#bucky likes loose leaf tea OKAY?

[knucklescum]

Sleepy Time Tea - Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Pairing: Bucky Barnes / Winter Soldier x fem!Reader (tfatws era)

Word Count: 2011

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, honestly just a self indulgent fic about drinking weird tea with Bucky

(note: I stole the reader’s powers from Vic Neuman from The Boys, just an fyi lol)

It was safe to say that you were pretty weird (from an outsider’s perspective, anyway). You had abnormal interests, strange hobbies and even stranger morals. So you were relatively surprised when The Falcon himself begged for you to join his ‘team’ to stop the Flag Smashers.

“Sam told me you’ve been having trouble sleeping?” you ask, perched on the worktop beside Bucky as he poured himself a coffee.

“S’none of your business,” he mutters, turning his back to you and shuffling over to the sofa.

“I’m here to help, you know,” you start, sliding off of the counter and joining him on the other end of the sofa, pulling your legs to your chest. “I know Sam asked me here to, you know, pop some heads,” you pause, catching his eye in bemusement.

“I could do what you do. It’s called a bullet to the head,” a dry laugh escapes his lips, shaking his head as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Exploding someone’s skull with your mind is a bit more fun though, right?” you laugh in response. “There’s no subtle way to shoot someone in the head. Think of me as your own, personal gun. With a super silencer.”

“What was your point?” Bucky breathes, finally turning his head to face you, an annoyed expression on his face.

“Right, yeah,” you laugh. “Don’t judge me-”

“I can’t promise anything,” he cuts you off.

“Don’t judge me. I have some herbal stuff-”

“I’m not getting stoned with you, (y/n).”

“Let me fucking finish!” you exclaim, launching a cushion at his face, although he easily catches it and rests it on his lap.

He gestures his hand for you to continue, attempting to hide the small smirk on his face.

“I’m really into tea.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, his face drops and he gets up from the sofa, throwing the cushion back to you. 

“I don’t want your stupid fucking sleepy time tea.”

You look down as the door slams - understandable.

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

The evening’s mission had gone, honestly, beyond wrong. 

Sam and Bucky had been recognised almost immediately, leaving you and Zemo to hunt down the man you were looking for.

In theory, it should have been simple. But Zemo was adamant for you to show him your powers which, above all else, was just distracting.

“Not now, Zemo.” you had said, turning to him with a stern expression on your face. “We find the guy, he talks, I blow his head up. Sound good?”

“Yes ma’am,” he smiled.

That should have been the end of it. 

Zemo persisted.

You’d caught sight of your target, taking hold of Zemo’s wrist and moving through the crowd, your eyes never leaving the man you were here to find.

“Ooh, (y/n), what about this guy? He’s being a bit, how would you say, pervy?”

“Oh my god, Zemo.” you stopped in your tracks and turned to him, your body filled with rage. “Shut the fuck up!”

Before he could even begin to think of a response, you were interrupted by screams.

Screams coming from the direction of your target

“Oh, fuck.” you breathed.

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

“You head popped our target?” Sam exclaims. “What the fuck happened?”

Your eyes move from Sam to Zemo, shooting daggers at his smug face.

“What? We were going to kill him anyway, yes?” he smiles.

“He had crucial information. We needed him alive.” Sam exhales, an unimpressed expression on his face.

Bucky throws himself on to the sofa, a large sigh escaping his mouth as he covers his face with his hands.

“You two are the worst.” he mutters.

“Why couldn’t you just let (y/n) do her thing?” Sam asks, raising his arms in exasperation.

“I did!”

“No,” he pauses. “No. She was going to make him talk. You didn’t need to piss her off.”

Zemo glances at you, a smirk on his face as he takes a step towards you.

“Can you blame me? Surely any man would want to witness such a gift in person.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t pop your head.” you say, falling onto the sofa behind you.

Your whole body aches from exhaustion and you want nothing more than your bed or, in this case, a random bed in your current hideout.

You sit in silence as Sam and Zemo argue (or rather, Sam berates Zemo), occasionally casting your eyes to Bucky’s unmoving figure on the opposite end of the couch.

After a while, the shouting stops and Sam storms out of the apartment, with Zemo skulking off to his own bedroom.

Both you and Bucky remain in your respective spots, and you’re convinced that you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you every so often.

It’s only when you eventually sit up that you finally catch his gaze.

“Give me some of your stupid tea.”

Shocked, you jump out of your seat, bringing your hands together.

“Really?” you say, careful to control your volume to avoid disturbing Zemo.

Bucky stands up, suddenly towering over you, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Just don’t poison me.”

A small squeal of excitement escapes your lips as you scurry over to the kitchenette, Bucky in tow.

You swing one of the cupboard doors open, reaching to the back for your tub of assorted herbs and loose leaf teas.

“I’m telling you now, Bucky,” you start, turning to him, holding the box out to him. “This is probably one of the only things I’m actually passionate about.”

“Tea?” he questions, slowly taking the plastic tub from your hands. “You’re a loser. No offence.”

“None taken,” you shrug. “Only because you’re right.”

You rummage through the cupboards in search of any kind of tea strainer, instead finding an infuser teapot.

“Aha!” you exclaim as you pull the teapot out of the cupboard. “This is perfect.”

Bucky pulls open the tub before gently placing it on the countertop beside you.

“Thanks,” you say in an almost whisper before you begin digging through your collection of herbs. 

Bucky takes his spot beside you, leaning his back against the counter’s edge, silently watching you carefully take spoonfuls of each ingredient. His eyes never leave you, moving from your hands to your face.

“Do you want to help?” you ask, a gentle smile on your face.

He quickly nods, turning to face the worktop alongside you.

“Okay,” you hum. “Could you find the valerian root for me? It’s labelled, it’ll be in one of those brown pouches.”

“Gotcha,” he says before beginning his search. 

Bucky finds the packet only a minute later, gently unsealing the top to get a look.

Before you can warn him, the root’s aroma fills his nostrils, a look of complete and utter disgust spreading across his face.

“I’m not ingesting that,” Bucky states, holding the small bag as far away from his face as possible. “It smells like literal belly button.”

You open your mouth in feign offence, giving his shoulder a gentle, backhanded slap.

“Hey!” he exclaims, matching your energy. “You smell it if it’s really not that bad!”

Before you can act in defence, he forces the pouch into your face, the smell taking over all of your senses. 

You snatch the bag from his hand, careful not to let any of the root escape as you place it back on the side.

The two of you remain in a comfortable silence as you gently place the remainder of the ingredients into the strainer.

“Do you want to go and sit down?” you ask as you pour the freshly boiled water into the teapot. “It needs a little time to brew.”

Bucky silently agrees, nodding his head before crossing the room towards the sofa.

Turning back to the teapot, you hear Bucky collapse onto the couch as you stir the liquid, all kinds of colours leaking into the water.

While you wait, you pull two large mugs from the cupboard. You hook your finger through the handles before taking hold of the teapot into your other hand, carefully carrying everything over to the coffee table in front of Bucky.

“I could have helped carry that, you know,” he says as you place the tea set down on the surface.

“It’s no problem, Bucky,” you smile.

He leans closer to the coffee table, gently lifting a mug and pulling it closer to his face, the steam soothing his tired skin.

“I picked out my favourites for you,” you start. “These ones always put me to sleep,” you laugh.

He smiles at you for you to continue, taking a small smell of the tea as he does so. 

“So it’s valerian root, chamomile, lavender and vervain.” you say, a look of concentration on your face as you make sure to remember every ingredient. “I’d usually add mugwort for some funky dreams but I, uh, I’ve heard about your dreams. Best to avoid that.”

“Good call,” he laughs.

Returning back to your previous quiet, the two of you begin to drink your tea.

You can’t help but watch his face, looking out for any sort of reaction to the drink. 

Eventually, his face softens and he gradually takes more and more sips until the mug is completely empty. You’re not long behind him, tilting your mug to get every last drop before placing it back onto the coffee table.

“That,” he starts, putting his mug beside yours. “That wasn’t awful.”

You look at him with a smile, although a glimpse of disbelief must have flashed across your face as he continues. 

“I mean it, (y/n). It was nice,” he smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Buck.”

Bucky adjusts himself, leaning his back against the side of the sofa, one leg tucked under the other.

You watch his face once more as he sits in deep thought, debating whether to tell you whatever it is that he’s thinking.

“You’ve never called me Buck before,” he whispers.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” you whisper back, guilt lacing your voice as you shuffle in place anxiously. “I overstepped, I’m so sorry.”

He lets out a gentle chuckle before tilting his head back, resting it on the edge of the sofa’s armrest.

“I like it,” he breathes, so quietly that if you weren’t paying attention you wouldn’t have heard him. 

A soft yet embarrassed breath escapes your mouth as you lean deeper into the sofa, your knee lightly brushing against his.

Your eyes flutter as you sink further into the sofa and you can’t stop yourself from falling ever so slightly into the man beside you.

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

The sound of someone clattering around in the kitchen pulls you from, quite possibly, the best night’s sleep you’ve ever had. You attempt to sit up, but a weight around your waist halts you, keeping you locked into place.

That place being Bucky’s arms.

Fuck.

You make another attempt to free yourself from his grasp, only to be pulled tighter into his chest. Shuffling some more in an effort to wake him, the soft sounds of your body against the sofa attract the attention of someone else.

Zemo peers over the back of the sofa, a please grin on his face.

“I see you two are finally starting to get along,” he smirks. “I have to say, I’ve never seen that man sleep so soundly before.” 

Zemo reaches across you to Bucky’s flesh arm, giving him a poke. 

“Like a baby,” he laughs when Bucky still doesn’t react. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds in peace,” he winks, waltzing back towards his room.

“Buck,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you tap whichever parts of his body you can reach. “Buck.”

A sound of complaint leaves his mouth as he pulls you closer once again before his eyes begin to open.

“Buck?”

“I’m up, I’m awake,” he whispers, his grasp on you slowly loosening as his body comes back to life. 

You pull yourself out of his grip as he begins to sit up, rubbing his head with his free hand.

“I think it’s safe to say that your tea works.”

[navegandoaciegas]

Little doll

Pairing: dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: stockholm syndrome, manipulation, controlling!Bucky, unhealthy relationship, mentions of violence in the past (no graphic description), smut, vaginal sex, oral sex (both male and female receiving), vaginal and anal fingering, slight praise kink.

Summary: You used to be a strong-willed independent woman, but after a whole lot of training, you’ve finally become Bucky’s perfect little doll for him to own, love and take care of. 

A/N: I had this idea in mind today and wrote this in a couple of hours for @jtargaryen18​ ‘s 4k writing challenge. Congrats! I hope it’s decent lmfao 

There is no graphic violence or non-con in this story, but it’s stated/hinted pretty heavily that these things did happen in the past. Reader has no physical description. 18+ only. English is my third language so sorry for any mistakes.

7.09 am

There’s a pulsing ache between your legs and a hot breath fanning over your neck that sends tingles down your spine.

“Baby?” you mumble in a daze, still half asleep, moaning and clutching the sheets when you feel a finger tease your entrance.  

“‘Morning, sleepyhead.” Bucky murmurs, peppering your cheeks with small kisses. 

You can’t fight back the smile that spreads on your face and you slowly pry your eyes open, finding your husband already looking at you in adoration. He lets his lips move downwards, nipping the skin of your throat and sucking little bruises there. A moan escapes you when the hand that was kneading your breasts pinches one of your nipples while his fingers keep sliding in and out of your pussy, sending jolts of pleasure all over your body.

You’re burning up, feeling a familiar pressure build up in your core already. You’ve been together for years, but you’ll never get over how good he is at this.  

His hands are everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The hair on his chest and lower abdomen rubs on your sensitive skin, and you can’t get enough of all this. You never will. 

His name is on your lips like a prayer as you beg him for more, for that sweet release only he can give you. He complies, spreading your legs and settling between them. He trails open mouthed kisses down your body, slowly bringing his face to your awaiting cunt. The anticipation of what he’ll do to you is killing you slowly. He licks a strip of your dripping pussy and dips his tongue in your folds, pushing as far as he can go.

“So sweet.” 

He groans against you when you grab a fistful of his long hair and the vibration goes straight to your core, making the knot inside you tighter. You grind your hips against his face, fucking yourself with his mouth and crying out loud in pleasure. 

“So wet, so needy, all for me.”

He draws circles on your swollen clit and crooks a couple of fingers inside of you, hitting that sweet spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch even more. 

You’re writhing underneath him, desperate for a release.

“Please, faster.” you moan, bucking your hips wildly.

“Beg for it.” he demands, jerking four fingers inside of you.

His bruising touch, the vibration inside your cunt, his soft kisses. It’s all too much and still not enough.

“Please Bucky, please let me cum all over your face, please, please, I’ll be good for you.” you beg like the cockslut you are.

He sucks hard on your clit, and that’s all it takes to tip you over the edge, body shaking uncontrollably and vision going white. .

You’re spent, panting on the bed and feeling the familiar burn that his beard leaves behind on the soft skin of your inner thighs. Your walls flutter around nothing, and somehow you want more.

“Such a good girl for me.” He looks at you through half lidded eyes, lips red and swollen, face covered in your slick. You taste yourself on his tongue when he dips down and slants his mouth against yours, reigniting the fire inside of you.

“Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want to come again, all over my cock? Yes?”

You whine, feeling yourself grow hotter than before. “Yes, please, fuck me.”

He thrusts inside you, slowly at first, faster once he can sheathe himself fully without feeling any pain. You’re still sore from yesterday, but the familiar stretch of his thick cock is so good that you ignore the burn. You only feel him and the pleasure he’s giving you.

“So perfect, made for me, my sweet girl.” he grunts in your ear, and the praise sends jolts of electricity directly to your cunt.

Your hands are roaming over his hard muscles and your walls are clenching down on his cock, impatient for another orgasm to wreck you.

The room is filled with the lewd sounds of him fucking you, his balls hitting your ass, the squelch of your arousal, and he’s so vocal with his moans and grunts that you could come hard just listening to him.

His pace is more frantic than before. Your walls are milking him as he pounds into you relentlessly. Just when you thought you couldn’t feel more pleasure, Bucky dips his hand behind you, fingers covered in your slick teasing your back entrance and pushing inside you, finding no resistance in your relaxed state. His pubic bone hits your clit repeatedly and you’re so full of his cock and fingers and him that you see stars.

“Cum pretty girl, cum all over my cock. Show me how good you are.”

He snaps his hips harder against you and you cry out when the pressure in your core releases, jolts of pleasure shooting from your cunt to the rest of your body, vision going blank. 

He swallows your cries with his mouth, and the feeling of you clenching around him is enough to send him over the edge too. His thrusts become sloppier and he cums hard, holding onto your waist with a bruising grip and biting down on your bottom lip.

He collapses on top of you, and you relish in the feeling of his hot release filling you up.

“Love you.” he mumbles, caressing your cheeks.

“Love you more.” you whisper with a smile, scratching his scalp the way that makes him purr like a cat.

You stay impossibly close for what feels like hours, Bucky still inside you, encompassing your whole body, until the alarm clock goes off and he lifts himself up with a grunt. He stares in fascination as his cum slowly drips out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Don’t wanna go to work today, doll.” he whines, clinging onto you again and pouting like a child, “Wanna stay in bed with you.”

You chuckle, because he’s always so needy in the morning, and push him off you.

“We’ll stay like this all weekend, I promise. Now go get ready.”

-

The smell of freshly brewed coffee invades the kitchen and your senses. You love the fragrance, even though you aren’t allowed to drink it. Bucky says it’s bad for a dainty doll like you. You remember you used to be addicted to caffeine before; it was the only thing that kept you going during your long, strenuous shifts at the hospital you worked at as a nurse. Bucky provides for you now, so you don’t have to worry about that exhaustion anymore.

You drink loose leaf herbal tea these days.

You smile when a ray of light shining through the window hits the diamond ring on your fourth finger, projecting a kaleidoscope of colors on the walls. The eggs are sizzling in the pan, the bread slices are toasting in the oven and you can hear the faint noise of Bucky taking a shower.

You arrange the table the way he likes it: buttered toast and scrambled eggs on a plate, yoghurt and cut up fruit in a little stained glass container, a steaming mug of coffee, a tall glass of ice cold water and fresh flowers in a vase; the paper towel goes to the right side of the plate, with a fork and a knife with the sharp side that faces left on top of it. You nod in satisfaction at the spread and remove the strainer from your teacup.

Bucky greets you with a peck on the lips and a bright smile. He pulls the chair back for you, ever the gentleman, and sits on the other one, “Any plans for today?”

“The usual, y’know. I may go for a walk at the park, if that’s okay with you?” you hesitate on the last part, giving him a hopeful smile. You love to collect the wildflowers in the meadow and feed the ducks at the pond. Plus, walking is good for your health, and Bucky has you exercise at least once a day anyways.

“Of course you can, princess. Do you have enough birdseed or do you need more?” he asks, chewing a mouthful of eggs and toast, “I’ll give you extra money if you want to get it.”

You’re grateful he agreed. Truth be told, he hardly ever denies you anything now that you’ve learnt to behave. “Thanks, but it should be enough to last me another week, I think. Is Steve coming for dinner tonight?”

He shakes his head and sips on the coffee you made him, just the way he likes it: two sugars, one splash of full fat milk, a sprinkle of chocolate powder. “No, I think the punk’s staying home with Sharon tonight, ‘member her?”

You nod. You do remember Sharon. They’ve been dating for a while. She is a nurse like you used to be. Would Steve make her keep the job? 

Bucky doesn’t seem to notice your pensive mood and checks his phone as he finishes the last of his strawberries. “God, it’s 8.35 already. I gotta hurry sweetheart, don’t want to be late again like yesterday.” he says with a mischievous smirk.

You feel warmth creep up your face at the memory of the reason why he was late, and you clench your thighs shut as you recall the image of you bent over this same table you’re at and him pounding into you from behind. He wouldn’t leave unless he gave you one more, and then another, until you were shaking and crying in pleasure. 

You both get up. He grabs his jacket and backpack, you hand him the lunch you’ve packed for him. He pulls you in for a sweet kiss, holding you by the waist. You taste the coffee lingering on his tongue and it reminds you of another life.  

He pulls away and nuzzles your hair, hugging you tightly. “I’ll miss you.” He mumbles in your ear, inhaling the calming scent of the lavender shampoo he’s chosen for you.

“I’ll miss you more. Have a good day at work.”

“Thank you, have fun at the park. Behave.”

You wave him goodbye from the front porch and stand there until his sleek black car disappears in the distance. You sigh, missing him already, and get inside, ready to start your day.

-

9.00 am

Bucky is a business manager at Stark’s IT company and his job is a 9-5, Monday to Friday, which means every week day you start your chores after he leaves.

He likes the house spotless and you never want to disappoint him. You shudder at the thought of what happens when you do. Thankfully, it hasn’t occurred in a while. Only bad girls get punished, and you hate punishments too much to be one.

You start downstairs: you open all the windows to let the fresh morning air inside and get to work. You vacuum and mop the floors, disinfect the kitchen counter and empty the dishwasher, sanitize every surface in the bathroom until it’s squeaky clean and smells like Bucky’s favorite lemon scented detergent. Then you move upstairs: you wipe down all the furniture, scrub the ensuite, change the soiled sheets and sort through the hamper, separating whites and colored.

You hum as you work, proud of yourself because you’ve perfected the cleaning routine in your time with your husband, so now it only takes you an hour and a half now to do the entire house.

You grab the basket of dirty linen and clothes and head downstairs to do the chore you hate the most: laundry. The basement where the washer and dryer are makes you quiver in fear when you think of it, but you haven’t found the courage to ask Bucky to move the appliances upstairs yet. Sometimes you still have nightmares about your time there, and Bucky has to hold you and rock you all night to calm you down.

It’s where you spent the first six months after he took you, locked up all alone. He’d visit you every night, but you didn’t appreciate that. You feel guilty now for all those times you fought him, especially the one time you managed to break his nose with your elbow and sprinted upstairs. He caught you just one step before the front door. God, you were so stupid. You’re lucky he got to you in time. What would a girl like you do without a man like him?

As punishment, you spent a week locked in a wardrobe, with no food and barely enough water to survive. You stopped fighting after that, and when he got you out you sobbed on his shoulder and let him hold you and bathe you. You slept in his bed that night, and all the nights that followed in these 3 years. 

Bucky never meant to hurt you, only take care of you, but you were too stupid to understand that back then. You understand now.

-

12.55 pm

It’s a beautiful spring day, the sun is bright and there’s a light breeze blowing from west. 

You think of how you weren’t allowed to leave the house until a year and half ago. You missed the outdoors. But Bucky is a fair man and he lets you go wherever you want now that he can trust you. He even takes you on weekend trips wherever you desire. Maybe if you’re good enough, one day he’ll buy you a car, so you won’t have to walk everywhere.

You still have a tracker implanted in your forearm, but that’s for your own safety.

You spread a blanket underneath your favorite tree; from your position you can see both the water and the meadow, and that lovely wooden bridge over the pond too. 

You’re basking in the sun as you reflect on all the new hobbies you’ve picked up now that you don’t have to spend the better part of your days in a hospital.

You embroider, you try out new recipes, you read, you do yoga, you paint and draw, you collect flowers and leaves and you dry them up in your botanical journal. You’ve become quite good at taking care of the garden in these past few months, and the roses you’ve planted are growing nice and strong. Sometimes you go for a swim in the ocean, some others you go shopping. The house is entirely decorated in your paintings, and you often give them to Bucky’s friends and family too.

You don’t have friends or family anymore. You only have Bucky.

You never thought you would enjoy these activities so much, just like you never thought you could be so free. Of your job, of so much pain and sorrow, of the hardship that comes with free will, of the choices you make that weigh you down until you can’t sleep anymore.

Who knew having your freedom taken away would be so liberating. Not you. 

You have Bucky to thank for that. He always knows what’s best for you.

-

5.29 pm

Bucky’s been thinking about you all day and as soon as he’s clocked out, he couldn’t come back home fast enough. He smiles when the front door opens and he’s hit by the smell of freshly baked cookies. You really spoil him too much.

You run into his arms as soon as you realize he’s back, hugging him tightly, mumbling about how much you’ve missed him.

You’ve made dinner for him, just like he expects of you. Homemade basil pesto pasta, grilled salmon, oven roasted vegetables, white wine for him, tonic water for you because alcohol is bad for little dolls, white chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

You chat about your days over food, and when you’re both done you clean up while he changes into more comfortable clothes.

He has a reward for you, since you’ve been so good lately, but he wants you to earn it.

“On your knees.” he commands, and like the perfect doll you are, you comply.

You look up at him with your innocent doe eyes and Bucky knows he could come at the sight of you so beautiful, so obedient alone. His hands work swiftly as he pulls down his sweats and gets his already hard cock out. 

“I want to fuck your mouth.” he says, tracing your lips with his red tip, “Open up, doll.”

You do as he says. You take him in your mouth and his eyes instinctively roll back at the feeling of your wet tongue licking a strip from base to tip; your cheeks hollow around him, sucking him off, one hand pumping his length and the other massaging his balls.

He aches for more, so he grabs a fistful of your hair in what is probably a painful grip, judging from the way you gasp, and he takes that as an opportunity to slant himself inside your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. He shoves himself deeper and deeper until you can't breathe, your face is red and your eyes full of tears. You steady yourself holding onto his thick thigs as he keeps fucking your mouth harder, balls slapping your chin.

Saliva is dripping down on your face as you’re choking on his cock, and those gagging noise you make vibrate against him, making this all the more pleasurable. He knows you won’t complain anyways, no matter how much he abuses your mouth or your cunt.

He knows you’ll always comply. He’s made sure of that.

With a last thrust in your mouth he pulls out just in time to paint your face with his hot spurt. You look perfect with tears streaming down your cheeks and his cum all over you.

“You did so good princess.” he praises you, and you smile up at him, “Go get cleaned up now, we’re watching a movie. You choose.”

You beam, and he knows you’ll choose one of those Disney movies you like so much.

Good girls always get a prize.

-

11.00 pm is your bedtime. Little dolls need their 8 hours of sleep.

You’re already fast asleep, and Bucky looks in complete devotion and adoration at your form. You’re so pretty, so perfect, so completely his.

You’ve been so good lately that he hasn’t had to punish or discipline you in more than six months.

You’re no longer the stubborn woman you used to be, the one that broke his nose and resisted all he’s put you through for months. You’re finally a little doll for him to own, love and care for. His little doll to dress up and play with. He’s especially happy tonight, because he knows you’ll love the reward for being so good this time. 

It’s only taken Steve two years, because Sharon wasn’t as strong as you, but he’s done now.

Bucky knows how lonely you can get. Tomorrow you too will have a friend, another little obedient doll like you to play with.

-

read my other dark!bucky fic here

I hope you liked this! If you did, please reblog and let me know what you thought of it. 🥺

[trillian-anders]

chambers - xiv

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 3164

description: post-endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Inspired by the Netflix series of the same name.)

He couldn’t see it before. 

But he could now. 

It was in the details. How you moved around the kitchen in the mornings, how you sat on the couch, the way you moved your fingers across his back as you passed him in the hall. It made sense. Whether nature versus nurture was more beneficial there was one true thing. You gained that from Steve and Peggy. The pure will and determination. The perseverance. The way he would lay you out on the mat and you’d get back up, the way you pushed to match his speed around the lake, and the way you argued with him. 

Incessantly. 

“I just think we could be helping a little more.” You shrug at him, dismissively. He could feel his jaw clench.

“We are doing what we are supposed to be doing right now.” Training, laying low. 

“Hiding.” You bite. “Letting Zemo’s fear tactic work.” Bucky rolled his eyes,

“Sam is taking care of that,” He threw back what remained of his coffee, the temperature still slightly too hot. It scalds his throat on the way down, an instant regret. “What we need to worry about is your training.”

The mat, a relic from Pepper and Tony training in a similar way to this right now, up here at the cabin with their small little family. A way to stay sharp. It was laid out next to the cabin on some flat ground. The thick black mat gave a little to your feet but was still firm enough to take the air from your lungs when your back would hit it. 

And you found your back against it, a lot. 

Bucky was relentless, but you already knew this. Icing muscles that would be healed by morning while watching the evening news. Eating enough food for your growing metabolism became a full day of constant snacking, a jug of water sat by your bed for when you woke at two am ravenously thirsty. 

“It’s like that at first,” He explains to you, “It’ll get better.” You had a hard time believing him when you then spilled said jug all over the floor of your room, you’d sopped it up with the towel you’d discarded from your earlier shower and took the soaking thing down to the laundry room, along with the rest of your laundry. A domestic task you hadn’t thought too much about until right now. 

The steps back up from the basement creaked and had dust footprints from where you must assume Bucky had done laundry earlier in the day, a couple of his shirts were hanging above the dryer still. He knew you were coming, but he still didn’t move or look up. 

Bucky sat in the kitchen, illuminated from the light on top of the stove, a steaming mug in front of him. A strange thing about Bucky is that he was really into loose leaf teas. There was a small cabinet in the compound filled with glass containers marked with chalk paint, along with measuring spoons and right below it a temperature controlled electric kettle. 

“Different teas brew at different temperatures.” He defended, not that you’d asked. But he said that they help calm him down at night, when it’s time to finally rest his mind. And he liked variety. 

“Can’t sleep?” You asked him, his slumped form looking tired, exhausted. 

“Had a video call with Sam.” His voice grumbled, raspy. “Only time he could get on.” Your gaze moved to the clock above the stove. It was almost five in the morning. You mourned the minutes you wouldn’t get to sleep because there was no point. Bucky stared at his mug for a moment more before looking back up at you and saying, “I’m gonna go back to bed.” 

“Are you okay?” Bucky never went back to bed. He was a strict, 5 am riser, didn’t go to sleep until 10. Every day. Every day that you knew him as long as he could help it. He had routine. He nods, taking a sip of tea and looking at you with half lidded eyes. 

“I’m fine.” 

It was a quiet moment. Peaceful for the first time since he couldn’t remember. This was worth it. It was worth it. All the sacrifices he’d made. Everything he had to do to get here. All of the pain it initially caused him, culminating to this moment. 

Peggy was still recovering, asleep just feet away. The first night of good rest in a long time. All due to the small bundle laying on Steve’s chest. The bare skin to skin contact he remembered was really good for babies. Calming. There was a rattle in your lungs still and he wondered if this was what it was like with his own Mother. 

Did she lay awake just like this, constantly making sure he was still breathing? The worry that doesn’t go away. He thought about his baby every minute of every day. Is she still breathing? Is she hungry? Does she need to be changed? 

He’d lay her out on a blanket in the living room. Her wide eyes watching him while he cleaned, cooing and babbling, wiggling on her belly or back. She was still so small, eating a couple ounces every few hours, needy, and cried more often than not. 

But this is why he came back. And it all made sense to him. 

He didn’t know he could love another person so much, and it terrifies him. 

The lake was calm. In any other circumstance you would think this would be a nice vacation. A cabin in the middle of nowhere, on a beautiful lake somewhere lost in the woods of upstate New York. You could almost imagine it with a blanket of snow, thick on the ground. Sitting on the porch covered in a blanket with a hot cup of coffee, maybe some tea or hot chocolate. 

You loved these runs now. Running with Bucky was better, but without was okay. Relaxing even. Your thoughts go blissfully blank as you listen to the birds chirping, sun coming up over the horizon and bathing the sky in soft blue light. 

You’ve seen him in the corners of your eyes, but never face to face. Steve. Your father. His ghost having haunted you for months now seems to be keeping himself away. Maybe his intervention only came with the cost of crisis and high stress, none of which you’d been feeling since you got back to the cabin with Bucky after seeing your parents. 

Something seemed to shift between the two of you that soothed that yandere type want you had for him. 

Yes, you still loved him immensely, but now he wasn’t pushing you away. 

Not really. 

He was affectionate. Years of being touch-starved and lonely meant he would spend a lot of time in the same room, something always touching. A shoulder, a hand. Your cheeks have stopped heating up from the contact when he twirls a strand of your hair around his finger while reading. 

But there was something there. Something that made him pull back. A forgetfulness he’d lose himself in for a minute, before he’d pull away, leave the room, or bashfully apologize and try to explain the behavior away. 

It’s hard. You know that. It was hard for you too. Both of you hadn’t talked about it since. Just like Steve the conversation seemed to be absent. 

He apologized for how distant he’d been before. And now it was safe to say you’d call him a friend, but this nagging in your chest, that pull of wanting those touches and wanting to say, “I’m completely fine with you touching me.” But you don’t because you don’t know if that’s Steve talking or you. 

Which now that you’ve discovered your parentage seemed a little gross. Your biological father, Captain America, loved this man. But you were starting to think, maybe you do too. 

You thought in passing about Strange’s words. What they implied. If Steve didn’t go back he would lose everything. It gave you a sinking feeling in your gut. What does that mean? What difference would you make towards the future of this world? A world you wouldn’t exist in if Tony Stark and Scott Lang hadn’t invented a time machine. 

It seemed insane that you wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for Thanos. 

You wouldn’t exist if Doctor Strange didn’t tell Steve to go back. 

Or if an older Steve didn’t tell Doctor Strange to tell the younger Steve to go back. 

It was complicated. 

But what seemed more complicated was Eric’s understanding of you not texting him back. 

“Don’t send anything out to him.” Bucky warned. Bucky was very clear about contact with people from the outside. The phone you’d been given was Stark technology, it was a closed and secure circuit for the most part, but Bucky didn’t trust Eric and he didn’t want to risk your location being given away just for you to tell him that you can’t talk right now. 

He didn’t seem to want to give up. You blocked his number this morning. 

“We’re going to work on your knife skills.” A brief flash of memory. The dexterity of his fingers flipping and tossing that knife from hand to hand throughout the fight. The ability of it was practiced and fluid. It was intimidating. “In the event you get close combat, we are going to pair your hand to hand skills and instead of you being on the defense it will give you leverage to take on the offense and take down your opponent.” 

Zemo was a fighter, but we’ve seen that he’s gotten men to do his dirty work for him. Never showing up, but having others show up to fight for his cause. 

“I just don’t know how I feel about stabbing someone.” You stand across from him on the mat, a dummy knife in his hand. His eyebrow raised, 

“You’ve crushed someone’s windpipe before.” 

“It was an accident.” You defended. “I wasn’t in control.” He stands still for a minute before sighing, 

“I don’t want you to have to stab anyone either,” honestly, “But in the event that it’s you or them… I’d rather you be prepared to take them down any way possible.” 

This little dummy knife fit in your hand like a real knife, but had a blunt end unable to actually harm someone other than a couple bruises. Yeah, you could probably crush someone’s windpipe with this, but you quickly dismiss the thought and look back up at Bucky. He had an identical dummy knife. You watched his fingers flip the dummy knife back and forth over his hand. Over and under his fingers, smooth and easy. 

“It’s an extension of your arm.” He explains. “You should think of it that way, make sure you keep a steady grip, not too tight but not loose either.” 

The sun was hot on your back, mid spring in full swing the temperatures were rising to mid-60s and 70s every day. You could feel the sweat running down your back as you flipped the dummy knife from one hand, trying to catch it with the other, Bucky’s elbow meeting your stomach, the dummy knife falling and your back hitting the mat, wheezing. 

“You’re overthinking.” His hand gripped your forearm, your hand gripping his as he pulled you up from the mat. “You can do this. Try again.” 

A reset in stance, you tried to remember the first time Steve saw him again. When he was still the Winter Soldier. The way he fought. It’s the same way he fights now, the style ingrained in him from 70 years of practice. The Winter Soldier did well on the offense, he came in hot, overpowering. That’s what Bucky still does and he didn’t like being on the defense which had been shown to you when he taught you hand to hand. 

Bucky was good at gaining the offense and backing people into a corner. That’s what he’s teaching you to do. Gain the offense, take down your opponent, don’t let them keep you on the defense. 

You need to run at him first. And you do, your arm goes up ready to bring the ‘knife’ into his shoulder, his arm coming up to block, you drop the ‘knife’ from your right hand down to your left, waiting, bringing the ‘knife’ to his gut. His hand grabs your wrist, you twist your body to make his grip awkward and yours sure. A pause. Unsure what to do. That’s your mistake. His elbow meets your arm, the nerves of your arm spasming and releasing the dummy knife, his foot meets the back of your knee and causes you to drop, your knee giving out and putting you in a lunge on the mat. 

“How do you recover?” He pauses. You have one free hand, his body is above yours, standing firm and gripping your captured wrist tightly. You debate for a second, taking your free hand to mimic a cheap shot without actually hitting him where it really hurts, his hips back away from your oncoming fist regardless, at the same time dropping your weight down and dragging him to the floor. You quickly grab the discarded dummy knife, flipping him onto his stomach and twisting your fingers into his hair, sitting on the middle of his back you grip the strands tightly and yank his head back, sticking the ‘knife’ to his throat. 

A pause to catch your breath before releasing his hair and rolling off of his back, staring up at the sky beginning to gather clouds. 

“Good job.” A sigh as he rolled onto his back beside you. “You’re getting better.” 

“What did Sam say this morning?” You asked, both of you now rolling the mat to save it from the oncoming rain. Bucky lifted the mat over his shoulder, bringing it up onto the porch and depositing it on the side of the house. 

“He wanted to check in, they’re finishing up cleaning Times Square and they’ve had meetings with Pepper about donation money.” There’s guilt in your gut, acidic and raw. And as if reading your mind he continued, “We didn’t know he was going to do this Y/N. You didn’t know he was going to do this.” That’s what probably hurt the most. Not having the control to stop something so horrifying. 

You almost watched the news to punish yourself at this point. The death toll. People crying about missing family members. Bucky had caught you more than once, scolding you, shutting off the tv before pulling you into his side and giving you a minute to cry. It was heartbreaking. But you couldn’t help it. 

The guilt festered in your stomach. It ate at you relentlessly. You wanted to get out there. You wanted to stop him, but was that nature or nurture? With the revelation of your parentage you wondered if it was the biology or the heart giving you an intense craving for  justice. 

“I have to make this right.” You told him. The sun setting below the horizon, Bucky took a step towards you on the porch, placing his hands just above your elbows. “I can’t let him get away with this.”

“And we won’t.” He soothes, “But I’m not going to put you in danger.” You scoff, removing yourself from his grip. 

“The people in Times Square weren’t given a choice.” You could see his jaw clench, the muscles twitching. “What else did Sam say?” Bucky tugged his bottom lip between his teeth before sucking in making a ‘tsk’ sound. 

“They’re closing in on Tanzania, where Zemo has some allies. They’re trying to get confirmation on the gun running they’re doing there…” Bucky’s eyes looked over your shoulder, sighing, before returning to yours. “We think he’s also trafficking humans.” Funding an international crime ring was hard work. You could taste the bile bubbling in your stomach. 

“So what do we do?” 

“Sam is taking care of it.” 

“So nothing?” Bucky rolled his eyes, hands on his hips, a heavy sigh, “Bucky, I’m just saying, we’ve been out here for almost two weeks. I’ve improved. I literally took you down just forty minutes ago.” 

“Because you needed a win.” He admits. 

“So you let me take you down?” The anger was palpable. You knew he could feel it. You felt confident after holding that dummy knife to his throat. You felt like you could actually do something, actually maybe defend yourself, and apparently you were wrong. 

“Yes.” 

You turned abruptly, taking a step away from him before making a split second decision. You turned back quickly, throwing a fist at his face. One he easily dodged, bringing your other hand to meet his dodge, having him lean into the fist coming to his gut. A step backward. His arm reaches out, going to grab your arm but you drop down, foot hooking around the back of his knee, yanking forward he falls off balance. A quick flip and he regains composure, coming forward to grab your wrists quickly. He crosses them, spinning you around to hold your back against his chest, wrapping your arms around your body. You push off the ground, hard, butting your head against his nose and knocking the both of you to the ground as his grip didn’t relent. 

“Y/N, stop!” He grips you tighter, the muscles in your shoulders straining in his grip. It was a blindingly clear sign. You weren’t ready. And it was endlessly frustrating. Hot tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. You stopped struggling. His grip loosened. “It’s okay,” He says, “You’re okay.” He was bent over your back, legs framing yours, arms still wrapped around you. The tears didn’t fall this time. Your heavy breathing synced with his and you leaned back against him, resting the back of your head against his shoulder, looking back out onto the lake, the sky now dark. 

“Listen to me,” he says, “We are going to stop him.” His thumb softly tracing your skin. “We are all doing what we can right now, and I need you to understand that doing what you can doesn’t mean you’re not doing anything.” 

“You said that to Steve.” His hold loosened. You turned to look him in the eyes, his lips parted, close. “I’m not Steve.” 

“I know you’re not-”

“No,” You shake your head, “I don’t think you do.” You push yourself up from the ground, heading towards the front door, and into the house. 

...

“This is Atlas, checking in.” The recording started, “Moves are being made. It should be time to progress with the plan, but I've hit a small snag. I’m sure I can get it worked out shortly in one way or another.” A pause. “Cell 229 has been compromised.” 

Zemo clicked off the recording, before replaying. 

“This is Atlas, checking in…”

.

.

.

tagged //  @nutellakirb @witch-of-letters @torntaltos @emotionallysalty @an-lover @lbuck121 @rainbowkisses31​ @artisticrogers1972 @flightlessbirdiee @sanniegirl1214 @sarcastic-and-cool @sincerelymlg @justanotherpaigeinthechapter @albinotigerpython​  @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @the-soulofdevil​ @tinmunky​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious

[ragwitch]

Halloween prompts: wintershock for #13 To a fortune teller- 'I'm about to ask you out on a date, so I really hope the next card you turn over is 'The Lovers.'’ please please please? you are my favorite.

Lady love you are my favorite too! Here’s some wintershock meets queenie and bloom’s traveling emporium

13. To a fortune teller- 'I’m about to ask you out on a date, so I really hope the next card you turn over is 'The Lovers.’ 

Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes

Rating: G

He was on his way out of the New Montreal neighborhood when Hydra caught his tail. He ducked through the beaded curtain of a little airstream trailer parked along the sidewalk. There was a chalkboard sign outside advertising “Good Fortunes” in curling purple letters and a woman—a girl, no…a woman—inside wearing a soft purple sweater, thick glasses, and jeans ripped at the knees. He looked her over, searching for the threat, and stopped on her black socks decorated with little shooting stars.

“You can sit down,” she said, standing over a hot plate where a kettle was working up steam. “I’m making myself tea. Do you want a leaf reading?”

“No,” he said, and his tone was too gruff. He cleared his throat as she raised an eyebrow at her little floral teapot. “Nah, don’t like tea.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not like it all tastes the same but, sure, okay.”

Bucky swallowed and his eyes scanned the trailer. There was a knife out on the tiny kitchenette counter, fairly dull looking, and it was sitting next to a loaf of bread that looked moist and drizzled with sugar and made his mouth water just looking at it.

“Would you like a slice?” she asked. “It’s a nutty spice loaf. I found it at the market up a ways.”

He swallowed. “No, thank you,” he said, managing to sound normal this time.

“Just here for a standard card reading then?” she asked.

The space was too tight, but she had a window open over the little sink and he could get out the roof hatch in a pinch. He shifted in place, eyeing out the bead curtain and watched as two Hydra agents walked out of the coffee shop three doors down. The fortune teller was pouring herself a mug of tea by the hot plate.

“Umm…how much is it?” he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and then back to her tea, flipping the switch off and pulling a tea bag out of the little pot to dry on a small plate.

“Eight dollars,” she said, voice a little too high.

He stared at her as she shuffled past him to a small table where a deck of cards—gold ouroborus twisting on a black background—waited next to a collection of water rings all layered on top of one another on the surface of the wood. It was too low of a fee he realized. She thought he couldn’t afford whatever she usually charged. But she was still letting him stay?

He sat down at the table across from her, turning the chair to face out so he could keep watch.

“I’m going to shuffle, and then I’ll cut,” she said as he looked around.

He studied the odd assortment of books on palmistry and politics in history and romance novels that lined a single shelf. The little spiny plants that grew out of small pots over her kitchen area. The glittering curtains that hung over the far end of room, hiding the bed from view.

“Now, you pick.” Bucky looked back at the table as the cards snapped against the surface and bright turquoise nails split the deck into three piles.

He picked the center pile and her lips twitched and then settled. She put the deck back in order and began turning cards out onto the surface.

Bucky didn’t really know anything about fortune telling but he could tell by the pictures that it wasn’t much of good news.

_

Darcy let the man sit and absorb the images from his reading, going back to her teapot to refill her mug. She blinked away tears that had started gathering somewhere around The Devil…only three cards in, and it felt like hours ago. This poor dude.

“Where’d you learn to do all this?”

She spun in step and leaned back against her counter. He had his fingertip on the edge of the last card, The Fool, a new beginning, the most optimistic part of the whole reading.

“The internet,” she said, smiling as his eyes widened for a moment. She felt something flip inside her chest as he smiled back. “It’s kind of lame, I know. But I’d just dropped out of college and I needed something to learn and now…”

“You undercharge yourself for strangers,” he said.

The laugh burst out of her. She tucked it away behind her hand and watched as another smile snuck its way across his face.

“Well given how it turned out, I kind of feel like I ripped you off,” she said, wincing at her loose mouth as he looked back down to the cards on the tables.

“Nothin’ there I didn’t already know,” he said softly.

“You need a ride out of town?” The words came unbidden and for a moment they stared at each other blankly. She chewed at the corner of her lip and continued, “I’m headed out to Saratoga Springs for an arts festival tomorrow. If you stay in the bed as I go through border control you should be okay.”

“Doll, you shouldn’t go around offering rides to strangers,” he said, and his whisper was warm.

“I don’t normally,” she said.

His brow was furrowed and anxious and Darcy realized that he’d started to stretch out in the chair, the tension in his shoulders unspiraling the longer he stayed. His spine was straight now, balls of his feet braced against the floor in preparation to run. She pushed herself up to perch on the edge of her sink, giving him a few more inches of breathing room, and watched as he eased a fraction in the chair.

“It’s up to you,” she said, shrugging. “But I’m heading out before it gets dark.”

_

Saratoga was good to Darcy. She was just a few booths away from a local winery and the customers seemed to trickle right down into her trailer, giggling and laying twenties down cheerfully for any kind of reading she felt like doing. She even got to test out her phrenology skills when a floppy haired stoner dude let her give him a head massage.

The festival was winding down and she was cleaning up teacups and little plates of sweet bread when the beads over her doorway jangled behind her back.

“Sorry, I’m just clos- Oh, hey. James.”

He was standing just outside the trailer, gloved hand pushing the curtain aside but not moving into her space.

“Darcy,” he said, smiling. “How’d it go?”

“Really well. You?” He shrugged and she hesitated for a moment before rushing ahead with her question. “You wanna be my driving buddy on the way to Rochester?”

_

James—Bucky, he’d said it eventually and Darcy thought she might know now why he was running but she didn’t mind—rode with her through Ohio and Kentucky and along the length of Tennessee before they every really mentioned the idea of him tagging along…permanently.

“What am I gonna do?”

“You’re my muscle,” Darcy said shrugging. “You’re already driving for me.”

“You’re a bad driver, doll.”

“I am,” she agreed. “Which is why it’s so nice to have someone doing that for me.”

There was a long stretch of quiet—broken by the sound of Darcy crunching on rye chips. She stretched her leg down the length of the bench seat and toed gently at his thigh.

“S’not safe for you,” he said and she had to stop chewing to hear the words.

“You’d leave if you needed to,” she said and his head twitched in her direction. “I’ve always known that, okay? But just admit that you’re sticking around till you can’t anymore.”

His hands squeezed around the steering wheel and then he glanced at her, that small smile growing on his face that she loved drawing out.

“Guess I better learn a thing or two.”

_

“Okay so just start small. Three cards,” she said as Bucky restacked the deck in his hands. He’d taken off the glove somewhere between New Orleans and San Antonio and the metal fingers whistled as they ran along the smooth edges of the cards.

“Past,” Darcy said as he turned over the first card.

“Three of coins,” he said. “This is about…trade or skills?���

“Yeah, in my case it’s about school probably,” Darcy said shrugging. “Something I’ve left behind. Now, present.”

“Two of wands. S’like an opportunity?”

“And travel,” she said and they grinned at one another. “You’ve been paying attention.”

He shrugged a little and she could have sworn she saw a blush peeking up over the edges of the beard he’d been growing out. “Future next?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. Seeing his thumb flip up the corner of the card she blurted out, “I’m about to ask you out on a date so I really hope the next card you turn over is ‘The Lovers’”

Bucky’s thumb froze, slipped between the face of the card and the table as his blue eyes grew wide, staring back at hers. He relaxed after a moment and smiled. “Don’t need to be a fortune teller to tell you my answer to that, doll. What’d you have in mind?”

“Turn the card over first,” she said.

He flipped and never looked down but she caught sight of the two figures entwined together in the image before his fingers wove through hers on the table top.

“You wanna go to Phoenix together?” she asked, fighting off her grin.

He laughed, sinking back into his chair. Their arms stretched across the table top, knees bumping together underneath.