

“What’s this?” you asked, your voice tentative.

He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but the faint flush creeping up his neck gave him away. “Saw it and thought of you.”

You stared at him, your fingers brushing against the cover as you took it. The gesture struck you harder than it should have, and you felt the familiar ache in your chest. “Bucky…”

“It’s just a book,” he said quickly, his voice faltering slightly. “Nothing big.”

But it felt big. It felt impossibly big.

“Thank you,” you said softly, running your fingers over the cover.

There was a pause, a heavy silence that seemed to stretch out between you. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

“You gonna let me in, or should I go?” he asked lightly, a faint, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You stepped back, gesturing for him to come inside. “Um yeah. Sure.”

The air between you felt charged as he followed you into the kitchen. You set the book down on the counter, trying to focus on the mundane action as a way to steady yourself.

“Do you want some tea or something?” you asked, your voice quieter than usual.

“Sure,” he said, leaning against the counter. His eyes never left you, and you could feel his gaze like a physical weight.

As you filled the kettle, the silence grew heavier, the unspoken words between you pressing down like a storm cloud. Finally, Bucky broke it.

“Y/n,” he started, his voice soft but steady. “I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, but I need to say something.”

You didn’t look at him, your fingers tightening on the kettle handle. “Bucky…”

“Please,” he said, stepping closer. “Just let me say this.”

You exhaled shakily, setting the kettle down and turning to face him. “Okay.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with the words. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and raw. “I messed up. Not just last week, not just with her, but before—all of it. I know I hurt you, I knew I was and I can’t take that back. But I swear to you, I’m not that guy anymore. I’m not.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, your heart pounding. “How am I supposed to believe that, Bucky? How am I supposed to trust that this time will be different?”

“Because it already is,” he said quickly, his voice rising slightly with urgency. “I’m trying, Y/n. I’m going to therapy. I’m showing up. I’m doing the work because I want to be better—for you.”

His words hit you like a wave, and your throat tightened as you blinked back tears. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to let someone back in after they’ve broken you?”

“I do,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Because I’m terrified every day that I’ve lost you for good. But I can’t let you go without trying—without proving to you that I can be the person you deserve.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache, and you looked away, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’m scared,” you whispered. “I’m scared that if I let you back in, you’ll hurt me all over again.”

“I won’t,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “I promise you, I won’t. Just… let me try. Please.”

You didn’t move, your heart warring with your head. The love you felt for him was still there, buried under the hurt and the fear, but it was there.

He reached out slowly, his hand brushing against yours. “I love you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you so damn much.”

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything, your mind racing. But as you looked up at him, his blue eyes filled with nothing but raw, aching honesty, you felt something inside you begin to crack open.

“I can’t promise you anything,” you said softly. “But… I’ll try.”

A flicker of hope lit in his eyes, and he nodded, his hand squeezing yours gently. “That’s all I need.”

---

The trip to the cabin was Steve’s idea, of course. “We all need a break,” he had insisted weeks ago, his voice full of conviction. “No distractions, no work, just friends, fresh air, and some well-earned relaxation and of course alcohol.”

It had taken very little convincing to get everyone out there. The cabin was nestled deep in the woods, surrounded by towering pine trees and the faint sound of a nearby creek. The air smelled fresh, crisp, and you almost forgot how much you’d hesitated about coming—about being this close to Bucky, about opening yourself up to feelings you weren’t sure you could handle.

The first night was loud and chaotic, in the best way possible. Everyone gathered in the living room after dinner, the fire crackling in the stone fireplace. Bottles of wine and beer were scattered across the coffee table, along with a half-empty bottle of whiskey Sam had brought along and a stack of mismatched board games Natasha had insisted on bringing.

Natasha was leaning against Steve on the couch, her legs draped over his lap as she sipped her drink. Sam had claimed one of the armchairs, gesturing wildly as he recounted some ridiculous story about his time in the military. Wanda was curled up on the floor next to him, her cheeks pink from laughing too hard.

“And I swear to God, the guy thought he could outrun the damn helicopter,” Sam was saying, his hands moving animatedly.

Wanda snorted, nearly spilling her wine. “Oh my God, did he?”

“Obviously not!” Sam replied, rolling his eyes. “But he gave it his best shot. Dumbest thing I’ve ever seen, but you’ve got to respect the effort.”

Steve shook his head, chuckling. “I feel like you’ve told this story at least three times now.”

“Yeah, and it gets better every time,” Sam shot back, grinning.

“Maybe for you,” Natasha quipped, smirking. “For the rest of us, it’s just confirmation that you’ve always been impossible.”

“I am a delight, Romanoff,” Sam said, mock-offended.

“You’re something,” she muttered under her breath, making Wanda laugh.

Across the room, you were perched on the edge of a chair, nursing your drink and watching the back-and-forth unfold. Bucky sat on the arm of your chair, close enough that his shoulder occasionally brushed against yours.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced at him, startled by his closeness. “Just enjoying the show,” you replied, gesturing toward Sam, who was now debating something ridiculous with Steve.

Bucky smiled faintly, his eyes warm. “It’s good to see you like this,” he murmured. “Relaxed. Happy.”

The comment caught you off guard, and you felt a warmth rise in your chest that had nothing to do with the fire or the whiskey in your hand. “I guess I’m starting to figure things out,” you said quietly.

His gaze lingered on you, soft and unreadable, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. But then Natasha made some sarcastic comment about Monopoly, and the group burst into laughter, shattering the moment.

As the night wore on, the group slowly began to drift off. Wanda yawned and declared she was calling it a night, and Natasha soon followed, dragging Steve along with her despite his protests that he wanted to stay up. Sam was the last to go, grumbling about how he wasn’t tired even as he stumbled toward the stairs.

Soon, it was just you and Bucky.

You stood in the kitchen, rinsing out your glass. The firelight flickered faintly from the living room, and the cabin had grown quiet, save for the occasional creak of the wooden beams.

Bucky walked in, his footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. He leaned against the counter, watching you.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and careful.

You nodded, not looking at him. “Yeah. Just winding down.”

He stepped closer, his presence filling the small space. “You sure? You seemed a little… distant earlier.”

You sighed, setting the glass down and finally turning to face him. “It’s just been a long day.”

His eyes searched yours, and you felt the weight of his gaze, the quiet intensity that always seemed to disarm you. “If there’s anything you want to talk about…” he started, but you shook your head.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” you said softly, offering a small, tired smile.

He nodded, though his expression remained thoughtful.

Later, you paced your room, your thoughts racing too much to settle. The cabin was quiet now, the kind of quiet that made everything feel sharper, more immediate. You couldn’t stop replaying the moments from earlier—the way Bucky had looked at you, the warmth in his voice when he said it was good to see you happy.

It was too much, and not enough all at once.

Finally, you decided to leave your room, the air feeling too stifling. But as you stepped into the hallway, you nearly collided with someone.

“Sorry,” you muttered, taking a step back.

“Y/n?”

It was Bucky.

You froze, your eyes locking with his. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you palpable.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

The space between you felt impossibly small, and as his gaze held yours, you saw something there—something raw and unguarded. Slowly, he reached up, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

His hand lingered, his thumb grazing your cheek. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your breath hitch as his thumb trailed down, brushing against your bottom lip.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He didn’t move, his blue eyes searching yours as if waiting for permission.

Your hands lifted, hesitating for just a moment before resting against his chest. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms, and the warmth of him made your chest ache.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop.

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant, but the second his lips moved against yours, the floodgates opened. His hands cupped your face, holding you like you were something precious, and the kiss deepened, heat and longing pouring into every movement.

You stumbled back slightly, your back hitting the wall as his body pressed against yours. The air was thick with the heat between you, and his lips left yours just long enough to murmur, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice shaking with certainty. “Yes, Bucky. Please.”

Bucky's lips found yours again, urgent but soft, like he couldn't quite believe this was happening. His hands were firm and steady as they cupped your face, his thumbs brushing along your cheeks as though trying to memorize every inch of your skin.

Your fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. The heat of him pressed against you, grounding and consuming all at once.

The tension that had built between you for so long— weeks, months, years-was finally unraveling, pouring out in every kiss, every touch.

"Bucky," you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling.

His forehead rested against yours for a brief moment, his breath warm and uneven. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his voice rough and filled with restraint.

You shook your head, your hands sliding up to rest on either side of his face. "I don't want you to stop," you said, your words firm despite the shakiness in your tone.

Something flickered in his eyes-relief, longing, something deeper. He kissed you again, his hands sliding down to your waist as he gently guided you backward, step by step, toward your room.

The door closed softly behind you, but neither of you noticed. All that mattered was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands settled on your hips before gliding up your sides. You gasped as his fingertips brushed the hem of your shirt, and he paused, his eyes searching yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.

"Yes," you said, your voice firmer this time. "Yes, I'm sure."

He nodded, his hands steady but his touch reverent as he helped you pull your shirt over your head. His lips found your neck, leaving a trail of warmth that made you shiver. Your hands roamed his chest, slipping under the fabric of his shirt until he let out a low, shaky laugh and pulled it off in one motion.

Every moment felt unhurried yet desperate, like the two of you were trying to savor every second while making up for lost time. You didn't think about what came next, didn't think about the consequences. All you could focus on was the way Bucky whispered your name like it was sacred, the way his hands held you like you were something he never wanted to let go of again.

When the two of you finally came together, it felt like the world outside your room didn't exist anymore. He moved with care, his lips finding yours again and again, his voice rough as he murmured your name in between kisses. He asked if you were okay, if you needed anything, if you wanted him to stop.

And every time, your answer was the same.

"Yes, Bucky. I'm sure."

When you woke up the next morning, the sunlight streaming through the window felt harsh, almost intrusive. Your head was still heavy with sleep, but the events of the night before came rushing back in vivid detail.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your hands over your face as panic began to creep in. What had you done? You had told yourself you'd be careful with Bucky, that you'd protect yourself this time. But now? Now you'd opened yourself up completely, and the fear of what came next made your chest tighten.

Your heart sank as your gaze flickered to the empty side of the bed. He was gone.

You sat there for a moment, your hands gripping the edge of the blanket as the familiar ache of heartbreak began to settle in. "Of course," you whispered bitterly to yourself. "Of course, he left."

But just as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the door to the bathroom opened, and Bucky stepped out, a towel draped around his neck.

He froze when he saw you, his expression softening immediately. "Hey," he said, his voice still rough with sleep.

You blinked at him, relief washing over you so quickly it made you dizzy. "Hey," you said softly, your voice trembling.

His brows knit together as he crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you said quickly, but the way your voice cracked betrayed you.

"Don't lie to me," he said gently, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

"What's going on?"

You hesitated, your fingers twisting in the fabric of the blanket. "It's stupid," you muttered.

"It's not stupid if it's got you looking this upset," he said, his voice firm but kind. His thumb brushed lightly between your eyebrows, smoothing out the small crease there. "Put that worry wrinkle away, sweetheart."

You let out a shaky laugh, but your chest still felt tight. "Please don't get mad at me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"Mad at you?" he said, his tone incredulous. "I could never get mad at you. Just talk to me."

You took a deep breath, your eyes dropping to your hands. "I thought you left," you admitted finally. "When I woke up and you weren't here, I just... I panicked."

For a moment, he didn't say anything, and you risked a glance up at him. His jaw had clenched, his expression flickering with something you couldn't quite place-guilt, maybe, or frustration. But whatever it was, it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by quiet understanding.

"I get it," he said softly, his voice steady. "And I'm sorry. I should've said something, told you i was just getting up for a minute. But I'm not going anywhere this time. I’m sorry I made you feel that way."

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten, and you nodded, swallowing hard.

"Okay," you said quietly.

He reached out, his hand covering yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. "You believe me?"

"Yeah," you whispered. "I do."

He started to lean in but the moment was broken by a knock at the door.

"Y/n?" Steve's voice called out from the other side. "Have you seen Bucky?"

Before you could respond, Natasha's laugh rang out from the hallway. "Steve, give it a rest. He's probably hiding from Sam."

"Or in the bathroom," Sam's voice chimed in. "Probably pooping. Breakfast is ready, by the way!"

You and Bucky exchanged a look, both of you bursting into quiet laughter.

"I guess we should join them," you said, smiling softly.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer. "We should. Are we okay?”

You nodded “Were okay.”

---

The cabin had been a turning point for both of you, though neither of you dared to say it aloud. That night, tangled in the sheets and each other’s arms, had felt like a step forward—and yet, when morning came, the step wasn’t as certain as you’d hoped.

You hadn’t told anyone about what happened that night. Not Wanda, not Natasha, not anyone. They hadn’t suspected a thing, and honestly, you preferred it that way. Keeping it to yourself made it feel less complicated, like something you could push to the back of your mind when you needed to.

And after the cabin? Everything had gone back to normal. Or at least, you pretended it had. Bucky didn’t push or pry; he didn’t mention the night, didn’t ask for more. Instead, he gave you space—space to think, space to process, space to figure out what you really wanted.

For two weeks, you existed in this limbo, circling back to the quiet, steady friendship you’d rebuilt before the cabin. It was easier that way. Comfortable. Safe.

And yet, you couldn’t ignore the tension lingering beneath the surface. Every look, every touch, every shared laugh felt weighted, charged with unspoken words. You were grateful for his patience, but it terrified you too. Because the truth was, you didn’t know how to take the next step—or if you even could.

The room was alive with energy. It was the kind of night where the drinks flowed freely, the music hummed in the background, and everyone seemed to be in good spirits.

You’d lost count of how many drinks Sam had handed you, but you weren’t complaining. The warmth of the alcohol helped take the edge off, loosening the knot that always seemed to form in your chest when Bucky was around.

Wanda was perched on the armrest of a chair, laughing at one of Steve’s terrible jokes, while Natasha sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully stacking playing cards into a makeshift tower. Sam was dramatically recounting a story from his military days, gesturing so wildly that he knocked over one of Natasha’s stacks.

“Sam!” Natasha groaned, glaring at him.

“You can’t blame me for being animated!” Sam shot back, grinning.

“Nat, you should know by now that Sam’s hands talk more than his mouth does,” Steve teased, earning a laugh from Wanda.

“Hey, don’t drag me into this,” Wanda said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just here for the show.”

You stood by the bar, sipping your drink and smiling faintly at their banter. The atmosphere was easy and familiar, but your gaze kept drifting across the room—to him.

Bucky.

He was leaning against the wall, laughing at something Steve said, but his eyes kept flicking to you, like he couldn’t help himself.

Wanda noticed, of course. She always did.

“You’re staring,” she said softly, nudging you with her elbow.

You startled, quickly looking away. “I’m not staring,” you muttered.

She raised an eyebrow. “Sure you’re not.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “It’s fine, Wanda. We’re fine. We’re friends.”

“Friends who spent the night together at the cabin and haven’t addressed it since?” she asked, her voice careful but pointed.

You froze, your grip tightening on your glass. “We’re fine,” you repeated, your tone sharper this time. “I’m okay with the way things are.”

“Are you?” she asked quietly, tilting her head. “Is he?”

You didn’t answer, and she sighed. “Look, I know why you’re scared. And I get it—you’ve been through a lot with him. But don’t you think it’s worth figuring out what you actually want? Instead of hiding behind what feels safe?”

Before you could respond, Sam called out from across the room.

“Y/n! We’re playing charades, and you’re on my team!”

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the distraction. “Duty calls,” you said, ignoring Wanda’s knowing look as you moved to join the group.

--

After an intense game of charades that somehow devolved into everyone laughing more than guessing, Sam threw his hands in the air as you acted out his final clue—a ridiculous, flailing impression of a penguin that left the entire room in stitches.

“That’s it!” Sam shouted, pumping his fists in the air. “Team Sam for the win, baby!”

“Barely!” Natasha called from across the room, rolling her eyes as she leaned back against Steve’s chest. “You two cheated!”

“We didn’t cheat,” Sam argued, grabbing your hand and spinning you around dramatically. “We’re just that good.”

You laughed, breathless as Sam gave you an exaggerated hug, lifting you off the ground before setting you back down. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head as you tried to catch your breath.

“And you love it,” Sam said with a wink before grabbing a beer from the table.

The room was still buzzing with laughter and chatter as you headed toward the kitchen to grab another drink. The warmth of the alcohol and the easy, familiar energy of your friends made you feel lighter than you had in weeks.

But as you opened the fridge, grabbing a cold bottle of water to offset the buzz in your head, you felt it—that familiar shift in the air.

When you turned, there he was.

Bucky stood a few feet away, his shoulders tense, his expression unreadable as he watched you. There was something in his eyes that made your chest tighten, though you couldn’t quite place what it was.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer.

“Hey,” you replied, offering a faint smile as you twisted the cap off your bottle. “Having fun?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his voice low.

The response caught you off guard, and you raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Instead of answering, he looked away for a moment, his jaw tightening. Then, with a deep breath, he met your gaze again. “Can we talk?”

You hesitated, your grip tightening on the bottle in your hand. “Now?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Please.”

Something in his voice made it impossible to say no, and you nodded, setting the bottle down on the counter. “Okay.”

He led you to a quieter corner of the room, away from the noise and laughter of your friends. The firelight from the living room flickered faintly against the walls, and the hum of conversation faded into the background as he turned to face you.

You crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling exposed under the intensity of his gaze. “What’s going on, Bucky?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders stiff as if he was bracing himself for something. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said quietly.

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your stomach dropped. “Do what?”

“This,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “Being your friend.”

You blinked, your heart pounding as your mind scrambled to catch up. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said quickly, his voice low and insistent. “It’s not you, it’s me. I can’t, I can’t just be your friend anymore.”

Your arms tightened around yourself as you stared at him, confusion and hurt swirling in your chest. “Bucky, what are you talking about?”

He exhaled sharply, his hands flexing at his sides as he looked away. “I’ve been trying,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve been trying so damn hard to keep it together, to respect what you want, to just be here for you. But every time I see you, every time I hear your laugh or watch you smile, it’s like—”

He cut himself off, shaking his head as if the words were too much.

“Like what?” you pressed, your voice trembling.

His eyes snapped to yours, raw and vulnerable in a way that made your breath hitch. “Like I’m falling all over again.”

The weight of his confession settled heavily between you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“I can’t do it anymore,” he continued, his tone desperate now. “I can’t just stand on the sidelines and pretend I’m okay with being just your friend. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting to touch you, to hold you, to kiss you.”

Your chest tightened, your pulse thrumming in your ears as his words washed over you.

“What do you want from me?” you asked softly, your voice shaking.

“Everything,” he said without hesitation, his voice raw and steady.

The word lingered in the air, heavy and unshakable.

His hand lifted slowly, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch so gentle it made your knees weak. His thumb traced along your jaw, his touch reverent and careful, like he was afraid you might break.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Tears welled in your eyes, your breath hitching as you struggled to process his words.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he added quickly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “I just needed you to know. I can’t keep pretending anymore.”

The room felt too small, too quiet despite the distant hum of the party behind you. Your thoughts raced, a million emotions colliding all at once—fear, longing, hope.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he said softly, his forehead lowering to rest against yours. “I know, and I don’t blame you, I just wanna be with you already.”

Your hands lifted to rest against his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you closed your eyes. The sound of his heartbeat beneath your palms was steady, grounding, and for the first time in weeks, you felt the smallest flicker of hope.

“Okay,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “But no more running.”

“No more running,” he promised.

This time he made the first move, he leaned in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that felt both tentative and certain, like he was pouring every unspoken word into the moment.

Behind you, someone (definitely Sam) yelled, “About damn time!” followed by Natasha’s dry laugh.

But none of it mattered.

When you pulled back, his eyes searched yours, his hands steady as they cupped your face. “Let me show you,” he whispered. “Let me prove it to you, I’m gonna prove it to you…”

----

The difference this time was undeniable.

Before, being with Bucky had felt like reaching for something you couldn’t quite grasp—like he was always just out of reach, holding back pieces of himself he didn’t think you could handle. But now? Now, it felt like the walls had come down. He wasn’t hiding anymore. He wasn’t running. He was just… there, steady and present, and it made you feel like you could finally breathe.

The first time you really noticed it was about a week after Sam’s birthday party. The group had gone out for drinks at one of your usual spots, a cozy bar with low lighting and worn wooden tables. The air was filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses, and you were in the middle of laughing at something Natasha had said when you felt it—Bucky’s hand resting on the back of your chair.

It wasn’t hesitant or uncertain like it used to be. No, this time, his touch was solid and deliberate, like he wanted everyone to know you were his.

He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “You good, baby?”

The nickname sent a shiver down your spine, your heart stuttering in your chest. You looked up at him, and the soft smile on his face made you melt. “Yeah, I’m good,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He kissed your temple, quick and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world, before straightening. His hand slid down to rest on your shoulder, not in a possessive way but in a protective, grounding way that made your chest ache in the best way.

When you glanced around the table, you caught Wanda smirking at you, her brow raised knowingly. Steve, seated across from you, gave Bucky a small nod of approval, a silent acknowledgment that spoke volumes.

It felt good. It felt right.

Later that night, while Bucky was off getting another round of drinks with Steve, you found yourself alone at the table with Wanda. She was swirling the last of her wine in her glass, her eyes twinkling as she looked at you.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

She shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing. I’m just… happy for you.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious,” she said, leaning forward. “You deserve this. And honestly? It’s about damn time he got his act together.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I don’t know. Sometimes it still feels… fragile, you know?”

“Fragile?” she repeated, her brow furrowing.

“Like… I’m still waiting for something to happen, to go wrong,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “I know he’s not the same as he was. I can see it. But it’s hard to forget how things were before.”

Wanda reached across the table, her hand covering yours. “Y/n, listen to me. I know what he put you through, and I know how scared you are. But he’s not the same guy he was two years ago. He’s different. You can see it in the way he looks at you.”

You hesitated, her words sinking in. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she said firmly, squeezing your hand. “And I think you know it too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here with him right now.”

Before you could respond, Bucky returned to the table with a fresh drink in hand. He slid it in front of you with a soft smile before sitting back down, his knee brushing against yours under the table. Wanda shot you one last knowing look before turning the conversation to something else entirely.

A few nights later, you found yourself on the phone with Sam, who had called under the pretense of asking about a new restaurant but quickly steered the conversation elsewhere.

“So,” he said, his tone far too casual to be innocent. “You and Bucky, huh? Is it official?”

You groaned, flopping back onto your couch. “I knew this was coming.”

“What? I’m just checking in!” he said, feigning indignation. “As your best friend, it’s my job to make sure this guy isn’t screwing you over again.”

“Sam…” you warned, though there was no heat behind it.

He laughed, but his tone softened. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Honestly, I’m happy for you. I really am.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “You are?”

“Of course,” he said. “I mean, look, I was ready to kick his ass a few years ago, and I’m still on standby if you ever need me to.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh my God, Sam.”

“But,” he continued, his voice steady now, “I don’t think I’m going to have to worry about that. Not this time.”

The warmth in his words made your chest tighten, and you stayed silent, letting him continue.

“Bucky’s always looked at you like that, you know,” Sam said after a moment. “Like you’re the only thing in the room that matters. He just… wasn’t ready before. And I didn’t want to tell you that back then because I knew it’d only hurt you more. But now? Now I think he’s finally figured his shit out.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Sam said firmly. “And no one deserves happiness more than you, Y/n. Not after everything.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and you felt tears prick at your eyes. “Thanks, Sam,” you whispered.

“Don’t get all mushy on me now,” Sam teased, though his voice softened at the edges. “Seriously though, just know I’m here if you need me. But… honestly? I don’t think you will.”

You smiled faintly, your grip tightening on the phone. “I hope not,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

There was a pause, and you could almost hear the grin in his voice when he spoke again. “Anyway, I’m booking that reservation for the weekend. Make sure you fill your man in for me, will ya?”

“Sam!” you groaned, though you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Uh-uh,” Sam cut you off, his tone playful. “Don’t even start!”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed at his words. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll take that as a thank-you for always looking out for you.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft but sincere.

“Anytime,” he replied. “Just don’t forget to tell Bucky he owes me one for letting him off the hook.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “I’ll be sure to pass the message along.”

“You’d better,” Sam quipped. “Now go enjoy your night. And don’t worry so much, okay?”

“I’ll try,” you said, smiling as you hung up.

----

The next few weeks were a quiet kind of revelation. The Bucky you were getting to know now was someone entirely different from the man you’d fallen for before. Not because he’d changed into someone new, but because he’d finally let you see the parts of him he’d kept hidden for so long.

He started coming over more often, always bringing something with him. Flowers, your favorite coffee, a book he’d remembered you mentioning in passing weeks ago. He never showed up empty-handed, and every gesture felt thoughtful in a way that left your heart aching.

One Friday morning, you were rushing out the door for a long day at work when you nearly tripped over a small box sitting on your doorstep. Inside was a muffin from your favorite café and a note written in his messy scrawl: For the busiest girl I know—don’t forget to eat today. Love, B.

When you texted him a thank-you, he replied almost immediately:

You deserve it. Now go kill it today.

It was in the small things, the quiet moments, that you realized how much he’d changed.

-

The group met up for dinner at a lively restaurant. The table was loud, everyone shouting over one another as Natasha and Sam argued about who was better at pool. Wanda kept flicking her straw wrapper at Steve, who was trying—and failing—to mediate.

Bucky sat beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the table. It made you feel like the room could fall apart around you, and you’d still be okay.

“Nat, just admit you’re terrible at pool,” Sam teased, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

“I’m not terrible. I’m calculated,” Natasha shot back, narrowing her eyes.

“Sure,” Sam said, drawing out the word. “You’re so calculated that Steve had to make half your shots last time.”

“Excuse me,” Steve interjected, looking mildly alarmed. “I thought we weren’t bringing that up again.”

The group dissolved into laughter, and as you leaned forward to take a sip of your drink, Bucky reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face.

When you glanced at him, surprised, he just smiled and said loud enough for everyone to hear, “What? You’re beautiful.”

The table fell quiet for half a beat. Natasha raised a brow in surprise, Wanda exchanged a look with Sam, and Sam grinned wide enough to split his face.

“Barnes,” Sam drawled, shaking his head. “Look at you, all smooth. Who are you, and what have you done with the grumpy man we knew?”

Bucky just shrugged, completely unbothered. “He’s retired.”

But as much as you were finding your rhythm with Bucky, there was one thing that hadn’t quite settled: being at his apartment.

Every time you were there, you felt… uneasy. Not in an obvious way, but Bucky noticed.

You sat on the edge of the couch instead of sinking into it. You fidgeted more, your eyes flicking around the room like you were looking for something—or avoiding something. And when you thought he wasn’t looking, your gaze lingered on the places that held the weight of old memories.

It was after one of these moments that Bucky found himself talking to Wanda. She’d stayed late after a group dinner, and the two of them were cleaning up the kitchen when Bucky finally asked, “Do you think she’s okay?”

Wanda paused, a glass in her hand. “Who?”

“Y/n,” he said, running a hand over the back of his neck. “She seems… I don’t know. Off. Especially when she’s here, am I doing something wrong? I thought everything was going perfect.”

Wanda’s eyes softened. “Bucky, it’s not you. It’s just… this place. There are memories here. Moments she can’t shake.” She hesitated, then added, “It’s like the air still held pieces of her sadness. And she’s trying, but being here? It’s hard for her.”

Bucky listened, his expression unreadable. But later that night, as he lay awake in bed, her words stayed with him. Because of course, why didn’t he think of that all the times he held you and told you, you were everything and then just to leave you high and dry the next day. All the times he called you over for his own selfishness just to wash you away less than 24 hours after.

It wasn’t long after that when you noticed something different. Bucky was quieter, distracted, like he was carrying something he hadn’t figured out how to share yet.

After dinner at your place, you finally asked.

“Okay, what’s going on?” you said, setting your glass down and turning to face him.

He blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been weird all night,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Is everything okay?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair before leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been thinking about moving.”

Your brows furrowed in surprise. “Moving? Why?”

Bucky shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he tried to keep his tone casual. But you could see the flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes, something he wasn’t sure how to say out loud. “Out with the old, in with the new, right?” he said, forcing a small smile before letting it fade.

You tilted your head, studying him, waiting for the real reason to come out.

He hesitated, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of the table before continuing, “That place… it’s got too much history. And if we’re going to do this,” he gestured between the two of you, his voice softening, “I want to do it right. I don’t want you to feel like you’re walking into a past you didn’t ask for.”

The sincerity in his words hit you like a wave, making your throat tighten. You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers as you tried to steady yourself. The memories of his apartment, those nights you spent waiting, wondering, hurting, flashed through your mind, and you realized he wasn’t just talking about moving to a new place. He was trying to move on from everything that hurt you.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm and steady, grounding you in a way that made the ache in your chest both better and worse. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

You nodded, your eyes stinging as you squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice so full of quiet conviction that it made your chest ache.

He leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead before leaning back to grab the remote, a small, easy smile playing at his lips. “Okay, enough heavy stuff. Let’s pick a movie before we end up debating for an hour.”

You laughed faintly, the warmth of his kiss still lingering. But as he started scrolling through Netflix, you couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. The way his shoulders relaxed when he was with you, the soft hum he made under his breath when he was thinking—it was so different from the guarded, distant man you’d known before.

And that’s when the question slipped out, unbidden but insistent.

“Hey, Bucky?” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” he replied instantly, turning to look at you, his attention focused entirely on you.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But then you forced yourself to say it, your heart pounding. “What are we?”

The question hung in the air, the silence stretching just long enough for doubt to creep in. But then Bucky set the remote down, turning to face you fully. His expression wasn’t hesitant or uncertain like it used to be, it was serious, calm, and sure.

“You’re mine,” he said simply, the words soft but unwavering. “And I’m yours. That’s all I know, and it’s all I want to be.”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening as the weight of his words settled over you. His hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Does that work for you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost shy, like he wasn’t sure if he’d said too much.

You nodded, swallowing hard as emotion bubbled up in your chest. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It works.”

His lips curved into a small, relieved smile, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Good,” he murmured, his thumbs still tracing soft patterns against your skin. “Because I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

You just sat there, breathing him in, letting the weight of his words wash over you. The space between you didn’t feel like it was filled with doubt or hesitation, it felt solid. Real.

“Now,” he said after a beat, pulling back just enough to kiss the tip of your nose before reaching for the remote again. “What cheesy rom-com are we watching tonight? Because I know you’ve got one in mind.”

You laughed, the sound light and unguarded, as you reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. “You say that like you’re not the one who secretly loves rom-coms.”

“Hey,” he said, feigning indignation. “I’ve got a reputation to protect, doll.”

“Yeah, sure,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

He smiled at you, and the look in his eyes, the quiet joy, the undeniable love, made your heart ache in the best way.

You felt like you weren’t just falling. You were landing somewhere safe.

--

The sun was warm against your skin, filtering through the leafy trees that lined the bustling farmer’s market. The scent of fresh flowers, ripe fruit, and baked bread swirled in the air, mingling with the chatter of vendors and the hum of conversations. People moved through the stands, their arms laden with produce and bouquets, but the only presence that mattered to you was Bucky’s.

He was beside you, his shoulder brushing yours every few steps, his hand gripping the bags of produce you’d insisted on buying. Every now and then, he glanced at you, flashing that crooked smile that still made your stomach flip.

“Do you really need more peaches?” he asked, his voice laced with mock exasperation as he eyed the basket you held.

“Yes,” you replied, feigning offense as you picked out two more and gently placed them into the bag. “You’ll thank me later when I make that peach cobbler you won’t stop talking about.”

He grinned, leaning down so his forehead lightly bumped yours. “Fine. Cobbler wins. But only if I get to eat it straight out of the dish.”

You laughed, nudging his arm with your elbow as you moved toward the next stall. “Only because its your housewarming gift..”

“You're the best” he murmured, his voice warm, before placing a quick kiss to the top of your head.

At the flower stand, the vibrant colors caught your eye. Bouquets of sunflowers, daisies, and tulips spilled across the table in a wild display of life. You reached out, letting your fingertips brush the soft petals of a sunflower as you admired its brightness.

You didn’t notice when Bucky stepped away, too absorbed in the moment. But when he returned, you turned to find him holding a small bundle of daisies, their white and yellow blooms bright against his dark shirt.

“For you,” he said softly, his voice low, almost shy.

The gesture made your heart ache, the simplicity of it filling you with warmth. You took the daisies, your fingers grazing his as you did. “You’re getting really good at this boyfriend thing,” you said, your smile teasing but sincere.

He smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Just trying to keep my girl happy.”

Your heart stuttered at his words, and you looked away, pretending to study the flowers so he wouldn’t see the way your cheeks burned. “You’re doing a pretty good job,” you admitted quietly, more to yourself than to him.

At the next stand, baskets of apples were piled high, their shiny red skins gleaming in the sunlight. You picked one up, turning it over in your hand. “What do you think?” you asked, holding it up for Bucky’s opinion.

He leaned closer, pretending to inspect it with exaggerated seriousness. “I think it’s an apple.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned, grabbing an apple and tossing it into the bag. “Fine. You pick the apples, and I’ll carry them. That’s the deal.”

“Deal,” you said, sticking your hand out dramatically for a handshake.

Instead of shaking your hand, he pulled you closer by the wrist, his hand settling lightly on your waist. His thumb brushed against your side absentmindedly, the touch sending a spark through you. It was such a small thing, but it rooted you to the moment—a quiet reminder of how far you’d both come. You couldn't believe this was the same stand you stood at 3 and a half years ago watching Bucky breaknyour heart and yet here you were now.

By the time you’d finished making your rounds, your bags were full, and so was your heart. You both found a spot on a nearby bench, the wooden surface warmed by the sun. Bucky set the bags down at his feet and pulled out a basket of strawberries you’d picked up earlier.

“Fresh strawberries,” he said, plucking one from the pile. “Can’t beat this.”

You reached for one, but he held it just out of your reach, grinning mischievously.

“Bucky,” you laughed, leaning forward to grab it.

“What’s the magic word?” he teased, his voice playful.

You narrowed your eyes, your hand hovering. “Please.”

He finally let you take it, laughing as you popped the strawberry into your mouth. “Gotta keep you on your toes,” he said with a wink, leaning back against the bench.

The moment was so simple, so easy, and yet it felt monumental. His arm draped over the back of the bench, his fingers brushing your shoulder absentmindedly. His other hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours like it was second nature.

The world felt quiet. Peaceful.

“Are you happy?” Bucky’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, as he broke the comfortable silence. His tone was so quiet that it almost got lost in the sounds of the world around you, the distant murmur of conversations, the occasional rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. But you heard it. You always heard him.

You turned to look at him, your chest tightening at the way he was watching you. His blue eyes, soft and searching, held a depth that made your heart ache in the best way. It wasn’t just a casual question. It was something deeper, something raw. Like he needed to hear it, needed to know that he was doing enough, that this, what you were building together was enough.

“Yeah,” you said honestly, your voice steady but tender. “I am.”

For a second, Bucky didn’t move. He just stared at you, like he was trying to memorize the way you looked at him, the way you said it. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a small, warm smile, the kind that reached his eyes and softened the sharp edges of his features.

His thumb brushed against the back of your hand in slow, deliberate circles, a quiet gesture that said everything he couldn’t put into words. “Good,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because I’ve never been happier.”

The sincerity in his words wrapped around you like a blanket, filling every crack you hadn’t even realized was still there. It wasn’t loud or grandiose. It was simple, honest, and real.

You leaned into his side, letting your head rest against his shoulder. His arm tightened around you instinctively, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, it was all so familiar, yet so new. It felt like home, but a version of home you’d never known you needed until now.

This was different. This was real. This was everything you’d both fought for.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

You felt him stiffen slightly, his breathing hitching as the weight of your words hung in the air. His arm around you loosened just enough for him to pull back and look at you fully, his expression a mix of disbelief and something else, something vulnerable and raw.

“You do?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly as if he didn’t dare believe it.

You met his gaze, your eyes soft but unwavering. “I always have,” you admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. “And I never stopped.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, but not in a bad way. It was full of everything unsaid, everything you’d both held back for so long. And then you saw it, the way his eyes watered, the way his lips parted like he was trying to find the words but couldn’t.

You reached up, your thumb gently brushing away the tear that slipped down his cheek. “Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft and teasing despite the lump in your throat.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice so low it almost broke. His hand came up to cup your face, his touch gentle, reverent, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. “So much.”

You smiled through your own tears, your chest aching with a kind of joy you hadn’t thought you’d ever feel again. “Yeah, I know,” you said softly, your tone teasing but warm.

A shaky laugh escaped him, the sound raw and full of disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the moment. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath warm and shaky. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just breathed each other in, the world around you fading into nothing.

“I never deserved you,” he said finally, his voice trembling with emotion. “Still don’t.”

His words hit you square in the chest, and you felt your throat tighten. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hand still resting on his cheek. His blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his vulnerability laid bare in a way that made your heart ache.

“Bucky,” you said softly, shaking your head. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” he insisted, his voice breaking. “You gave me everything, and all I ever did was hurt you. And even now, after everything, you’re still here. I don’t know why, but…” His voice trailed off, and he let out a shaky breath. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be the man you deserve.”

You felt your chest tighten even further, a lump rising in your throat as his words washed over you. You cupped his face in both hands now, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You don’t have to spend the rest of your life proving anything to me,” you said firmly, your voice trembling. “You’re already enough, Bucky. You always have been, even before.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, he just stared at you, as if trying to memorize every detail of your face. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you gently, like you were something fragile and precious.

“Do you really mean that?” he asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones. “Every word,” you whispered. “I don’t care about the past anymore. All that matters is this. Us. Right here, right now.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, you saw the walls he’d spent so many years building start to crumble. He let out a shaky laugh, leaning into your touch. “God, I love you,” he murmured. “I don’t even know if I can say it enough to make up for all the times I didn’t.”

“You just did,” you said with a soft smile, leaning in until your lips brushed his.

The kiss was slow, tender, and filled with a quiet kind of intensity that made your heart feel like it might burst. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear the thought of any distance between you.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together again, your breaths mingling in the quiet space between you.

It wasn’t about wrong timing or unfinished promises—it was just you and him, finally in step, finally ready. Right person, right time, and this time, you both got it right.

[sortagaysortahigh]

Loverboy | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds

A/N: Ok yall i had to get Bob out of my mind ok, idk man, ive got some hurt/comfort cooking up in my drafts but i wanted something cutesy and loving ok!!! Plus im on a witch!reader high rn like sorcerer type shi, it's only really mentioned a few times, nothing too crazy fr, Contains Thunderbolts* spoilers

Summary: It started as a joke, but truthfully, you would be the only one riding Bob into space. (Somewhat established relationship)

Warnings: Spelling and grammar errors </3, 2ND PERSON POV, Fluff!!!, cursing, mentions of violence, allusions to child abuse (bob/readers past), John Walkers a dick sorry guys im a hater, mention of Sam and Buckys divorce </3 smut: hair pulling, kissing (with tongue! o em gee!!), grinding, lowkey dry humping, handjobs, p in v unprotected secks (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk if you squint, praise!, switch!bob & switch!reader tee hee, oral (m receiving), spitting, hand holding

Word Count: 5.9k (shoutout to me for writing smth under 10k)

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Fem!Witch!Reader

Idk bro id kiss him on the mouth fr, even if he has thin lips he can still get a kith!!

It was supposed to be a joke, something light hearted! Today was already stressful enough, you hadn’t meant to make things awkward or tense!

Typically the New Avengers base wasn’t that bad, sure everyone had their quirks, and you honestly couldn’t stand John Walker, but over the past year or so, things had been going relatively well.

Everyone had found a sense of purpose, something that most of the anti-heroes lacked prior to deciding to become the ‘Thunderbolts’. Of course there were still bad days at the tower, everyone had bad days, especially a ragtag group of ex-criminals that had initially been sent on a mission to kill one another.

But, the more missions everyone went on, the stronger their bonds became.

That wasn’t enough to distract from the elephant in the room, being the fact that Valentina’s introduction of you all as the New Avengers spiked a multitude of controversy and bad press. Yes, you’d done good things together, but you weren’t exactly good people, not going into this at least.

Then there was the ongoing lawsuit between the ‘New Avengers’ and the team of Avengers that Sam Wilson had been creating. Those were the people that were deemed as real heroes, they were loved and adored, meanwhile you all were questionable at best.

The newest Space threat had been stressing Yelena out for a few months now, and considering most of the people in the room were juiced up super soldiers, science experiments gone wrong, and former assassins, it wasn’t exactly easy to get the U.S. Air Force and NASA to agree to provide you all with adequate ships that would transport you into space.

So all everyone could do was continue to monitor the situation.

You didn’t necessarily agree with being forced into the New Avengers, not when the only reason that you’d been there for the entire Void fiasco was because Sam had sent you to Washington D.C. to help with Bucky’s political agendas. More specifically his lackluster ability to speak on camera and in interviews.

“He’s a dumb, litigious man” you scoffed at Alexei, throwing the water bottle in hand at him, the bottle hitting him right in the abdomen earning a loud groan as the older man winced while grabbing the right side of his body. “Seriously? Why are you attacking me! I am right, Sam Wilson does not know anything”

You rolled your eyes from your seat beside Bob, now standing and walking over towards everyone while shaking your head. 

“No, Sam Wilson is right, we were never supposed to be the Avengers, and I’m sorry but I don’t ever recall the Avengers working under the government. It makes sense that everyone ever is literally on his side, not ours”

Yelena sighed, now slumping over in her seat while looking down at the digital satellite report.

“If you were ugly and didn’t have super cool witchy magic, it would be so much easier to dislike you, you know?” you laughed at her, smiling as you took a seat on the large sectional beside her, glancing at the report, brows knit together in confusion.

“Your diagnostic scan is off, somethings interfering with the feed” Yelena looked from you to the tablet screen, then across the room at Bucky who looked miserable.

Everyone knew he wasn’t handling his ongoing fight with Sam well, and the fact that he was no longer a congressman as he didn’t get re-elected really damaged his ego.

You always told him he’d be fine, it’s not like he was turning into a full fledged brainwashed murderer anymore! A marital dispute wasn’t that bad. They weren’t even married, but the way they’d been bickering over the phone for the past six months, it sounded as if Sam and Bucky were in the middle of a heated divorce.

Then Alexei started on one of his rants about team, and unity, and the very eccentric jumpsuit he had on. He looked like a mediocre NASCAR driver, and the suit was way too colorful for you. Plus the velcro patched on ‘z’ at the end of Avenger was making it look even worse.

“I’ve got one for all of you!”

You shook your head, then glanced back towards Bob who was already looking in your direction, you smiled at him before focusing back on Alexei. It was easy to drown everyone out, you’d gotten used to their presence, most days it was like Walker and Ava weren’t even there.

Although, Ava liked to keep to herself, so that part made sense. But Walker? He was constantly flirting with you, especially after practically announcing to the team that he and his wife were splitting for a while, but he did get to visit his kid often. He was like a feral dog trying to chase whatever bitch in heat he could find.

Except you were not a bitch in heat, and you did not like that man whatsoever.

“If only we had the Sentry who could fly!” you sighed again but before you had the chance to give Alexei shit for talking about Bob, he’d already responded.

“Sorry guys, I can’t be the Sentry without, well y’know” you nodded at him, he’d spent countless nights telling you about it, his fear of becoming the Void again, his fear of hurting everyone, of hurting you.

Before Alexei could respond you waved a hand, now the man couldn’t speak, frustration evident in his expression while he shook his head, hands waving in the air as he glared at you.

“I did the dishes though” you laughed a bit, smiling while looking back at Bob, shooting him a quick wink. Then you waved your hand again, Alexei now being able to speak.

“Woman! I have told you to stop doing that to me!” he shook his head, hands on his hips like a disappointed father while you shrugged, exchanging a look with Yelena before the both of you laughed again.

Then John spoke up “What are we just gonna ride Bob into space?” you responded before fully thinking about it. It was just a joke afterall.

“I’m the only one riding Bob.” 

The tablet Bucky was holding was now on the floor, having slipped and fallen face-first against the concrete floors, while Bucky looked utterly shocked and disturbed at the comment.

Yelena simply laughed, nodding her head while high-fiving you.

Alexei’s neck cranked back as he held a disgusted look “you are like daughter to me! Don’t speak like that in front of me! I do not need to know what you and Bob do!” 

Ava’s eyes widened, looking from you to Bob, back and forth over and over again “Oh my god! Is that what you two are always doing?! Having sex?! I thought you two just like really liked to read and stuff oh my god!” 

Then John scoffed, arms crossed in front of his chest, rolling his eyes at the comment. “Yeah right, we all know Bobby over there isn’t getting laid” your brows knit together at that, slowly turning to face John, who now held eye contact with you.

You were debating on smiting him, it wasn’t the first time either. Bucky had stopped you from fighting John Walker on several occasions, he was always a pompous asshole, sure he’d gotten a bit better, but it was like he never recovered from getting the shield and his military honors revoked.

Then Bob spoke up “Sounds like you’re just jealous man”

Your jaw practically hit the floor.

Yelena nodded her head a few times, a proud look on her face while she observed everyone’s reactions. “The Bob I met fourteen months ago would’ve never said that, I’m proud of you-” she then glanced back at you “-and you, keep doing your thing with him” then she winked.

Before you knew it you were on your feet, rushing over to him and practically dragging him away with you while the room was full of shouts and cheers. Yelena had even been clapping.

Once you were fully out of earshot you turned to face him, lightly slapping his chest, your face and neck were on fire, your skin felt flushed and you were a definitive mixture between embarrassed and turned on.

“Dude! What the hell!” he laughed, the same shy smile that you’d fallen in love with on his face while he shrugged.

“Baby he had it coming” you nodded at that, shaking your head again with another groan “we’re never living that down! Did you hear what Ava said! Geez, mister confident over here” he smiled again, nodding at you before shrugging.

“He’s just kind of an asshole, I had to defend you-or us I guess…wait is there an us?” 

It wasn’t a secret that you’d both grown rather close, it initially began when everyone had settled into the tower, the team getting more and more missions, and because you believed in free will, anytime they’d try to make you join them, you would decline. This wasn’t something that you’d wanted, your job was supposed to be one of Bucky’s political advisors pertaining to public relations.

You’d moved past using any form of magic to fight evil, especially after what had happened to Peter, but the only people who remembered him were at peak stages of insanity, or from other universes. Then there was you, the both of you had practically grown up together at one point, but he Blipped and you didn’t.

But after nearly breaking the fabric of the universe to combat the idiotic spells that Stephen Strange had cast to prove a point, you swore off of sorcery. It had it’s helpful moments, small tasks here and there, but fighting crime or being a hero wasn’t something you wanted for yourself.

So you opted to stay at the tower on ‘Bob duty’, and at first it was awkward, a lot of silent exchanges, a few accidents pertaining to dropping things or jump-scaring one another, but then something changed one day.

He asked you to brush his hair, it was so soft and subtle, he said he’d tried, but he just couldn’t, that he was too tired, he’d even explained how difficult it was to leave his room. So you invited him into your space, had him sit between your legs, and you brushed his hair for longer than necessary, running your fingers along his scalp to offer some form of comfort.

Then you both started warming up to one another, you’d ask him for help with the dishes, he’d ask if you wanted to read with him, and the more time spent together, the more you’d both started opening up to one another. Hell, you’d even dragged him plant shopping with you several times under the guise that ‘Bucky said I can’t leave you alone’.

It wasn’t difficult to fall for Bob, he made it really, really easy. 

Sure, he had his bad days, but so did you. 

He was one of the few people to ask you about your childhood for genuine reasons, most just wanted to know where the whole ‘magic’ thing came from. He asked you about the good and bad times, it was comforting in a way that you hadn’t expected.

You’d both sit together for hours when the tower was relatively empty, some days all you would do was read, others you’d talk through the sunset, into the sunrise. He’d shared bits and pieces of his past with you, gradually giving you more and more details.

Bob had even told you why he hated when Walker called him Bobby, you weren’t there in the void with them at that point, they had to find you in your own shame room. It wasn’t exactly horrible for you though, by the time they’d found you, you were repeatedly punching your own father in the face. 

Everything had felt so real that day, when Bucky dragged you away, you’d thrown him off of you at first.

It wasn’t until a few months ago though, that you’d both finally crossed the line between being just friends and something more. You’d been watching the sunset on the rooftop of the building, your head leaned against his shoulder while you both sat in a comfortable silence when he finally asked why you constantly rejected Walker.

At first all you said was ‘cause he’s an asshole’, but when you finally moved to make eye contact with him, he was already looking down at you, and when you caught him, he didn’t blush and look away like he usually did.

He did blush though, but then you’d made the first move, slowly leaning into his space more and more until your lips were on his.

That night pushed you two past just being friends, and since then, he’d been wrapped around your finger. But to be fair, you were wrapped around his as well. 

Things had gotten heated relatively fast, a few nights of built up tension led to you falling into his sheets easily, of course the first few nights did involve a few shattered glasses, one broken plant pot, and a cracked window, but once he figured out how to fully control the overwhelming rush of emotions that went hand-in-hand with genuine intimacy, things got easier.

He blinked a few times, brows knit together while he stared at you, you weren’t fully focused on him, a distant look in your eye at his question. You were clearly zoned out, thinking about something and at this exact moment he wished he could read minds. He was starting to overthink things, maybe you two were just friends and he’d been thinking too far into it, people that were friends hooked up all the time.

But he wasn’t sure if they stayed together for hours after, holding one another while speaking in hushed voices about anything and everything.

“Uh it’s okay if we’re not y’know-a thing, uh” you shushed him, blinking a few times, then your smile was back on your face. You were quick to lean in and kiss him, it was a fast kiss, if anything, just a light peck.

But your smile was genuine and reassuring “Yes-there is an us”.

Then the door to your left slammed open, smacking the wall while Yelena and Ava fell to the floor.

Without thinking Bob had pulled you towards him so you were now standing a bit behind him, it was instinctive. Meanwhile Yelena and Ava rolled over, now on their backs while they caught their breath.

“You know, you two are so cute! I knew I was right about you guys! Ava didn’t believe me, can you believe that! Also why are the floors so hard here, that really hurt” you shook your head at Yelena, doing your best to fight the laughter bubbling in your chest as you grabbed Bob’s hand.

“Okay nosey rosies, we’re gonna be in my room! See you guys later!” with that you gently pulled him behind you, walking towards the elevators that led to your floor.

The elevator ride was relatively quiet, but it was a comfortable silence between the both of you, and once the elevator had stopped at your designated floor, without zero hesitation you grabbed his hand, dragging him behind you while heading in the direction of your room.

He didn’t protest, instead he walked right behind you, the same dopey smile on his face that he always had when you two were together.

Once you were both inside, you locked the door while he made himself comfortable on your bed, now laying flat against the plush mattress and pillows. Turning around made you laugh at the sight, he was surrounded by your several different pillows and blankets while he leaned his head forward a bit to look at you.

“You’re so pretty” your smile was bright as you approached the bed, easily slotting yourself beside him, pushing a few blankets to the ground in the process of getting comfortable. It wasn’t like the bed was small, but you’ve always been the kind of person to need twenty pillows.

Eventually you ended up on your stomach, one leg tangled between his, meanwhile you held your upper body up with one hand resting against your chin, the other tracing shapes into his chest. He was flat on his back, one hand resting against his abdomen, the other outstretched to make space for you beside him.

“Robert, do you wanna get married and run away?” his eyes shot open, he’d been enjoying your embrace, eyes shut while he relaxed, but the minute you finished your sentence his heart was practically pounding out of his chest.

“W-what?” you couldn’t hold in your laughter.

“Okay I’m sorry, bad time for random jokes, I just wanted to see if you were awake” he nodded his head, eyes still wide, facial expression emulating distress and shock.

“I’m definitely awake now, y-you can’t just say things like that to me” you raised a brow at that “why?” he sighed “because-you know why-what the hell baby?” The nickname made you smile again, now leaning closer to his face, a few inches away from him.

“I don’t think I know why, you think I’m like un-marry-able or somethin? I’d marry you, probably give it a year or so, but I would” the tone shift in your voice was evident as you spoke, starting off in a joking lighthearted manner, then flowing into a seriousness that you only reserved for specific occasions. 

“But I think I’m okay with being your annoying girlfriend for now, besides, I love you” his fingers intertwined with yours, offering a gentle squeeze while his brows knit together, eyes studying your features as if he was looking for an ounce of doubt. He’d never heard you sound so sure of something.

“Y-you love me? You sure?” you looked taken aback by the question.

“Did you just ask me if I’m sure I love you?” he nodded at that. So instead of responding you took a second to sit up, then grasped his arm, pulling him forward slightly, using a tinge of magic to help. Now he was sitting up and you were resting on your knees staring at him.

“I mean I’m me, and you’re-well you’re you. I dunno, I just didn’t think you’d like let alone love someone like m-” you shushed him, jaw clenched slightly as you shook your head “don’t even say that. You’re perfect the way you are, and yeah you’ve been through some rough shit, but we all have. It doesn’t make you unloveable or undeserving Bobby”

There it was, the nickname that you’d only ever brought out in moments like these, private moments away from the world, when it was just you and him.

It was the only time that he loved the nickname, if anyone else called him it, it brought forward feelings of distress, anger, and shame, but with you, you said it so softly and lovingly. It was as if all of the bad had been washed away the second the word would slip past your lips.

He bit his bottom lip, glancing down at your hands, now noticing that you’d still been holding his hand, except now you held his larger hand in both of yours, thumbs carefully caressing his skin in back and forth motions. He took a few moments to look at you, the soft golden glow in the room highlighted against your skin, painting you like an angel.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve someone like you in his life, someone who cared so deeply and loved so passionately. Plus you were mean to anyone that was an asshole, so that was always a bonus.

“I love you. I don’t care if we’ve only known each other a year, I don’t give a shit if it makes me crazy, I don’t care- I love you” as you spoke, you straddled his lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders, resting your forehead against his. 

“I love you too” 

Then your lips were against his again and your hands were in his hair. You took the lead, your body was practically on auto pilot as your lips connected with his. The kiss wasn’t soft, but it was passionate, lips moving in sync, a bit of teeth clashing as you lightly tugged on his hair, then the kiss was filled with heavy breaths, tongue, and smiles. 

Naturally your hips started slowly grinding against him, one of his hands on your waist, the other caressing your cheek, pulling you into him even further. The deeper the kiss got, the faster your hips moved against his prominent bulge. 

When you pulled away for air you made sure to bite his bottom lip slightly, offering a sultry smile after, eyes moving from his now swollen lips to his hooded eyes, they were glazed over, a hint of gold shining through his pupils.

“I’m the only one riding you right?” he nodded his head, his dopey smile back on his face, then you leaned back into his space, except you were now trailing kisses along his jaw, your teeth lightly nipping at his ear before whispering “can I ride you today?”.

Then your lips were back on his throat, sucking and nipping marks into his skin, prior to his, you did your best not to leave any visible marks on him, but after certain comments today, you had a point to prove. 

His breathy moans spurred you on, your hips still grinding against him, moving a bit faster while you focused on his throat, moving from one side to the other before lightly tugging on the collar of his sweater then slowly biting against his pulse point. 

You looked at his throat like a piece of art, a satisfied smile on your face at the look of the pink and red marks covering his pale skin. Then your eyes found his and he stared at you with a sea of emotion, the slight golden flicker prominent while he bit his bottom lip, smiling.

“I think you’ve proved your point” you shrugged, laughing a bit “mmm, I dunno Bobby, I haven’t even gotten to take my ride” with that your hands moved to the bottom of his sweater, slowly sliding it up his torso until he’d pulled it off, tossing it aside somewhere, then you were pushing him back onto the bed again, lips back on his skin.

He let you do whatever you wanted to him, one hand behind his head, now watching your movements, his other hand grasping the comforter below. 

You moved lower and lower, kissing along his defined abdomen, leaving a trail of wet bruising kisses against his warm skin, then you were staring at him from between his legs, eyes half-hooded, biting your bottom lip, while you dragged your fingers along his waistline, tracing the defined edges of his lower abdomen before slowly unbuttoning his pants.

“You’re gonna kill me baby” you smiled at that, nodding your head “if I wanted to, I would pretty boy” he practically whimpered, the sound made you giggle while unzipping his pants, taking a moment to lightly tug them down his hips a bit, giving yourself more access to him.

“Can I see you?” the question was so sweet and subtle, his mind felt hazy watching as you stared up at him, eyes on his own while you waited on his answer. He nodded his head a few times, letting out a low gasp as you slowly slid his briefs down, fingers grazing over the thick shaft of his cock.

Once you’d pulled his cock out of its constraints you moaned, the sound had him bucking his hips into your hand that was wrapped perfectly around him. Your movements were slow and precise, it was clear that you were teasing him, but before he could protest, you were spitting on his cock, pumping your hand along his cock faster and faster, giggling at his strained moans and whimpers.

You leaned forward, placing a kiss to the tip of his cock before kitten licking it a few times, then wrapping your lips around him, taking him slowly into your mouth, inch by inch until you’d gone as far as you could-gagging on him slightly.

Then you moved away, a string of spit connecting your bottom lip to the head of his cock. 

“Have I ever told you how pretty your dick is Bobby? How pretty you are?” he nodded his head again, both hands now on his face while he leaned back into the pillows, muffled moans leaving his parted lips.

Your eyes moved along his cock from its base to the reddened tip, tracing the few prominent veins along his shaft, alongside the swollen head of his cock, all of it with a spit-slick sheen. Then your tongue was back on him, licking along the thickest vein, tracing it like a lollipop.

Beads of precum were leaking from his tip, you switched between using your tongue to gather it, and spreading it with your thumb. You were playing with him, and he was going crazy.

“Baby-please fuck-honey” you looked back up at him, tongue out as you tapped his cock against it, he was now looking at you, desperation evident on his flushed features. His entire upper body had a light red flush, his chest rapidly rising and falling while he moaned above you.

“Okay, I’ll stop teasing you” With one final kiss to the head of his cock you stood up, making a show of taking off your pants, slowly unbuttoning them, bending over and arching your back as you slid them down your body. Once they were off, you reached for your sweatshirt, taking it off and tossing it at him-earning a laugh in response.

You stood in front of him in just your panties and a fitted spaghetti strap tank top.

“You want me to do a little dance for you?” he smiled, shaking his head, now sitting up on his elbows, eyes moving along your figure, very clearly admiring you with a shy smile as if you weren’t just sucking him off. Then you spun around, laughing while jumping a bit, the fat of your ass jiggling at the motion-then you were bending over and his eyes were wide as he watched you slowly slide your panties down your legs.

The evident wet patch in the dark fabric had him biting his lip, but the way they slightly stuck to your slick cunt as you shimmied out of them had him groaning again. Then you were standing up again, facing him while tossing your panties directly at his face.

“Consider it a gift for later” you winked while getting back on the bed, easily slotting yourself above his waist, straddling him yet again, then you were reaching between your thighs, grasping his cock again, slowly sliding it along your cunt before sinking down. You were tired of the teasing, and truthfully, you’d been soaked the entire time.

It was easy to fall into a rhythm with Bob, one of his hands now on your waist, the other intertwined with your own while you did your best to focus on riding him, your hips rising and falling, bouncing against him, enjoying the fullness.

Your moans were getting louder, and your pace was faltering.

While you usually took the lead, you didn’t exactly have the best stamina, not when it came to riding him especially given his size. It wasn’t an easy adjustment the first few times you’d slept together, but now you were used to it, and it drove you mad. 

He knew you were already getting tired, offering a love-drunk laugh as you leaned down, forehead resting against his shoulder while you bounced on his cock. He slowly started meeting your movements, hips lightly rising into you, the new movement made you whimper, teeth grazing against his skin.

“You’re doing so good baby” you nodded at his praise, moving to place open mouthed kisses along his jaw. “Just like that, ‘s okay, keep going honey” you whimpered, doing your best to keep going, but your thighs were burning and the pleasure was overwhelming.

Then he wrapped his arm around you, and in seconds you were on your back and he was above you, the sudden movement making you laugh while looking up at him, you squeezed his hand, smiling at the sight of your intertwined fingers.

“Figured you needed a break” you giggled again, rolling your eyes, voice a bit raspy as you mumbled “was it that obvious?” he nodded his head at that, now laughing with you.

Then he was using his other hand to push one of your thighs back slightly, adjusting the angle of his hips before he started slowly thrusting into you, both of your moans blending into one another while he built his own rhythm.

It wasn’t too fast or too slow, the perfect inbetween that had your nails scratching along his back, while you moaned his name, over and over again-enjoying every second of this. 

Once he had the perfect angle, he used his free hand to gently pull your tank top down, your tits bouncing with every thrust, the sight had his mouth watering. He was quick to lean into your space, lips on your chest, kissing along your breasts, tongue trailing your hardened nipples one at a time, earning several moans.

While he nipped marks into your skin, he moved his hand to hold your thigh in place, using it to better leverage himself.

Your hand was in his hair now, tugging at the chestnut locks while you moaned his name. The coil in your abdomen was tightening, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

“I’m gonna cum” he nodded his head, now moving his hand from your thigh to between your legs, fingers quickly finding your clit, rubbing half-moons into the sensitive bundle of nerves, as he listened to your high-pitched gasp, your walls fluttering around him at the added pleasure.

You started rolling your hips into him, using your free hand to pull him closer to you, lips back on his, struggling to kiss him as you whimpered against his lips. Your nails dug into his back while you held him close, feeling the coil in your abdomen getting even tighter to the point that you were practically panting against his lips.

Your words were clear as you moaned “I fuckin love you-oh shit”, your back arching into him, hand pulling him closer as your orgasm washed over your entire body, legs shaking slightly at the feeling of him fucking you through it, cock still rocking into you, prolonging your orgasm.

Then as you slowly started coming down, you felt his hips tense slightly, then he was pulling out of you with a low moan, and in seconds he was coating your stomach with thick ropes of cum, the sensation making you giggle.

“Y’know, you could just cum inside of me” he groaned, head now resting in the crook of your neck as he caught his breath, then he slowly moved back, resting on his haunches while you lifted yourself with your elbows, glancing down at the edge of your now ruined tank top, and the evident strings of cum coating the soft pudge of your stomach.

“I don’t think I’m ready for a kid” you were laughing again, hazy smile on your face as you shook your head at him.

“Seriously pretty boy? I’m on the pill y’know” he shrugged at that, slowly tucking himself back into his briefs as he stood up, adjusting his pants for a second before walking towards your en suite bathroom. He was back within a few minutes, now holding two small towels, one wet, the other dry. 

He took his time cleaning you up, he always did. “Even if you’re on the pill, we uh-gotta work up to that. I think I might shatter a window the first time I do that” you smiled, shaking your head, now glancing over at the window on the opposite side of the room, eyes tracing the glass to check for any cracks. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t break anything-I already looked around” he spoke as he walked towards one of your dressers, opening the second drawer from the top, pulling out a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top for you, he then threw them at you, smiling while you caught them, tossing your ruined shirt on the ground beside your shared pile of clothes before pulling the new top on.

After freshening up in the bathroom, and putting the new shorts on, you joined him in bed once again, except this time he was in pajama pants without a shirt on, clearly waiting for you to join him.

“Y’know maybe John’s always an asshole cause he’s totally jealous of your abs” you wiggled your brows while you spoke, climbing into the bed beside him, easily propping yourself up beside him, fingers back on his chest and abdomen while he wrapped an arm around your shoulders knowing that it would most likely be numb within ten minutes.

“Or he’s an asshole cause he’s just as asshole” you nodded at that “yeah, probably huh?”

Then you kissed him again, a light peck “I love you Robert” he laughed at your serious tone, followed by you wiggling your brows at the mention of his full name. 

He said your full name, winking “-and I love you too”.

The two of you had fallen asleep shortly after that, you were nuzzled into his side and he was flat on his back, embracing you and your warmth.

It wasn’t until several hours later that the hushed commotion in the room had woken the both of you up, well that combined with the large overhead lights that you hated turning on, being on. 

“See! I told you it was real! I mean look at Bob! He looks like he was attacked by a vampire! And look how close they are! Plus the pile of clothes! They’re clearly dating and having sex!” Yelena’s whisper was more like a hushed shout as she motioned around the room, then at the two of you in bed together.

“Yel, invading their privacy isn’t being good team members or found family members or whatever your dad calls it!” Ava groaned, her hands on her hips while she looked from Yelena to you and Bob’s resting figures. Her eyes widened slightly as she noticed you shifting around, and in turn, Bob moving as well.

“God damnit, here Yelena” John was clearly irritated as he handed Yelena two twenty dollar bills, shaking his head at the sight of Bob’s hickey-covered skin, and you nuzzled against his skin. It didn’t help that you were both also sharing a blanket, and you looked so calm and comfortable, the exact opposite of how you typically looked.

“Can you all shut the fuck up and get out?” your voice was raspy and hoarse as you squinted your eyes, sitting up slightly at the sight of them. Then Yelena shushed everyone else, mumbling out ‘sorry to interrupt! Please go back to sleep and being in love and stuff!’ then the lights were off and the door slammed shut.

Bob laughed, leading to you lightly slapping his chest.

“Don’t encourage them before they try to ride you into space” he snorted at your joke, shaking his head, a sleepy smile on his face.

“I thought you were the only one riding me?”

-

Thanks for reading secksies <3 MWAH

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Mafia!Bucky’s Girl gets Arrested

Mafia!Bucky’s Girl Arrested Moodboard

Warning:Police Brutality, DD/LG dynamics and Daddy Kink, Protective Bucky and Mafia!Bucky (which is its own warning)

She always knew that it was a possibility but it never really crossed her mind as something that was going to happen. Ever since getting with her Mob Boss boyfriend, the man who had decided she belonged to him the second he set eyes on her and stalked her relentlessly until she finally agreed to be his girl, she had almost always been right by his side.

Bucky knew that Y/n was as loyal as they come and he didn’t doubt her love for him or her dedication for even a second, but he still didn’t want her out of his sight. There are plenty of men out there who want to hurt James Barnes and he refuses to see his Princess be a victim of an idiot with a vendetta or to even see an ounce of pain on her perfect face.

This day however, it was unavoidable.

Bucky had a delivery that needed to be picked up and he had to oversee it personally, something he wouldn’t bring his girl along for and so he gave her a Black Amex that he had just for her and dropped her off at her favorite outlet. He knew that she could shop around there for hours and that she gladly would until he picked her up later that evening.

‘Stay in public Princess, don’t go anywhere outside of this outlet, understand?’ Bucky warned, opening her car door and helping her out.

‘Yes Buck, I promise I will stay here. You know I’ll shop for a few outfits before ending up in the bookstore for the rest of the time.’ She teased making the notoriously angry Mob Boss smile. He had recently cleared out an entire bedroom in his mansion and lined it with wall to wall bookshelves so that she could have her own perfect reading room. She was fixing it up exactly how she wanted to make it perfect and was spending a lot of his money to give herself a library, apparently needing 1000 books before it actually counted as one (not that he minded spending money on her, especially not for something that made her so happy and often inspired new things to try in the bedroom thanks to her Dark Romance books).

‘That’s where I will pick you up, okay? I’ll text you when I’m finished and you meet me here, okay?’

‘Yes Daddy.’ She teased, knowing how much he loved it when she called him that as she pulled him down to her by his suit jacket and pressed her lips to his. ‘You’d better make sure you’re done all your work by the time you pick me up because you’re all mine for the next 2 days.’

‘Yes ma’am. I promised you a nice, quiet weekend just the two of us and I meant it.’ With all the extra time Bucky had been working after one of his biggest allies was arrested, he needed to make it up to his Princess and he had sworn that after the delivery he was all hers for the entire weekend. ‘I’ll see you soon Babygirl.’ With that he kissed her nose and hopped back into the car, leaving his girl to shop for the afternoon.

Y/n spent about 2 hours in her favorite stores getting several outfits and even stopping to pick up a few new lingerie sets that she knew her Daddy would love before entering the bookstore. By the time she had been there for an hour she had purchased 11 books and could be found sitting in a chair by the window with a hot chocolate and a muffin, reading to her hearts content. And that is exactly where they found her.

‘Y/n L/n?’ Y/n looked up to see a small women with her hair pulled into a ponytail holding a badge out to her and couldn’t help the confused look on her face.

‘Um…can I help you officer?’ She couldn’t help her confusion, she hadn’t done anything to warrant being spoken to by the police.

‘Get up!’ The man beside her barked, pulling out handcuffs and yanking her up from her chair causing her to cry out, the scalding hot drink spilling on her hand as she was moved violently.

‘Ow! What the fuck?! You can’t treat people like this! I haven’t done anything wrong, and even if I had you didn’t even give me a chance to comply! Ow!’ The cuffs went on painfully tight as her arm was twisted at an odd angle.

‘Hey, you can’t treat her like that!’ A barista spoke up, phone in hand and recording the interaction.

‘Mind your business unless you would like to join her!’ The man barked, his partner staying quiet.

‘Okay, you need to grab my stuff at least, I have bags there. Hello?! So not only are you violent, you’re deaf and stupid, good to know.’ She groaned.

‘We’ll hold your things in the back. You come and get them whenever you can.’ The same barista said, following with her phone as she was dragged out.

‘Thank you. My boyfriend will be by looking for me when I don’t answer him, my phone is in one of the bags! I-the least you can do is let me make sure my stuff is taken care off asshole!’ The next thing Y/n knew she was slammed against the police car, her face suffering the brunt of the hit as it collided.

‘Y/n L/n, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.’ The women spoke, reading her her rights as she was put into the car. ‘Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?’

‘Do I also have the right to not have your boorish partner throw me around like I’m his red headed step child? I don’t think that was in there. I’m not saying anything to you, and I haven’t done a single thing wrong.’

‘Sweetie, you’ve been doin’ shit wrong since you said “yes” to a date with James Barnes.’ The asshole spoke, starting the car and driving away from the bookstore.

‘Oh, now I understand. You don’t have shit on my boyfriend who you think is some kind of criminal for some unknown reason and so because you’re so shit at your job you violently arrest his innocent girlfriend. Gotcha.’

‘You ain’t been innocent since you started suckin’ his cock. You know it, he buys you pretty things and you stick your tongue out. You’re an expensive whore and nothing more-‘

‘That’s enough Tanner!’ His partner snapped and she listened to them argue about Bucky while trying to get feeling back into her arms and hands that she was leaning on with her knees pressed painfully to the cage between the front and back seat, all the while blood was leaking down her face and onto her sundress. It was sad, this was one of Bucky’s favorites, she only wore it because she knew he was supposed to pick her up to start their long weekend together.

She was led into the precinct pretty easily before walking through the bullpen and seeing multiple cops that she knew Bucky employed. She pushed down the instinct to smile knowing that they wouldn’t get ahold of Bucky or Steve tonight but also knowing someone would call Andy. She had met Andy several times and loved Steve’s twin brother dearly, knowing that if anything ever happened that Andy Barber would be the one getting her out of it. He had taken his wife’s name in law school to get away from his “criminal” last name of Rogers and yet he still represented them as he knew he always would.

‘Sit here, I’ll get something to wipe off your face-‘

‘No thank you, I’ll stay like this. I don’t need your help.’ Y/n told the women who looked at her sideways. ‘I’ll wait until I’m out of here and my lawyer can see the state that 2 police officers put me in just to arrest a women who was perfectly cooperative. He’s going to have a field day with your department.’ She glared, now seemingly pissed off herself, slapping a folder in front of her and opening it to show her pictures of her and Bucky together. One was him helping her out of the car, one was them walking into a premier, her boyfriends arm around her waist possessively as it was in every single picture they had.

‘Seems like he’s pretty taken with you.’ Y/n raised her eyebrows, not willing to say anything about Bucky what so ever. ‘Just like he was with this girl, and this one-‘ she showed pictures of two other girls with Bucky from before they were together. Bucky and Y/n had had the “Ex’s Talk” and they were both honest about past relationships but the thing that sealed it for Y/n right now was that seeing Bucky with these women, he didn’t hold them like he held her. It wasn’t even close to the same and if ever there was doubt that she would rat on her man (which there wasn’t) there sure as fuck wasn’t any now. ‘Let us help you get away from him, he’s a bad man. He’s killed people, God only knows how many of them.’

‘Oh My God!’ Y/n exclaimed, looking at one of the pictures and while the cop seemed to think she was getting through for a single second she was quickly proved wrong. ‘I was having a really bad hair day. Do you think we could get rid of this one? I just look awful.’

‘You’re not taking this seriously at all.’

‘No, and I’m not going to. You assaulted me, violently dragged me in here and now you’re questioning me about my boyfriend like he’s some kind of criminal! He is the sweetest man alive and he would never hurt anyone, now, I’m not going to be saying anything else without my lawyer.’ Her partner scoffed as he stood by the door watching this go on.

‘Yeah, we’ll see how quickly we get around to calling him.’ He laughed and Y/n just rolled her eyes.

‘He’ll be here soon enough.’ She mumbled.

‘What was that?! What are you mumbling you little bitch, if you think for one fucking minute that we give a shit about that murderers whore you’re wrong, and he ain’t gonna save you either! We’ll let you sit in here for days and guess what? Eventually you’re gonna give him up! Just to see daylight again!’ The officer raged before pulling his partner out and slamming the door shut, all lights but one going out and leaving Y/n in almost complete darkness.

She couldn’t tell you how long she sat there in the dark, quiet room just staring at the window mirror. It felt like hours by the time the door opened again and the lights were thrown on making her squint as her eyes adjusted to the harsh brightness. Y/n could hear a familiar voice screaming and the look of apprehension on the women’s face was fantastic after her treatment.

Suddenly a man who looked way too much like Steve stormed in and took in Y/n’s appearance. ‘Jesus! She’s fucking bloody, you have got to be fucking with me if you think this is alright Captain! Uncuff her this instant!’ Andy demanded and the large cop gave him an angry look before doing as he was told, the “discreet” look from his Captain being enough to spur him into action. ‘Are you alright Miss. L/n? Do we need to go to the ER?’ He offered but she shook her head.

‘No Andy, they offered to wash the blood off, I just wanted you to see where they had slammed me into their car.’ He nodded, making a gesture that told her to be quiet and tell him everything somewhere else.

‘I’m taking my client home. I will expect the recording of this interrogation, all of it, every second, to be sent to my office by morning. If even one second is off I won’t stop until this precinct is a fucking In-n-Out burger! Now fuck off!’ Andy took Y/n’s hand and pulled her along gently, not wanting to hurt her anymore than she already was. ‘You did well, I want to take a few pictures of you to have it documented, then we’ll get you cleaned up.’ She nodded along as they exited the building and moved to his car where he took pictures of her face at every angle as well as her bruised wrists and burned hand.

They had just gotten into the car when Andy’s phone began ringing Bucky’s tone and he put it on Speaker immediately. ‘Andy! She’s Gone! You Need To Get Her Back Andy! I Can’t-‘

‘Boss! It’s okay! I got her, I got a call from Officer Bowers when they walked her in.’ She nodded along.

‘He called right away, I saw a few cops that recognized me and the looks on their faces were priceless.’ She joked, hoping to pull a laugh from Bucky but it did not happen.

‘Princess! Are you okay? I swear to God, if they hurt you-‘

‘It’s okay Daddy. Stay at the bookstore, Andy’s dropping me off there, he wants to talk to the barista who recorded my arrest. She was nice, she promised to hold all my bags until you got there.’ She realized as she heard her Daddy’s voice how badly she had just wanted to fall into his arms and cry herself to sleep.

‘Okay Babygirl, I’ll get your stuff into the car. Get her here Andy, now!’ Her Daddy demanded before hanging up the phone, clearly upset.

It took another 10 minutes to get to the store and the second Y/n crossed the threshold she was grabbed and pulled into Bucky’s arms. He was warm and strong, just like every time he held her but this time she needed him to hold her like he never had before as she felt her mind sink back to that small, regressed place that she didn’t go to very often and it was like her Daddy physically felt it happen as her mind receded back into her safe space.

‘Daddy’s here Babygirl. Your Daddy’s got you, not a thing to worry about.’ He swore, not even caring about the fact that he’s in public as he lifted his girl into his arms and cradled her like an infant. ‘Daddy’s gonna take you home now Baby, gonna go home and get you in your jammies, and all snuggled up in the blankies.’ Bucky turned and walked back out the door from where Y/n had just come, Steve promptly opening the back door and letting his boss climb in before going back to start the SUV. ‘Is my Baby hungry? Daddy has food being made right now for my Princess’ dinner.’

‘So hungry!’ She groaned, clutching to his suit jacket and nuzzling close to his warm body.

‘We’re gonna get you all fed and snuggly warm in our bed baby, don’t you worry. I love you so much, Daddy is gonna make sure those awful cops are taken care of…do you want to talk about it?’ She pouted in response and he brushed his fingers through her hair to comfort her.

‘They were all rough and mean. Showed me pictures of us and pictures of you with your other girlfriends to make me talk bad about you.’ Bucky scoffed, rolling his eyes.

‘Clearly they’re morons if they thought my Princess would turn on me.’ He chuckled at the absurdity of the idea. He knew how loyal his girl was, and he knew that (despite the fact that he would never let it happen) she would have gone to jail and kept quiet the whole time. ‘Don’t worry baby, this whole week is all about Daddy loving on you. Okay? You’re gonna be sick of my hugs by the end ‘cause I’ve rescheduled all of my meetings and appointments. It’s all about you now.’

‘Could never be sick of you, Daddy. I love you so much!’ She swore, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in his heavy scent. As always he smelled like peppermint and his cologne which was very earthy and smoky which he knew his Babygirl loved, however after having been working tonight she could also smell gunpowder which would have made her ask questions and worry if she weren’t completely at the mercy of her regression right now.

Bucky pressed his lips to her forehead for several seconds as Steve pulled up the driveway and finally parked outside of the cabin style mansion in the woods. Her Daddy knew it was her favorite one of his houses to spend time at which is why he picked it for the weekend before extending it to the entire week after watching her arrest video and the interrogation video that Andy sent him just before they got to the bookstore. Some of her comments genuinely made him chuckle, and he was so proud to hear her defense of him and wonderful acting as she could have really convinced people that her boyfriend was just a sweet business man being targeted by the police maliciously. However after seeing how they treated her, Bucky knew that she would be needing his love and comfort, hating to hear that they had called her a whore and tried to make her think that he was just using her for her body.

As they laid in bed that night after her Daddy had fed her dinner and given her a bath filled with bubbles and sweet smelling bath salts he held her tightly to his chest, caressing her bare thigh as she snuggled him in her panties and one of his Henley’s (which was his favorite outfit to see her in of all time, including both fancy dresses or lingerie).

‘You know that your Daddy loves you more than anything else in this world, don’t you Princess?’

‘Mmhmm…’ she mumbled, half asleep already, Bucky’s ability to make her feel safe and comfortable enough to sleep so quickly being a subject of great pride for him.

‘And you know that you’re not a whore…I mean, sometimes I enjoy it when you’re Daddy’s good little whore but…you know you are so much more than that to me, right?’ She nodded into his chest subtly and he momentarily wondered if she even knew what he was saying.

‘Not a whore. Just Daddy’s whore…I love you Daddy.’

‘I love you too Princess. You sleep now, you can be Daddy’s good little whore in the morning…’ he promised, hearing her little moan and kissing her head before pulling the covers around her tighter, allowing himself to drift off to sleep with his Baby safe in his arms.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

Pancakes (Bucky x Reader)

word count: 0.7k

masterlist

You lived in the Avengers Tower. You were on pretty good terms with everyone there—Steve was sweet, Sam made you laugh, Tony made you snicker, Natasha made you feel both safe yet threatened, Clint made you feel comfortable, Thor entertained you, and Bruce made you relax. There was only one person in the tower you had issues with. 

Bucky. 

It wasn’t even like there was anything wrong with him, he just never talked to you or interacted with you at all unless it was to get on your nerves. It drove you crazy.

You went into the kitchen to cook some pancakes. You’d had a craving for them for some reason, and had decided to make them. When you went to gather your ingredients, however, you found many of them on the top shelves of whatever cabinet they were in. Unfortunately, you couldn’t reach the top shelves. 

Steve and Sam, while both being tall, liked to have things at a level they didn’t have to bend down to pick up, but they never put anything so high that you couldn’t reach it. Well, that was probably because Steve and Sam were decent, thoughtful people. So that just left Thor and Bucky. But Thor rarely used the kitchen—it perplexed him and he preferred not to use it, especially after that one time he nearly burnt the ceiling. 

So you sighed, frustrated, got out the step stool, and carried it to all of the cabinets, getting the ingredients from high up one by one. When Bucky walked into the kitchen, he smirked. “Need any help?”

You rolled your eyes and turned to look at him. “No. Did you seriously put all of these up here?”

“It’s just autopilot!” Bucky argued with a relaxed shrug. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you grabbed the container of salt and carried it down, stepping down from the two-step tall step stool. 

“Damn, you’re short,” Bucky chuckled. 

You glared daggers at him. “I’m not that shortYou just put things so damn high up that nobody under six feet could reach it.” 

“You ever notice how you only talk to me when I’ve done something that bothers you?” Bucky questioned. 

You stilled for a half-second. “…it’s not like you talk to me otherwise, either.”

“I’m just making an observation.”

“Just… make it someplace else. I’m hungry, I’m gonna make my pancakes.”

You thought about what Bucky had said, though. About you never talking to him unless he’d pissed you off. And you decided to give him a shot. 

So forty five minutes later, you walked into the living room and found him. “Hey, do you uhm… do you wanna have pancakes with me?”

Bucky looked up, surprised, but nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He followed you to the kitchen table and filled his plate up with pancakes. The conversation was a little uncomfortable at first, but you soon found a bit of common ground over different kinds of breakfast foods and chess. You were horrible at chess. He wasn’t all that much better. But you had found the game in the living room cabinet and pulled it out, playing it at the kitchen table with your sticky, syrup glazed plates. Since neither of you were particularly good at the game, that made it all the more fun. And you were beginning to realize that maybe Bucky wasn’t so bad.

Over the next few days, you found yourself talking to Bucky more often. You didn’t resent the sight of him every time you walked into a room. And the salt? It went back to the lower shelves in the cabinet. He was trying to do something nice for you. It made you smile. You never told him, but he knew. 

One morning, when you woke up, you walked over to your mirror, as you did most mornings. A sticky note was on the surface. You pulled it off and read it. 

Wanna go out somewhere maybe a little fancier than pancakes?

— Bucky 

P.S. Yes, I am asking you out. 

The note made you grin. So you walked over to your nightstand, pulled out a sticky note of your own, and wrote: “yes.”

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