#bucky barnes/reader

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

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

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

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

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

1

Bucky Barnes is not your boyfriend.

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

Colleagues, partners in the field, friends.

Not a couple.

Not dating.

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

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

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

"Look awful close though."

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

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

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

Embarrassed heat flared up your spine and you shivered.

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

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

2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, did we run out?"

"Nope."

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

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

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

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

3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ahh so you are —"

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

Which only made Sam and Joaquín laugh harder.

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

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

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

4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5

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

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

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

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

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

"Something like that," Joaquin shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Obviously we're getting dumplings."

"And maybe fried rice?"

"Rice and noodles?"

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

"Fine."

"Shall I follow you —"

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

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

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

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

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

+1

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

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

"Quiet, please. I can do this."

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

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

"It's too risky —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No you fucking haven't."

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

"Don't kill anyone." Sam admonished.

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

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

"Fuck off." You spat back.

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

"She said, fuck off."

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

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

"Fine."

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

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

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

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

Sam and Joaquin landed behind you and rushed forwards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah —"

"How long?"

"No idea."

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

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

"Because you shot someone for me?"

"Yeah."

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

[drdawnbreaker]

Imagine 40s!Bucky falling in love with one of captain america’s show girls

"A showgirl?"

"Well, no, not really, but yeah, she works on the show. She doesn't dance persay."

Now, don't get Bucky wrong. It's not that he doesn't like showgirls. In fact, he loves them. It's just that they dont like him so much. You see, even though Buck is known for being a playboy. A flirty guy. The list continues. He has always wanted a relationship like his parents.

Soulmates that marry and have a big family. But every time he starts to get the ideas of being serious, they bounce. And showgirls are the worst he found. They love him, or course. He is a big, strong soldier who can take great care of them on the cold nights.

But all of them are the same thing every time Bucky tries to pursue them more romantically.

"Why would I put myself through a heartbeak cause i fell for someone that won't come back to me?"

And that's when it clicked. No one would ever want him as long as he was a soldier. Cause no woman would want to kiss her soldier goodbye and never be able to see him ever again.

No one wants a sad ending.

But yet thats what they gave him.

[happy74827]

Bruised Shadows

[Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: While coming home from another grueling job, Bucky found himself ambushed by the unrelenting warmth of his neighbor’s compassion.

WC: 3002

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Grumpy x Sunshine (fav trope fr)

I decided to post one of my drafts since it has been decades since I’ve posted last… whoops 👀

『••✎••』

Bucky Barnes didn’t notice the blood until it dripped onto the scuffed toe of his boot. A crimson bead, sharp against the black leather, caught the dim hallway light as he trudged toward his apartment. He swiped the back of his flesh hand across the bridge of his nose, smearing the trickle, and grunted. Didn’t hurt. Barely registered. The serum had a way of dulling the sting of split skin and bruised bone—nothing a few hours wouldn’t knit back together. The ache in his knuckles from the job, though? That lingered, a quiet reminder of the fists he’d thrown and the unconscious bodies he’d left sprawled in some warehouse two states over.

The duffel bag slung over his vibranium shoulder thumped rhythmically against his hip, heavy with gear he hadn’t bothered to unpack. Another day, another mess cleaned up with Sam, for which he took most of the credit, but Bucky didn’t care much about the public eye—just the doing. It kept his hands busy and his mind occupied. Kept the nightmares at bay, if only for a night.

He was three steps from his door, key already fished from his pocket, when he heard it—your voice, soft as a damn spring breeze, cutting through the stale air of the hallway.

"James?"

He froze but didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. He knew it was you—only you called his name like that like it wasn’t a curse or a weapon. Like it was just… his. He clenched his jaw, the ache in his bruised eye socket pulsing faintly as he willed you to keep walking. You lived two doors down, always too close for comfort, always too you—bright and warm and everything he wasn’t. He’d spent months dodging the way you lingered in his trajectory, all soft smiles and small talk he didn’t deserve.

"James, oh my God, what happened to your face?"

There it was—concern, thick and unfiltered, wrapping around him like a blanket he didn’t ask for. He turned his head just enough to catch you in his peripheral, and Christ, there you were—hair a little messy from whatever late-night project you’d been buried in, eyes wide and shining with that unbearable kindness. You were clutching a mug, steam curling from it, probably tea or something equally gentle. You looked like an angel, and he felt like the devil himself standing there, bloodied and hulking in his tactical gear.

"It’s nothing," he muttered, voice low and rough, turning back to his door. "I’m fine."

"You’re bleeding." Your footsteps pattered closer, too quick for him to escape, and suddenly you were right there—close enough that he could smell the lavender on you, feel the warmth radiating off your skin. His metal arm twitched, instinct screaming at him to pull away before he tainted you somehow. "Your nose, your eye—James, that’s not nothing."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, wincing when it stung the raw skin. "I’ve had worse. Go back to your tea."

But you didn’t. Of course, you didn’t. You never listened when he tried to brush you off, and it drove him up the damn wall—how you’d barrel through his gruff exterior like it was tissue paper. You set the mug on the floor—carefully because you were always careful—and grabbed his sleeve, tugging with a strength that surprised him for someone so soft. "No, you’re coming with me. I’m not letting you bleed all over your apartment when I can help."

"You?" He arched a brow, the bruised one, and regretted it when it pulled at the swelling. "What’re you gonna do, stitch me up?"

"If I have to." Your tone was firm and stubborn, and he hated how it made his chest tighten. "Come on."

He could’ve pulled away. He could’ve shrugged you off with a flick of his arm—vibranium or flesh. It didn’t matter; you were no match for him. He was a goddamn super soldier, a walking weapon, and you were… what? A civilian with a bleeding heart and a brain too sharp for your good. He’d seen you solve crossword puzzles in two minutes flat and heard you ramble about obscure history facts when he’d lingered too long in the laundry room. You weren’t an Avenger, weren’t SHIELD—just a woman who’d wormed her way into his life with cookies and quiet conversations, and now here you were, dragging him toward your apartment like he was some stray you needed to fix.

And he let you. God help him, he let you.

Your place smelled like you—lavender and vanilla and something faintly sweet, like the cookies you’d left outside his door last week with a note that said, "Don’t be a grump; eat something." The lights were warm and soft, nothing like the harsh fluorescents in his sparse apartment. You pushed him toward the couch with a gentle shove, and he dropped the duffel by the door, too tired to argue.

"Sit," you ordered, already darting to the kitchen. "And don’t move."

He sat, legs sprawled, metal arm resting heavily on the cushion. His flesh hand rubbed at the back of his neck, where tension coiled tight. He didn’t belong here—didn’t belong in your orbit, period. You were sunlight, and he was a shadow, all sharp edges and dark corners. The Winter Soldier might’ve been gone, scrubbed clean by Wakanda and time, but the nightmares still clawed at him—flashes of blood screams, faces he couldn’t unsee. He woke up some nights with his vibranium fist clenched so hard it creaked, half-expecting to find a body under him. You didn’t know that. You didn’t know him. And he’d kept it that way, only feeding you scraps—his arm, the war, vague mentions of missions—because the full truth would send you running.

You came back with a damp cloth, a bowl of water, and a first-aid kit that looked like it’d seen better days. "Tilt your head back," you said, kneeling in front of him.

You were too close. Way too close.

"I can do it myself," he grumbled, reaching for the cloth.

You swatted his hand away—actually swatted it like he wasn’t just pounds of muscle and metal who could snap your wrist without blinking. "Stop it. Let me."

He stared at you, jaw tight, blue eyes narrowing under the bruised lid. You stared back, unflinching, and he saw it—the worry etched into your brow, the way your lips pressed together like you were holding back a lecture. He relented, tipping his head back against the couch because fighting you felt like kicking a puppy.

The cloth was cool against his skin, and your touch—God, your touch—was feather-light, dabbing at the blood on his nose with a care that made his throat close up. He watched you through half-lidded eyes, the way your lashes fluttered as you focused, the little furrow between your brows. You were so gentle it hurt, like a bruise he couldn’t shake off.

"You don’t have to do this," he said, quieter than he meant. "I’m not your problem."

"You’re not a problem at all," you shot back, not missing a beat. "You’re my neighbor. And my friend. And you’re hurt, so I’m helping. Deal with it."

Friend. The word lodged in his chest like a bullet. He didn’t have any friends since Steve—not really. Sam, maybe, on a good day. But you? You’d been chipping away at him for months, ever since he’d moved in—leaving him coffee when you caught him coming back from a run, asking about his arm like it was just another part of him, not a relic of his sins. He’d grumbled, dodged, and kept his distance, but you kept coming back, sunny and relentless, until he couldn’t imagine the hallway without you in it.

"Does it hurt?" you asked, brushing the cloth over the swelling around his eye. Your fingers grazed his cheek, and he tensed, every muscle locking up.

"No," he lied. It didn’t hurt—not the way you meant. No, the pain was deeper, a gnawing thing that came from how soft you were, how close you were, how much he wanted to lean into it and couldn’t.

"You’re a terrible liar!" you said, smiling faintly. “You’re all tense. I’m not gonna break you, you know.”

But I could break you, he thought, and the idea made his stomach twist. His strength wasn’t just in the arm—it was in every fiber of him, honed by decades of violence. He could lift you with one hand and crush your bone without trying. He’d done it before, under Hydra’s leash, and the memory of it—of fragile things shattering under his grip… kept him up at night. You didn’t know that. You saw the arm, sure, but you didn’t know its weight or danger.

You rinsed the cloth, pink water swirling in the bowl, and came back to his eye, your breath fanning over his skin. He could feel the heat of you, the steadiness of your hands, and it undid him—slowly, thread by thread. He wanted to pull away, to growl at you to stop, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. Because you were looking at him like he was worth something, and he hadn’t felt that in so long, it scared him.

"Why do you care so much?" he asked, voice rough, almost accusatory. "I’m fine. I’m always fine."

You paused, cloth hovering over his cheek, and your eyes flicked up to his—big, earnest, piercing. "Because you’re not fine, Bucky. Not always. And even if you were, I’d still care. You don’t have to go through everything alone."

His breath hitched, and he hated it—hated how you saw through the cracks he’d patched up with sarcasm and silence. He shifted, flesh hand curling into a fist on his thigh. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Then tell me," you said, soft but insistent. "I mean… you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but… I’m here. You know that, right?"

He didn’t answer. The words were stuck, tangled in the mess of his head. And it seemed as if you knew that because you didn’t push; you just went back to cleaning his face, and the silence stretched thick with everything he wouldn’t say.

When you finished, the blood was gone, the bruising still dark but less angry. You sat back on your heels, studying him like you were checking your work. "There. You look less like you lost a bar fight."

He snorted, a rare sound, and your smile widened—bright, unguarded, like you’d won something. He felt it then, the pull he’d been fighting for months—the way his chest warmed when you looked at him, the way his guard slipped when you laughed. He liked you. More than liked you. And it terrified him.

You stood, gathering the supplies, and he caught your wrist—vibranium fingers light but firm. You froze, eyes darting to his, and he saw the question there, the flicker of surprise.

"You shouldn’t," he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Your brows furrowed. "Shouldn’t what?"

"Like me. Care about me. Whatever this is." He gestured vaguely between you, his metal hand dropping to hide under his jacket. "I’m not… I’m not good for you."

The silence that followed was heavy and thick with unspoken things. You didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned forward again, your hand resting lightly on his knee. He could’ve crushed steel with less effort than it took to stay still under that touch.

"James," you said, voice soft but firm, "you don’t get to decide that for me."

He clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking. "You don’t know me. Not really."

"Then tell me." Your eyes searched his, open and unafraid. "Tell me who you are, what you think I can’t handle. Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the guy who’s sat through my terrible movie marathons, who’s fixed my leaky sink without me asking, who’s looked out for me even when you didn’t have to. That’s who I see."

He wanted to argue, to tell you about the bodies he’d left behind, the decades he’d spent as a puppet for killers. But the words wouldn’t come. You were looking at him like he was worth something, and it was unraveling him stitch by stitch.

"You deserve better," he rasped, barely audible. "Someone whole. Someone who’s not… broken."

You shook your head, a small, incredulous laugh escaping you. "James, I don’t want 'better.' I want you. Broken pieces and all."

He stared at you, heart hammering, torn between shoving you away and pulling you closer. Your hand was warm against the cool metal, your gaze unflinching, and he felt the dam break—the walls he’d built crumbling under the weight of you. He wanted to believe it, wanted to let himself have this, but the fear lingered, sharp and insistent.

"You’re too good," he murmured, almost to himself. "Too damn good."

You smiled, small and tentative, and leaned in—just enough that he could feel your breath on his lips. "Maybe you’re just enough."

He didn’t know who moved first—maybe him, maybe you—but suddenly, your lips were on his, soft and warm and tasting faintly of tea. It was slow and hesitant, his flesh hand cupping your cheek like you might shatter if he pressed too hard. The kiss was a question, a confession, and when you sighed against him, he answered—deepening it, letting himself feel you, taste you, for the first time.

The kiss didn’t last as long as he’d liked. He missed you the second you had pulled back to rest your forehead against him. Your fingers brushed his jaw, and he felt the tension bleed out of him, replaced by something softer, something he hadn’t let himself name until now.

"I’m not going anywhere," you whispered.

And for once, he believed it.

[kikixreverie]

Your boys

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x Female reader

Summary - The war has been a brutal reality check for you in more ways than one, the first being that life is far more fragile than you thought, and the second that you were deeply in love with not one… but both of your best friends.

Word count - 8k

Warnings - (18+) Smut, threesome, oral sex, handjob, mentions of war and homophobia.

A/N - Hi, im still here kinda. Suffered a pretty rough, year long writers block and then was finally able to edit this one shot I wrote ages ago. I hope you enjoy it and all its filth.

________________________________

The half-empty bar rings with laughter and the clinking of glasses as its patrons drown out their sorrows with liquor, a temporary haven for those seeking distraction from the heartlessness they've seen in the past few years. The smoke in the air was thick, but better than what you were used to, the scent of tobacco, not fire out on the field, though it lingers in your nose all the same. 

The music, a familiar jazz tune carries through that thickened air, paired with deep laughter from rowdy men trying to ignore the sickening sense of dread they all pretend not to feel. Your attention however, is divided. Humming softly to the tune you can only half remember, your focus stays fixed on him—Bucky Barnes, gazing from afar at his wide, mirthful grin, those blue eyes of his reflecting the low lighting of the bar as he sips at yet another beer. 

You watch as Steve walks over to rejoin them, more drinks in his hands which he passes to the surrounding men with a nod, which they each take from him, too distracted with their chatter to thank him. Bucky chuckles, shifting back from the group to say something to Steve, a sly grin gracing his lips, smirking as Steve laughs softly at his joke, sadly too far away for you to be in on it.

You get lost in the sight of the men you've known far longer than you haven't, and have seen sink into themselves more and more in recent years, weathered by war, and yet, beneath the surface, your heart can still manage to find a lesser problem to dwell on—feelings you never even asked for becoming even more known to you the more you watch them, both so pretty. They’d always been pretty.

"Come here often?" 

You sigh at the unexpected voice, an instinctual reaction at this point, and regretfully you looked away from the two men, staring down at your glass for a moment before you tilted your head to the left and eyed her with fake annoyance, staring deadpan at the mischievous smirk playing on her red lips. You both know she caught you staring.

You look down at your drink again, watching the amber liquid swirl in the glass as you lift it to take another sip and wince, "No, should I?" 

Her smirk grows wider, resting her elbow on the sticky bar top. She shrugs, "Depends what you're here for."

You pause for a few seconds, squinting at her as if flicking through the possible reasons to be in this dingy bar, other than an easy escape from the war outside. "Alcohol?" You ask, raising a brow. The only reason you were in this bar would be for Bucky and Steve. 

"Ah, well in that case, no. The beer here is watered-down and overpriced." She quips, clinking her glass with yours before taking the seat beside you.

"Oh, that explains it." You respond, sighing dramatically as you take a swig from your glass. Peggy hums softly, her fingertips drifting over the lip of her glass. You can feel her eyes on you, as usual, watching, assessing the situation, and you take a risky glance at her, slightly apprehensive, not looking forward to the way she's going to read you like a goddamn book. "What?"

"Why are you over here, all by yourself?" She asks, her head tilted with curiosity.

You take pause at her question, setting your drink back down with a sigh, gaze drifting back over to the group of men talking loudly with warm grins on their faces, all the happiest you'd seen them in weeks if not months... actually years. 

"I don't know, I just needed some time alone I guess." You shrug, which immediately earns you a disbelieving scoff.

"Bullshit, the one thing no sergeant would want at a time like this is to be alone. It's a tough job, we all survive on these rare few moments when we get to feel some resemblance of normal. Now tell me why you're sitting here alone."

You don't respond for a long moment, eyes flicking over to your childhood best friends again, as they often do when you find yourself in any room with them. "I'm just in my head. I can't stop thinking about what could happen... and what will. I just- I wish I could go back just for a moment, just to remember what it was like before everything went to shit. I'm sick of thinking the worst every time it falls quiet." 

She listens quietly, then nods, her hand moving to your arm to give a reassuring squeeze, "I think we all understand that feeling." 

You nod too, chewing nervously on your lower lip, feeling that sinking feeling like you've ruined the small moment of fun you’d been granted by taking notice of those anxious thoughts. Bucky's hand rests on Steve's shoulder as he talks into his ear, his lips curling up as he laughs through his own words, Steve blushing beside him, shaking his head and looking down at the floor.

"I'd give anything to go back." You whisper, eyes glued to them, thinking about the times Bucky would drag both you and Steve out dancing with him, and Steve would always step on your feet, and then apologise with pink cheeks each time as you reassured him you lost sensation in them two songs ago. 

"I'm guessing you're talking about your boys." Responds Peggy and you nod before your eyebrows furrow, turning to her quickly with a confused frown on your face.

"My boys?" You repeat, ignoring how the notion of it makes you feel, because it just sounds completely ridiculous - and yes, they are your boys.

"Yes. I mean, they are your closest friends, aren't they?" She laughs, and you give your sad attempt at a normal laugh back to her. 

"Yeah, of course. We've been best friends since we were kids." You say back, cringing at your awkwardness and sipping on your drink to try hide it. 

It falls silent for a moment, which was a nice respite to the conversation that was making you anxious enough. Peggy obviously breaks it again. "You miss them." 

It wasn't a question, so you don’t answer, just stare down silently at your glass, swallowing the lump in your throat, that anxiety just getting worse, weighing you down onto your seat. You nod because it's true. With how hectic and scary the past few years have been, all three of you have changed in some way, and you've not had time to get to know those differences. You'd barely spoken to them about anything other than mission plans in weeks, everyone just more than eager to win this war and get home.

"Go talk to them, I'm sure they miss you too." Peggy offers softly, patting your shoulder again before giving you a smile. She slips off her chair, finally leaving you with your thoughts, walking across the bar to sit with the howling commandos with a half-empty drink in her hand, saluting the very boys you were just talking about, and you fight to ignore the stupid jealousy you feel when they both return the gesture to the gorgeous woman.

You’re in way over your head.

You’d hate to admit it, but she’s right, you miss them, very, very much. Things haven't been the same since the war started, and you know it'd be naive to think it will ever go back to how it was. You feel that breath-stealing sadness whenever you look at Steve, a feeling you know is mutual for Bucky too. You still don't always recognise him when he's facing away from you, searching in a crowd for a small, delicate Steve that no longer exists, before you remember the beast of a man he'd become and feel a different kind of warm flutter when you see him. 

Bucky is different too, quieter, rougher around the edges, darker. You miss that boyish charm of his, the easygoing, easy-loving James Barnes everyone knew. He always wore his heart on his sleeve, but he guards it now, keeps it locked away for safekeeping. He barely spoke for weeks after Steve got him out of that place, barely ate. You haven’t seen him cry in months either, which is somehow much more worrying than if he were to break down into tears each night like a lot of the boys do in secret. 

It hurts when you think back to before, a time when the three of you were so close you spent most nights sleeping at each other's houses, a time when your biggest worry was that the neighbours were gossiping about your 'morals', despite how many times Bucky reminded you that the old lady next door's opinion shouldn't matter to you. 

But it did. Sometimes even you worried about your 'morals', a socially-expected guilt clouding the thoughts you'd have about them, both of them. It's always been more. A part of you always knew there was a deeper understanding the three of you had for each other, like how soulmates would be described in the romance books you had read, only it couldn't be so easy that you were in love with one of your best friends, it had to be both.

A person sits beside you again, and you roll your eyes with a small smile, turning towards them and expecting it to be Peggy back to drag you over to everybody else, but you quickly drop the expression at the sight of a man you had never seen before, smiling at you as if you'd invited him to sit there.

"Come here often?" The man asks, not sounding the slightest bit ironic, as amusing as that is for you. You hide your laugh behind your almost empty glass, which doesn’t help you one bit seeing as the glass is clear. You resort to biting your cheek when he just stares back expectantly, apparently waiting for you to swoon and faint into his arms. 

You shake your head, reminding yourself to definitely not come here often. "No, sorry." You respond, mentally scolding yourself for apologising for no reason, and then scolding yourself for scolding yourself. Can he just fuck off maybe?

"That's okay. Pretty dame like you in a bar like this, you here with anyone?" He sounds like Bucky, you think to yourself, only its not charming one bit when this stranger calls your a ‘dame’. He moves closer to you, his arm almost touching yours, which was immediately enough for you to shift away, feeling uncomfortable and annoyed that he was in your space. You scoff, deciding you've seen far too much to give a shit about upsetting some creepy guy in a bar. You open your mouth to shut him down.

"Yeah, she's with us." 

For fucks sake why can't I do the fun part? 

You already know it’s Steve's voice, strong with that Brooklyn accent, even stronger with the distaste in his voice. You don’t turn to look at him, still trying to keep the distance between you and the guy who’s staring wide-eyed up at Captain America.

"Maybe go and bother someone else." Bucky adds, moving in behind the guy, his tone much less polite than the Captain's.

The man doesn’t say a word, much to your amusement, just puts his head down and stands, walking away, probably going to find some other poor woman to bother, or nurse a stronger drink and lick his wounds.

They sit either side of you, Bucky's hand moving to your back. "You alright, doll?" 

You sigh and nod, rubbing your forehead and smiling softly at him "I'm fine, Buck. You know I could've easily scared him away." 

Bucky nods, smirking softly. He's seen you shut down many a guy before the war,

"I know, just making sure." 

It falls silent for a moment, Bucky doesn't break eye contact with you and you can't bring yourself to do it for him, his gaze soft and inviting, almost as distracting as the way he wets his lower lip the way he often does. 

"Why are you sittin' over here?" Steve asks, and it finally draws you to look away from Bucky, clearing your throat before turning to Steve on your left.

"Just lost in thought I guess." You respond with a shrug, deciding not to disclose the fact that you were lost in thought about them, as per usual.

Steves cheeks remain a little pink and you don’t get why, wondering if he had noticed the weird staring going on between you and Bucky, which only makes you blush just the same in embarrassment. 

"Thinking 'bout what, doll?" Bucky presses, his warm breath brushing against your shoulder. You don't let yourself look at him again, staring straight ahead as your stomach flutters with nerves and something else you don't want to think about yet.

You shrug, breathless as Steve inches slightly closer to you too, as if he and Bucky had some nefarious plan to make you want them impossibly more, his shoulder pressing against yours. 

"I don't know. Just lost in thought about... how bad the beer is." You say, sheepish at your stupid response, but Steve laughs sweetly, which only makes you smile. 

Bucky only hums in response though and you look over at him again, that enticing look in his eyes, "How about we get out of here? Just us three, we can swing it like old times, got a fairly decent bottle of whiskey in my room that's waiting to be drank." 

You inhale softly in surprise and excitement. It certainly wouldn't be the first time the three of you had gotten drunk together alone, but it's been a while, and for some reason, it seemed like something different now, something new.

You glance over at Steve to see him waiting for your response, seemingly already aware of Bucky's idea, so you nod, not trusting yourself to speak and not look stupid.

You all leave the bar together after gathering your things, purposefully ignoring the smirk Peggy gives you as you walk past, just wanting to get out of the stuffy bar and away from the noise for a while.

It was a silent taxi ride the whole way back to the hotel you were all currently staying at, though not awkward. You sat between the two men, Bucky's thigh pressed against yours while you and Steve sit shoulder to shoulder. 

You'd always thought that taxis were fairly spacious until you had to share one with a super-soldier and James Buchanan Barnes.

Steve pays the taxi driver with the best tip he can afford and soon enough you were all piling into Bucky's room. 

You sigh when you walk through the door, not giving a second to hesitate to go to the bed, falling forward with another sigh as you stretch out across the mattress, kicking off your uncomfortable shoes and letting them hit the floor with a soft thud. It wasn’t often you had access to an actual bed.

You can hear Bucky and Steve laughing as they take off their jackets, which you didn't have the nerve to watch them do.

"Comfy?" Steve asks, walking over to the small radio on the bedside table and switching through the channels till he found some decent music to have on quietly in the background. 

You nod, humming softly and closing your eyes, "You try wearing heels for a whole night only 3 days after getting off the field." 

Bucky sits beside you on the bed, looking down at you as you hesitantly peek your eyes open to look at him.

"Can't imagine the pain, doll. Want a foot rub?" He teases, a lopsided smirk playing on lips.

You scoff in response, laughing softly and definitely not considering his most likely joking offer. Instead of putting your sore feet on his lap, you just blush and sit up, shoving at his broad shoulder. "Shut up. Where's that decent whiskey you promised, hm?"

He laughs, picking something up off the floor from beside the bed and holding up a full bottle, passing it to you as he takes a glass from the bedside table near him, holding it out for you to pour the liquid into it. 

"Hey guys, I'm gonna go change, then I'll be back, okay?" Says Steve, a smile on his face as he walks back towards the door, and you and James both nod, watching the tall man duck slightly through the doorway and leave room gently shutting the door behind him.

Its comfortably quiet in the hotel room, though the atmosphere slightly different. You sip at the strong-tasting, barely decent whiskey, the liquid burning its way down your throat to settle in your stomach, warm and familiar.

Your gaze again drifts to him, watching over the rim of your glass as Bucky moves to sit against the bed frame after pouring his own drink, shoes kicked to the floor, watching you right back, his head resting against the dark wooden frame, a soft look on his handsome face. A strand of his dark hair falls onto his forehead, and you follow it like an arrow pointing down to the white shirt he's wearing, the top few buttons undone as some sick way to punish you even further.

"You're always so sweet on him." He murmurs quietly, breaking the silence. He doesn’t sound one bit jealous, only fond, his head tilted slightly, his tongue casually dragging across his lower lip.

"Aren't we both?" You tilt your head at him as you ask the question. It feels serious, despite the sweetness of his smile, theres something more hidden in the words, but neither of you are ready to say something like that out loud, the denial comfortable for a moment longer.

He goes quiet again, chewing on his lip as he stares down at the bed sheets, sighing softly. "I guess it's hard not to be. I know he's all tall and macho now," He pauses to huff a laugh, you watching and listening quietly and intently, him looking up to the ceiling as he continues, the smile fading to something softer, "But he's still Stevie."

A hint of a smile pulls at your lips, and you nod, holding your drink up to not spill anything as you shuffle over on your knees to sit beside him against the headboard, huffing softly at the movement, then propping up pillows behind you to be more comfortable as Bucky watches with an amused smile.

"And you're still Buck." You add once you’re settled, looking at his gorgeous face, your chin tilted upwards, and his down. He swallows softly, and you notice the movement of it, his adams apple moving in a distracting way that you swear makes you feel thirsty, so you take another sip of your drink, hoping it will settle the feeling it obviously wont.

"You sure about that?" He asks, his eyes flicking down, watching the whiskey swirl in his glass, lips set in something closer to a frown now. You know he's hurting, even if he hasn't felt ready to confide in you about it yet.

"Very." He looks at you when you say it, and you hold his gaze this time, his stare so intense, eyes so blue, lips so pink. 

It takes your dumb, denial-stuck mind a moment longer to realise that you were looking down at his lips and that he was looking at yours at the same time, and there was no actual effort to either of you leaning closer, just a magnetism and a feeling spreading through your chest and butterfly filled stomach that you don’t even question it, don’t think once about the consequences, and technically its Bucky that ends up closing the tiny gap you’d made for him to do so, putting his glass down at the bedside table closest to him as his soft, warm lips make contact, eyes drifting closed,his hand then reaching across you and taking your glass too placing it down.

With his hands free, they move to cup your face, lips moving against yours, the kiss soft and sweet as your fingers drift up to the nape of his neck, his right hand reaching down for your thigh, grabbing flesh and trying to pull you closer as your lips move faster, a realisation that this kiss can’t last forever and you both swear you need it to.

It shifts from sweet and soft, to passionate and fast-moving, an almost desperate feeling urging you to press closer, your lips coaxing Bucky's to open as his hands grip your skin, your hips, waist, thighs. You just want to taste him, just like you'd always dreamed of doing. It barely feels real, but you barely think about it when you slide your tongue against his lips and earn yourself a soft, heated groan in response.

The booze doesn’t matter, you were drunk on him, butterflies in your stomach, heart hammering in your chest, an ache forming between your legs.

You'd never experienced a kiss like this before, never this intense desperation, so needy for more, clutching at eachother and shifting on the bed, breathing against his cheek.

Time is far lost to you both, only warm skin and hot mouths and soft lips, but the noise at the door breaks through the goodness of the moment, and you and Bucky quickly pull away from each other, panting for air as your heart hammers in your chest. Steve stands at the door wide-eyed.

Bucky licks his lips wordlessly as he tries to calm himself down, sighing and pushing his hair back, looking down at the bedsheets. 

"Steve?" You ask when he doesn’t say anything, anxiety clouding the heated memory replaying of the kiss, as you wait for any reaction from Steve.

Steve couldn’t look more shocked, unable to look either of you in the eye, standing sheepishly at the door as he flushes pink.

"Sorry." He mutters, reaching for the door handle and making his turn to leave, and your heart lurches, sitting up to stop him, but Bucky speaks up before you can remember what words are. 

"Steve." He says softly, and the blonde pauses, looking over at Bucky and waiting to be chastised for entering the room without knocking, but Bucky only offers a small, hesitant smile, "C'mere." 

Poor Steve stands frozen for a while, face only getting redder as you and Bucky stare back at him, the image of the two of you kissing, Bucky's hand squeezing your bare thigh under your dress, yours tugging on his hair, its heavy in the forefront of his mind, and it sets something off in his stomach, something he likes the feeling of.

Bucky gesturesfor him to sit on the bed with them and slowly, Steve does. 

"I didn't mean to-" Steve begins, but Bucky cut him off and you watch dumbly as he handles the situation.

"It's okay." He assures, falling silent for a moment as he tries to find the words to say what he really wanted to, "We're all friends, right? It shouldn't be awkward." 

It’s actually incredibly awkward, but denial was a much easier option, and so you simply avoid eye contact with either of them as you think you’re so good at doing, as you reached over Bucky for your drink again, taking a long sip of the alcohol, focusing on the burn in your throat rather than the ache between your thighs.

"Yeah," Steve responds, sounding as breathless as you feel.

"Maybe-" Bucky stops himself, and you lookover at him, waiting with bated breath for him to say 'Maybe we should just forget it ever happened' but his mind goes elsewhere, "Maybe you two should kiss. You know... make it even." 

The tension in the room couldn’t be any thicker, and so completely silent, not a breath between you. You chance a risky glance at Steve and he stares straight at Bucky, mouth agape, eyes wide.

You feel like you need to say something, feel like you’re fighting between your mind, your heart, and your… The nerve builds up quick and words rush out of your mouth, just needing to escape this awkwardness, "Bucky, I don't think Steve would-" 

"C'mon, I'm not blind, I see the way you two look at each other. You're telling me neither of you is at least a tiny bit curious what it would be like?" Bucky cuts you off, looking between you and Steve with a raised brow, "Don't feel forced to do anything, of course. Just... I don't know... Think about it?"

Oh, you’re thinking about it, you have been thinking about it, for years, in fact you’re imagining it in way too much detail, but acting on it like this, rather than a random, heated frenzy like with Bucky, is much more nerve-wracking.

Its when you risk a glance at Steve that the doubts starts to slip away slightly. its so painstakingly obvious, the blush on his face, the way he can’t look you in the eye and he seemed just as deep in thought as you. You remind yourself who you're with, though much taller now, he’s still Stevie. Your teeth catch your lip, nerves fading enough that you feel less awkward and more anticipating. It already feels like it's the end of the world anyway, actions tend to feel much less consequential. 

"I don't know, Steve..." You start, watching with rising butterflies as he looks over at you, his lips parted, "Maybe he's right."

James grins like you’ve joined the dark side, smirking down at his glass, just listening to you shift into a second devil on Stevie’s shoulder.

"P-pardon?" He almost whispers, and you smile softly, still polite Stevie.

"Maybe we should kiss." You manoeuvre onto your knees, and James wordlessly takes your drink again, placing it back down and inhaling softly, leaning back against the bed frame again and just watching quietly. Steve breathes in, watching you move closer. "Only if you want to, of course." You add for good measure, and Steve gulps, lips parting as he looks over at Bucky, as if for reassurance, Bucky just stares back. You crawl over, settling in front of him, "Do you want to?"

He takes another moment, before softly, he nods, taking a deep breath. 

You look into his eyes, scooting close enough for your thigh to touch his, and you reach for his broad shoulders, biting your lip softly. You can’t quite wrap your head around the idea of kissing either of them ever, especially not both... in front of each other in the time span of five minutes... but there’s no room for regret, just you and your boys...

Your hand glides over to his face, holding his jaw softly as you tilt his head down to you, pressing your lips against his.

This kiss was softer, slower. You knew Steve had kissed before, you were the one who heartbreakingly caught him with not one, but two USO girls, but hes certainly not as experienced as Bucky, nervous and shy, so you stay as gentle as possible, not pushing him to go any further than the gentle touch of your lips until he presses for more, tentative, but he follows your lead, his right hand hovering over your waist before he pulls it away, and you kiss him once more before breaking the contact. You can tell how nervous he still is. 

The room is still as you and Steve pull away from each other, Steve's focus stuck on you as you sit back slightly, looking over at Bucky, as your lips tingle from the kiss, curious to see his reaction, and the sight of him makes your stomach flip.

He sits rested back against the headboard again, legs splayed out in front of him as he watches the two of you with a clearly lustful gaze, his lower lip caught between his teeth, this dark desperation in his eyes, and its like you can read the dirty thoughts clouding his mind.

You don’t think at all when the words left your mouth, but they do, "Your turn."

Buckys lips part, eyes widening slightly and Steve takes an audible breath from beside you.

"What?" The blonde gulps.

You swallow your nerves again, Bucky was right, he could see the way you and Steve look at each other, because you've always looked at each other that way, just like you and Bucky look at each other, just like Bucky and Steve.

It's something that none of you had ever addressed until now, something you'd never let yourselves act upon, but who cares what people think at this point, who cares where this could lead you. If the war has given anything but trauma to you, it's shown you how fucking fragile life is, how much you'd regret it if you never acted upon these feelings, how much they'd regret it.

"You two should make it even, right?"

Steve stares at you, not letting his gaze drift to Bucky, but Bucky stares right at him, something intense in his eyes, something between realisation and surrender, and its clear that he’s waiting for Steve to reject it, to reject him, to wrinkle his nose at the disgusting notion of a man kissing another man, just as everybody else would do, but Bucky knows that wasn't a fair assumption to make about the golden-hearted man he knows their Stevie to be. He still waits though, preparing himself to have to have to take the rejection.

"I-" Steve starts, the very same worries as Bucky filling his head.

"Steve, aren't you at least a tiny bit curious?" You ask gently, using Bucky's previous words in hopes of lightening the mood slightly, which seems to work when Steve huffs a small laugh, though he gives no response. 

You look at Bucky, seeing the heartbreaking disappointment and acceptance in his eyes. You nudge his foot, giving him a soft smile of encouragement when he looks up at you.

He gives you a small smile back, before looking over at Steve, wetting his lips.

"Stevie." He almost whispers his name, and his gaze is soft when it meets Steve’s, "Come here." 

Steve decides not to give himself the chance to hesitate, moving towards Bucky before he can think about what he’s doing, and Bucky leans forward to meet him halfway, his palm sliding across his cheek, thumb smoothing along the skin before he closes the space and Bucky and Steve are kissing right in front of you. 

Its gentle for a few seconds, hesitant on both parts before Steve’s reaching out, hands clutching the material of Bucky's shirt, pulling him forward, pulling him closer. 

Their kiss was rougher, all tongue and teeth and the sight was a lot to try to handle, all you could really do was squeeze your thighs together and enjoy the sight of your two favourite boys, enjoying how eachother kiss. 

Bucky detaches his mouth from Steve's to meet your eye, pulling you closer as his hand holds the side of your neck.

He kisses you, open-mouthed and needy as his tongue glides across your lip, steve groaning softly at the sight, his hand once again hovering over the curve of your waist.

"It's okay, Steve." You murmur against Bucky's lips before you pull back to look at Steve, gripping his hand with your own and guiding him to touch you where he had wanted to, "You can touch me. You can touch me anywhere you'd like. Both of you." 

"Fuckin’ Christ, doll." Bucky sighs, lips mouthing across your jaw, his head dipping lower to kiss your neck, "You want that huh? Want both of us to touch you?" 

You nod as you kiss Steve, Bucky giving you a hickey just below your ear like a goddamn teenager. Bucky makes his way to Steve's neck then, curious to what noises he could pull from Captain America himself, and he chuckles against Steve's neck when he sighs softly into your mouth, as sensitive and worked up as Bucky had always wondered he'd be. 

When Bucky and Steve start kissing again, you take the opportunity to catch your breath, sitting back for a moment to watch the way Bucky pushes Steve down against the mattress, everything escalating so quick and yet feeling exactly like the way it should be. He adjusts his hips over Steve, pressing against him, and Steve groans softly, his rising up to meet bucky’s.

You bite your lip at the sight, your hand almost subconsciously sliding between your thighs, applying slight pressure against your underwear as your thighs squeeze together again. 

It just feels so right, and your body is reacting like it never has before, all reservations out of the window when you fingers press against your clit ever so slightly, breath catching when Bucky starts talking.

"Y'see that Stevie? Look how desperate our girl is for us. She just has to touch herself, doesn't she? Think we should help her out?" He murmurs, speaking the words into Steve's ear, though saying them loud enough for you to hear them too, and Steve nods quickly, no more hesitation, panting for breath, lips a pretty shade of kissed.

Our girl. 

"God, yes." Steve answers.

Their attention turns to you, Bucky with that mischievous, knowing glint in his eye, "Why don't you help her out of that dress, Stevie."

Steve nods, following orders like this was a part of his training, moving closer towards you, more confident though a bit sheepish.

"Go on, honey." You say to him, kissing his jaw as his fingers brush against the zipper at the back of the dress. He somehow manages to unzip you as slow as physically possible, fingers dusting along your back in a way that brings on a shiver. He finally pulls the dress off over your head and Bucky gives a low whistle at the sight of you, their pretty lady just in her undergarments.

Your head tilts back when Bucky leans towards you and kisses your collarbone, the kisses trailing lower and lower until he was kissing across the tops of your breasts. You sigh at the sensation, loving the attention on you but it doesn’t seem vert fair you’re in your bra and panties only and these two were fully dressed. You tug at both Steve and Bucky's shirts until they get the hint and both start pulling them off, Steve's going over his head while you help Bucky undo the buttons on his. 

From then on the clothes seem to keep coming, and you chuckle softly as Steve helps Bucky unbuckle his belt and pull his pants off. It doesn't take long before they're both left in only their underwear, and neither you nor Bucky give Steve the chance to blush or second guess anything when you lean towards him, kissing his shoulder and Bucky kissing his lips. 

You'd think it would be overwhelming, but god it just feels so right. 

You hum as fingers drift across you back to the clasp of your bra, Bucky looking at you, waiting for your permission, which you quickly give, nodding your head breathlessly before he quickly undoes the clasp, helping you out of the straps and then finally pulling the bra away. 

"Fu-" Steve stops himself, staring down at your uncovered breasts, your peaked nipples, soft pretty skin, waiting desperately to be touched and he forces himself to close his eyes, convinced for a second that that was it, he was going to come right here and now in his briefs. Bucky chuckles, that cheeky grin on his face as he dips his head and kisses his way across your now bare chest, cupping your left breast gently and mouthing over your nipple, smirking as your fingers thread through his hair, swirling his tongue.

"I think we're corrupting our sweet little Stevie, love," Bucky murmurs, and you hum back at him, looking over at the blonde who sits in amusing deep concentration, trying desperately hard not to lose himself. 

"I don't know, Buck. I reckon Stevie's much less innocent than you think. Plus, he's not so little anymore..." You tease, knowing he’s listening, so you reach over, your palm against Steve's thigh, "Why don't you show us, honey? Get out of that head of yours, and come play with me and Buck."

Even Bucky groans at that, pressing his face into the crook of your neck as he continues to kiss you with a bit more hunger now.

Steve looks wrecked already, opening his eyes to look down at the two of you, skin against skin, waiting for him to come back to you. 

"Why don't you tell us what you want, Steve?" You ask him, moaning softly when Bucky rubs his thumb over one of your nipples.

"I want.." He licks his lips, looking down your body, eyes lingering on the one place you’re still covered, "I want to touch you." 

"Then touch me, Stevie." You respond and his hand drifts slowly to your thigh, Bucky still busy paying attention to your chest.

Steve's fingertips brush against the edge of your underwear, looking up at you for reassurance, "Even here?"

You sigh when Bucky grazes his teeth across your skin, tugging on his hair, "Especially there."

"Go on, Steve, I think she's still a bit overdressed," Bucky adds, encouraging him to strip you of your final layer, and Steve does so, feeling his cock throb as your bare pussy comes into view. 

You part your legs for him, your inner thighs already showing how wet you are, waiting patiently for someone to finally touch you where you needed most, and when Steve brushes his fingers through your folds, tentatively exploring, nudging against your swollen clit as he did so, you moan openly. 

Bucky leans back, looking down at you laid out across the mattress, completely bare beneath them as you lift your hips to meet Steve's hand, needing more pressure. Bucky reaches down for Steve's hand, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth as he assists him. 

"Touch her right here with more pressure. Make small circles." Bucky directs, and Steve gladly follows the instructions given, watching as you get more and more breathless as he touches you, his fingers getting covered in your slick as you whimper softly, "Just like that, Steve."

Steve bites his lip at Bucky praising him like that, his cock throbbing so hard in his briefs as he focuses on trying to make you feel good, before Bucky takes a hold of Steve's fingers, guiding them lower and lower until they were sliding into you. You gasp softly, head tilting back at the slight relief of no longer being empty, but you’re still no way near full, needing more and more, still, you enjoy this, shifting your hips as Bucky instructs Steve to curl his fingers. 

A pretty sounding moan slips from your open mouth when Bucky really starts participating, leaning on one arm as the other hand moves down to you, his thumb almost softly rubbing over your clit, watching in gentle awe and focus as him and Steve’s hands take good care of you, Steve's two fingers fucking into you as Bucky builds a steady rhythm on your clit. It doesn’t take long of the repeated pattern before your hips roll forward unknowingly, getting closer and closer to coming, the heat in your body rising, every nerve tingling... so close.

"James, I'm-- Fuck, Stevie." You moan, enjoying having two names to beg to, feeling your body tighten up as they both continue until you’re over the edge, coming on your best friend's fingers, your body vibrating as they ease you through the strong orgasm, Bucky not stopping until you reach down and gently move his hand away, bordering on overstimulation as your body becomes overly sensitive. 

"Holy fuck." Steve murmurs, and Bucky laughs at him, nudging his arm.

"Language." He teases. 

"Shut up, punk." Replies Steve, pushing Bucky’s shoulder back. You lay there catching your breath, humming with a gentle smirk as you watch them act so casual after both giving you the best orgasm of your life, so far.

"God, just make out already." You joke, grinning at the two, your body relaxed, and Bucky gives you a look as you sit up. 

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you." He nips at your shoulder, and you roll your eyes playfully, enjoying seeing him like this again, the happiest and most like himself you'd seen him in weeks, "Good, thing I'd like that too. Steve?" 

Steve looks over at Bucky, nodding and moving closer to him, kissing softly.

You give yourself a moment to gather yourself, catching your breath, relaxing in the afterglow of the first orgasm you’ve had in a while, admiring them for a short while, and then eventually joining them, kissing across Bucky's shoulder, raking your nails through Steve's hair. 

"Think Stevie's ever had someone's mouth on him before?" You murmur into Bucky's ear, feeling pride in the sigh he gives in response, pulling away from Steve's mouth, humming against your skin as he leans into you, head laid back against your shoulder, nose tucked against your neck.

Steve just couldn’t stop staring, his erection straining against his underwear, both of you watching him with those eyes. None of it feels quite real, like it’s all too good to be true, yet so much better than he imagined. He groans softly when Bucky moves his hand down, watching him as he presses his palm against his cock over the fabric.

"How 'bout it, Stevie? Think you could handle someone's mouth on your cock?" God, the words are so obscene, yet so natural as they fall from Bucky’s lips, Steve all but whimpers when the both of you start kissing on his neck, "Ever done that before, Steve?"

He shakes his head, hands reaching to touch both of them in any way he can, "God, please."

"Not God, angel." Bucky starts, the pet name rolling off his lips, smooth as butter, sweet as honey, "Just us."

His briefs were off, his cock springing up when it was finally released from the far too tight confines of his underwear. Bucky leans forward, kissing Steve as he guides him to lay back on the mattress, hovering over him. 

The sight couldn’t be more mouth-watering, his cock a deep shade of pink as he leaks pre-cum onto his stomach, so desperate, kissing Bucky back like his life depended on it. 

His stomach tightens when you start kissing your way down his chest until you finally reached the tip of his cock, wrapping a hand around the base, kissing the tip, hearing Steve moan into Bucky’s mouth.

You lick along the underside of his shaft, swirling your tongue over the head and liking the salty taste it left you with. Steve’s an utter mess, bucking his hips and squirming beneath you and Bucky when you finally put your mouth around him, no longer having the focus to continue kissing Bucky, instead just letting his head fall back against the pillows, breath laboured and heavy as you start to suck. 

"C'mon, sweetheart. You can go deeper than that." Bucky purrs, tilting his head as you look up at him through your lashes, and you pull off of Steve, using your hand to make lazy strokes up and down his cock, shaking your head at the brunette.

"He's so big, Bucky," You bite your lip, and Steve whimpers softly at your compliment, watching as you fake a look of innocence, giving Bucky those doe eyes as you brush your thumb across the tip of Steve's cock. "D'you wanna taste him, Buck?"

Bucky already knows the answer to that, his cock was throbbing at the sight of you and Steve alone, but he glances up to Steve, meeting his distracted gaze and waiting for some sort of permission, which was given almost immediately, Steve frantically nodding his head. 

Bucky smirks, winking at you as he adjusts himself on the bed, moving beside you, giving your lips a chaste kiss before lowering his head, your hand still holding his cock for Bucky to enjoy, his tongue circling the head just as you were doing only seconds ago, as you continue to stroke Steve's remaining length while Bucky starts to take him deeper into his mouth. 

Steve couldn't hold back on the sounds he’s making, he's never been so vocal, never been so sensitive to touch, but he can’t help himself, Bucky's mouth felt so warm, so wet, and when he opens his blue eyes to look down at the two of you, he know he wont last much longer. 

You bend your head down when Bucky comes up for air, tracing your tongue against Steve's cock as you meet Bucky's eye holding his heart-stopping gaze as Bucky started doing the same, both of your mouths on him at the same time. 

It’s filthy, an act of sin no doubt you'll never come back from, but you wouldn’t want to anyway, humming when Steve starts panting, his abs constricting, you wrap your lips around the tip, pumping his cock with your hand until his cum filled your mouth, hearing the deep groan that reverberated through his chest as he came.

You swallow as you pulled away and a hand finds its way to your neck, Bucky pulling you closer. “No fair, you’re supposed to share, sweet girl.” He chastises softly, almost pouting, before he closes the gap to capture your lips with his own, his tongue sliding into your mouth. He moans softly at the taste of Steve's cum on your tongue, the pretty sound so perfect on your ears, only reminding you that Bucky was yet to be touched, focusing on yours and Steve's pleasure instead of his own. How very like him.

You rest your hand on his stomach as you kiss him back, gliding your fingers lower and lower until you reach the waistband of the underwear that he was still somehow wearing. You ping the elastic against his skin, smiling into the kiss when he only leaned closer. 

He shudders as your hand finally slides past the band, wrapping around his cock and pulling him out. Neither of you made any move to remove his underwear, you both knew he was far too gone, too desperate to wait any longer, so you squeeze the base of his cock, pulling away from the kiss only to look at him.

Hair mussed, light eyes the darkest you'd ever seen them, as he watches every little move you make for him, his lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed pink. He finally looks as wrecked as Steve, who was still getting over the fact that he just came in his best friend's mouth. 

You move your hand slowly at first, stomach fluttering with every strangled moan that caught in Bucky's throat, "You're all talk, ain't you Buck?" 

"Fuck, doll- please- I need to come." He groans, eyes fluttering shut when you kiss his neck, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, arm wrapping around your waist.

"You look as desperate as our Stevie right now, James." You tease, but still speed up your hand for him, swirling your thumb across the slit to hear his breath hitch in his throat. 

Bucky looks over at Steve then, giving a light-hearted scoff at the sight of him rock hard again, stroking slowly at his cock as he enjoys the show in front of him. 

"Fuckin' super soldier." Bucky laughs, laying his cheek on your shoulder, groaning softly as his eyes flutter closed.

You can tell how close he is, moving his head to tuck right into the crook of your neck, talking himself away like he tends to do, "Fuck, feels so good, sweetheart. 'M so close- Never felt this good before, doll." 

You were used to his nicknames by now, years of him calling you 'doll' more than he used your actual name usually had you rolling your eyes, but now, like this, it makes your stomach flutter. 

It wasn't much longer till he was coming onto both of your stomachs, hot spurts painting your skin as Bucky's hips twitched forward with every second he comes, groaning as you continue to stroke him.

Steve follows yet again not long after, and a glance over to him laid against the headboard with his abdomen covered in his own spend has you blushing, never mind the fact that he'd just had his fingers inside you, and his cock in your mouth. 

Bucky quickly cleans up your stomach with his discarded shirt, along with his own before he tosses it to Steve with a chuckle. 

You’re all glowing, surprised by the complete lack of awkwardness despite all the things that had just happened in Bucky's hotel room. Instead, you all huddle together on the bed, your head laid on Steve's shoulder as Bucky rested his on your stomach, your fingers naturally finding themselves threading through his hair. 

"Well, that was fucking amazing," Bucky murmurs, a content smile on his face as he looks over at you and Steve, his arms around your waist.

"Yeah, it was." Steve agrees, moving one of his hands through Bucky's hair too, before draping his arm above your head. 

You go quiet for a moment, the afterglow not quite enough to keep the anxiety at bay anymore, "I just wish we'd done this earlier."

They know what you mean, they know what you’re insinuating, and the room falls silent. None of you could deny the dangers, the uncertainty ahead of you, but that didn't mean you couldn't enjoy the time you had up until that moment you’d all have to risk everything again.

"We can't think like that, baby," Bucky speaks first, his voice soft, gentle and yet serious, "I know it's hard not to, but we can't focus on the regrets. If anything, we just need to live the best we can with what we've got... and if I've got you two, I don't need anything else."

You nod, pressing your face into Bucky’s hair, although you can’t see Steve's face, you know that he agrees, his fingers brushing against your arm affectionately. 

"Bucky's right. Let's just enjoy this, lord knows we've all been pining for each other for years." 

You chuckle softly, having needed this soft moment for a long while, feeling warm and loved between them, hoping they feel it too.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Date Night

Pairing: dbf!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky makes a big mistake.

Warnings: Angst, Language, yea sorry

Word Count: 1.7K

A/n: teehee whoops. im gonna have a ghost one coming out soon for you guys, and then maybe some more teddy bear picnic but we'll see

~*~

"Hey kid, wanna grab a beer and watch the game with your old man? Or are you too cool for that?"

You grin at your dad and slow your steps, glancing at the hockey game on TV.

"Where's Bucky? I thought he was your game night date? He finally realize hockey sucks?"

Your dad gives you an offended look then rolls his eyes playfully.

"Nah, he had to cancel last minute - he's got a hot date tonight."

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, unaware of the fact that those six words have flipped your night upside down and caused knots to form in your stomach.

You don't remember having plans with him tonight.

As casually as you can manage, you head into the kitchen, pulling out your phone and tapping a quick text over to the man in question.

'Not coming over tonight?'

It's read within the same minute, and then the telltale three dots pop up before his message spawns.

'Sorry baby, not feeling too hot.'

The knots in your gut are quickly crushed by the boulder that settles there, and you need to take a few careful breaths to stop yourself from crying in the middle of the kitchen.

~*~

"Everything okay, James?"

He huffs out a sigh and glances up from his phone, smiling weakly at the woman across from him.

"Listen, Dot... I can't tell you how grateful I am that you managed to make such a beautiful cake in such a short amount of time. And, while I'm flattered that you'd want to go out for dinner, I had you make that cake for a woman who means... quite a bit to me. I don't want to make things awkward but I do want you to know that I'm out with you tonight as a friend and nothing more."

The woman across from him blinks blankly a few times, then takes a sip of her martini, stands up, and leaves the table.

Bucky watches helplessly as she leaves the restaurant without another word, dropping his head back for a moment as he feels onlookers stare.

It takes a few minutes for the waitress to come back, but by the time she does, he's got a wad of cash ready for her and his keys in hand.

He all but runs out of the restaurant, a new lightness in his shoulders like a weight has been lifted from his chest.

Immediately, he grabs his phone and shoots a quick text off to your dad.

'Room for one more?'

It takes a few minutes for your dad to respond, which Bucky uses to put on his helmet and straddle his bike.

'Date not going well?'

Bucky chuckles softly.

'Something like that. I'll be there in five.'

He swipes out of the conversation with your dad and then clicks on the only pinned conversation on his phone.

'I'm feeling a bit better now, gonna pop by for a bit.'

With that, he locks his phone and brings his bike to life, eager to be in your presence again.

Your phone vibrates, pulling you from your pity party, and you frown at the text on it.

You turn your phone off and drop it face-down on the carpet, ignoring this text the way you've ignored the last three from him.

You can hear him downstairs chatting with your dad as if he's done nothing wrong. As if he wasn't out with another woman less than an hour ago.

Grinding your teeth together, you decide that enough is enough, and it's time for bed.

At the very moment you open your door to head to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Bucky decides to raise his fist to knock.

Your eyes meet his and, for a moment, you forget that you're mad. You forget everything.

And then he opens his stupid mouth.

"Hey, what's with you tonight?" He asks gently, reaching forward to grab your hand.

You yank away from him and take a step back, levelling him with a steely glare.

"How was your date?"

You watch as he deflates, as his face falls and his shoulders slump forward the tiniest bit.

"Sweetheart, it's not what you think, I swear."

"Oh Jesus Christ," you murmur, pushing past him and heading downstairs to watch the game with your dad. At least down here he can't talk to you.

He can't try to justify him willingly going on a date with another woman.

Well, not until the game's over, at least. And it seems like it's only a few minutes before your dad is yawning, turning the TV off and heading upstairs to go to bed himself.

This leaves you alone in the living room with Bucky, tension building with every silent second that passes between the two of you.

"Honey, I had to," he finally whispers, breaking the silence.

You whip your head around, mouth dropping open in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

He holds his hands up, a desperate and pathetic attempt at pleading with you, begging you to hear him out.

"It was the only way for me to get your birthday cake. Dot is an old friend from high school and... she wanted a date as payment for the last-minute cake," he explains quietly.

You purse your lips, nodding as if it all makes sense now.

"Oh, I see! So, not only do you admit to forgetting my birthday, but you also agreed to go on a date with a woman who has had a thing for you since high school! Buck, that is so not okay on so many different levels!" You exclaim in a whisper.

The last thing you need is your dad overhearing any part of this conversation.

"I know. That's why I left. I told her I couldn't, that the cake was for someone important to me and that I was only having dinner with her as a friend."

You shake your head at him and rise to your feet, unable to stay still while he spews nothing but nonsense at you and expects you to forgive him.

"You shouldn't have even gotten me that cake if that's what she wanted as payment! You should've told her to stick it and then you literally could've gotten me a Starbucks cake pop. I don't need fancy cakes or expensive things, James, I thought you knew that." Your voice gradually loses its anger, disappointment and exhaustion taking its place.

"I know but... I wanted to do something special for you." He looks like a kicked puppy, and it takes a serious amount of self-control to hold on to your anger.

"My birthday was special. Even without the cake it still would've been special. Especially if I'd've known it would mean that you would be going on a date with another woman in order to get it."

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry," he pleads, reaching for you again only for you to shake your head and step away.

"No, Bucky. Sorry doesn't fix this. Can you imagine if the roles were reversed? What if I had to go on a date with a guy who's been wanting me for over a decade just for the perfect steak? And then, what if I lied to you about it and you found out from my dad that I was out on a 'hot date'? A date with someone that the general public would deem more appropriate for me to be with? Someone who would fit me better. How would that make you feel?"

He stands there silently for a moment, fists clenched tightly as he imagines everything you just said.

He imagines you laughing on a date with another man, a young man, a man far more appropriate for you to be with. He imagines sitting waiting for you, only to find out that you're out getting hit on by some young punk who wouldn't know how to please a woman like you. His imagination runs wild, to the point where he can almost feel steam billowing from his ears, but all he says is

"Shitty."

"Shitty?" You laugh, "Try worthless. Embarrassed. Humiliated. At least that's how I felt. And-and maybe I'm just reading too deep into this. Maybe this 'exclusivity' that I thought we had is one-sided."

"It's not," he interrupts quickly, taking a step forward only to pause when you step back again.

"Maybe I just thought things were more serious than they were," you continue, eyes stuck on the ground as your thoughts spill out before your mind has a moment to realize what you're saying.

"They are serious-"

"Maybe we should just stop... whatever this is that we're doing."

Silence hangs heavily in the air when you finish speaking, and you feel tears sting at your eyes when he says nothing.

You count thirteen heartbeats before he finally says something.

"Is that what you really want?" He asks softly, his voice discouraged.

Slowly, you raise your eyes to his.

"What even are we?" You ask breathlessly, a single tear sliding down your cheek. "What are we doing?"

"You're my girl."

You sniffle and shake your head.

"No, I'm your dirty little secret, that's what I am. And I'm tired of it. I wanna be something you're proud of, not something you have to hide," you whisper, your chest aching with the weight of your confession.

Bucky's heart breaks at your words, and he wants nothing more than to scoop you up in his arms and kiss away any insecurities you have in your relationship. If you can even call it that.

"I am proud of you, sweetheart, beyond proud. I can't even put into words how I feel about you," he whispers, desperate for you to understand just how much you mean to him.

"Why haven't you told my dad about us yet?"

The silence that follows your question is answer enough for you, and you nod.

"I... I think you should leave," you finally whisper, hugging yourself and keeping your gaze locked on the ground.

He stays rooted in place for a long moment, testing your resolve, waiting for you to break. When you don't, he takes slow steps toward the door, waiting, praying for you to change your mind.

But you stand firm.

Never able to deny you, he leaves you standing alone in your kitchen, your dad peacefully asleep upstairs while your entire life gets turned upside down.

[xoxosimp]

A/N- lowkey high right now so I wrote these hcs lol. I have other bucky fics on my page you just have to scroll (no master list yet RIP)

Neighbor!Bucky is the police officer that lives right next to you in your new neighborhood

Neighbor!Bucky coincidentally always wears gray sweatpants (the ones that show the imprint of his dick) everytime he sees you pulling into your driveway

Neighbor!Bucky is always asking you for spices when he cooks dinner. First it was black pepper, then it was garlic. When he came over asking for sugar, he told you “ I’d love to taste the sugar between your thighs, doll” 

Neighbor!Bucky’s favorite pre workout is eating your pussy on the kitchen floor, cause he’s so pussy drunk he couldn't make it to the bedroom.

Neighbor!Bucky favorite thing to do when he’s on lunch is let you do all the work and bounce on his cock till tears are streaming down your face

Neighbor!Bucky doesn’t like condoms because he’d rather feel you milk his cock of all of his cum until his balls are empty

Neighbor!Bucky’s lips taste like cinnamon

Neighbor!Bucky once saw Firefighter! Sam flirt with you. That night, you wore nothing but one of his old football jerseys from highschool and fucked you from behind in front of a mirror. The only words you could form on your lips were “too’ much” and a sad attempt to moan Bucky’s name.All you could do was drool on the sheets while Bucky’s cock kissed your cervix.

Neighbor!Bucky is down bad. Very down bad.

[heli0s-writes]

Sweet

A/n: You know how sometimes when you’re having a breakdown and nothing is helping but then something completely unrelated and stupid just does it for no reason. This is that. With pot brownies and kissing. Bucky is recovering and reader is an moron with a heart of gold. Angst, hurt/comfort, humor. Reader/Bucky. 3k words Warnings: Marijuana use; conversations about trauma, particularly food-related; language.

-

The path leading away from the cabin is littered with wet patches of morning. Rime colors of miserable winter in sludge grey are starting to be overtaken by sprouts of green, yellow, and brisk dew, springtime optimism come to life.

Pepper’s got the front of her house looking like a farmer’s market flower stand. Pots of tulips and daffodils explode up the steps and tri-color ribbons connecting porch-light to porch-light. The magnolia tree is soon to bud, and she’s hung hummingbird feeders and birdhouses all around.

When the cars start rolling in for the quarter-yearly potluck, you hang out near the garden, rocking back and forth on your feet. You'd shown up early but didn’t know what to do around a toddler, so outside it was.

The familiar Range Rover halts to a stop, Sam’s door opening as he makes his way out, holding ceramic handles of an enormous crockpot.

You call, “Bring your famous chili?”

“Damn right, I did,” he beams, “you bring your appetite?”

You waggle your eyebrows before looking to the SUV he hopped out of, Steve lingering by the back door with a brown paper box tucked beneath his arm, knocking on the heavily tinted windows with a long-suffering sigh. “C’mon, Buck. Up and at ‘em.”

A loud, decisive knock thumps back at him and Steve rolls his big, pitiful, puppy dog eyes in your direction. Beneath the blue of his left orbital is what looks suspiciously like the fading ochre stain of either an almost healed bruise or a newly forming one, which only makes Steve’s silent call for aid more pathetic and urgent.

Damn, okay. Since you’re kind of on thin ice already, this could go one of two ways.

Sliding up, you crack your knuckles.

“Barnes,” you call, “I got something illegal for you. Wanna see?”

“Dead body.” He responds from behind the still shut door, and you’re not sure if that’s a question. Steve glares at you accusatory, as if you’d actually bring a dead body to a potluck, good grief.

“Uh, no.”

“Knife.”

Steve shoots you another look—which is just ridiculous at this point, the both of them.

“Knives aren’t illegal.”

“Depends.”

Steve shifts the box of what looks to be cherry turnovers and mouths phrase day, which means that Barnes decided to stop talking in complete sentences sometime between when he woke up and probably when Steve over-crowded him and is now reducing all communication to two or three words as both a method of punishment for Steve and self-preservation for Barnes.

“It’ll make you feel better,” you urge, “Loads better.”

“Sex.” He rolls down the window just enough for you to get a glimpse of his eyes, narrowed and steely. “Drugs?”

You mouth bingo, outrightly ignoring the fact that it feels like Bucky Barnes nearly solicited you for sex, and Steve puts his hand over his own face, about to quip until he realizes that he’s probably said too much already—which is what got him in this predicament to begin with—and simply drags himself toward the house.

Barnes watches him go wordlessly before he opens the door and steps out, looking down at you, lightly shivering in the cold, and says, still one-worded, “Okay.”

-

He pops three brownies into his mouth and chews, opening just enough to get out a muffled, “too sweet” before returning to grinding down like he’s cracking pecan shells in there.

“I know you have like,” you make panicked motions with your fingers, snapping the red Tupperware lid back down frantically, “hella metabolism, but pump the brakes or you’re going to flip.”

“Flip,” he concludes, determined. He squirrels about two more in before you can do anything about it.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I was going to let you take those home later—oh my god, I’m going to get into so much trouble.”

The two of you are stopped at one of those cutesy stone birdbaths around the perimeter, leaning on the lip as Barnes licks remaining chocolate off his fingers, looking as pleased as punch. As much as he can look, anyway, you think, since you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him smile at anything other than the time Steve stubbed his toe bad enough on Tony’s kitchen island that he doubled over. 

“Did you say sex earlier?” You suddenly remember the flash of silver from the darkness of the SUV. “Wait, actually, I wanna go back even before that—did you really think I’d have a dead body?”

He shrugs.

“Cool,” you reply, “cool, cool, cool, cool. I think I should be more concerned, but you know what, I like it. Feels like a vote of confidence.”

A wide grin stretches across your face and you temporarily forget that Bucky fucking Barnes has eaten about half a pan of brownies with 25 grams of pot baked into them, that in about 15 minutes you’re both expected to sit down like normal people and have a nice dinner without anyone doing… whatever it is that he might do when he’s blazed to high heaven.

You shake the thought of Steve’s disappointment out of your head. Maybe it’d be best to keep acting natural, get him into some kind of headspace.

“So,” you whistle, “what’d you bring to the potluck?”

He gives you a sidelong stare and if there were Olympics for how someone can convey eat shit and die without moving anything but their eyes, he’d win every 8 years for the rest of his unnaturally long life.

“Well, I brought myself,” you curtsy, starting back down the trail again, figuring that you’ve got five minutes walking forward before it’d be time to turn back to the house, “and your present,” to which he gives you a short nod, “and an empty stomach. You excited for Sam’s chili?”

“Spicy.”

“Spicy?” you recoil, suddenly finding the prospect of a man who gave Captain America a black eye last week or possibly this morning—the monster who ate half of your most lethal bake—panting and sweating over a bowl of chili astoundingly inconceivable.

“Oh wait, you live with Rogers. What’s he feeding you at home? Steamed chicken?”

“Baked.”

You sigh, “God, you’re fucked. Nat brought something with Carolina Reaper infused honey glaze. Barnes... we’ll have to do a prayer circle for your ass.”

His face twists into a look of disgust before he starts to notice his lips, pressing them together, pulling them apart. After a few more motions like he’s discovering his body, bit by bit, he turns to you, and announces, “Feeling it.”

You laugh, jealous, because although you had a bite about 30 minutes before he even arrived, the brownie hasn’t hit you yet. “Good,” you say anyway, “that’s good, right?”

He only apathetically regards a sparrow flying past. You suppress a chortle when Barnes repeatedly licks his lips and rubs at the sleeves of his sweater.

“Have you ever been high before?” You correct, “In the fun, recreational, consensual way?”

Another listless shrug before he turns his head. You push yourself off a nearby log and make a show of stomping through haphazard piles of sticks and dead leaves, curling your fingers in a come along motion.

He follows, boots crunching, steps short and patternless, making a racket behind your back. He looks like a kid, fingers tucked up into his long sleeves, bouncy knees as he attempts to splash into every puddle as he possibly can before catching up. He’s almost got a grin when he looks at you, remembering where he is again, and there’s a light brush of color along the tops of his cheeks from the chill.

Around a small bend in the path, you duck under a branch, hop over a stone, and when you land back on both feet, the ground wobbles just enough to notice.

The air smells nice. Your eyelids feel heavy in a good way.

“Steve really piss you off this morning, didn’t he?”

Barnes lands a couple of feet away, his face dropping into an exhausted expression at the question, which you can’t fault him for because Steve’s a lot of things. Simple things, on the surface, but Barnes has known him longer than most anyone else and you imagine all of his noble qualities—his longstanding patience and willpower and belief in the goodness in everything and everyone—you imagine that shit gets old.

Hell, it gets at you on occasion, and you’re not even the brainwashed best friend who’s probably hearing a hundred voices in his head and is too tired to hear one more no matter how well-intentioned it might be.

Sometimes, being inundated by language just breaks it all back into foreign, incomprehensible script. And sometimes, being exceedingly plied with something you can’t make any sense of makes you turn inward, makes you bare your teeth in self-defense.

Which makes you realize you probably should ease up, too, talk less, but then he takes a long step with his ridiculous legs and is by your side, walking as if you two do this all the time.

“He’s a fixer.” Bucky’s brows are scrunched together, hands buried in his pockets. You nod quickly, not wanting him to go into any more detail than that because it’s not news that the entire population is still wary of Bucky Barnes’ re-emergence as a United States citizen when he was, up until very recently, a—uh, Russian one.

This, obviously, puts many things at odds with each other, including Steve, who is Mr. United States himself. The Avengers, too, who are mostly Team United States, considering the location and overwhelming population. But most of all, Bucky, who is still cobbling together bits and pieces of his life each day, is faced with the knowledge that everyone in the world knows more about him than he does.

You rub the back of your neck sympathetically because that shit would kill your heart so fast.

“You know what.” You shake the Tupperware at him, “Have the rest of these. You deserve it. And like, a million hugs.”

He barks a laugh, gladly gulps down the rest, and there’s a dapple of fudge on his chin looking so silly and sweet as he chews.

Ah, shoot. You avert your gaze, feeling very bad ideas break out up your arms and neck, and the shudder that is about to overtake you seems less about Barnes’ sweet face and more about Steve’s disappointed one. Like, he’s going to read your mind and know you’re having ideas about his best friend. And he’s going to do that thing where his eyebrows drop and his lips press together as he attempts to hold back a few choice words. Until later, probably, when he corners you somewhere and unleashes them anyway.

What were you thinking?, he’ll hiss. Are you capable of thinking rationally?

“What?” Barnes prods. “What is it?”

“Nothin’” you take a leap forward, herding the both of you back. The closer you are to the cabin the more you’ll remember that you’re at a family event, with friends, who should all stay in the friend territory.

But you blurt anyway, “You said sex earlier!” Because you’re a whole ass idiot.

He makes a small noise, says, “Yeah,” like that’s any help.

“Are you…” what the fuck, your head is spinning, “like, in… need of some?” Your face feels hot.

“Maybe. My body is…” he frowns, so weirdly open right now, and then he looks at you with half is face in a weary grin, the other half lost and confused. “Responding to stimuli in ways I haven’t— responded to in... Trying to fix it. Steve wants me to be fixed.”

He tilts his face to the sky, glaring at it. “Can’t get it out.”

You’re trying to force your rabbiting heart down to a manageable pace. You’ve never had any in-depth discussions with him about anything, much less his sex drive. The most interaction the two of you get is the occasional mission or get-together where you crack jokes and get shitfaced when the job’s done. You’ve been told you’re sort of a pain and haven’t given a fuck too much to change that.

You’re sort of in trouble right now, having been “irrational” during the last mission, running across the iced lake instead of taking the planned route and falling in. It ended up working out, since you got to the enemy helicopter before the enemies, but then there was the stabbing because you were sort of outnumbered and the pneumonia afterwards because you fell into the fucking lake…

There was a massive chewing out. Steve and his many, disappointed words.

Something about motor-mouths and low-object permanence but sure, good on the inside when it counts.

You hope this is one of those times where it counts.

“Listen,” you start. “Take as long as you need, there’s no rush on recovery and pushing yourself too hard is detrimental to your health. It’s not a straight line.”

“I hit him.”

Your wheeling brain is making a sharp left, trying to figure out where Barnes is driving toward. Oh. The black eye.

“Aw, Steve?” You wave your hand, swatting nothing. “He’s a big boy.”

“I’m hungry. Then I’m not.”

“I mean, that sounds normal—“

“No, a lot. Fast. Cyclical. Endless.”

It must be his metabolism adjusting. The realization of his relationship with food comes fast, almost visceral. Scarce when he was young, then rationed during the war before it was taken from him altogether. He was given the bare minimum with Hydra—protein slurry, tube-fed—then purged—stomach pumped—before being put on ice.

For decades.

Starvation must have truly felt endless.

And now with food being a surplus, with his body readjusting to it, yet his mind still struggling with habits—it must be so confusing. Another seemingly natural function to be confused about.

“Ah,” you manage, a lump in your throat like a blockade.

“I get nightmares.” He’s glaring at his hands, one flesh, one metal, opening and closing his fist like trying to get a grip on himself, and his voice is so small and pained. “These thoughts. All sorts. Can’t sleep.”

You extend your hands, shake off the dry sob that wants to erupt from your chest, and declare with flourish, “On the fourth day, God made Purple Kush, and it was good. So, we can—we can fix that.”

He takes another one of those long looks, through his lashes, lips quirked in quiet humor.

“You’re not really a fixer.”

He shakes the container of crumbs in your face.

You gasp, snatching it back in offense. “I can fix… some things! I replaced the utility light in the kitchen yesterday!“

Your cheeks are hot, face twitching like a broken screen because all you can think about is how handsome he is, out here like this, nose blushing, eyes lazy and crescent shaped, the heavy creases beneath them less pained and more relaxed.

And how he’s teasing you—- and he’s kind of a little shit.

“You fucker,” you say.

He grins—all big and silent, and for a second you count your blessings that he’s not going to say anything else shitty until he quips, “Not unless you’re offering.”

He’s staring at you intently, a curious expression winding its way up his face. His eyes are huge and blue and the most alert, glazed-over, pair of bloodshot, redder-than-the-devil’s-dick eyes you’ve ever seen on anyone stoned halfway to the moon.

His tongue darts out, sweeps a slow, careful line over the width of his bottom lip, practically asking, and you’re just the simple idiot who openly gawks at him.

“Ah,” you nod. “Yeah you’re definitely right. I’m—“ you gulp, “more of a fuck-up.”

Because what’s another fuck up to add onto the long-running list of fuck ups you’ve had recently, anyway? Kissing Barnes might count as a really serious one, sure, but at least it’s not pneumonia.

It’d make him feel better, probably, it’d make him feel something, at least. Steve would appreciate that, if Barnes came to the dinner table verbal, maybe even laughing. No one has to tell Steve that his best pal kissed your face off in the woods.

The idea of your face being kissed off is doing a number on you. The idea of Bucky Barnes, this gorgeous, miserable, godly, tragic contradiction, your at-arm’s-length teammate, your quickly-becoming friend, kissing your face off because he needs to feel something soft in the midst of the rest of the horrible, jagged things he already feels every second of his life—and he can get it from you.

You’re stupid and simple and how could anyone say no to that? So you take one last second to steel your heart, push forward, and lean in.

It’s, frankly, bizarre.

He kisses you gently, fantastically, inconsistently, wavering from assured one second to apprehensive the next, like he remembers how but can’t quite execute.

You meet him where you can, respond to the parting of his lips with your own, adjust to his tension with grace, and when he starts feeling like he’s getting the hang of it, like muscle memory has  finally settled into his body, you let him lead.

One hand finds the base of your skull, the other placing itself on your waist. His kisses grow greedy, like he remembers desire is a thing that occurs to him. He tilts his head down, kisses up like he wants to swallow every sigh between your lips, like he’s hungry for the sounds you make—and you’re making, embarrassingly, a lot of them. He’s good—dominant but kind, mouth wide, lips full, tongue cocoa-sweet and clever as it strokes yours again and again.

When he backs you up into a tree, you barely register it. His hand has moved to cushion your head, and he’s urging his entire body forward into yours, grip tight at your hipbone, moving his mouth to your jaw, then your neck, and you stutter a string of letters that refuse to make words.

Barnes is expertly sucking marks beneath your collar, right beneath the neckline, his breath hot and coming out in a near snarl and when he scrapes his teeth down, sinking them into the soft skin of your chest, you yelp loud enough to send a few birds scattering from the trees.

He jumps off like he’s burned you, eyes frantic, afraid.

“No—” you clear your throat, hands out, “Hold on.”

He’s blinking, head clearing, head trying to assess what he’s done, the situation, the pulled loose neckline, the wet shine of his spit up your throat.

“S-sorry—”

“No, don’t be sorry.” You give him his distance but take a small step forward. “That was hot. But,”

He blinks, confused, and this whole thing could easily go pear-shaped, your well-intentioned explanation might turn into unintelligible speech at any moment, but you have to try or else he’ll tailspin into catastrophe, and you suddenly feel so sorry for Steve, the poor fuck who’s doing this every day, clinging onto the hope that what he’s saying doesn’t set Bucky off, doesn’t push his boulder back downhill.

He's still stuttering sorry, starting to pace.

“Listen,” you say firmly, clipping your own panic, “that was wow, let me tell you. But if you don’t stop, I’m going to like— hotwire a car.”

Somehow this stops him in his tracks, “What?”

“Well, I didn’t drive here. Because you know, I was going to like, get really shitfaced.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and like, take you to a hotel or something.”

He frowns, obviously completely lost. “Why?”

It’s your turn to be lost. Both of you open-mouthed and panting at each other like two dumb dogs chasing each others’ tail in an ouroboros of idiocy.

“Huh? What do you mean why? You just tongue-fucked me, do you think I’m immune to getting on my knees for that?”

Now you can see it happening—the incomprehensible speech like a marquee as it runs across Barnes’ brain. Tongue-fuck, immune to getting on my knees. He doesn’t understand any of that, and god bless any soul who can. What language are you even speaking right now other than hot-brained, hot-skinned, hot-hearted to him, who’s still struggling to defrost?

“Never mind,” you redact, “ignore that.” You put your hands on his shoulders to ground yourself, vaguely thinking that maybe you shouldn’t touch him but the firm slap of your palms seems to break him out of his new trance. “Can we kiss again, later?”

He blinks, staring at you, at your hands on him, at your lips all swollen up.

“Yes.”

You sigh, relieved and thankful that other than you, no one’s freaking out, that your plan to get Bucky Barnes high worked out after all, and that he has agreed to make out later because he’s really, really good at it.

“Wonderful. Let’s go back now? Are you ready?”

He mulls it over and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sure, but I’m not eating chili.”

“Well, you’re in luck, there’s plenty of chicken.”

He grimaces, cuts a sharp look up to you before a twinkle settles in his blue, blue eyes. “Okay,” he agrees, “guess we should do a prayer circle for my ass.”

You clap your hands together and recite Our Father.

-

“It was sex, wasn’t it?”

Sam’s got one hand over his belly, snickering. Everyone else looks your way, gullible, scandalized, and you can’t blame them since the two of you were gone an awfully long time and came back extremely disheveled.

Bucky had walked in dutifully behind you, wiped off his boots, sat down at the dinner table, and asked for seconds saying please and thank you and he even threw in a that was delicious just to watch Steve’s head explode.

And Bucky, who you’ve come to realize is genuinely a shit— still one-worded and knowing full well the repercussions of his one word— only shrugs and responds, “Yes.”

The room erupts into shouting as you throw a buttered roll at his head. He catches it easily and brings it up to his grinning mouth, shimmer of spit glossy and fantastic on his lips.

[make-me-imagine]

Flowers and Courage

Plot: After Bucky fears he might lose his chance with you, he finally finds the courage to tell you how he feels.

Prompts: 'Secret admirer' + "I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you."

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Gn!Reader

Requested By: Anonymous (a left over request from Valentines Day)

A/n: Sorry its so short and kind of sucks lol I had some trouble getting it down.

Words: 1.1k

-

Bucky was deep in thought as he sat at the bar, his hands slowly turning the glass in his hands as he thought about what to do. He wasn't sure how long he had been here already, but it felt like time had slowed down since he sat down to think.

He felt like he was in grade school all over again. Uncertain of how to tell his crush how he feels, so instead he just leaves them secret notes and candy.

But he wasn't a child anymore, and you weren't just a crush. He had never felt anything so deep and real for anyone before. And he had never found something so hard as he did confessing to you.

It was supposed to be easy, show up at your doorstep with flowers. Allow them to lead into a natural confession. But the second you opened your door, and your eyes cast over the flowers, causing a look of surprise over your face, he panicked.

"These were in front of your door." He said suddenly, feeling all courage he thought he had dissipate.

"Oh really?" You asked with growing curiosity as you took them. "I wonder if they were left at the wrong door."

Bucky felt disappointment and anger at himself wash over him as he held back on saying they were definitely for you.

That had happened months ago. And ever since then, it had become habit for him to hide how he felt. The coffees and flowers left to you randomly at work were thought of as kind gestures of a stranger.

When in reality it was Bucky. Showing his feelings for you the only way it seemed he could. Secretly.

He admired you from afar, adored you really. But was your friend up close, showing no real evidence of how he felt, or so he thought, and hoped.

Bucky thought it was fine, it could become the normal, it had become the normal. Until yesterday, when he overhead another agent talking to you, flirting shamelessly.

And then the man had the audacity to take credit for the flowers and the coffees, everything Bucky had done for you. This ass-hat had swooped in taken all the credit, trying to sweep you off your feet.

It infuriated Bucky, but he held back, not wanting to make a scene, or throw the man through a window.

So here he was, trying to find what courage he could through the anger to tell you once and for all how he felt about you.

Downing the last of his drink, Bucky slapped some money down and left, determination anchored in his heart as he made his way towards your apartment.

--- --- ---

As you pulled open your door, your heart leapt in you chest as you saw Bucky standing at your doorstep. You always felt that same wave of nervousness and butterflies when you saw him, even though you had known him, and been friends for years.

Your eyes cast down to his hands and you felt your chest clench. Flowers. Were they for you? Were they from him? Were they left at your doorstep again? Were they from the agent from work?

Out of all of those options, you hoped they would be from Bucky. Just like you had hoped they were the first time.

"Bucky, hi!" You greeted with a bright smile. "Come in!"

He smiled, but you could tell something was off, he seemed nervous, and that only added to your own anxieties.

As he stepped into your apartment he cleared his throat, handing you the flowers that had been in his hands, you noticed his knuckles were white as he gripped them before letting go.

"These are for you."

"Oh-" You hesitated for a moment "Were they left at the door step again?"

The first time this happened, when Bucky told you the flowers were left at your doorstep you were disappointed. But something told you they had really been from him. Maybe it was just you being hopeful.

Bucky shook his head and spoke, his voice softer than you had been expecting. "No, they're from me."

He saw your eyes widen as your face brightened up and he felt a wave of relief and triumph wash over him.

"Thank you, but- what are they for?" You asked cautiously, yet curious.

A thousand thoughts seemed to cross Bucky's mind in the span of a second as he froze, before he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.

"They- uh, there-" he sighed before laughing dryly "I used to be better at this."

You smiled "Better at what Buck?"

He met your eyes and saw nothing but your familiar kindness, and a hint of encouragement, even eagerness.

"Confessing."

You felt as thought your heart stopped as your breath hitched in your throat.

Bucky continued before you could respond. "Those flowers from a few months ago, they weren't left on your doorstep, I got those for you too, I just...panicked"

You repressed a giggle "You...panicked?"

"I know." He laughed softly. "I don't know I just- I was afraid you wouldn't feel the same, and that it would ruin what friendship we had. So I kept it to myself. I left you coffees and flowers at your desk after that" he saw your face turn to realization "And yesterday I heard that douc- that guy tell you he did it, and it pissed me off. But I realized it was my fault, for not having told you earlier. So I decided to tell you. Because- because I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you. I care about you much more than I have anyone in my life. And I don't want to lose you or any chance I might have of being with you. "

He watched you closely as you looked down at the flowers, watching as a smile slowly spread across your face. "I knew he didn't leave them for me. He made it so obvious he was lying." You looked up and met Bucky's eyes "And honestly, I had a feeling it might have been you, but I was too afraid to get my hopes up. Because I feel the same about you Bucky, everything you said, I feel it too."

You saw a wave of relief and happiness cross his face as you spoke. Suddenly he stepped closer, reaching up and gently touching your cheek as he smiled. "I wasted quite a bit of time, didn't I?"

You shrugged as your grin widened "Nothing you can't make up for."

xx

Sorry it ended so abruptly, I literally could not get anything else out of my brain lol

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @rexit-mo, @alexxavicry, @witchygagirl

Marvel+Bucky Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney, @trashywritestrash, @groovy-lady, @marvelouslyme96, @supersourlemon13, @mochamoff, @simsiddy, @gay-and-ready-to-cry, @flourishandblotts-inc, @spuffyfan394, @agent-catfish-kenobi, @locke-writes, @cs-please, @soultrysworld, @a-lumos-in-the-nox, @creativitybeware, @that-marvel-simp, @gatefleet, @skylions-den, @dominos-palast, @maellem, @readingwithatorch, @cauliflowertree, @writerfulltime, @cosplayingwitch, @sweetpeapod, @hoodedbirdie, @oliviah-25,

[ms-nesbit]

the winner: option one! (bucky barnes/reader)

There's No Place Like Home

rating: 13+

words: 1.4k

summary: bucky revisits memory lane.

Bucky perched atop the abandoned building, hiding his shadow among the darkness of the twilight night. In the cold hours, when the birds lay their heads to rest, and devils rise from the dead, his left shoulder ached from the contact of the vibranium arm. Nevertheless, the tension in his shoulder came second to the bitter breeze stabbing his cheeks, despite the facial hair he grew solely for warm sustenance.

Yet, as he sat perched along the flat overhang of the building, his combat boots pressed hard against the large concrete blocks below him, Bucky’s focus drifted from his task (which was, simply put, to observe the relation of the mob crime scene along Midtown), the dishes left waiting for him back in his quaint studio in Harlem, the bitter cold that hit so much more in late February, and her.

She wasn’t much of a distraction to Bucky when he was the Winter Soldier - not much was, when he was brainwashed by HYDRA - but after his therapy started, she clouded his mind, the thoughts and inklings about her touching Bucky like a cat’s tail when acquainted. The memories were fond, and he wondered if she recalled him so.

Not that it mattered anymore, anyway. It was over eighty years since they had seen each other, let alone danced with each other, and the difference in the years appeared in Bucky’s reflection each time he counted them to himself.

It hurt more when he lifted his chin to the night sky above him, his glance turning to glare once the loneliness jabbed him more. The moon was waning, shying away from the human eye as she did decades earlier. Her skin, soft in the warm moon glow, stood out to Bucky when she caught his stare. Her posture was askew, and her unsure eyes were glued to her steps, counting right, left, right.

Yet Bucky was captivated. He was intrigued not by the red kitten heels that shone in the streetlights above her, nor the meek stride with which she carried herself, but the softness in her face and skin. Her dress sleeves, red cotton with embellishments of lace along the edges of the trim, fell to her upper arms, hugging the skin. Her head turned up, feeling Bucky’s stare, and turned his direction, where she met his glance with a warm grin. Her lips were painted wine red, matching her dress and shoes, before returning her glance to the ground in front of her.

He skipped across the street, his black button-up shirt crinkling in the soft wind, and approached the mystery woman.

“You know,” Bucky began, drawling out the second word with an unsteady smirk, “all you have to do to return home is tap the heels of your shoes twice and think of it.”

The woman stared at him, but furrowed her brows in confusion, stepping beside him as she continued her walk.

“Not a fan of the Oz?” Bucky jogged to catch up with her, putting his hands in the pockets of his beige slacks.

She looked down at her shoes, still walking in them, and then at Bucky’s eyes, the reference finally clicking. “I don’t think I’ve seen the movie yet, no.” she quipped back, her brow quirking in a blend of flirtation and suspicion.

“A nice lookin’ girl like you? Really?” The woman rolled her eyes at Bucky’s compliment, passing it as sarcasm, until his eyes scanned her frame. He turned to walk backwards in front of her, hands still in his pockets. “Surprised nobody’s asked you.”

When she caught his cerulean eyes inhaling her body, heat rose to her cheeks, until she swallowed the heat, reducing it to a simmer on her chest. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be other than just bumpin’ gums with me?” She attempted to sound stern, but her playful interest remained high in the tone, something Bucky caught on to.

“I can be somewhere else, but only if you’d like to come along.” He wore a shit-eating grin, eyes glued to hers. He could tell that she wasn’t used to the attention despite her beauty, but was too stubborn to let her float away with the breeze, disappearing from him for (potentially) ever. 

The woman finally stopped when she heard Bucky’s words, shielding herself with a handbag that didn’t cover half of her hips. “You’re not gonna let up, are ya?” She was amused, albeit impressed, with Bucky’s persistence. If she wasn’t interested, she would have smacked him with her handbag, but fell for the puppy look he wore with his mischief. “I heard there is a showing in twenty minutes,” she played with the handle of her handbag, “if you feel up for it.”

Alone on the roof, Bucky grinned haphazardly to himself, proud of his tenacity that night. Y/n was worth the trouble he may have been getting himself in, and he was aware of that the night he laid eyes on her.

“Why hadn’t you come along just a little sooner?” Y/n’s eyes were weighty in dolor, though she hid them with playfulness, still. Arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers slid into his combed hair, locking a grip with it, afraid to let go.

Bucky held onto y/n’s hips with the same desperation, heartache bleeding through his uniform and onto the waxed dancefloor. “I don’t know, Darling.” The term of endearment stung y/n as tears welled in her eyes, her feetwork following Bucky’s in their last dance before his deployment. She lay her head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic beating as a stray tear escaped onto her cheek. Her eyes closed as she succumbed to the fate, more falling from her eyes, and staining Bucky’s uniform. The cloth turned into a dark forest green, but y/n couldn’t open her eyes, afraid of the stains of red and ruby that could one day be.

“I’ll be back, Doll.” he reassured, hoping to gamble on his own words as he pulled y/n closer. He wiped her tears with a thumb and used the other to softly press against y/n’s scalp, an imprint left on her. He swallowed his tears as they patiently swayed, time intending to be as slow as their steps. Each second was a minute less passed that they wanted, and it reflected with the painful grip y/n had on Bucky by the end of the song. As her head detached halfheartedly like velcro, still attached to the beating of his chest that now played in a loop in her ear (resembling life, as it once was, and no longer will be), y/n looked up at Bucky with uncertainty. He drew circles on her lower back, as he did many times before when y/n needed the stress kneaded away, but were futile. Her tongue swelled, leaving her mute for unfortunate reason.

“I’ll come and see you right away, okay Doll?” Bucky repeated, his remaining affection placed on the final word. Though posed as a question, it was a statement of solace, a promise he made to her that night, and the nights before, when they prepared for this moment. “And I will marry you.”

The final statement triggered a small smile to form on y/n’s face, roses blooming in her cheekbones.

The memory washed away as Bucky noticed his head in his hands, and eyes clenched shut, still unwilling to allow the tear to fall. Even with the years of therapy and its many tools to assist in his closure, and with his decorated uniform shredding to militant shame, Bucky was unable to outgrow the habit of fulfilling his duty as a compliant and competent soldier. 

Not until he felt the tear freeing itself from his hold, resilience failing as he succumbed to his dereliction. He sobbed quietly into himself, sniffles and cries drowned out by the sounds of sirens and roaring car engines.

His promise broke upon the realization and acceptance of its very existence. His cacophonic disappointment overtook his body in great length, his teeth gritting as he pushed out a final wail in defeat; he did not protect her, but instead chose the sharp dagger that was pushed into her chest, blood absorbing into the thick cotton she often wore. He knew not of the gravity of the fate in which they found themselves, unadorned by wealth in affection and longevity, and burdened by anguish unfounded until his acknowledgement of its presence haunting him, as it did her, upon her acceptance of his absence.

Bucky blinked plainly at the field of buildings and neon streets before him, until his eyes fell onto a light in the distant sky, blinking reverently ruby right back at him.

[drdawnbreaker]

Here me out. Right after Bucky has finally settled into a routine at the compoud with the others now that he's a free man. He slowly starts to explore hobbies again and pick up old habits he used to have when he was younger in the 40s. One of those, being smoking.

Now, I'm not saying smoking is not good for you. And Bucky knows thats, but fuck does it feel nice to have a smoke right after a mission. One with a glass of whiskey and a vintage vinyl lowly playing as he sits spread leg on his nice leather sofa that Sam and Nat helped him buy.

And when he met you, oh he was fucked. You quickly became his little devil on his shoulder. He'd have a cigarette after sex (pun intended) with you, and he swore He'd never felt more relaxed. After a long mission, you could taste the whiskey and cigarettes on his tongue, driving you to ride him until he was near past out. He thought you were everything he needed in his life...

Until you convinced him to try weed. Oh boy. The team thought he was a different person the one time they caught him high. His filter, gone. His sass, tripled. and his sex drive... through the fucking roof!! He has you bent over the back of the couch, blunt between his plump lips as he pounds into your dripping cunt. Your fogged brain high and happy as you feel Bucky send you over the edge again and again. Both of you would be fucking like rabbits before, either A) you both pass out. Or B) someone would come looking for you two. God forbid the poor sap that walks in on you two going at it.

Double points if it's steve. He's either joining or becoming a tomato and running away. Noting in-between.

Guess what.. i made a lil imagine of steve joining -> Enjoy teehee.

[lordfries]

Whipped this up for a fic I'm writing called 'Now You See Me' :D Link to chapter 1 Link to entire fic so far (Ao3)

[catharinawrites]

Ride or Die

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 2K

Summary: Your a law student who's been overlooked by her dad and wants to make a change to her life. It just so happened that there is this bar with a very good looking owner who seems to be impressed by your defense skills.

a/n: aaaah this was such a fun chapter to write! please let me know what you think <3

Previous chapter: Chapter 1: ''Damn, I think I'm in love''

Chapter 2: ''This is a bad idea"

The next morning you made your way back to The Howling Wolf earlier than you should have. The bar wasn’t open yet, but you could hear movement inside. Probably staff getting the bar ready for the day. 

You hesitated at the door, then pushed inside. A few heads turned in your direction, but no one stopped you. You made your way to the bar, where Nat was wiping down glasses. She raised an eyebrow as you approached. 

‘’Didn’t think I’d see you here so soon’’ she mused, leaning on the counter. 

‘’Well, me neither to be honest, are you guys hiring?’’ You asked with some hesitation 

Nat studied you for a moment before smirking ‘’we are, Peter just quit last week, couldn’t handle the bikers. But I am sure you will handle yourself just fine’’ she said thinking back to yesterday night where you threatened a guy for grabbing your ass. 

You nodded along with a sly smile before Nat spoke again ‘’ You got any experience?”

You took a seat at the bar before answering her question ‘’I don’t actually, I have been busy with school these last few years barely had any time for a job. But I’m in my last year right now with a lot of time on my hands, so I want to make myself useful’’ you smiled at her. 

Nat looked at you while tilting her head ‘’ what are you studying sweets?’’

I smiled at her ‘’I am studying law right now, specializing in criminal law’’ 

Nat looked surprised ‘’Smart girl, surprised you are looking for a job here’’ 

You looked around the bar ‘’Well change a of scenery can never do you wrong, right?’’

Before Nat could reply, heavy footsteps sounded behind you. 

‘’You looking for a job, doll?’’ 

You tuned around on your seat and found yourself face to face with Bucky. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable. 

You looked up at him before answering ‘’Yeah, I am actually’’ 

Bucky exchanged a look with Nat, who just smirked. ‘’Told you she was interesting’’ 

He studied you for a long moment, then nodded. ‘’Come back tonight. We’ll see what you’ve got’’ 

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

By the time the bar opened, Nat had been behind the counter, running you through the drinks and showing you where everything was. The place filled up quickly, and it didn’t take long before you were in the thick of it. Orders were coming fast, bikers were shouting across the bar, and the occasional drunk who needed to be put in his place. 

While making all the drinks you and Nat had been talking a lot, she told you about Bucky and Steve. Sometimes Sam would jump in to make a joke or add some details to a story Nat was telling. It didn’t take very long before you became comfortable around them laughing with them and joking around just like you had always been there. 

While you were busy with Sam and Nat making and serving drinks, Bucky watched from upstairs. The security cameras giving him a full view of the bar below. He saw how you moved effortlessly, slinging drinks, keeping the crowd in check and handling the pressure like you have been doing it your whole life. To say he was impressed was an understatement. 

Then it happened.

One of the rougher customers, a guy who had already been pushing his luck all night, grabbed your wrist as you turned to grab a bottle from the shelf. “Hey, babe, how about you pay a little attention to me?”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you twisted his fingers back sharply, making him yelp and release you. “Try that again,” you said coolly, “and you’ll be drinking through a straw for the next six months.”

The guy muttered something under his breath but backed down, rubbing his fingers. The situation had barely lasted five seconds, but it was enough to set Bucky off.

He didn’t even realize he was standing until Steve called him out. “Relax, Buck. She’s got it under control.”

Bucky grunted but didn’t sit back down. He watched you for a long moment before turning away, running a hand through his hair.

As you went on to make more drinks, you saw Bucky making his way to the bar out of the corner of your eye. Without a word he grabbed the customer who touched you by the collar lifted him up from his stool. You looked at him and he looked back at you, winking before dragging the rude customer towards the door and throwing him out. 

You smiled to yourself while shaking your head, watching how Bucky went back into his office just as if nothing had happened. 

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

By the time the bar was closing, it was just you, Nat and Sam cleaning up. The night had been long, but you felt good, like you had proven yourself. 

Then the door slammed open. 

Two men strolled in like they owned the place - Brock Rumlow and Helmut Zemo, leaders of the rival biker gang in town. 

During all the cleaning Nat and Sam had filled in you about they’re background story with the other bikers in town. So, you knew enough to understand that Bucky and Steve weren’t the biggest fans of Brock Rumlow and Helmut Zemo.

Nat tensed beside you. ‘’What the hell do you want’’ 

Rumlow smirked, scanning the room before his eyes landed on you. ‘’Just checking in. Heard you got some new blood inside the bar’’

Zemo stepped forward, his gaze locking onto you with unsettling interest. ‘’What’s you name, darling’’ 

You didn’t answer, you just narrowed your eyes at him.

He reached out, fingers brushing against your arm and travelling towards your face, he slid his thumb against your lips before grabbing your chin. ‘’I won’t ask you again’’

Something inside you snapped. Your palm met his cheek with a sharp slap, sending a stunned silence through the room.

Before he could react, the sound of heavy boots echoed from the stairwell. Bucky and Steve appeared behind you, moving like shadows.

Bucky stepped in front of you, his stance screaming violence. “You really want to do this here, Zemo?”

Zemo exhaled slowly, a dangerous smile curling his lips. “We’re just being friendly.”

Bucky didn’t blink. “Then be friendly somewhere else.”

The tension stretched thick before Zemo chuckled, rubbing his jaw. “This isn’t over, Barnes.”

Bucky didn’t move until they were gone, the door slamming shut behind them. His shoulders only relaxed slightly before he turned to you, eyes dark with worry.

“You, okay?”

You swallowed, still feeling the heat of his presence in front of you. “Yeah.”

He didn’t move for a second, just stood there, as if weighing something in his mind. 

Then, finally, he spoke. “Good. You start full-time tomorrow.”

As he walked away, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

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

The next week was quiet you went about your day studying and working at the bar in the evening, your dad didn’t even notice you were out almost the whole week. 

You enjoyed working at the bar, the unspoken but undeniable tension between you and Bucky had been growing. Every glance, every near-touch, every heated exchange only added fuel to the fire. 

He found you irresistible, how you got along with Nat, Sam and even Steve at some point was only making it harder for him. When he learned that you were studying law you become even more interesting for him. 

Bucky had built this bar for entertainment reasons, a place to come together with the biker squad, but behind it all him and Steve were working on stopping all the drug shipments coming into town. 

Brock and Zemo were the ones who bought the drugs and who were responsible for transporting the drugs, Steve and Bucky had managed to stop a few of those transports and successfully destroyed all the drugs. 

Occasionally they had help from Tony, a well- know and very rich lawyer in town who got them out of trouble and made sure they were always out of the sight from the police. But Tony had mentioned he wanted to step down and leave the business to his daughter. 

Bucky and Steve didn’t like the idea of his daughter taking over, having no idea who she is and what she is capable of. What they didn’t know is that said daughter had just stared working at Bucky’s very own bar.

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

Tonight, the bar was quieter than usual, the slow hum of conversation and soft rock music filling the space. Most of the staff had already clocked out, leaving only you and Sam to finish cleaning up the bar. Bucky had been upstairs in his office handling some business for most of the night, but now as you wiped down the bar for the final time, he appeared. Strolling towards the bar and leaning against the counter with a frown on his face. 

‘’Drink’’ you offered, raising a bottle of whiskey. 

His lips quirked. ‘’You tryin’ to get me drunk, doll’’

You rolled your eyes while smiling, pouring two glasses without answering. He took the one you slid towards him, watching you over the rim as he took a slow sip. 

‘’Why are you still here?’’ He asked after a moment. 

You frowned. ‘’It’s my job”

‘’That’s not what I meant’’ 

You hesitated. The way he was looking at you -intense, searching- made it hard to breathe. ‘’I like working here, being needed somewhere’’ you admitted.

His jaw flexed as if he wasn’t sure whether to believe you. ‘’You should be careful who you get close to around here’’ 

You arched a brow ‘’That a warning?’’ 

‘’A fact’’ 

You took a sip of your drink, the burn doing nothing to dull the heat between you. ‘’Well, maybe I don’t scare easy’’ 

His smirk was slow, deliberate. ‘’I noticed’’ 

The silence stretched, thick and charged, before he finally moved. It was subtle at first, the brush of his fingers against yours as he reached for his glass, the way his body angled slightly towards you. Then in a move that had your breath hitching, he leaned in, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath, the faint trace of leather and smoke clinging to him. 

‘’You keep looking at me like that’’ he muttered ‘’and I’m gonna do something about it’’ 

Your pulse hammers, but you refused to back down. ‘’Maybe I want you to’’ 

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world outside the bar didn’t exist, just the two of you, the electric pull drawing you closer.  Then with a low curse, Bucky closed the distance, his lips crashing onto yours. 

It was fire, hot, consuming and impossible to stop. His hands found your waist pulling you flush against him, while yours tangled in his hair. Fingers threading through the dark strands. He kissed like a starved man, like he’d been holding back for too long, you matched his intensity with your own, letting yourself get lost in his touch. 

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours. ‘’This is a bad idea’’ he muttered. 

‘’Probably’’ you whispered. ‘’But do you really care?”

His fingers tightened on your waist. ‘’Not even a litte’’ 

Neither did you. 

Next chapter: Chapter 3: ''you’re Stark’s kid?''

[nastybuckybarnes]

Sugar Rush

Pairing: Baker!Bucky X Baker!Reader

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Angst, implied Smut, baking inaccuracies, friends who are idiots to lovers,

Word Count: 3.7K

A/n: I’ve had this one brewing for  y e a r s  so I really hope I did the og idea justice <3 

~*~

“Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.”

You roll your eyes and shove past him, hanging your coat up in the back office while he follows. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Listen, this time it wasn’t my fault! My car keeps refusing to start in the mornings! And someone said he’d check it out, but he hasn't yet.” You side-eye your best friend and he widens his eyes and looks away from you. 

“Exactly what I thought, Barnes. Don’t even try to pin this on me. Now, pass me an apron so I can get started.”

Bucky complies, handing you an apron and leading the way to the kitchen where your latest project has been waiting. 

“I love the fall time. Virgo and Libra season are almost as bad as Christmas. And we’re in the rich neighbourhood, too!” Your boss, Sandy, chirps. 

She’s got her glasses perched on her nose and a smudge of what looks like blue icing on her chin. 

“They keep us running, that’s for sure,” Bucky agrees with a grin. 

You pull on a hairnet then wash your hands as the two of them talk about the cupcake order she’s working on. 

Finally ready to start, you turn to the cake and purse your lips. 

A custom-ordered cake that’s supposed to look identical to Stark Tower. Not hard at all. Nope. No sir.

In front of you sits several layers of cake stacked on top of each other, held together by icing and some long skewers. 

Taking a glance at the reference pictures, you grab a knife and start slowly cutting away at pieces of the cake on the table. 

You work quietly, tongue poking out of the side of your lips as you focus, eyes darting between the pictures and the cake until finally, nearly an hour later, you’re satisfied with the way it looks. 

“Lookin’ good over here, eggs. And the cake isn’t bad, either,” Bucky’s smooth voice whispers in your ear.

A smile tugs at your lips and you roll your eyes, turning to look at him. 

“You finished mixing the colours? And is the fondant ready?”

He nods, a proud smile on his face as if he’s just saved the day.

You nod, amused, and press your thumb into the dimple on his chin, “then why aren’t they on my table?”

He scoffs and steps away from you to grab your supplies and you smile triumphantly.

You fall into easy conversation with him and Sandy as the three of you work on your orders, the two of them coming to help you whenever you ask for help. 

“Okie dokie, I’m gonna bring this over to Marlene’s and then I’m heading home. You two okay to lock up when you leave?” She asks once the bake shop is closed, wiping her hands on her pants and giving you a grin. 

“For sure. I’ve gotta bring this over to Stark Tower for nine, so I’ll be out of here no later than eight. Brought a change of clothes in case this beast took longer than anticipated but, thanks to you two, we’re right on schedule.”

You’re just doing some of the finishing touches and more intricate details. 

“I’ll lock up behind you, eggs,” Bucky says casually, wiping his hands on a cloth then tossing it into the laundry bin in the corner of the room.

“Do you have another order to work on?” You ask curiously.

He shakes his head and sits down on the counter across from you, grabbing some of the scrap pieces of cake and popping them into his mouth.

“Nah, just don’t wanna leave you here all by yourself.”

You grin up at your friend then refocus on the cake, switching between tools as you get started on the windows. 

“So this is for Tony Stark, huh? You must feel honoured, getting to make a cake for that pompous dick,” he muses, taking another piece of scrap cake. 

You only shrug, “I enjoy getting to challenge my creative ability. Besides, I’ve heard he tips handsomely after a few drinks.”

Bucky snorts and shakes his head, “Yeah, he’ll give you a tip all right. Just make sure to use protection.”

You roll your eyes at him, “you worried he’s gonna snag me away from you, Barnes?”

“Maybe I am.”

A giggle falls from your lips and you look over at him, “don’t worry. You’re the only man for me.”

He rolls his eyes right back at you and leans against the cabinets behind his back. 

“You going to Nat’s Halloween party this Friday?” He asks, changing the subject. 

You shrug, grabbing a piping bag and icing the top of the cake. 

“I don’t know. Probably. But that means I’ll have to find a costume and I don’t know what I’d be. Why, are you going?”

He hums, “I’ll go if you go.”

You chuckle at him and shake your head, huffing out a sigh. “You’re ridiculous, Barnes, you know that? But I’ll indulge you. Let’s say we do go to the party. What would you dress up as?”

He shrugs, “easy. I’d go as a priest, and you’d be my sexy nun.”

You have to take a step away from the cake to laugh, shaking your head when he looks at you innocently. 

“Bucky Barnes you are ridiculous.”

“I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas,” he points out.

You purse your lips and stay quiet. 

He does have a point. And going with him wearing matching costumes would be a lot easier than going alone in your own costume. 

“So I’ll meet you at your place for eight, then?” He asks, sensing your agreement already.

You huff out a sigh and raise your eyes to his, “fine. But you’d better be paying for the Uber.”

~*~

“You know, I always knew you were talented. But I never expected something like this,” Tony Stark says, eyeing the cake with awe written across his face. 

“It takes a lot to impress me, kid. A lot. And I gotta say, you’ve done it. This is... phenomenal. I was expecting something half the size with half the effort put in. But it looks like you’ve got everything right, from the floors to the helipad. And-” he cuts himself off, looking at the cake closer then laughing. 

“Is that me in my office?” He asks, pointing to one of the top floors. 

You nod, a grin on your face. 

“I thought it would be a nice touch. Not many men get to say that they can eat themselves.” 

He shakes his head and laughs again, standing up and reaching into his jacket pocket. 

He produces a cheque, and also hands you a stack of cash. 

“Here. This should cover the cake, and this is for the effort you put in. You could’ve half-assed this and still made your cut, but you really tried with this. Thank you.”

You take the cheque and try to refuse the cash, but he only rolls his eyes at you. 

“I could have this sent directly to your bank account in five minutes. Save me the effort and take the cash.”

You smile at him and take the money with a shake of your head. 

“Mr. Stark this... it’s too much. Honestly, I’m honoured you trusted me with this project. I loved doing it.”

“Come have a glass of champagne. Join the party for a bit and maybe I’ll have you do all the cakes for my events. And, if you stay long enough, I might give you a reason to keep doing cakes for me.” He gives you a wink and offers you a champagne flute. 

You weigh your options carefully, mind flickering to Bucky’s warning. But this is such a huge opportunity. Tony Stark is known for his extravagant parties, and he only ever hires the most talented caterers, decorators, and cooks. If you were the one to do all of his cakes, your client base would expand tenfold. 

“I suppose a glass or two won’t hurt,” you say softly, accepting the glass from him and following him into the common room while the caterers roll the cake in behind you.

~*~

“So how was the party? You were out quite late, and got some very good pictures for your Instagram,” Bucky says while plopping down on your bed.

You roll your eyes at him and adjust your hair and makeup in the bathroom mirror. 

“It was fine. We didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

He shrugs, scrolling through his phone as you get ready for Natasha’s Halloween party. 

“Are you sure we should do this, Buck? I feel ridiculous,” you murmur, looking at yourself in the mirror.

You’re wearing a black dress with slits in either leg that come up to your hips, fishnet stockings, and thigh-high black boots as well. 

Your makeup is dark and heavy, and you’re wearing a traditional nun’s veil to top the outfit off. 

“Come out here, lemme see.” He sounds like a five-year-old, but you venture out of the bathroom anyway. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you whisper, rolling your eyes and holding your hands in front of your heart in a prayer position.

He stares at you in silence for a long while, looking you up and down with hungry eyes.

“Buck?” You ask softly, taking a step toward the bed. 

He clears his throat and brings his eyes up to yours. 

“You look fuckin’ amazing, eggs. I’m gonna be swatting guys off of you left and right.”

You shake your head at him and reach out, waiting for him to take your hand. 

“C’mon, let’s go, Father Barnes.”

He chuckles and grabs your hand, rising from the bed and moving his hand to rest on your lower back.

“That’s daddy to you, sweetheart,” he teases, though his eyes blaze with lust. 

You swallow hard and look away, unable to maintain eye contact when he's looking at you with those flaming blue eyes. 

The two of you arrive at Nat’s Halloween party a little late. Everyone there is already at least three shots deep, and the music is blaring. 

“C’mon, let’s go grab a drink,” Bucky says, his lips against the shell of your ear as he speaks. 

A shiver races down your spine and you nod, following him through the crowd to the kitchen to grab a drink. 

“Bucky! (Y/n)! You guys look so hot!” Wanda exclaims when she sees you.

She rushes to you and pulls the two of you into a tight hug.

“So do you!” You exclaim, looking at her outfit. 

She’s dressed as a witch, with a tiny little broom and a hat to match. 

“Thank you! I made Jello shots! Come here!”

You and Bucky follow her to the fridge and accept a shot each.

The Jello makes the shot go down easy, and you hum, satisfied. 

“One more for each of us?” Bucky asks, smiling when Wanda grabs three more shots. 

The second shot goes down just as easily as the first, and then Wanda is pushing a third shot towards you.

“Last one then we can mingle! I promise!”

You give her a look but take the shot, needing to unwind anyway. 

Unwinding quickly turns into something much messier, and before you know it, you’re stumbling into your apartment with Bucky’s hands on your hips and his mouth locked on yours.

~*~

When you wake up the next morning, your head is pounding and your mouth is dry.

Blinking harshly in an attempt at clearing the sleep from your eyes, you push yourself onto your forearms and let out a heavy yawn - only to snap your mouth closed when the events of last night come rushing back to you. 

You swivel your head around, searching for the Bucky in the darkness of your room as a pleasant ache between your thighs makes itself known. 

The big beefy brunet is nowhere to be found. 

A frown spreads across your lips and you slowly rise to your feet, wincing at the ache between your thighs that flares with every step you take. 

“Buck?” You call, slipping on your bathrobe then opening the door to your room. 

“Buck?”

Nothing. 

He’s gone. Not so much as a text, a note, nothing. 

It’s like he was never there in the first place. 

You collapse onto the couch with a groan, shoving your face into your hands as your last interactions with the man play on repeat in your head. 

His head between your legs, your thighs spread wide around his midsection, his lips on your lips.

And now there isn’t even a note saying where he went.

You debate texting him, asking if he’s okay. If he’s having regrets. 

But what good would that do? If he wanted to text you he would’ve. If he wanted to explain his sudden departure, he would’ve. 

This is Bucky, the Bucky you’ve known for years. The man who became your best friend, who knows you better than you know yourself. 

The man who slept with you, then left without a word. 

You wrap your arms around yourself as insecurity creeps up. 

What if you were bad in bed? What if you made him uncomfortable? What if what if what if what if what if?

What if you had never gone to Nat’s stupid Halloween party and never worn that stupid nun costume and never ruined your relationship with the most important person in your life?

All the what-if’s in the world can’t take back what’s already happened. 

Instead of dwelling, you head to the bathroom to become a functioning member of society once more. 

Maybe he’s still sleeping, you try to rationalize. 

He’ll surely text you later, he wouldn’t just get up and leave you like that.

Hours later, you realize he very much would just get up and leave you like that. 

Leave you feeling dirty, cheap, used. 

All those years of friendship down the drain like that. Done over one night -albeit an amazing one- that you can only partially remember.

Those are the thoughts that have anxiety eating at your stomach as you walk into work the following day. 

That anxiety disappears, however, when you walk in only to find that he’s not there. 

“No Bucky today?” You ask, trying your best to be nonchalant as you get ready for your shift. 

“No, funny enough. Called in. First time this year!” 

The anxiety you were feeling quickly turns into despair. 

He’s avoiding you now. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shove those thoughts aside and plaster a smile onto your face.

~*~

Your shifts don’t line up for over a month after that. Whether that’s by chance or someone’s careful planning, you’re not sure. All you know is that you miss your best friend, and you’re not sure how much longer you can work there knowing things will never be the same. 

Sandy isn’t oblivious to the changes, but she knows better than to pry. 

Finally, you decide that enough is enough, and head toward the bakery on your day off. 

Paper held tightly in your hand, your mouth goes dry when you head inside and see none other than Bucky Barnes.

His eyes find yours and you see them widen for a quick moment, but you don’t allow him to speak. 

“Where’s Sandy?” You specifically chose today because she was supposed to be the only one working. 

“Daycare was closed today,” is all he says. 

The air between the two of you gets thick with tension until you finally clear your throat and shove the paper toward him. 

“Can you give this to her? I won’t see her ‘till Saturday and I want her to get this asap.”

He furrows his brows and takes it, eyes scanning over the words. 

“What is this?”

You bite your lip and shrug, dropping your gaze. 

“It’s my notice.”

He’s silent for one beat, then another, and then-  “your what?”

You huff out a sigh. This is exactly why you wanted to give it to Sandy directly. 

“You know what? It’s fine. I’ll just give it to her next time I see her.” You reach for it back only for him to hold it up high out of your reach. 

“Where are you going?” He asks quietly. 

“Stark... he has connections. Told me that he could get me set up closer to my place so I don’t have to bus as far... because my car’s still messed and I can’t afford to take it to a mechanic yet.”

Bucky says nothing, only stares at you blankly for a long while. 

Finally, you cross your arms and take a step back. 

“Can you just give that to Sandy for me? Please?”

Without letting him refuse your request, you turn and head out the front door and start your trudge through the snow. 

The next day, Sandy is calling you in tears and you can’t help the guilt eating at you. 

So you tell her everything, from the Halloween party to Bucky calling in sick to Tony Stark’s offer. 

Though reluctant to accept your notice, she understands your reasoning just like you knew she would.

The weeks leading up to Christmas are some of the most depressing of your life. 

Usually, you and Bucky would decorate your apartment, go skating, take photos with Santa, and do other fun festive activities. But this year all you do is sit cooped up in your home watching Hallmark movies. 

Your wallowing on Christmas Eve gets cut short, however, by a firm fist banging on your door. 

Heart in your throat, you contemplate calling the police until you hear a familiar voice calling your name. 

Now your heart is racing for a completely different reason. 

Slowly, you open the front door, only to be met with a distraught-looking Bucky. 

His eyes are bloodshot and tired, his shoulders are tense, and his hair has a thick layer of snow covering it. 

You say nothing, only step aside and let him in. 

No words are spoken between the two of you as you give him a change of clothes from the stash you’ve accumulated over the years. 

While he gets changed, you make some hot chocolate, offering him a mug of it when he emerges from you room. 

His fingers dust over yours as he takes the mug from you, and then the two of you are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, sharing one of your many throw blankets. 

The silence hangs heavily in the room for a long moment before he finally, finally speaks. 

“You’re not leaving.”

You blink at him, “I handed in my notice, Barnes. I don’t know why it even matters to you. S’not like you’ve really paid any attention to what I’ve been going through over the past two months anyway.” The words are murmured into your own mug, but he hears them as if you shouted them. 

“What are you even talking about?”

You scoff, flabbergasted. 

“You just left me with no explanation, and you haven’t made any attempt to talk to me.”

“I had to work!” He exclaims, though he knows you’re not really in the wrong here. 

“You could’ve left a note or texted or something,” you offer. That’s what you would’ve done if the roles were reversed. 

“You could’ve called.”

“The phone works both ways, James.”

This shuts him up. Because it does. 

At the end of the day, he was the one who left, he was the one who started avoiding you, and now he’s the one who lost you. 

It’s been eating him alive since the first week of no contact, but he didn’t know what to do. 

“It... was a mistake,” he finally says. 

Your shoulders deflate and you look down. Of all the ways you pictured this conversation happening, this wasn’t one of them. 

“I shoulda just called in, spent the morning with you, let you wake up in my arms... made you breakfast or something. I never... I just... I guess I thought my feelings were... obvious. I thought you knew how I felt about you and that we’d talk after work.”

Your gaze snaps back up to his face, but he’s focused on the mug in his hands. 

“You’ve been my best friend for... too long, at this point. Feel like s’only natural that... well... ya’know?”

You don’t, though. You don’t know and your silence must display that because he lets out a weak chuckle and looks over at you. 

“I’ve loved you for some time now, Eggs. Kills me that you never knew... that now m’too late. I’ve ruined what coulda been... the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Huffing out a sigh, he digs in his pocket and finally produces a wad of cash. 

“Here, this is for you. For your car.”

You frown and stare at the money for a long moment then shake your head and push his hand away. 

“You can’t just tell me you love me then offer me money, Buck. Can you let me process this first? I mean, for the past few months I’ve been thinking that I’m so horrible in bed that it ruined one of the only good relationships I’ve ever had, only to find out that... that you love me.”

The words taste foreign on your tongue, but the way he looks at you when you say them is enough to settle any doubt. 

He loves you. Probably always has. 

And he’s here, in your apartment, confessing all the ways he’s fucked up. 

“I’ve already accepted Stark’s offer,” You whisper after a moment. 

His shoulders fall forward heavily at your words. 

“That being said, I could use a ride to work until my car is fixed.”

His eyes snap up to yours, shock clear on his face. 

“W-what?” 

You give him a small grin and nudge his shoulder gently. 

“I love you too, idiot. More than I should, more than I care to explain. You’re my best friend and my biggest blessing. We’re both dense morons, but now at least we can do that together.”

[xoxosimp]

Element of Surprise

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Synopsis: After everything that went wrong today, there is no way Bucky is proposing…. Right?

Warnings: fluff, feels, reader is implied to have curly hair, soft bucky is a warning, no description of body parts but reader is called beautiful, and referred to as a wife

A/N: this is part two of this fic. Beta read by @h4miltonsbabe , but all mistakes are my own. 

~~~~~~~~~

It was always interesting seeing Bucky mad. He never really showed anger towards you, not you two didn't go without any fights, but he always kept his composure . Bucky rarely raised his voice at you, not that you've haven’t overheard him yelling at his “business associates” over the phone. He never raised a hand to you, even though he’s come home to you with bruised knuckles. 

But this particular mad: his jaw was clenched, the hand that rested on his thigh held the fabric of the couch in his fist .Usually when you’re cuddling up to him, all the tension in his body would evaporate. Not this time. 

Your day with Bucky wasn’t great.

Everything that could have possibly gone wrong today, went wrong. Bucky’s been planning your anniversary for months. All he needed from you was to show up and look beautiful, as you always do. 

What he didn't need was for the weather channel to be wrong, ruining your blowout with the rain. Your curls reverted back to their natural state, running two hours of blow drying and fussing with your hair. Bucky thought you still looked beautiful. 

What he didn't need was for the florist to be out of your favorite flowers and your favorite bagel spot ( which is in another city) to be closed the day of your anniversary. And that set the theme  for the entire day.

What he did not need was your favorite restaurant to double-book your table on the rooftop. When the hostess told him they had accidentally double-booked, Bucky looked like he wanted to explode. Honestly, he did.

“I need to speak to your manager,” he huffed. The poor hostess scrambled away like a mouse, leaving your boyfriend fuming. 

Part of you thinks he’s going a little overboard, considering this was a mistake you could easily made yourself. But you know he wanted today to be perfect for you. That's how he wants everything to be for you.

“Bucky,” you grabbed his shoulder so he could face you, “ Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Light-”

“It was an innocent mistake, Jamie. Imagine if I was the hostess and some rich, billionaire loser had nothing better to do than yell at me?”, you stated, knowing you had him there.

Bucky cracked a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, “Are you calling me a loser, light?”

“You are a loser if you berate that poor hostess even more! Besides, if you take someone else’s table you could ruin their anniversary.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration, “ What do you wanna do then, light?”, deep down he felt guilty, knowing he had unleashed his anger about not this particular mistake, but of all of today’s mishaps on the poor hostess. 

“Go somewhere else,” you smiled. “There are hundreds of restaurants in New York, I’m sure one of them has an open table.” 

After the manager profusely apologized for the error, Bucky slipped a hundred-dollar bill to the hostess and grumbled, “Don’t let it happen again.” 

Usually all it took was a snap of his fingers and his command and anything Bucky wanted was his (and by proxy, you). But even criminal kingpin’s are victims of circumstance, sometimes. 

You turned to look at Bucky and pinched his cheek. “ Is something wrong, Bucky?”

He shrugged, Bucky’s eyes not leaving the movie playing in front of him. He’s pouting.

“ I had a great day,” you pondered, “ I had a burger from Margarita’s and….” 

“It was supposed to be perfect!,” he said, slightly raising his voice. “ All of fucking days there are suddenly no more flowers or-”

“Jamie,” you touched his chest, snapping him out of his rage. “It’s not a big deal,” you giggled.

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “You think this is funny, light?” 

“I know today didn’t go according to plan, but I’m just happy that we spent the day together. I mean, thanks to the heavens, my boss let me have a day off.”

If he hadn’t, Bucky would have ‘suggested’ to him to let you have the day off. .

“Even though I didn't get any flowers, any bagels, or dinner on a rooftop, I think I’d rather have none of that than my hair getting ruined. It took me two hours to blow dry my hair!”

Bucky let out a chuckle. “I just wanted it to be perfect,” he reiterated somberly. 

“It was perfect.” You know Bucky would move mountains to make you happy. Today proved that very fact. “ But I got to spend the day with you. How can I be sad about that?”

Damn, could you be any more perfect? Everything went to shit, yet you still look at him like he handed you the moon on a silver platter.

“I’m gonna’ get water,” you stood up from the couch and walked to the kitchen.

“It’s actually kinda funny how everything went south today,” you shouted, grabbing a bottle of water from the shelf. 

“How’s that, light?”

“Because I thought you were going to propose.” Bucky stayed quiet. 

“I mean, hello, you told me to do my hair, do my nails, you told me to dress up really nice,” you rambled, “when you tell someone to get all dolled up and you have an extravagant day planned, it’s a classic sign that you’re proposing.”

You plopped next to Bucky, “ Which means you don't have the element of s-” You looked at him, holding a ring box with a beautiful princess cut diamond with a solitaire gold band in the middle. Were your hands sweaty or was that the condensation from the water bottle? 

Bucky adjusted himself so he can face you with a soft smile on his lips. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach. “ I can’t imagine waking up everyday and not having you by my side. You’re the light of my life. You make every one of my dark days better with your presence. I want to be there with you when you have your good, bad, and dark days.”

Bucky thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest. If it did, he would hand it to you. “Will you marry me?”

Tears were flowing down your face like a waterfall. You wanted to break out into song and dance, jump off of a building without any fear, you wanted this. You wanted him.

You nodded, swiping your tears, “ Yes! I’ll marry you!”  You smashed your lips on top of his, as if not another moment could be wasted. Bucky kissed you back with just as much vigor, but pulled away. “ Let me put the ring on you, Light!” he exclaimed.

He took the ring out of the box and slid it onto your ring finger. It was a perfect fit. “ I can’t wait to marry you, Jamie.”

“ I can’t wait till you’re my wife, light.” 

[immeilena]

★ Like A Tattoo.

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: The usual car ride with Bucky, going back home. Dim lights, late night, cold breeze and Sade's voice echoing.

Warnings: No use of Y/N. Bucky Barnes (he's a warning). Kinda angst. Mention of killing and Bucky's past in general. During the events of FATWS.

Note! English isn't my first language, used ai to enhance some parts since it was originally about Logan Howlett - I hope it's not a problem") - Inspired by Sade's 'Like A Tattoo'.

Like the scar of age .. Written all over my face.

The war is still raging inside of me.

I still feel the chill .. As I reveal my shame to you

I wear it like a tattoo.

“Do you want to catch a cold? Get in and close it,” His voice was low, touched with a softness he reserved only for her. Without glancing again, he reached for the heat dial, nudging it up, his fingers brushing against the worn leather of the dashboard. The truck roared down the winding curves of the Appalachian Mountains, the headlights carving through the darkness like whispers against the wild. The faint glow of the moon spilled over the peaks, painting the road ahead in silvery shadows. It was quiet except for the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of gravel beneath the tires. And Bucky loved these drives more than he ever admitted. It wasn’t just the solitude of the mountains or the crisp night air or the moonlight shining on the road—it was the quiet moments they shared, when the noise of the world was left behind, and it was just them.

She finally closed the window shut, curling into the passenger-seat beside him, the cold mountain air giving way to the faint warmth inside the cab. Her head tilting against the worn leather, as she casted him a sideways glance. The only light came from the truck’s headlights, cutting through the darkness and illuminating the narrow, winding road ahead. “Better?” she murmured, a hint of teasing in her tone.

He spared her a glance, his lips quirking in a way that wasn’t quite a smile but close enough. “Would’ve been better five minutes ago, though.” The road twisted and dipped, a ribbon of asphalt threading through the dark, ancient spine of the mountains. The kind of place where the world felt untouched, where it was easy to believe they were the only two souls for miles .. but well, she's gonna ruin it for sure. He knows.

Bucky’s hand rested on the gearshift, his fingers flexing idly, as if the rhythm of the drive matched the rhythm of his thoughts. He didn’t say much—he never did on nights like these. But she didn’t need his words to understand. Outside, the world was an endless shadow—trees standing tall and silent like sentinels, their silhouettes dancing with the sway of the truck’s beam. The hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the old vehicle filled the space.

“Do you want to hear a scary road story?” She asked, her voice cutting through the silence, carrying that playful lilt he should’ve seen coming. His glare was as quick as it was pointed. It was enough to make her grin, and she knew she’d struck a nerve.

“No,” he said, his voice a firm rumble.

“Oh, come on,” she teased, leaning in slightly, the corner of her mouth tugging upward in a goofy grin. “It’s not that scary.. you know..”

“Not a chance,” he cut her off, eyes snapping back to the road. “You tell me some creepy story, I don’t sleep, and then guess who’s the one on guard all night?”

“Well,” She said, singing out the word, “it’s not my fault .. all the scary stories I tell just so happen to be true.” She’d done this too many times before, and the worst part was, she wasn’t wrong. Every ridiculous, chilling tale she’d spun ended up lining up a little too neatly with reality. He glanced at her, his blue eyes catching the faint reflection of the dashboard lights. The stories always stuck in his head like glue. No matter how hard he tried to shake them off, they clung to him, unwelcome and persistent. He didn’t like that, not one bit, but it was true. Worse still, they weren’t just stories—they were true stories. And they always seemed to take place on roads like this.

She knew it rattled him, knew it wormed its way into his head no matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise. And the worst part? She found it funny.

Not exactly—no, she wasn’t mean about it. But there was something in the way her eyes sparkled when he tensed, in the way her lips twitched with amusement when he grumbled under his breath. The way he couldn’t handle her roadside horror stories, no matter how hard he tried to play it cool. Especially because the stories always seemed to happen on nights like this.

She loved the way he’d stay up later than usual after one of her tales, his sharp instincts turned sharper, as though waiting for something to emerge from the darkness. And maybe, just maybe, she loved the fact that for all his strength, for all his impossible resilience, she was the one who could make him squirm.

Bucky’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as his eyes darted to the radio, his thumb pressing the power button. A faint crackle of static gave way to the smooth, sultry melody of a Sade song, her voice washing over the cabin like a balm.

“That song looks like you,” She murmured, her voice soft but teasing, her fingers playing idly with the edge of his jacket. His brow furrowed at her words, a glance flickering in her direction before snapping back to the road. “Songs don’t look like people, sweetheart.” But she shrugged, “You’d get it if you tried.” her voice was soft yet certain, “No no, see .. “she says, ‘I remember his hands, and the way the mountains looked, the light shot diamonds from his eyes.’” Her eyes lingered on him, a hint of something playful hidden in the depth of her gaze. “What I translate it to,” she continued, her voice lowering slightly, a teasing edge creeping into her tone, “is that... we’re in the middle of the mountains, you have your hand on my thigh, and your eyes are always shining somehow.” He knew Sade was one of her favorites. He’d heard her play those songs on repeat, the lyrics getting under her skin, almost as if she found pieces of herself in every word. And, though he’d never admit it out loud, he found it funny that, no matter the song, she somehow always found lyrics that seemed to perfectly describe him.

"See? It’s like you," She murmured, her voice dipping into that soft, teasing tone. Her hand rested gently on his wrist, her fingers brushing lightly against his skin. The truck rumbled through the night, the headlights slicing through the darkness, but all Bucky could focus on was the weight of her words. His hand, the warmth of it, resting so casually on her thigh—a touch that had become first nature, but somehow still felt like it meant more in moments like this. And her eyes, always so full of light, even in the dark.

“Your eyes are the ones that shine,” He muttered, though the words felt too soft, too unguarded coming from him.

She hummed, her lips curving just enough to remind him that she saw through every armor he wore. “Maybe," she teased, her fingers brushing against his wrist, "but you make the light look good.” She didn’t need to say more; the song, the night, the mountain roads—everything wrapped around them. His hand, large and calloused, was still resting on her thigh, the touch both natural and intimate. And he rubbed his fingers in slow, steady circles over the fabric of her jeans, the motion calming, familiar, and grounding.

"Sade said she made that song about a military man," she added, her voice dropping even lower, almost as if the words were a secret meant just for the two of them. It was funny, because despite everything—the war, the darkness that sometimes filled him, the rough edges he wore like armor—he didn’t mind being that kind of man for her.

Her eyes still closed, the warmth of her breath a steady rhythm against his leg when she moved to rest her head against his thigh, as if the conversation was drifting through her mind like a slow-moving stream, each word landing carefully in place.

“He killed a man who had his hands up in surrender,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper, but each word carrying the weight of the story. “And the woman, that dead guy loved, saw all of it. But the military man regretted it... That’s why it’s called *‘Like a Tattoo.’* Because he’s gonna remember what happened, like a tattoo.”

Bucky’s fingers stilled on her hair afterwards, the weight of her words sinking into him like stones dropped into a quiet lake. The song, the lyrics—everything about it hit too close to home. He wasn’t sure what exactly was pulling at his chest .. whether it was the rawness of the story she was describing, or the way her words seemed to pierce him with a truth that he couldn’t escape.

The military man—him—and the regret that would never fade. The blood on his hands, and the ghosts of those moments that lingered far longer than the missions or the battles ever did. It was permanently imprinted in his mind like a tattoo.

“But when I hear it, it's kinda different.” She paused. “I just think about your hands .. the mountains.” She didn’t need to say it, but he felt it—she wasn’t just talking about the song anymore. She was talking about him. Looking down at her for a moment more as his hand gently rubbed her side. "And my eyes, darlin'?" He asked with a faint grin. He loved the way that she looked at him, and how she always had these little songs that she thought matched him so well. He, on the other hand, had never been able to do that. Where she saw beauty, he saw destruction. Where she saw light, he saw shadows. His hands—rough and calloused, stained with the memories of violence and war—had done more damage than he cared to admit. How they’d been instruments of harm, carrying out orders that left nothing but scars.

And still, she touched him like it wasn’t true. Like it didn’t matter. She didn’t see the blood. She didn’t see the violence.

She saw him.

She loved him in moments, in pieces, because that’s all he believed he could give. She didn’t demand grand declarations or promises he wasn’t ready to make. Instead, she memorized the language of him—the way his jaw tensed when he was lost in thought, the softness in his eyes when he let himself feel safe.

To her, every scar was a story, every silence an invitation to stay. She kissed the hollow spaces he thought were too dark to love, leaving warmth where there had only been cold.

The weight of his past, the guilt, the moments that marked him so deeply that they could never be erased. He knew, more than anyone, that certain things would stick to you, no matter how hard you tried to forget.

But the thing about tattoos was... they were permanent. They left a mark. And sometimes, that mark was a part of you forever.

Her head resting softly on his leg, her hand still gently holding his flesh one, the weight of the world somehow lighter because she was there. “They’re like a storm,” she said softly, her hand now resting against his chest, fingers curling lightly into his shirt. “There’s something wild in them. But I don’t think it’s something to be afraid of. I think it’s... beautiful. They let you know where home is.” She paused, a chuckle leaving her lips when she quoted the sentence Sam always uses when he's talking about Bucky's eyes.

“Fuck it, now, not you too.” But he chuckled, a quiet ripple through the stillness of the truck’s cabin and she reached over, brushing her fingers against his arm lightly, like she always did when she wanted to tease without pushing him too far. “Even the metal arm,” She added, her voice a little softer, and Bucky stiffened for a moment. He’d gotten used to people being repelled by the cold, unforgiving metal of his arm—the way it marked him as something *other*, something *broken*. But ... she never flinched when she looked at it. She never saw it as a weapon or a flaw.

She saw it like she saw him—whole.

Her hand moved from his jaw to the metal arm, tracing the cool surface as though it were just another part of him. As though it didn’t carry the weight of a thousand battles, a thousand regrets. “you say it’s a reminder of everything you’ve lost. But to me, it’s a part of you. The man who’s been through hell and still manages to find something good in the world. The man who holds me like I’m the only thing that matters.”

Her fingers, delicate against the cold steel, contrasted sharply with the harshness of the metal, like light and shadow in perfect balance .. as if she were touching the parts of him that no one ever dared to.

He didn’t know what to say. Words had never been easy for him, especially not when it came to things like this. But here, with her, he didn’t need to speak. Her touch, the softness of her words, said everything he’d never been able to put into words himself. She didn’t see the arm as a reminder of his mistakes or something. She saw it as a part of his strength. A part that she would, gladly, worship if she can.

He could feel the weight of her head against his leg, the way she trusted him with something so simple yet so sacred.

He knew she was right. Maybe that’s why she loved these songs so much—because she could see pieces of him in them. He never understood how she found those connections. How she always seemed to know what part of him a song was trying to capture.

But then again, that was part of what he loved about her.

Her ability to see him. To know him in ways no one else did. Her soft voice broke the silence again. "You know, I think you’ll always be my military man."

But she never said “I love you” outright. Instead, she left her love in the small things: the meals she cooked when he forgot to eat, the books she left on his nightstand, the way she never looked away when his past crept into the room.

He never had to ask if she’d stay. She already had, long before he realized he needed her. And she would wear his love like a tattoo.

[flameandshadows]

hello! i have been breaking my head trying to find this buckyxreader fic from yearsss ago but all i can remember is that they are neighbors, bucky takes care of his 6 y/o niece from steve & peggy and the reader is a teacher! i can’t remember if bucky was a firefighter or a cop but i would really appreciate the help!!

Hi! This sounds like the amazing “Seven-Thirty” by @nacho-bucky you can find it on ao3 here :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457682/chapters/43729109