#james bucky buchanan barnes

[fckmebarnes]

"people are allowed to dislike things"

WRONG. NO ONE is allowed to dislike bucky barnes.

[navybrat817]

Diamonds and Steel - Intro

Pairing: Retired Hitman!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky treats you to a getaway, but peace won't last for long.

Word Count: Over 3.3k

Warnings: Smut, unprotected v. sex (wrap it before you tap it), possessive behavior, established relationship, dirty talk, talk of violence and nightmares, world building, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: So, I wrote this intro months ago. I feel like this Bucky would get along with our alpha. Thanks @targaryenvampireslayer for letting me (s)cream about this. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The sun shining in from the balcony door woke you slowly. You weren't sure what time it was as you squinted against the brightness with a small stretch, the spacious bedroom becoming brighter with each passing second. You had only been in the villa for a day, but it was your new favorite place. Thanks in large part to the person who brought you here. 

A smile touched your face when the hand on your hip gripped you tighter. Carefully turning to face the man beside you who still had his eyes closed, you took the opportunity to run your fingers through his long dark hair. Your smile widened when he leaned into your touch. Asleep or awake, he always sought it out. And this was a person who didn't let most people touch him. 

But I can because he’s my man. 

Bucky Barnes, a man who was intimidating even laying down. Tall with wide shoulders, built like a warrior with a few scars to prove it. You moved a finger through his nearly trimmed beard and almost wished he'd open his steely eyes so you could gaze into them. He unnerved many with his stare, but he always looked at you as if you were the reason he saw the light of day. Burying your face in his neck with a sigh, it gave you a sense of peace when he pulled you closer to him on instinct. 

“Morning, my treasure.” The affectionate pet name was one you'd never grow tired of. It did make you giggle the first time he called you that. He had lots of money, more than you could ever fathom, and could buy all the treasures he could ever desire, yet he thought you were treasure. His most precious thing. 

“Morning,” you whispered, shifting so your body could melt into his more. 

He moaned appreciatively as your hips moved closer. “How did you sleep?” He tipped your chin up so he could look at you, the sleep fading quickly from his eyes. It didn't matter that he just woke up, he looked as handsome as ever and knocked the wind right out of you. It was highly doubtful you looked beautiful having just woken up, but he’d say looked perfect if you asked. 

“I slept well,” you answered. You had good dreams, including one of the two of you sitting on soft white sand and watching the waves crash in the glittering ocean. You could go anywhere in the world you wanted now thanks to him. “Did you?”

Bucky warned you when you entered your relationship with him that he sometimes had trouble sleeping. Bouts of insomnia and occasional nightmares. You witnessed one first-hand near the beginning when he woke up in a cold sweat, his hand clenched like he was holding a weapon and empty eyes like he couldn't see what was right in front of him. He didn't like to talk about his past and could only tell you later on that all he saw were bullets and blood. 

His haunted gaze broke your heart. 

“Slept very well. I had very good dreams.” His nose brushed your forehead before his lips touched it. You were happy to hear that. “In fact, I can show you exactly what I dreamt about if you’d like.”

Need slammed into you at the implication, your palms itching to feel his hardened body as he held you closer. You wanted to trace the scars, the tattoos. Every inch of him. “Sure you don't want breakfast first?”

Bucky didn't ask for much. One of the only things he requested when you began your journey together was that you’d sit and have meals with him. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was a time for the two of you to talk about anything and everything, though he preferred to focus on the present and the future instead of the past. You understood. You didn't like dwelling on the past either since your life was much happier now. 

He arched an eyebrow, looking cool as ever. “What if I want you for breakfast?” He brought his lips to yours, not giving you a chance to argue that you hadn't brushed your teeth. He didn't care about things like that. “You wouldn't let me starve, would you?”

The low heat from his voice seared through your core, wrapping around you like the satin sheet that covered you both. It was the only thing covering you in fact, your clothes strewn across the floor the night before. He had you keep the diamond pendant on, a gift he had given you when you arrived at the villa. It was beautiful.

The diamond to his steel.

“As if you’d ever starve. Your appetite for me is borderline gluttonous,” you teased. Guilt flickered in his eyes before you put a hand to his cheek, his expression shifting back to normal. “Hey, I didn't mean that in a bad way. I love that you want me.”

Oh, did Bucky want you. His face buried between your thighs, his cock spearing you open. If he didn't have you in bed, he had you against a wall or bent over the nearest surface. Not a day went by that he didn't give you at least one orgasm, like he was making up for lost time apart before you even knew each other. It didn't make sense to you some days that a man as gorgeous and worldly as him could have anyone he wanted, but chose you. 

“And I love you wanting me,” he said. You didn't just want him. You ached for him, inside and out. How could one man hold such power over you? To be fair, the balance of power was equal in some ways since you affected him the same way.

“How could I not want you? Even if I resisted, your skills of seduction are dangerous.”

You gasped when a massive thigh pushed between your legs. “Moya Sladkaya, you think I’m seductive?” he purred, making you shiver as the sound vibrated through your body.

“Yes and you know you are.” You bit your lip as his thigh shifted, gliding along your heat. It was tempting to ride it. “Your voice, your eyes, your mouth, your body. Partially why you became my sugar daddy.”

He growled as he suddenly rolled on top of you. “I'm your boyfriend,” he corrected you, holding your gaze. He looked hungry. “Who happened to wipe out your debt the way a sugar daddy would.”

“That’s still crazy to me,” you remarked. 

“That I wiped out your debt or that I’m your boyfriend?”

You twirled a bit of his hair around your finger. “Both,” you whispered. Living a debt free life was something you hadn't thought possible until he showed up. Now you had a life without the stress of bills and work, and also one where you felt loved and cared for. He gave you that and more. “But it’s crazy in the best possible way.”

“So it’s a good thing I'm crazy about you,” he smirked.

“Crazy about me?” You put a hand to his forehead. “Hmm. I think you should have your head examined.”

Bucky took your hand and brought it to his mouth, his expression blank. “No one needs to look inside my head,” he said, his eyes warm again as he kissed your palm. It seemed to push out whatever memory undoubtedly crept into his mind. “Because if someone could, they’d see all the dirty things I've done to you and no one else needs to see that.”

You giggled as he nudged your legs apart. “Yes, you’ve done a lot of dirty things to me,” you teased, your eyes slipping shut as he peppered kisses along your jaw and neck. Just two days ago he had you naked in his lap with your arms tied behind your back while he fed you dessert. And then he had you for dessert. “You’re insatiable.”

The gentle scrape of his teeth over your neck set your blood on fire. “If I’m insatiable, it’s your fault. One look at you and I was a goner,” he whispered, a hand moving possessively between your bodies. His thumb brushed your nipple into a taut peak, your back arching to seek out more of him. “You brought beauty and joy back to my world. You saved me, you know that?”

Unexpected tears burned behind your lids. He lived in a world of gray for so long. The least you could do after everything was bring him some light. “You saved me, too,” you breathed. He got to be your hero. You got to be his treasure. A fair trade in his eyes.

You gasped when he nipped at your racing pulse. “Don’t do that. Don't compliment me. This isn’t about me.” Both of you had a tendency to deflect praise at times, but it was something you were working on. And while he didn’t view himself as a hero, he did save you in his own way. 

“You’re a good man,” you said softly, fiercely. He didn't think he was because of some of the things he had done, because of the blood on his hands, but he wasn’t a bad person. “I mean it, Bucky.”

He sighed, scraping his beard against your skin affectionately. “I know you do.” He took his time sliding his hand down your torso, your breath leaving your lungs at the same slow speed. “But I want to compliment you, so take what I give you.”

You'd be sure to compliment him again later. “Not the only thing you’ll tell me to take, is it?” You giggled when he growled again. Getting under his skin was a lot of fun. “We both know I take you so well. Just like I take every drop you spill into me, no matter which hole you choose.”

He made a sound between a moan and a growl. You didn't think your dirty talk was the best by any means, but he loved it. “And you call me insatiable,” he said, his fingers exquisitely gentle as they found your wetness. “Always wet and ready for me, eager for me to fill all of your holes.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you groaned, feeling the evidence of his arousal press against you. Thick. Hard. You shuddered with the need for him to just take you. “Actually, you have every right to be cocky. You’ve ruined me.”

He brought his face up to yours, close enough that he breathed against your lips. “I haven't ruined you yet.” His promise had you trembling, wishing he’d tear you apart without a second thought. 

You leaned up and pressed your lips to his, heat curling in your stomach as he slipped a calloused finger inside you. Your hands moved to his arms, his muscles rippling as he pumped it deep. Your sensitive walls clenched as he added another, a delicious tease of what was to come. How did your need for him continue to grow with each day that passed?

Bucky broke the kiss, your breathing heavy as he continued to toy with you. “After breakfast, I want your cunt pulsing on my tongue,” he whispered as he broke the kiss, a thrill shooting from your head to your toes. You’d be content to spend the rest of your life sitting on his face if you could get away with it.

“Bucky, please,” you begged, pleasure mounting as his fingers curled. You tried to hold back the familiar cresting waves, wanting his cock inside you when you let it wash over you. “Make love to me. Fuck me. Just get your cock in me.”

Slowly removing his fingers, your hole clenching around nothing, he smirked as he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean. The stark hunger in his gaze at the taste of you nearly made you orgasm. “Well, since you’re so desperate for me,” he teased, gripping the base of his cock and lining the head against your hole. 

“I’m desperate?” Your voice cracked when he slid into you in one deep thrust. Your fingers dug into his biceps, adjusting to the size of him as he looked into your eyes. He was searching for any discomfort or pain. There was none there. Your body would always welcome him home. 

“Yes. Desperate.” You couldn't deny that when Bucky moved his hips. Deep, long strokes, the drag of his cock making you feel almost mindless. No one before him made you desperate. No one else ever would. “Wet. Tight. Beautiful. Perfect.”

You gasped, rolling your hips up to meet his. “I’m not-” He cut you off with a kiss, silencing your protest that you weren't perfect. You were anything but. Like everyone, you had flaws. Imperfections. It was like he didn't see them or they didn't exist in his eyes. 

“Yes, you fucking are,” he growled, making you cry out when he thrust hard. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he crushed your chests together, your heart matching the rhythm of his. You held onto him like you never wanted to let him go. “My perfect treasure.”

Heat engulfed you as he reached between you and slid his fingers along your clit. Your hips bucked, your arousal climbing and taking you higher. The handsome man above you canting his hips and groaning as you keened had your body begging for release. 

“Bucky, please. I need to come,” you whined. You didn't need his permission, but you still begged for it. 

He watched your blissful expression with dark eyes and a devilish smirk. “That’s what I dreamt about.” His rumbling words had your thighs trembling. “You underneath me, taking every inch of my cock, begging to come.”

A hand worked its way to his hair and gripped it, trying to ground yourself from the sensations rushing through you. The edges of your vision blurred as your body wound tighter, ready to give yourself over to the pleasure only he could provide. “Please, Bucky,” you said. At least you thought you said it. The waves were ready to sweep you away. 

“Come for me.” His husky voice wasn't one to be denied. “Make my dream come true.”

Your head fell back, your walls fluttering around his cock as you went over the precipice. Blood roared in your ears, but you could still hear him moan your name as you spiraled out of control. His body followed your lead, pumping his hips a few more times before he came with a deep moan. Feeling him flood your insides and seeing ecstasy fill his gorgeous eyes made you grip him like a vice all over again. 

Bucky pulled you close when he gently collapsed on the bed, staying inside you as long as he could. Your body fit against his like you were designed just for him and you couldn't help but smile as you caught your breath. He smiled, too. A gorgeous, carefree smile. 

“Dream come true?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat when his smile widened and eyes crinkled. 

“Even better,” he whispered, cupping your cheek and skimming his lips against yours in a soft kiss. “Can we just stay like this?

You rubbed your cheek against his hand as the hazy cloud lifted. “If that’s what you want.”

“I meant forever,” he half teased, his hand reaching for yours to trace your bare finger.

Butterflies filled your stomach. It wasn’t a proposal, but it still felt like he was asking in a way. “Do you mean in this bed? As long as we can have our meals here and do movie nights. Oh, and a way to clean the sheets because they’ll be filthy.”

His eyes crinkled again as he chuckled. How did a laugh sound both wholesome and seductive? That was the power of Bucky Barnes. “And sex to keep us in shape,” he said, pulling the sheet more over you. “Sounds perfect, even if I don’t deserve it.”

You tilted your head, gazing at the man who turned your world upside down as the happiness slowly slipped from his face. Like how your body ached for his, your heart ached for him, too. “You do deserve this. You're not a bad man, Bucky.” He needed to hear it again. You'd tell him as many times as it took until it sank in. 

His jaw twitched, his eyes holding a hint of regret. “I’ve killed people,” he reminded you in an even tone.

“I know,” you whispered. You accepted that it was part of his past and who he was. You accepted him. “That doesn’t make you unworthy of me.”

His eyes closed, his hold on you firmer. “It would almost be easier if you condemned me, but I’m a selfish man who wouldn’t be able to let you go.”

Your heart swelled. He was so gone for you. “I’m not asking you to let me go,” you said, turning his head back to you until his eyes opened. “I’m your treasure, remember? Yours to keep.”

The hard edges to his face softened once again. “C’mere,” he breathed. You met him halfway when he leaned in, his lips only on yours for a second when the doorbell rang. You were about to ask if he was expecting company, but he didn’t have to with the way his body tensed. He turned away from you, his phone in hand to check the camera at the front door. Security was important to him. “What the hell?”

“Who is it?” You sat up, not bothering to cover yourself as he got up and threw something on. You couldn’t even appreciate the view since his entire demeanor changed. “And should I go with you?”

His jaw twitched again. “Delivery guy dropped something off and left. Hang back a little,” he answered before he grabbed you a robe. He’d preferred you close as opposed to being in the bedroom alone. “I don’t want anyone seeing you if they’re still nearby.”

“Lots of people see me,” you tried to joke. You stopped smiling when he swung his head your way. He took your safety very seriously. “I’ll hang back.”

Taking your hand, he headed to the front of the villa. Your legs shook a bit, but you blamed that on the orgasm he gave you and not fear. He stopped you before you could reach the door, giving you a quick, hard kiss. It left you breathless when he pulled away. “Stay right here,” he whispered, your heart pounding as he grabbed one of his many hidden guns. 

Weapons everywhere, a habit he’d never break.

You couldn’t see his expression when he went out to retrieve whatever was dropped off, but you understood his paranoia since he lived a dangerous life before. Not a lot of people knew where you were going on this vacation and he clearly wasn't expecting a delivery. “What is it?” you asked once he put the gun away and went back to you. A smile touched your lips when you saw the arrangement of various red flowers. “Those are beautiful.”

“They’re addressed to you.” He plucked the card from the holder to show you, his mouth set in a grim line. “But I didn’t order these.”

Dread filled you as you took the card from him and turned it over. Your name was the only thing written on it, minus a small stamp in the corner you hadn’t seen before: a heart and dagger. “Well, if you didn’t get me these, who did?”

“Someone from my past,” he said so quietly he almost missed it. 

Your eyes widened. “Why would someone from your past send me flowers?” As far as you knew he didn't keep in touch with most of his old associates. “And how do they know we’re here?”

You stopped breathing when you saw his eyes. Cold. Deadly. “That’s what I'm going to find out.”

So much for staying in bed today.

OOH. What do we think so far? I wonder who from Bucky's past is going to pop up and why. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[lessersole]

The Catch

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Platonic!Yelena

Summary: Bucky comes to the rescue when being Yelena's roommate makes things dangerous for you.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: attempted abduction. Mentions of alcohol. Bucky on a motorbike!

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

“So what’s the catch?”

“What catch? There’s no catch.”

You raise an eyebrow at the blonde’s suspiciously nonchalant reply. “This apartment is huge. You’re only looking for one roommate, I haven’t seen a single rat or cockroach and the rent is way, way lower than anything else in the city. There has to be a catch.”

Yelena shrugs, “No catch. It’s not huge, and I’m only looking for one roommate because there are only two bedrooms.”

“And the rent is so low because…” you prompt.

She gives you a sly smile, “I can ask you for more if you like.”

“Come on, Yelena. Roommates should be honest with each other, right?”

The Russian rolls her eyes. “The rent is low because I pay most of it. I just need someone to cover the extra. And I want to make friends.”

You narrow your eyes. “No one wants friends that badly.”

“Okaaay,” she responds, before admitting in a rush, “I may be sort of an ex-spy-slash-assassin and some people are weird about that, but it’s totally safe, I’m a good guy, no bad guys will come here or anything, I’m just a normal person living a normal life.”

Your mouth drops open, “I’m sorry, what?!”

Yelena sighs, “It’s not a big deal. And I was brainwashed to do it, but that’s all gone now, it was chemicals, they’re neutralised, no problem.”

You stare at her in astonishment, blinking rapidly. “And - what do you do now?”

She mumbles something inaudible.

“Uhh…?” you hesitate.

“I sort of - work for the government,” Yelena admits.

“You know that sounds like you’re a spy, right?”

She frowns at you, “I’m not a spy.”

“But you couldn’t tell me if you were, right?”

She flings her arms up in frustration, “I don’t know the spy rules! I’m not a spy.”

“Any more,” you point out.

“Any more,” she confirms, “So do you want the room or not?”

You look around at by far the nicest apartment you’ve seen since in your weeks of searching. The thought of living somewhere that would easily pass a health code inspection, without dozens of roommates to fight over the bathroom with, and that wouldn’t mean a multi-hour commute to work is tempting enough to overlook almost anything.

Glancing at Yelena as you weigh up your options, you notice a shimmer of something beneath her defensive exterior. Maybe she really is lonely.

“You promise you won’t be, uh, bringing your work home with you?” You ask.

She brightens, nodding, “Yes, definitely not. All fun here.”

Sucking your teeth, and hoping you won’t regret this, you take a big breath before answering, “Okay, I’m in. I’ll take the room.”

Yelena squeals in delight and wraps you in an excited hug, “I’ll be the best roommate ever, you’ll see.”

—

Six months later and Yelena has more than lived up to her promise. Your shared apartment has become a serene respite from the busy chaos of work and city life, and she’s clearly delighted to have a new friend. Your own friends have warmly welcomed her into the group, and she’s often with you for nights out bar-hopping, or happily joins you in hosting movie nights for everyone.

Yelena’s also frequently away for days or weeks at a time on work trips that you’ve learnt not to ask about, and you enjoy having the time and space to yourself. Right now, she’s been away for four days, and you’re not expecting her back until early next week, so you decide to reward yourself for making it through to another Friday with take-out and wine. Pouring yourself a glass after ordering a pizza, you’re just about to take the first sip when there’s a knock at the door. Confused - the food couldn’t possibly have come that fast - you set down your drink and move to squint through the peephole.

Standing outside your front door is possibly the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. A mess of dark hair hangs above shadowed eyes that give way to high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, soft cupid’s bow lips and a razor-sharp jawline covered in thick stubble. His broad shoulders and clearly muscular arms are straining the leather of his jacket, and you’re momentarily hypnotised by the way the shirt underneath clings to his chest.

Taking a breath and letting your brain remind your body that this Adonis is a complete stranger, you slip the chain onto the door before opening it enough to peer through at him.

“Hi,” you say, wondering if he’s got the wrong door, and if so, what you can do to make it the right one.

His eyes flicker over what he can see of you before they meet yours, the blue shock of his searching gaze almost making you miss his low voice speaking your name like a question. You blink in confusion, “Do I know you? I think I’d remember if we’d met.”

“You don’t know me,” he confirms, trying to look past you into the apartment. “Are you alone?”

A finger of suspicion chills the playful heat inside you. “That’s a pretty creepy question to open with,” you tell him with a nervous laugh, hoping there’s an explanation that ends with him being completely non-threatening and asking you on a date.

His eyes meet yours again. “I work with Yelena. Someone got hold of her address, found out she lives with someone and is highly likely to be sending a team over to abduct you. You need to come with me. Now.”

“Ah - what?” You’re still more suspicious than panicked, “If that’s even true, how do I know you’re not the guy coming to abduct me?”

Can you blame the wine you almost drunk for the thought that you wouldn’t mind being abducted by this guy?

“Because if I was abducting you,” he growls, “this door would be in pieces and you would already be tied up in my car.”

You swallow, hard.

The man takes a deep breath as he glances around the corridor, trying to be patient. “Look, I’m Bucky. Yelena must have mentioned me?”

You shake your head, “No. She doesn’t really talk about work.”

Bucky grumbles something under his breath, “We might not have much time. Can you at least grab what you’ll need for an overnight while you decide if you’re going to trust me?”

If you’d met this guy in a bar you’d be more than happy to spend the night with him, but under these circumstances, you’re still suspicious. You narrow your eyes. “Fine.”

You actually have a go-bag prepared already - you weren’t going to be too cavalier about living with an ex-assassin/current probable spy - but as you shut the door on Bucky, you decide now’s a good time to call Yelena.

Ignoring his voice through the door saying that you could at least leave it open, you tug your bag out of the hall closet while you find her number. Yelena’s asked you to avoid calling her when she’s at work, but you can’t think of any other way to verify what Bucky’s telling you.

As it rings, you sling the bag over your shoulder and let your eyes drift to the floor of your open bedroom, where the glow of the city through the large window falls on the floor. Frowning, you notice a shadow blocking the lower corner and let out an exasperated sigh. Your neighbour seems to think the fire escape outside your apartment is a great place for him to store his overflowing junk, but Yelena seemed to have scared him off doing it for a while. As you're making a mental note to speak to him about it, the shadow moves. You freeze. Pigeons maybe? On top of the junk? You slowly step backwards, raking your mind to remember if you’d seen anything there earlier.

Just as the phone rings out, switching to Yelena’s generic voicemail message, there’s the unmistakable smash of breaking glass, followed by alarmingly fast, heavy footsteps. You spin around, but before you can even take a step, whoever’s come through the window grabs you from behind. You open your mouth, sucking in air to scream at the top of your lungs, but the attacker clamps a hand over your mouth and nose. You’re instantly choked as you try to breathe around a sweet-smelling piece of fabric, and as you struggle, you feel a sharp scratch on the side of your neck. Your thoughts go fuzzy, and even as you try to squirm out of the tight grasp, your body slackens. The violent cracking and splintering sounds coming from your doorway echo into the background, and darkness consumes you.

—

You surface slowly back to consciousness. There’s a roaring in your ears, and your body is heavy, unable to move, or even to open your eyes. You’re aware of a constant cold wind at your back and running through your fingers, hands buffeted by the air. Your face is pressed into something warm and firm, and something hard as metal is wrapped around you, holding you in place.

You remember being at your apartment. The window smashing, the footsteps, being grabbed - you force your body to move, eyes flying open, limbs flailing haphazardly and snapping your head up, only to bash into something hard.

“Shit!” Bucky’s expletive is audible over the engine noise as your sudden movement throws him off balance, making the bike he’s controlling with one hand swerve on the road. You realise all at once that the roaring sound was the motorbike, currently speeding down a dark highway. You’re facing backwards, basically in Bucky’s lap, both your legs thrown over his, his left arm holding you close to him.

The shock makes you cry out, but all that emerges through your still waking mouth is an addled groan, although your arms instinctively reach up to cling onto Bucky’s solid form.

His gravelly voice is close in your ear, “Hang on.”

The bike slows to a stop at the side of the road, and Bucky leans back to assess you.

“You okay?” He asks. The road is too shadowed for you to make out whether his frown is of concern or irritation.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, vocal chords just about working as you scramble to get off him. Your legs are still half asleep, and Bucky’s strong hand on your side is the only thing that stops you falling to the ground. He follows you off the bike much more gracefully, and helps you stand, one hand still on your waist, the other on your hip.

Your limbs are still shaky, and you feel like you have the beginnings of a hangover. “What happened?” You ask.

Bucky lets go of you. “The people who came to abduct you turned up. They drugged you, but I heard them breaking in and managed to stop them taking you. Now I’m bringing you to a safe house.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what to say to this, other than, “thank you.”

Bucky shrugs, “Don’t worry about it. There’s another hour before we get there, so we should get going.”

You nod. Despite still feeling too weak and dizzy to competently ride a bike even as a passenger, you’d rather recover inside in the warm than out by the side of the road.

Bucky’s eyes lingers on you, assessing, then he pulls out a bottle of water stored under the seat and wordlessly hands it over. You take it with another thanks and gratefully drink half in one go, suddenly thirsty. He simply nods when you hand it back, then straddles the bike.

After groggily admiring the flex of his leg muscles as he does so, you move to climb on behind him.

“No,” he says gently, stopping you and indicating that you should sit in front of him. “You might not be alert enough to keep hold of me, and I don’t want you falling off.”

You hesitate. “Can I at least face forward this time?”

A quick teasing grin tugs at the corner of Bucky’s mouth as he gestures to the space he’s left for you between his legs, “Lady’s choice.”

Rolling your eyes to hide the warmth blooming in you despite the strangeness of the situation, you climb in front of him as elegantly as possible. Although you try to keep some space between you, you can feel his warmth at your back as he leans forward, arms caging you as he grasps the handlebars.

His beard grazes your ear, his voice soothing it, “Just grab onto me if you need to,” he tells you.

You get no other warning before the bike takes off, his thick thighs pressing into yours as he raises his legs to the footrests.

—

An hour later, you’re struggling to keep your eyes open as the bike finally slows to a stop beside a wood cabin. The dense trees surrounding it would cast it in darkness even if it wasn’t the middle of the night, and the winding dirt track you’ve been following for the last 20 minutes makes it even more thoroughly hidden.

The stress of the day, lingering effects of the drug and gentle turns of the bike have lulled you into a half sleep, and you’d given up on staying alert long ago, leaning comfortably into Bucky’s solid chest, his strong arms keeping you in place. As you joltingly step off the bike, the absence of his warmth makes the chill breeze feel even colder.

His hand brushes your lower back as he passes you to the entrance of the safe house. Beside the clatter of him unlocking the door and the ticking of his motorbike cooling down, there’s no sound other than the breeze in the trees. You must be miles from anywhere.

Bucky disappears into the darkness of the cabin, and you follow, lingering at the door. The place is small - you’re standing in a living room-kitchen space that spans the width of the building, the door opposite revealing a shaded corridor that Bucky heads into, leading to what can’t be much more than a small bathroom and bedroom. After checking each room - which doesn’t take long - Bucky returns to the main space.

“It’s clear,” he tells you matter-of-factly, “Hasn’t been used in a while by the look of things, and I wouldn’t trust the bed in there, it’s more woodworm than wood.”

You nod and mumble a small, “Okay.” Now that you’re here, everything feels real and scary again. You were attacked, and drugged, and are now hiding out in a creaky cabin in the middle of nowhere, no one but Bucky and, you suppose, Yelena, knowing where you are. You don’t even have your phone with you.

While you’re thinking this, Bucky turns back into the corridor, leaving you in the main room again. Feeling even more awkward, you head to the kitchen area, trying to figure out how to make the best of things. You pull open wonkily attached cupboard doors, finding a few cans of soup and placing the least rusty ones on the counter top - you never did get that pizza. You’re contemplating the wisdom of even checking the use by dates when Bucky passes, his arms full of blankets and pillows which he drops on the couch.

“Bedding’s fine,” he gestures to it, not even looking at you before turning to kneel in front of the fireplace. Sooner than you expect, he stands again, a fire crackling into life in the grate.

“I’d keep the fire burning,” he tells you as he moves to the front door, “It’s the only heat in this place, and you don’t need to worry about the smoke, we weren’t followed and there’s no one else around for miles.”

Your heart sinks. You hadn’t even realised you’d hoped he’d stay until it’s clear he’s about to leave, but the thought of being left alone, here, after everything - it’s daunting.

“Oh. Sure, yeah.” You reply, before holding up a couple of the soup cans, “You don’t want to stay to eat something? It’s a long way back to the city, right?”

Bucky’s stare is carefully neutral as he takes in your questionable finds. He opens his mouth, but as his gaze slides to your face, he pauses. “Sure,” he says uncertainly, “Looks delicious.”

“You must be hungry then,” you joke, trying to hide your relief as you hunt for a can opener.

—

A little while later, the cabin’s feeling a bit more friendly. The smell of the surprisingly decent soup and warmth of the fire have spread through the space, and with your and Bucky’s bowls washed and left to dry by the sink, the place looks almost homey. Even so, apprehension pulses through you when you see him preparing to leave; his warm, steady presence is more of a comfort to you than it should be.

“You shouldn’t need to be here more than one night.” Bucky reassures you. “Two at most. Yelena will come get you when she’s back in the country.”

“Two nights?” Your voice cracks and you clear your throat, determined to come off as confident and unafraid in front of him, “I mean, that’s fine, I guess. I’m sure I can keep myself entertained.”

You shoot him a quick smile. But he can’t ignore the tension in your body language, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself despite the warmth. He’d intended to leave. The second he set foot in the cold, musty cabin it had reminded him of places he’d hidden out in on missions as the Winter Soldier. He’d meant to drop you off and leave as soon as he’d checked it was safe.

Then you’d turned to him with an old tin of soup and a shaky smile, and something tugged at him to stay. Probably he just felt sorry for you. And that urge to look after you, make you comfortable, that was just him wanting to do what was asked of him - nothing to do with the attraction he’d felt to the bold, suspicious person who’d opened the door to him earlier this evening. And if this basic cabin out in the forest was starting to feel more like home than his apartment back in Brooklyn, it was just because he still hadn’t decorated or got used to the modern city - not because sharing dinner with you had warmed him more than any fire ever could.

Jacket and boots on, Bucky hesitates. “Are you alright?”

You flash him another small smile that comes out halfway between the ease you’d intended and a grimace. “I’m fine,” your voice comes out squeaky and you try again. “I’m fine.” You say, a bit more confidently.

Bucky’s eyes don’t move from you, but his raised eyebrow suggests he doesn’t believe you.

Sighing, you admit more quietly, “I think I’m maybe in shock. All this is…a lot. I’ll be alright in a bit.”

Bucky nods and stomps out the door without another word.

You blink rapidly, jarred by his sudden departure, but instead of hearing the roar of his bike starting up, there’s a slam as he returns and shuts the door behind him.

“Here,” he holds out a candy bar to you.

You simply stare at him, dumbfounded.

“Sugar helps with shock,” he explains with a shrug. “And it counts as dessert. Since you made dinner.”

You can’t help the laugh that spills out as you thank him. “I didn’t expect this from you.” You add as you take the candy, looking up in time to see his throat bob as he swallows.

Sinking into the couch as you unwrap the chocolate, you hope Bucky will join you, and are startled when instead he squats down in front of you and places a hand either side of your legs, gripping the couch with both hands and tugging the whole thing – heavy old furniture and you – so you slide across the floor, closer to the fire. His smug grin is the only sign he’s noticed your mouth falling open in astonishment, as he drops down next to you. Right next you; his arm and leg brushing against yours.

“It’s better to stay warm,” is all he says by way of explanation, watching the dancing flames in front of you both.

“Thank you,” you repeat. After a moment you lean into him slightly, curious to see how he’ll react. As if by instinct, he lifts his arm to wrap it around you, pulling you firmly into his side.

You smile to yourself, and snap off a square of chocolate to pass to him. Your eyes meet as he takes it from you, and you let your gaze linger on his face, so close to yours. Bucky doesn’t turn away - watching you with an intensity that mirrors your own. A loud crackle from the fire is the only thing to snap your attention away, and you sit together in comfortable silence, your face warm as you let the candy melt in your mouth.

“Better?” Bucky asks.

“Much,” you answer. His solid warmth has calmed you, and you’re pretty sure it’s his proximity, rather than the fire’s, that’s making your blood pump hot through you. Your suspicion is confirmed when he removes his arm from around you and stands up, taking the candy wrapper from you and leaving a cold gust of absence.

“Lie down,” he instructs softly, gesturing to the blankets and pillows around you on the couch, “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

He moves to the kitchen before you can reply, so you do as you’re told and lie down, burrowing into the blankets in the hopes of capturing his lingering warmth. You desperately want to ask him to stay, but you’re not sure how.

Eyes closed, you’re unaware of Bucky’s silent return. He watches you, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders at the soft sounds of your breath and the fire. He wants to stay - to comfort you, he tells himself, and make sure you’re safe. Nothing else, of course. But do you want that?

“Are you still cold?” he asks, his voice low.

You open your eyes to the sight of him looking down at you from the foot of the couch, his creased brow casting his eyes into shadow.

“I could be warmer,” you tell him.

The next sound you hear is the soft thud of Bucky’s boots hitting the floor as he toes them off, simultaneously shrugging out of his jacket. Leaning over you, his knee tucks into the space behind yours.

“Budge up,” he mutters, a gentle teasing edge dancing through his voice.

Slightly stunned - and delighted - you shuffle forward to the edge of the couch, letting him slot in behind you against the back cushions. Lifting the blankets, he presses against you, his right arm snaking around your body, holding you to him.

Realising you’ve been holding your breath as his body adjusts to yours, you let out a contented sigh. Sandwiched between the flickering heat of the fire and the warmth and security of Bucky’s firm body, you feel yourself finally relax. As the last remnants of tension and shock are eased out of you, you drift off to sleep, comfortable and safe in Bucky’s arms.

He’s slower to fall asleep. Bucky wants to hold still so you won’t wake, but your closeness is making him more aware of every part of his body.

He looks down at you fondly as you twist over mid-dream, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pressing your face to his chest, inhaling deeply as you continue your steady sleep. Taking a long breath, Bucky tries to ignore it as the spark of a feeling he hasn’t felt for a very, very long time catches in his chest, the glowing ember of it warming him deeply as he relaxes into sleep.

—

The first fingers of dawn creeping through the flimsy curtains wakes Bucky the next morning. There’s a smile on his face and a gentle glow in his chest – he’s slept soundly through the night, and has the unfamiliar feeling of having woken from a good dream. Keeping his eyes closed to try and recapture the thoughts that were just now floating through his sleeping mind, he’s suddenly brought back to reality by movement in his arms – you, shifting as you wake up.

You awake with the same warm glow as Bucky, breathing deeply as consciousness trickles in, and inhaling a delicious scent – clean, woodsy and warmly spiced, something that smells both comforting and exciting. There’s soft fabric under your hand and you sigh contentedly as you nuzzle closer. It’s only when Bucky politely clears his throat, the sound reverberating through the chest you now realise you’re lying on, that the realisation of where you are comes back to you.

Jerking back as far as you can – which isn’t much, given the size of the couch and that Bucky’s arms are still encircling you – your eyes fly open and you freeze as you meet the supersoldier’s amused gaze.

“Morning,” he greets you with just a hint of a smirk, his gravelly voice making your stomach somersault.

“Morning,” you squeak back, inwardly cursing yourself for not being anything like as cool as he is. Knowing your normal morning state, your hair is probably a bird’s nest and you don’t want to think about the likelihood of there being drool on your face - or his chest.

But Bucky simply smiles back at you, his eyes dancing over your face. Half-stunned, you gaze back at him - his strong nose, his smooth cupid’s bow lips, his ice blue eyes - and a hot longing spreads through you. You know you’re currently in a strange cabin in the middle of nowhere, hiding out from mysterious enemies who want to hurt you - but right now that all feels very far away; much less important than the warm, muscular body pressed against yours.

A darkness in Bucky’s gaze makes you shiver in delight as you realise his thoughts are mirroring your own.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, voice gruff but with the ghost of a smile, his arms still wrapped tight around you.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back into him and angling your face up to his, “Very,” You answer softly, “You?”

“Very,” Bucky echoes, staring deep into your eyes for a moment before pulling you close, erasing the last space between you. His soft lips brush against yours, sending tingles racing through your body, and you press into him eagerly. His response is immediate, his mouth firm and giving, and you fist his shirt in your hands as you move closer, opening your mouth to his, and-

A loud, shrill alarm pierces the air and you yelp, both of you startled apart. You nearly fall off the couch at the noise, and Bucky bolts upright.

“It’s the proximity alarm,” he explains, jumping up and heading for his jacket where it’s hanging on the back of a chair. After pulling his phone from the pocket, his shoulders loosen as he visibly relaxes. “It’s friendly,” he says, turning back to where you’re half-lying, still tangled in blankets.

“Good,” you manage to respond, unconvincingly. You’re obviously glad there’s no threat, but the timing of this arrival could have been better.

A lopsided smile spreads across Bucky’s face, “You don’t sound too happy about that,” he teases, voice still rough.

You fail to hide a smile, wrinkling your nose, “I’m just…no good with guests before I’ve had coffee.”

His smile widening into a grin, Bucky nods. “I’ll put some on.”

You extricate yourself from the bedding as he heads to the kitchen area, and try pointlessly to brush the wrinkles from your clothes, hoping whoever’s coming to meet you can’t tell that your heart is still pounding, heat pulsing through you from the kiss. It might have been short, and unpleasantly interrupted, but it was the best kiss you’ve had in a very long time.

As you neatly fold the blankets, still warm from your and Bucky’s combined body heat, his clattering in the kitchen is drowned out by the sound of an engine outside, before the front door bursts open and Yelena strides into the cabin.

Before you can even open your mouth to greet her, she runs to you and wraps you in a fierce hug, “I’m so sorry!” She says into your shoulder before pulling back to look you over, checking for injuries. “I never thought you would get hurt because of me, you’re my best friend and I love you and I nearly got you kidnapped!”

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, returning the hug, “I’m fine, Bucky looked after me.”

Yelena glances over at Bucky who nods at you both before returning his attention to the coffee. Yelena slowly turns her head to look back at you, her eyes narrowing and a cat-like smile spreading across her face, “He looked after you, huh?” She drawls.

“Shut up,” you mutter, feeling your face warm, “not like that. Well, not - no, not like that.”

“Okay,” she answers with a grin, “What’s that saying about silver livings again?”

“Yelena,” you warn her, aware Bucky can hear you both.

She laughs again before the smile slides from her face. “I am really sorry though,”

“It’s not your fault,” you reassure her.

“But I put you in danger,” she insists with a pout, “and I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Coffee’s ready,” Bucky calls from the kitchen.

“Look, we can talk about it later,” you tell Yelena, moving to where Bucky’s pouring you a mug.

“Fine,” Yelena grumbles good-naturedly as she follows you, “But can we talk about whatever it is you did to get Barnes to make you coffee?”

You roll your eyes as she laughingly bumps your shoulder, neither of you noticing the openly affectionate look on Bucky’s face that he quickly moves to hide.

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

Part 2 coming soon

Tags: @yesshewrites1

[iamthatonefangirl]

talk - nsfw fatws bucky barnes

all i can think about is getting matcha Bucky talking you through it

"I know, sweetheart, I know," he coos, his voice so beautifully condescending. that mocking tone of his holds no malice behind it, but god does it get you off.

"it's just so good, isn't it?" he taunts you. you're sitting on his lap, your bare back to his clothed chest, and he's slowly working three vibranium fingers in and out of you...

you let out a low moan and roll your head back, letting your temple meet his cheek. you reach your left hand back to hold his hair gently, keeping his head in place against yours.

the heat of his body against yours is so agonizingly overwhelming. you love it.

"you're so good for me, sweetheart, you know that?" he goes on, "so easy, too. yeah. you're so easy for me, getting all wet like this, and I haven't even taken my shirt off."

you whine. you can't fathom forming a single comprehensible word right now.

"you just need me to touch you," he says, crooking his fingers up against the spot deep inside you, making you groan and curl your body forward, "right there, don't you, baby?"

his right arm moves to bring you back to lean against his chest.

"need you to stay right there for me, baby, come on. you know better," he reminds you.

he's right.

you nod. you're sweating, and your hair is a fucking mess, you're sure of it.

you guide your fingers through his hair again, gently playing with the strands of hair as he keeps pressing up against that spot deep inside you.

"you like that, don't you, baby?"

you nod once more.

"bet you'd like some more, huh?"

you whine out, nodding more fervently. you need just a little bit more to go over the edge–

"come on. be good. what do you say?" he taunts again.

"please, Bucky," you whisper, your voice thick as you can barely get out the words.

"that's it, doll," he praises, "such a good girl f'me."

he brings his other hand to join his metal one between your legs, gently rubbing circles into your clit, and you struggle to hold yourself in place against him as he's instructed.

"relax, babydoll. you know I've got you. I always do," he tells you, beginning to press kisses to your forehead, your temple, your cheek.

the pressure builds, and builds, and–

"please, Bucky," you whine, louder this time, sounding even more desperate than before.

"good girl, that's what I like to hear. such a good girl," he says. he pauses for a moment, looking down at your face while your eyes cinch tighter, holding on until he finally says, "go ahead, baby."

you whine out and you lean your head on his shoulder as you come, hard.

he's shushing you and pressing more kisses to your face as you breathe heavily, all while continuing to work his fingers against you.

"you're not done, sweetie."

~~~ masterlist

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[fallenbratfiction]

no one bullies my kid ~ dad!bucky

Your seven-year-old gets bullied at school and Bucky cannot allow this ever happening again. Bucky threatens a child here.

masterlist faq

A/N: I thought of this before going to bed and I am a sucker for domestic and dad! bucky. Stop I melted this was supposed to be a funny "haha imagine Bucky threatening a child" and it turned into more before I realized.

mentions: protective dad!bucky, domestic fluff, soft!bucky, ex-assassin now full-time dad, school drama, bucky threatened a child (but like, gently), supportive uncle steve, found family feels, comfort and hugs. Let me know if I missed any mentions, I'll be sure to add them.

minors dni with me or my blog. i am not responsible for what you choose to consume.

do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

You knew something was wrong the second the front door opened. Not just because it slammed, but because your kid—your sweet, funny little seven-year-old—stormed in, backpack half unzipped, eyes glassy and red.

Bucky was already rising from the couch. “Hey. What happened, kid?”

No answer. Just the sound of a sniff and quick feet heading down the hall to their room, slamming that door too. You exchanged a glance with Bucky. You could see the shift in him. His jaw set, shoulders stiff. Protective-mode fully activated.

“I got it,” he said. “Just… gimme a second.”

You stood in the hallway, watching as he knocked gently on the door. “Pal? C’mon. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

A muffled voice came through. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” His voice softened. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know, buddy.”

A pause. Then, quieter: “A kid at school said I’m weird. That I talk too much. Said I only have friends because they feel bad for me.”

That was it.

You watched Bucky close his eyes, just for a second. Deep breath. Controlled. Then he stepped into the room. You followed after, in time to see him kneel by the bed, one hand brushing your kid’s hair back and resting his hand on your kid's shoulder.

“Listen to me,” he said. “You are not weird. You are brilliant. You’re funny. You’ve got more heart than most grown adults I know. And if some little punk can’t see that—then that’s on them. Not you.”

Your kid blinked at him, lip trembling. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you have to.”

Bucky grinned. “Nope. I’m sayin’ it ‘cause it’s true.”

They nodded slowly, still sad—but calmer.

“Now,” Bucky added, standing up and rolling his shoulders like he was heading into battle, “What’s this kid’s name?”

You raised your brows. “James.”

“I’m just asking.” He shot you a look. “Just for… situational awareness.”

“Bucky, you cannot threaten a child.”

“I’m not gonna hurt him,” Bucky said innocently. “But if I accidentally show up at pickup tomorrow wearing full tactical gear and staring him down with my metal arm on display—well. That’s not technically a threat, is it?”

“James.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll wear a hoodie.”

----------------NEXT DAY AT PICK UP

You were standing by the car when Bucky walked back from the school gates, calm but with purpose in every step. You hadn’t seen the interaction—only caught the tail end, where one terrified eleven-year-old shrunk about five inches under the weight of Bucky’s death-glare and murmured something like “Sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

Bucky slid into the driver’s seat like a man who had just conducted a very civil interrogation.

“You didn’t punch him, right?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

“Nope.”

“Bucky.”

“I didn’t. I talked.”

You gave him a look.

He shrugged. “With my eyes.”

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

Later that afternoon, your kid stood barefoot in the backyard, still a little shaken but smiling. Bucky was crouched beside them in the grass, arm around their shoulders.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re not looking for a fight, alright? But if anyone lays a hand on you—anyone—you make sure they never forget it.”

Your kid blinked up at him. “But I’m small.”

Bucky grinned. “You think size matters? Lemme tell you something.” He tapped their chest gently. “This? This is what counts.”

Your kid nodded slowly, taking it all in.

Then Bucky stood up, pulling them gently to their feet.

“C’mere, I’m gonna show you something I taught your uncle Steve when he was getting picked on when we were younger.”

Your seven-year-old lit up. “UNCLE STEVE GOT BULLIED?!”

“Oh yeah. All the time.”

“But he’s huge!”

“He wasn’t always huge. He was tiny. Like… coat rack with a mouth tiny.”

“Did he cry?”

“Only when I wasn’t there to see it,” Bucky said with a wink. “But then I taught him how to throw a punch. Just like this.”

He adjusted their stance, nudged their feet into position, lifted their hands.

“Now, aim right here,” Bucky said, pointing to the chin of an imaginary opponent. “This is the off switch.”

Your kid grinned, winding up like a windmill.

“Whoa, whoa, not like that,” Bucky laughed. “You’re not trying to stir soup, kid. Straight shot. Wrist straight. No thumb inside the fist unless you want it broken.”

You watched from the porch as they practiced the motion again and again, each time a little better, a little prouder.

Until finally your kid turned around and asked, “Did it work? Did Uncle Steve stop getting bullied after that?”

Bucky gave a soft laugh, like something old and golden was buried in his memory.

“Eventually. But mostly ‘cause people got tired of him standing back up.”

You were halfway through your coffee when your phone buzzed with a call from the school. You answered it expecting something minor—missed homework or permission slips.

What you got was: “Hi, yes, we’re going to need both you and Mr. Barnes to come in. There’s been a complaint. It’s… regarding a threat made toward a student.”

You paused. Turned toward Bucky. “Did you threaten a child?”

“I told him to watch how he talks to people smaller than him.”

“That is a threat.”

He took a sip of coffee. “That’s character development.”

---------------------- PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE

You walked in first. Bucky followed behind you, in full “don’t fuck with me” mode—leather jacket, sleeves rolled up just enough to show a flash of metal, sunglasses still on indoors.

Inside the office sat the principal, Mrs. Avery. Across from her were the boy’s parents: a very polished, very irritated couple, arms crossed, child nestled between them like some poor traumatized porcelain doll.

You sat down. Bucky didn’t.

“Mr. Barnes,” Mrs. Avery began, already stiff. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because I told a disrespectful little shit to keep my kid’s name out of his mouth?”

You kicked his foot under the table. He winced, then added, “—with kindness. Obviously.”

The other parents gasped. The mom clutched her pearls. “You intimidated our son.”

Bucky tilted his head. “Did I raise my voice?”

“No,” the dad muttered.

“Did I touch him?”

“No.”

“Then maybe the real problem is that your son isn’t used to being held accountable.”

You covered your mouth and closed your eyes in a prayer. God give me strength.

Mrs. Avery pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mr. Barnes, while I understand your protective instincts, we have a zero-tolerance policy for adults confronting students.”

Bucky finally sat, slow and measured. “And what’s your policy on students harassing other students until they come home crying?”

The room went still.

You could see the principal falter. The bully’s parents looked like they wanted to say something, but… couldn’t. Because their perfect little angel had been caught being an asshole.

“You don’t have to like me,” Bucky said, voice calm. “But you will respect the fact that I’m not gonna sit back and watch my kid get picked on. Not by your kid, not by any kid. So if I have to be the villain in your story to make sure mine doesn’t end up afraid to go to school? Fine. I’ve been worse.”

You exhaled—low-key impressed, high-key terrified of the future PTA meetings.

Mrs. Avery cleared her throat. “Let’s… move forward with a mediation plan for the kids.”

Bucky raised his brow. “Does it involve their kid apologizing?”

Later that day, after the incident at the round table, you and Bucky waited by the school gates for pickup.

You were still reeling from the chaos. Bucky looked relaxed, leaning against a tree like he hadn’t just verbally disarmed two overprotective yuppies and a principal in one sitting.

Your kid spotted you and bolted over.

“Dad!” they grinned, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Did you really say he needed to keep my name out of his mouth?!”

Bucky smirked. “Who told you that?”

“Ms. Tanner. She was in the hallway. She said you had serious Batman energy.”

You burst out laughing. Bucky looked far too pleased.

Then your kid, grinning even bigger, reached out for a high five—and Bucky gave it like it was the most important handshake of his life.

“I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, kid.”

And before Bucky could even react, your kid threw their arms around his waist in a tight, full-body hug—face pressed against his torso, like they were trying to fuse into him.

Bucky froze for a second, like the moment knocked the air out of him.

Then slowly—gently—he wrapped one arm around their shoulders, the other patting their back in an awkward rhythm that melted into something steady. Familiar. His hand settled there, resting between their shoulder blades, then crouched down instinctively, arms open.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re my whole world, y’know that?”

Your kid didn’t answer—just buried his face in Bucky's neck.

Tiny arms around his shoulders, little fingers curled in his shirt.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, one hand sliding up to cup the back of their head. “I’ve always got you.”

And for once, Bucky let himself stand there, arms around something that was safe and his and real, without thinking about what came before or what might come after.

You stood there by the car, heart basically melting, watching your reformed-assassin husband get completely undone by a kid that fit perfectly in his arms.

Bucky pressed his cheek against their temple, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he was remembering how to breathe—then he shifted his weight, stood, and lifted him right off the ground.

"Let's go home, yeah?"

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

Saturday morning. Backyard. Bucky’s got your kid out again practicing footwork—slow, controlled moves. You’re watching from the porch with coffee, amused at how serious he looks for a game of “self-defense 101.”

And then: the sound of a very familiar motorcycle pulls up.

Your kid’s face lights up.

“UNCLE STEEEEEVE!”

Steve steps off the bike in jeans and a Henley like a walking golden-hour ad. He barely has time to take his helmet off before your kid flings themselves at him.

“Oof—hey there, firecracker!”

Bucky crosses his arms, smirking. “Took you long enough.”

Steve shoots him a look. “You threatened a child. I had to reschedule three meetings to come deal with the PR disaster.”

“He had it coming.”

“I know. That’s why I brought some pie.”

Later, your kid pulls Steve aside while Bucky sets up a makeshift punching bag.

“Uncle Steve? Is it true you got bullied?”

Steve sits on the steps, stretches his legs out with a soft smile. “Sure is. All the time.”

“But you’re Captain America.”

He chuckles. “Wasn’t always. Used to be small. Sickly. Couldn’t throw a punch without falling over.”

Your kid’s mouth falls open. “No way.”

Steve leans in, tapping their chest gently. “This is what got me through. Not muscles. Not a shield. Just being brave, even when I was scared.”

They blink up at him. “Did Dad teach you how to fight?”

Steve grins. “Oh yeah. First punch I ever threw? Your dad showed me how. Got my nose broken anyway, but I looked cool doing it.”

Bucky, from across the yard: “You cried for fifteen minutes.”

“Character development,” Steve deadpans.

That night, Steve stays for dinner. Bucky grills. You pour some wine. The kid is showing off his “combat stance” in the living room, wobbling slightly but proud as hell.

Steve leans over to you in the kitchen. “Y’know, for a guy who used to be a war assassin, Buck’s actually doing okay.”

You smile, watching Bucky gently correct your kid’s form with a patience he pretends not to have.

“He’s not so bad, huh?”

Steve snorts. “Not bad at all. Just… terrifying.”

Then, from the living room:

“Dad, what if the bully tries again?”

Bucky, calm as ever, flipping a burger on the grill. “Then he’s gonna learn why they call me the Winter Soldier.”

Record scratch.

You and Steve in unison

“NO.” “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

Had a good laugh writing this piece, i hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!! Feedback is always welcome!

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[kijrbds]

the plot of civil war in one image

[buckysslut]

No thoughts, js Bucky praising his S/O, and her whining out 'thank you's to him while he fills her with his load(s??)....

Maybe he's confused at her slurred babbling - or somewhat concerned (did I overstimulate her?)

But his girl just loves him sm and is so happy he wanted to be with her<3

𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

"Oh, fuck..." You whimper into the pillow, face down with your ass up in the air. Bucky was kneeling behind you, fucking his cock into you as he groaned and grunted. "Shiiitttt.. there ya' go.. such a good girl.." He grunts, marking his praise with a particularly harsh thrust into you. You felt like you were floating and were only able to focus on the sensation of his dick ramming in and out of you repeatedly, super soldier stamina forbidding his pace from ever faltering. "Oh my god, shit, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you-!" You moan out, face pressed into the pillow, gripping onto the sheets tight enough to nearly rip them. Your words were slurred and dazed, eyes rolling back. Bucky slows down, noticing how lazy your movements and tone was. ".. Bub..? You okay..? What's your colour..?" All sorts was running through his head. Had he gone too far? Overstimulated you? Did you need to use your safeword? Were you too overwhelmed to use it? Were you too scared to use it?

"Green, god, so green.. Thank you, fuck, thank you-!" You gasp and writhe, feeling all dazed and floaty. "You sure..?" He murmurs, pace having slowed down, far too focused on your wellbeing to be as rough as earlier. "Yes, fuck, I'm so sure, oh baby-" You cry in pure ecstasy, burying your face further into the pillows as pleasure runs through you. "Okay.. That's a good girl... doin' so good.." He murmurs, feeling the way your pussy tightens around his cock and practically chokes him, "God, you're into this, huh?"

Tags: @chrisevansleftnipple , @homiesexual-or-homosexual , @httpsells , @avengemepercy , @raikan624 , @multiversefanfics , @majulians-groupie ' @maryevm , @grilledcheesewithjalapeno , @yaboyguzma69 , @hopeofwinter , @buckybarnesslutshop , @iamthatonefangirl

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Meant To Be

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> When you find yourself transported to the future, you begin to question if you were always meant to be here.

Disclaimer: Kinda open ended, platonic!Steve x reader, fluff, angst, Reader comes from the 40s, MJ scaring people, oblivious idiots, swearing, mentions of violence. Not Proof Read.

You groaned as you hit the solid ground. “Oh, I am gonna kill Howard.”

Coughing a little before rolling onto your front to try and stand, you took a look around you. 

“Where the fuck-”

As you brushed some dust from your skirt, a loud blaring alarm sounded overhead. You were quick to cover your ears before trying to find an exit. What was the wager that Howard had set something on fire again?

But before you could call out, the floor beneath you fell open and you went sliding down. A scream let itself out from your lungs, only stopping just before you landed and rolled onto a pristine white floor. 

“Jarvis, who is she?”

Once again, you groaned. You held your head, keeping your eyes closed. “For god’s sake, Howard. You know who I am. Don’t pull that bullshit with - ow - me.”

As you stood on your feet, you looked around you again. The whole room was white. Where the hell were you?

“Jarvis?”

You recognised the name, but not the voice that said his name. 

Slowly turning around, you started to realise where you were. It wasn’t like any you were used to but you were, in fact, in a cell. 

“I can’t seem to find an ID for her from this century.”

“This century?”

You looked through the glass. “Where’s Howard?”

The man looked right at you. “I ask the questions here.”

“Considering I’ve just landed who the fuck knows where, I’d say I’m the one who should be asking questions. How much did he pay you? Thirty, forty bucks?” 

“Forty bucks?”

The man seemed disgusted. 

“What? Keep Y/n distracted so he can run around town again? Just so you know, if I don’t kick his ass, Peggy will.”

“Stark! What the hell is going on?”

Tony watched as you lit up a little at the voice coming down the hall. 

“Steve?!” You called out. 

Tony had already been confused when he got an alert from Jarvis that someone had broken into the facility. Then he was confused even more when you asked for Howard. But now? Now he was more confused than ever. 

“Steve!? Oh, thank god. Tell this moron to let me out. Howard’s probably ten seconds away from setting the whole building on fire. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tony turned to his side and took a long look at Steve. He looked…pale. Shocked, to say the least. Like someone had just stuck a knife into his heart and he was watching himself bleed out. 

“Y/n?”

“You know her?” Tony asked quietly. 

You laughed. “What? Did Howard pay you, too? Just so you know, once I’ve kicked his ass, I’m gonna have Peggy kick yours.”

Steve turned towards Tony with a slightly heated gaze. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. She just showed up here. Who is she?”

Reading the room, you took a few steps forward. Something told you that this wasn’t just a prank. “Steve, what’s going on?”

“Y/n?”

“Yes?”

Steve felt the breath leave his lungs. “What…What year is it?”

You chuckled. This game again?

“1944.”

Steve couldn’t breathe. 

“Sir, though I’m not quite sure how it’s possible. I do believe this is Agent Y/n Y/l/n. Born in 1921, she went missing the summer before Sargent Barnes fell from the train.”

That sentence made you panic a little. “Okay, Jarvis! Howard, I get it. You can call it off now!”

“Call what off?” 

Steve ignored Tony for a few moments. “Y/n, I think you’re gonna wanna sit down.”

“Steve, what’s going on?”

“Tony, open the doors.”

He didn’t think twice and the glass door slid away and behind the panel, letting Steve inside. 

“Steve?”

He didn’t say anything. He just hugged you. Tight. Like he’d waited years to do so. So, you hugged him back. “Steve, you’re scaring me now. What’s going on? Where’s Howard? I swear to god if this is some-”

Steve leaned back and shook his head. “No, this isn’t…it’s not a joke.”

You stepped back a little and took in the two men in front of you. Although he wasn’t Howard, he did have a funny resemblance to him. And Steve…the last time you saw him…he’d been wearing his uniform. Not a blue button down and a pair of jeans. 

“You should probably come with us.”

Less than ten minutes later you were sitting in Tony’s lab. Some kind of floating projector showed different images and other things. All the while, you could feel Steve’s eyes burning a hole into the side of your head. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Being in the underground bunker. Howard’s testing some new chemical weapons. It’s meant to melt weaponry from the inside. Steve, what happened? Jarvis…s’voice…he said Bucky fell. Did we lose?”

Steve shook his head, taking your hand in his. “No. The war…we won the war. But…Hydra…they captured Bucky. We all thought…I thought he was dead. I thought you were dead.”

You couldn’t do anything else but laugh, though it wasn’t happy. “Steve, I was with you less than twenty minutes ago. And Howard-”

“Howard’s dead.”

“Tony.” Steve scolded. 

“What?”

You looked back at Steve, then at Tony. 

“Y/n, this is Tony. Howard’s son.”

You heard yourself gasp a little. But before you could understand what the hell was going on, the doors across the lab swung open. 

“Mr Stark! I’ve finally figured it out! If I just change the chemical- oh. Hello.”

You looked over at the young boy who couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen. 

“Y/n, this is Peter. Peter, this is-”

“Holy shit, you’re Y/n Y/l/n.”

Both Tony and Steve looked at Peter. “You know her?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, MJ goes on about her all the time. MJ’s my girlfriend, by the way and she thinks you're, like, super cool. But- hey. Wait a minute. How can you be here?”

“I’ve been asking myself that same question.”

“Mr Stark?”

Tony sighed. “Best we can figure is that my old man went wrong and somehow…”

“Invented time travel?” Peter finished. 

Tony nodded, as did you. 

“Sounds like Howard.”

“Maybe you should call Scott?”

“Why Scott?”

Peter shrugged. “I was gonna suggest Hank but I didn’t think you two are still talking since the burrito fiasco in the cafe the other week.”

Steve just looked at Tony and it took a few minutes but the Stark kid threw his head back before grumbling and pulling out his phone. “Fine.”

“He’s just like his dad,” Steve heard you whisper as you watched him walk away. 

“Hey,” Steve said softly, bringing your attention back to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Dizzy. Terrified. Angry. A little more dizzy.”

Steve just held your hand tighter. 

“Steve, I need you to tell me everything that happened because right now I have too many questions and…I don’t even know where to begin.”

Steve nodded understandably. You’d been missing for longer than he’d been in the ice. You’d become a part of some of the ghost stories with the walls of Shield. You’d become a small block of text in the Smithsonian since nobody knew anything else. 

Your name was one of the first that he searched for when he got out of the ice. If he can be left sleeping in the ice for seventy years, gods can wield magic hammers and aliens can fall from the sky, then surely you could still be alive somewhere, right?

But there had still been no trace of you. 

Until today when a loud rad alarm started to sound throughout the kitchen to alert whoever was left in the compound that someone had broken in. 

So, starting from the beginning, Steve told you as much as he could in the short time you had together. With Peter filling in a few gaps. 

Steve told you about when you went missing. How Howard has a black eye for three weeks since Peggy had hit him hard when she realised what he’d been making and didn’t think to use any safety precautions. One thing Howard knew for certain was that you weren’t dead. How he knew that, the others couldn’t figure. But it was easier to accept than thinking Howard Stark had just murdered one of his closest friends. 

Steve told you about when Bucky fell and when he went into the ice. He told you about the end of the war and him and Peggy. 

Peter told you about Tony and the little snippets he knew from what he’d been told. Peter accidently let slip that Bucky had been the one to murder Howard and his wife, Maria. 

Steve explained about the Winter Soldier programme and waking up in the ice. He told you about New York and The Avengers. Peter mentioned how he, too, was a Superhero. Steve explained about Natasha, Sam and Bucky. Peter mentioned bringing Bucky and Steve up to date with Star Wars and other movie franchises. 

Then Steve explained, briefly, about Wakanda and what Bucky had been through. 

Tears slipped from your eyes and Steve helped you wipe them away. “So…he’s…he’s alive?”

Steve nodded with a smile. “He’s alive.”

You felt yourself breathing again. Steve had only told you the key things about what happened to Bucky. You couldn’t begin to imagine the pain he went through, or the pain Steve went through realising he’d lost Peggy. 

Last you knew, Peggy and Steve were crushing hard on each other. You and Bucky had a bet running for how long it would take for Steve to finally ask her on a date. 

“Okay, he’s on his way. He doesn’t believe me, but I don't even believe it.” Tony announced as he walked back inside, pocketing his phone. 

“What happens now? What am I meant to do?”

Steve looked at Tony who just shrugged. “You stay here with us until we can get some kind of answer, I guess.”

You tilted your head at Steve. “I’m meant to be in the 40s. What the hell am I supposed to do whilst I’m here? Better yet, what the hell am I meant to do when I can go home? What, am I just not meant to tell you anything? Or Bucky for that matter? Oh, my god! Can I even get home?”

Steve placed his hands on your shoulders and led you back to your seat. “Okay, just sit down. Just breathe.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Blueberry?” Tony suddenly shoved a silver packet into your face. “They can help calm the nervous system.”

Tony didn’t say anything else. But he did unfurl your hand and place a packet in your palm. 

“Can I even get home?”

“Uhh…��

“It’s not a question of whether or not you can get home. It’s do you go home?”

Everyone, including yourself, jumped. All except for Peter. 

“Jesus Christ,” you swore to yourself, holding onto your chest. 

“How the hell did you get in here?” Tony turned towards the curly haired girl standing beside Peter. 

“Peter texted me.”

Tony just stared at the girl. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

Steve sighed. “She’s training with Nat and Laura, remember?”

That seemed to answer something. 

“See, that’s how you give me information.”

“Oh,” Peter jumped back into the conversation. “Agent Y/l/n?”

“Please, call me Y/n.”

“This is MJ, my girlfriend.”

You smiled at her and she gave you a small smile back. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Half an hour later, three people walked inside who were introduced to you as “Ant-Man, but not the original Ant-Man-.”, “Hope”, “She’s the Wasp.”, and “Hank Pym.”

“I believe you might be able to…help.”

Hank nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“What ‘we’ can do?”

“Why ‘we’?”

“It’s my lab, Pym.”

“And it’s my research, Stark.”

“I found her first.”

“But you called me, remember?”

The argument continued on for a few more minutes until finally you stood up. 

“Hey!” 

That shut them up. 

“I am not some lab rat that you’re gonna be poking needles into! I understand that I’m over seventy years out of my time, but I’m not some experiment. I’m human, alright?!”

Hope nudged MJ. “I like her.”

Hank and Tony seemed to come to a silent agreement. “Okay, how about we start with the basics?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Over the next few hours, you had your heart rate monitored, your blood pressure taken, your memory tested. You filled out multiple different medical forms. You told them everything you could about where and when you were born, what you did in the last week of your life in the 40s and was fed so many blueberries you were pretty sure your skin would turn the same colour. 

“MJ?”

As the boys messed with things on the other side of the lab, you took a seat beside the girl. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you smiled. “I was hoping I might be able to talk to you.”

MJ nodded. “What about?”

“Earlier, when you said it’s more about do I get back…Peter mentioned you might know a few things about me, after I went missing.”

MJ nodded slowly. “I…might.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone anything. Whatever you know will stay between you and me.”

MJ nodded. “Okay.”

“Just…tell me everything?”

And she did. 

About the rumours, about the ghost stories. That’s all they were, but there was always a hint of truth in stories. Some people still looked for you, others believed you hadn’t ever existed at all. There was a lot of research done after your disappearance. What had caused it, where you could have gone. 

“Does this research still exist?”

“You’d have to ask Mr Stark about that one. Mostly it was his dad’s stuff. I only know because Agent Romanoff was helping me find references for a college paper.”

You smiled. “Thank you, MJ.”

That was when Jarvis, who wasn’t Javis, spoke. “Uh, Captain Rogers, sir. Sergeant Barnes and Captain Wilson have returned.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

You looked over at Steve. 

“I’ll go and get him.”

You just nodded and watched as Steve jogged down the hall, out of the doors and towards the stairs. 

“Did you date?”

You turned back to MJ. “What?”

“You and Barnes? There were always rumours. And I’ve seen the footage.”

“Footage?”

“They still show clips in the Smithsonian. You know, like Steve keeping a picture of Peggy in his compass. I’ve seen some of you and Barnes.”

You could only nod, letting her know you’d heard what she said. 

Truth be told, you and Bucky hadn’t been dating. You were just friends. He’d save you a dance at every Hall. He was the one, besides Peggy, who you’d been closest to. On the days where all his confidence and charm would leave his body – mostly when he was geeking out at the technology fairs – you’d stick by his side and help him out. 

Some women he’d try and talk to, so you’d give him a push. But others…he was nice to them, but he just wanted some time alone. The war was a lot and with his own call-up looming, he just wanted some time. So, making sure he didn’t constantly bump into people, you’d both pretend you were on a date. It kept some girls away, and you and him had a great time. 

And despite your growing crush over the last few months…no, you weren’t dating. 

Your head kicked back into gear. “No. No, we weren’t dating. Just friends.”

MJ just gave you a look. You knew that look. Because it was the same look Peggy had given you three days ago when she cornered you in the girls bathroom after you excused yourself when one of the blonde agents waltzed her way over to talk to Bucky. 

Before your conversation could continue further, however, there were multiple sets of boots pounding on the floor. The noise was growing closer and closer. 

You stood up from your chair, standing directly in view of the glass doorway, your skirt swishing a little around your knees. 

And through the glass, you saw Bucky come to a halt. 

He just stared at you. 

He was in dark blue tactical gear, a man stood behind him with a jet pack attached to his back and Steve remained beside him. 

Bucky stood alone just staring at you. 

Then he started walking. 

Opening the door, your name fell from his lips before he ran towards you and you ran to him. 

Crashing in the middle, Bucky’s arms held your tightly almost crushing your bones. 

“Y/n,”

“James,” you felt yourself smile. 

“You’re alive?”

“Apparently.”

He just held you tighter. “I didn’t believe him. He told me…you were here and…you’re really here.”

Bucky felt himself laugh a little. He was stunned. To him, he hadn’t spoken to you in over seventy years, but he knew, to you, you and him had spoken that morning. 

He never forgot you. 

He never let himself forget you.

You meant too much to him. 

“I don’t have a clue what’s going on, but boy am I glad to see you.”

Bucky laughed again before leaning back to look at you. Instinctively, he held your face. Both of you had tears in your eyes but that didn’t matter. 

“God, you’re alive.”

Bucky hugged you again. 

“If you two love birds have finished, might we get back to work?” Hank called out. 

Scott nudged him and Hope slapped him across the head. Meanwhile, you remained fixed in Bucky’s arms. 

Hours and hours and hours of work later, you were sitting on your own since Bucky had left to go and get you something to eat. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Sam came and sat beside you. 

“Something tells me I don’t make it back home.”

“Maybe you’re not meant to.”

You just looked at Sam. And he took a breath before talking again. 

“First time I asked Bucky about his life before,” Sam started. “The first person he mentioned was you. You were close to him. And he was close to you. He told me losing you was one of the worst pains he ever suffered through. And when Steve mentioned your name today, I saw someone come back to life inside of him. A person even I haven’t seen in Bucky since that day when he first talked about you.”

You didn’t exactly know where Sam was going with his speech, so you just let him continue. 

“Maybe, for whatever reasons will help you rationalise this, you were meant to be here instead. With these two, but most importantly…” Sam just pointed to Bucky across the room who was handing out different lunch meals to everyone as Peter carried the tray. 

“Nothing is as I remember it.”

“Maybe you’re not as you remember.”

You just looked at Sam, puzzled. 

“Those two science nerds will probably have some big, elaborate explanation but, maybe you didn’t time travel. Maybe you just got stranded in time. Pushed through each year in order to get to this one. And, whenever you dropped-”

“Literally.”

“Into here…it was because you needed to. Because it was meant to be.”

You rolled your eyes a little and laughed. “Okay.”

Sam just chuckled and nudged you. 

Bucky eventually made his way over to you, just in time to hear Sam ask; “And if you’ve got any tips on how to tap into Mr White Wolf, I’ll take ‘em.”

Sam tapped Bucky on the arm as he passed him by, heading towards the food Steve was opening up at one of the tables. 

“It’s not ration food, but it’s the closest I could find to something familiar.” 

You smiled accepting the meal as Bucky sat beside you and ate his own with you. 

Looking around you, you took everyone in. The super soldiers, the humans, the ego filled scientists and the kids. And the longer you looked, the more it started to look familiar. 

Maybe a different room, maybe a different year. 

But it was still the same. 

Then Sam’s words echoed in your head. 

“Meant to be.”

A month later, you were still in the future. People were still looking for answers but the longer time pushed on, the more you began to realise maybe Sam was right. Maybe this was where you were meant to be. 

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Hiiii! ✨

I love your work, especially the grumpy sunshine troupe of Bucky and reader. Could you write one where reader takes Bucky’s favorite/go-to hoodie or sweatshirt and he wants it back (but not really, because he loves when she wears it) and she refuses so he tickles her to pieces? 👀

Thanks in advance girlie pop! 🤭

Mission: Hoodie Heist

Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: When you steal Bucky Barnes’ favorite hoodie and refuse to give it back, a chaotic battle of tickles, cuddles, and reluctant (not reluctant) affection unfolds. Unfortunately for Bucky, Sam now has photo evidence.

Word Count: Roughly 1.4k 

Warnings: Fluff, comical violence, teasing, flirting, stolen hoodie crimes, cursing, weaponization of puppy eyes, domestication of a deadly assassin <3

Author’s Note: There were two requests that were kind of similar in prompt, so I combined both ideas :)

Navigation

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Bucky Barnes walked into the compound’s common room, and his eyes locked onto you instantly. You were curled up on the couch, sipping a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and marshmallows. 

Wearing his hoodie. 

His favorite hoodie.

The one that was a little faded, soft from many washes, and smelled faintly of cedarwood and Bucky himself.

And here you were. 

Drowning in it, sleeves hanging past your hands, hood pulled over your head, the hem nearly to your knees. Looking way too smug for someone who had committed such a heinous act.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” Bucky stated.

You glanced up with your puppy dog eyes. “Am I?”

He scowled. “You know damn well you are.”

“Wow, language, gramps.”

He groaned and took a sip of coffee, muttering something that sounded like “fucking menace to society.”

“I’m not a menace,” you chirped, settling deeper into the couch cushions. “I’m curious and stubborn, but not a menace, Mr. Barnes.”

“You almost got hit by a cab yesterday because you crossed four lanes of traffic to pet a cat.”

“I needed to pet that cat. His name was Meatball, and he had pretty toe beans. It was an emergency. I did what had to be done.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “That hoodie is mine.”

“It’s mine now,” you said sweetly. “Finders keepers.”

“I live here.”

“And yet, you didn’t guard your hoodie very well, did you?” You flashed him a grin. “Rookie mistake, Sarge.”

He stared at you in silence for a long moment. The corner of his mouth twitched, just a little. If you blinked, you would have missed it. You always managed to pull a smile out of him. “Give it back.”

“No.”

“Doll.”

“Make me, Bucky.”

He set his coffee down.

Your eyes went wide, the exact moment you realized you might have made a tactical error.

“No no no no no…”

Too late.

Bucky launched forward, snatching the blanket off you. You squealed and tried to roll off the couch, but his metal arm was faster, wrapping around your waist and hauling you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

“NO! BUCKY!” You shrieked, already laughing as he pinned you with one arm and used the other, traitorous metal fingers and all, to attack your sides.

“You asked for this!” He didn’t even try to hide the smile in his voice now.

Your laughter turned into squeals of protest. “NO—STOP—I’M GONNA—BUCKY I’M GONNA DIE—”

“You’re not gonna die.”

“I COULD!”

“Pretty sure you won’t, sweetheart.” He was grinning now, fully enjoying himself as you kicked your legs and tried to wiggle away, completely failing.

“UNCLE!” you gasped, flailing.

“I ain’t your uncle, sunshine.”

You giggled at his joke and squirmed. 

“TRUCE!”

He paused, squeezing your cheeks together. “Say it, sweetheart.”

“I surrender.” You whispered. 

He let up slightly, though his hand was still resting on your hip, ready to tickle you again.

“And what do you say?” he asked smugly.

“I say… that this is my hoodie now,” you panted, not able to help yourself in stirring the pot.

He blinked.

“You little brat.”

But before he could start round two of tickling, you twisted in his lap and kissed his cheek. 

It was a quick, soft press. Featherlight, barely there, but it made him freeze.

And turn a little flushed.

“You can keep it,” he muttered, eyes avoiding yours.

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

“You look cute in it,” he said gruffly, as if it physically hurt to admit. “Like too cute. It’s nauseating.”

Your eyes sparked brightly. “Awww, Bucky!”

“Don’t make this a thing,” he warned, pointing a finger.

“Oh, it’s already a thing,” you sang, grinning like you’d just won a war.

You snuggled deeper into the hoodie and his lap. Bucky sighed, letting his hand rest on your back.

“You’re exhausting,” he murmured.

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

You were the human equivalent of a cat in a sunbeam.

Content, warm, curled up right in his lap like you belonged there. 

Because, obviously, you did.

He didn’t seem to mind, either. His fingers traced gentle, idle circles along your spine while you flicked through movie options on the TV.

You smirked, peeking at him with that sunshine and mayhem gleam in your eyes. “Hey, Bucky?”

“What now.”

“Okay, hear me out,” you said, glancing up at him with that sparkle in your eye, the one that always made him feel like he was about to be talked into something insane. “We watch Howl’s Moving Castle, again, and you let me explain for the sixth time why you’re totally Howl and I’m Sophie.”

He gave you a look. “I don’t have magic.”

“You do too have magic,” you said, booping his nose. “Grumpy charm magic.”

He sighed, but you caught the faintest twitch of a smile. “Fine. One movie.”

You gasped like he’d handed you the moon. “You never let me pick the movie. What’s wrong with you today?”

“I’m letting you pick so you’ll stop talking.”

“Oh, Bucky,” you said sweetly. “You love when I talk.”

He groaned in annoyance, but kissed the side of your head. “Just press play, sunshine.”

So you did. 

You happily pressed play, then curled deeper into his chest, cheek resting over his heart. He smelled like cedarwood, coffee, something specifically like Bucky himself, and warmth. 

Despite all his usual icy demeanor, Bucky Barnes ran warm, and you took full advantage.

You made it all of a few minutes into the movie before your voice piped up again.

“Hey Bucky?”

He grumbled in acknowledgment. 

“If I ever get cursed by a witch and turned into an old lady, would you still love me?”

He snorted with laughter. “You already act like a grandma sometimes. You carry mints in your pocket and yell at people for not wearing seatbelts.”

“That’s called caring, James.”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

You grinned and cuddled closer. “So…you’d love me even if I were a raisin too?”

His hand slid up to gently cup the back of your head. “I’d still love you if you were a literal raccoon, as long as you stopped climbing into dumpsters.”

“That happened one time,” you muttered.

“It was last week.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he pinched it gently. 

Click.

Both your heads snapped toward the sound at the same time.

There, standing in the doorway, was Sam Wilson.

Grinning.

Triumphant.

“Awwwwwwww,” Sam cooed in a high-pitched voice. “Look at you two! Bucky’s got a cuddle buddy!”

You blinked.

Bucky’s entire body stiffened under you.

Sam tapped his phone screen. “This one’s going in the ‘Grumpy’s Gone Soft’ folder. Nat’s gonna love this.”

“You take another picture and I swear to god.” Bucky started, voice already low and dangerous.

But it was too late. Sam had already hit the shutter again.

“Barnes has a cuddle bunny,” he egged on Bucky.

Bucky arms released you gently, settling you on the couch.

“Uh-oh,” Sam muttered.

And then?

Bucky lunged.

Sam yelped and bolted, laughing like a madman.

“You’ll never catch me, old man!”

“WATCH ME.”

You scrambled up to your knees on the couch, watching the chaos unfold; the only missing thing was popcorn.

Just before Sam could reach the hallway, Bucky snatched him by the back of his shirt and yanked him backward like a rag doll.

“Bucky! Come on, man! It’s content! People eat this up!”

Bucky wordlessly grabbed the phone, held it up, and chucked it.

Hard.

It flew beautifully through the air and landed in a nearby potted plant with a satisfying thud.

“MY PHONE!” Sam yelled.

“Get a new one,” Bucky muttered, releasing him.

Sam glared at him. “You’ve got issues, man.”

“You’ve got boundary problems.”

Still grumbling, Sam retrieved his poor, slightly dirt-covered phone and slunk away, muttering about “romantic drama and dictators with metal arms.” You peeked over the back of the couch as Bucky stalked back over.

“You didn’t have to throw it that hard,” you teased.

“He took a picture of me smiling,” Bucky muttered, reclaiming his seat. “That’s blackmail material.”

You smiled and plopped right back in his lap without missing a beat. He grunted, but his arms found their place around you like they’d never left.

“You smiled for me,” you murmured.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You like me.”

“Regrettably.”

You tilted your head up and kissed his jaw. “Still letting me keep the hoodie?”

He rolled his eyes but his mouth curved again, that quiet little smile that only you got.

“Yeah,” he said. “Keep it.”

You beamed.

Bucky sighed into your hair.

“Sunshine,” he muttered.

“Grump,” you whispered back.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll @desimarie12 @sleepysongbirdsings @barnesb420 @Suffereroflife @pigeonmama @yes-ilovetowrite

[fckmebarnes]

ˏˋ ★ pretty peach ★ ˎˊ˗

dbf!biker bucky x fem!reader

18+ EIGHTEEN PLUS. — oral (bucky), bucky is a flirt, semi-established fooling around, he makes u suck him while otp w ur dad 🫣

older works re uploaded! feedback welcome <3 love dbf!bkier bucky so bad.

It was going to be a long weekend. You father was out of town for a few weeks for a work trip, and he had asked you to watch over his house while he was gone. While you didn’t want to, you were getting paid for it, so you decided to suck it up and deal with it.

The downside? He wanted his best friend to check up on you, who happened to be a biker for the small town you lived in. It wasn’t that the town you lived in was sketchy, at least not anymore.

It was pretty safe for the most part, the Howling Commando’s were always patrolling the dimly lit streets looking for trouble and to crack down on drug addicts, robberies, anything that made the town unsafe.

And it wasn’t like you were complaining for being safe by them, what you did mind though, was that your fathers best friend was Bucky Barnes. The one who you sneaked around with quite frequently when your dad was gone. No one questioned it, he was your dad's best friend, and Bucky was just making sure everyone was safe.

You can’t remember how it started, all you knew was that he took care of you, he wanted to keep you safe while fucking your brains out.

You sighed, tossing your dads keys on the table when you went inside his house, kicking your shoes off and heading to the kitchen. You needed a drink since it was going to be a long few weeks staying by yourself until Bucky decided to pop in whenever he wanted.

And boy, he sure did.

“Hey, peach. You all good here?” He opened the front door quietly, letting himself in and rubbing his hands together. The cold air blew in and nipped at your cheeks, making you pull your legs into yourself and hug your blanket tighter.

“M’ all good. Either come in or leave, it’s getting cold in here.” He chuckled, closing the door behind him and waking in fully. He sported his leather jacket with ‘The Howling Commando’s’ on the back side, a few pointed studs on each shoulder pad. You couldn’t deny that he looked hot in that jacket.

You caught yourself staring too long and looked away, blinking. He walked over, and sat next to you, sitting down on the couch and resting a hand on your knee.

“You know, I don’t have to patrol tonight. Steve is on duty.” He leaned into your side, mouth hovering near your ear lobe and pulling at it softly, earning a soft gasp from your lips. You could feel him smirking against your skin and pulling you closer, lips traveling down to your neck and nipping at it.

“Mmm..” Was all you could get out as he sucked harder, pulling away with a pop and kissing the same spot he assaulted. You knew he wasn’t going to stop, and you honestly didn’t want him to.

He grabbed your face with his hand making you look at him, eyes filling with lust and need. He grabbed your hand, holding yours and his and trailing it down to his crotch, pressing your pal against his clear erection. Your cheeks grew red as a smirk was across his lips, hovering over yours.

“See what you do?” He voice was low, as you palmed him through his jeans, making him groan out in pleasure as he caught your lips in his. He swiped his tongue across your lower lip, pulling at it gently making you submit to his tongue darting to meet yours.

Your hand worked it’s way to unbutton his jeans, pulling the zipper down and snaking it’s was under his briefs to grab his hard cock. You held it in your hand, squeezing it gently and pulling it put, pumping softly. He moaned into your mouth as you rubbed your thumb over the slit, his breathing becoming quicker and his hips thrusting up into your hand. You smeared his pre-come down his shaft and using it to pump him more easily.

“Fuck, peach. You work my cock to good.” He pressed his lips against your jawline as you picked up the pace, his hips thrusting into your hand as much as you would let him. You pulled your hand away and he stopped kissing your neck, looking at you curiously. You got off the couch and crouched between his legs, face level with his cock as it stood in the air.

“Let me pay you back for keeping the streets safe, Barnes.” His mouth fell open as you took him in your mouth, messing with the tip with your tongue slowly, twirling it around to collect the pre-cum that had spilled from the top.

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth. Such a natural.” You moaned as you had him in your mouth, the vibrations traveling through his duck and up his body making him moan out. He grabbed a fistful of your hair at your scalp, pushing your head down as much as you would let him.

Spit fell from the corners of your mouth and down his shaft. You used it to pump him with your hands as you practically gagged on him. You loved sucking him off, it was one of your many pleasures as you felt yourself growing wet at the obscene sounds he was making.

“So dirty, sucking me off in your dads living room. You love this, don’t you?” He pushed your head down further, hitting the far back of your throat and making a loud, guttural moan. He pulled at your hair as you took all of him, his hips snapping up and throat fucking you.

You felt the couch vibrate as Bucky’s phone lit up with your dads name as the caller ID. Bucky muttered a quite ‘fuck’ before picking up the phone.

“Keep my cock in your mouth, you hear peach?” You nodded as you blinked up through your eyelashes, warming his cock in your mouth as he accepted the call.

“Hey man.” You sucked softly, watching as his bit his lip when you hear the low sounds of your dad on the other end of the phone. You couldn’t understand a word he was saying and from the looks of it, Bucky couldn't either.

“She’s been so good. Nothing to worry about here.” You met the tip of his cock with your lips, sucking softly and teasing the tip once more when he grunted, bucking his hips up.

“What? No I’m good. Everything is good here.” At this point it was your mission to make him come. You took his balls in your other hand and massaged them in between your fingers softly as you bottomed out, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat and started sucking.

You felt his cock twitch in your mouth, the vein that ran up the underside of his shaft throbbed, and you knew he was close.

“I hear you man.” It didn’t seem like your dad was going to stop talking anytime soon, and you took this as pay back for all the times Bucky made you come while on the phone with your dad. You sucked as hard as your could while fondly his balls, feeling the hot cum shoot down the back of your throat. He let out a ‘shit’ as he came, blushing at the fact he was coming in his best friends daughters mouth.

“Talk later.” He hung up as quick as he could and tossed the phone on the pillow, grabbing your hand and cumming hard down your throat. You swallowed every last drop, as he continued to slowly mouth fuck you.

“Fuck, sweets. That turn you on? Swallowing my cum while I’m on the phone with your dad, huh?” You let go of his balls and sat up, making a ‘pop’ noise as you let go of his dick. You licked your lips and smirked up at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You had tears down your face, hair disheveled but felt good.

“Payback, Buck.” Those words lit something behind his eyes as he leaned over and grabbed your face with his hands, smashing his lips against yours and pulling you up to him, as you straddled his lap and felt his hard dick on the inside of your thigh.

“I’m going to fuck you all night. Think you can keep up, peach?”

[buckyalpine]

Professor reader and college student Bucky: finding out this little shit has been coming for tutoring during your office hours just to admire you and follow you around like a little puppy. He’s most definitely one of the smartest students in the class but that giant crush he has on you has him pretending he needs all the help he can get.

Help me mommy

Then you find out his little game and-

(We don’t talk about how he switches from begging to have his face buried between your legs to the way he possessively bends you over your desk, teasingly asking if he’s doing a good job while he fucks your brains out-)

[navybrat817]

Late Night Shenanigans

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky searches for Alpine when she gets out one night and finds her curled up with you.

Word Count: Over 1.6k

Warnings: Drunk reader with no filter and Alpine likes her, bit of grumpy!Bucky, humor, attraction, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: @starlightcrystalline sent me this IG video and I had to do something for her. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was going to kill Sam. No, not really. He wasn’t a cold-hearted killer. Just because Sam hadn’t shut the door fast enough didn’t mean it was his fault that Alpine ran out. Accidents happened, and she was lightning fast. It still stunned Bucky and Steve when Sam shouted that she got out because she hadn’t taken off like that before. Super soldier speed hadn’t worked since she was gone by the time Bucky got to the front of his place. 

They split up to look for her, and he didn’t want to wake anyone up since it was late, but he was worried since Alpine had gone past his neighborhood. She was his little buddy, his kindred spirit. He wanted her to be okay. He didn’t want her to get lost or hurt.

“Alpine?” he asked, rounding a corner and looking around. His shoulders dropped when he didn’t spot her. “C’mon, Al.”

He went down another block when he heard an unfamiliar voice in the distance, his body going stiff. “Oh, my GOD. You are seriously the cutest cat EVER.” Was this stranger talking about his cat? “Your fur is as white as snow and so soft. OOH. Is your name Snowball?”

“Snowball?” he muttered, jogging in the direction of your sweet voice. Wait, why did he think your voice was sweet?

“You’re a little purr machine! I just want to take you home and cuddle with you and keep you FOREVER.”

“Oh, no, you fucking don’t,” Bucky snarled, rounding another corner. He didn’t care how sweet you sounded. You were talking about possibly stealing his cat, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

He sighed in relief when he saw Alpine before his brows furrowed. She was curled up in your lap as you sat in the middle of the sidewalk. He had to blink to be sure his eyes were working correctly. Alpine never took to strangers like that. She liked Steve and Sam, but it still took her time to warm up to them.

Shooting them a text to let them know he found Alpine, he wondered who you were and why she was snuggling with you. 

“Al.” He whistled as he jogged the rest of the way over. Instead of jumping out of your lap like he expected, she curled into you more and purred. Maybe you had some sort of special power that made his cat relax. 

You tilted your head up and Bucky forgot how to breathe for a second. Even under the harsh light of the sidewalk lamp you were beautiful. Fuck, maybe you had some sort of special power over him, too. “Hi!” you said a little too loudly, like you didn’t have a clue how late or quiet it was. Inhaling, he could smell the alcohol on your breath from where he stood. Jesus, were you drunk? “Hooooooooe, my God. You are the hottest man I have ever seen in my life. Just… ” You waved a hand at him. “Holy fucking shit.”

He was thankful that it was either too dark for you to see or you were too drunk to notice the pink in his cheeks. Not to mention, he was in jeans and a black t-shirt. He hardly looked hot. “You’re drunk, but thanks for the compliment,” he stated, reaching out for Alpine who stubbornly stayed put. Seriously, what was her deal? She didn’t know you. He didn’t know you.

“Annnnd I’ll be sober when I wake up tomorrow, but you’ll still be really hot. That’s totally not fair.” You giggled after a moment and held Alpine up to look at him. “Isn’t he hot? Like a model or a god or something made up in a lab.” You tilted your head. “Or my dreams.”

Bucky frowned, as if he didn’t talk to his cat on a regular basis. He was trying to ignore that you were clearly physically attracted to him. That wasn’t the usual reaction people had when he came around. Not in today’s age at least. His glare didn’t even phase you since you continued to smile at him. “Al’s a cat. She can’t-”

“Meow.”

Your smile turned into something triumphant. “See, she agrees with me,” you said, rubbing your cheek against Alpine’s before you gasped. “Wait, you called her by a name. Do you know her?” Bucky let out a breath, wanting to get back home and get some sleep. He had had a long day. “Yeah, she’s my cat and she got out a bit ago. Could you please give her back so I can go home?”

Your lower lip trembled and he feared you’d burst into tears. He had no clue what to do if you cried. “I’m soooo sorry. I didn’t know she was your cat. I swear.” His eyes widened when you tried to get to your feet, his hands going to your hips to help steady you. He was reluctant to let you go, and he felt like an ass because he probably scared you. “She just came right up to me and I only wanted to pet her for a minute.”

Bucky kept a hand on your hip when Alpine finally moved into his other arm. He felt better, but wouldn’t relax completely until he was at home. “It’s okay. I’m glad she did,” he said honestly. Because Alpine went to you, it made it much easier to find her. “Wait a second.”

“What?” you asked, making him lose his breath again when you looked him in the eyes.

He had to blink a few times and snap himself out of his stupor. What was wrong with him? “Why the hell are you out here by yourself?” he asked, trying to keep his anger in check when he took in your outfit. He was so concerned about Alpine that he didn’t clock right away that you were in a semi-revealing black dress. It was gorgeous, and that kind of look could attract all sorts of attention. Even if you weren’t drunk and all alone, the thought of someone taking advantage of you made his blood boil.

You nodded to the building beside you. “My place is RIGHT there, but it’s soooo sweet that you care about my wellbeing.” 

“Which apartment?” he asked. 

“Okay, you may be really hot and I may be drunk, but I don’t know you, so I’m not telling you my apartment number.” You wrinkled your nose. “That’s how true crimes start.”

He snorted before he could stop himself. At least you were smart enough not to tell him. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re alone out here.”

“My friends and I were celebrating a birthday at the bar a few blocks away and the birthday girl wanted to play drinking games and my luck was terrible tonight since I kept losing, or I guess winning if you count drinking as winning?” you explained, shaking your head. “Anyway, my sober friend dropped me off, but your cat walked over before I could go inside,” you continued, smiling and scratching behind her ears. At least you hadn’t walked home alone. “And it would’ve been rude of me to ignore little Snowball.”

“Her name’s Alpine,” he corrected you, but there was warmth in his tone instead of annoyance.

“My apologies, Queen Alpine.” You booped Bucky on the nose. “And what is your name?”

Bucky blinked and blinked again. He couldn’t believe you just booped him. If Steve and Sam had seen that… “It’s Bucky.”

You didn’t react to his name, simply giving him your name, too. “Do people call you ‘Buck’?” you giggled. “Because Buck rhymes with-”

“I think you should get inside,” he cut you off. “And make sure you drink some water and have some aspirin waiting beside you when you wake up.”

“Awwwwwwwwwww. You really do care about my wellbeing,” You leaned into him, stars in your eyes. “You’re a good man. I can tell.”

Bucky cleared his throat. Why would you think he was a good man? “Well, if Al likes you, you can’t be all bad.”

“I can be bad if you want me to,” you whispered exaggeratedly and winked. “Sorry, I have no filter when I drink.”

“Yeah, I sensed that,” he deadpanned. It was kind of refreshing. “Do you always flirt with strange men like this?” he asked, feeling a surge of jealousy for no reason.

“Just you, stranger,” you answered. He believed you only because you seemed too sweet to lie. “Thanks for being nice and letting me snuggle with your cat.”

You had to be drunk to say he was nice. “I’m a grump.”

You booped his nose again. “Whatever you say, Mr. Grump,” you said, giving Alpine one last pet. “See you later, Alpine.”

The meow Alpine let out sounded so sad it almost broke Bucky’s heart. “It’s late, Al. She needs rest, and so do we.”

“Night night!” you called back, somehow managing to walk in a straight line up the building door. “Sweet dreams!”

“What if Al wants to see you again?” he asked. 

You paused and smiled over your shoulder. “If you want to see me again, I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

As tempting as it was to ask for your number or give him yours, you were drunk. You’d probably forget all about him in the morning. Besides, you might have a boyfriend. So he held Alpine closer and watched you go inside, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

“You gave me a real scare, Al,” he said, walking away as Alpine looked back at the building. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll see her again.”

For Alpine’s sake, he hoped they’d see you again.

And for his own sake, he hoped you were single.

Had to be done, lovelies! When and where will he see you again? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @jozzieblood @buckysteveloki-me @dragonoftheshadows @plaidconvers @kateawolf13 @keira-kaz2y5 @frog-fans-unite @doilooklikeagiveafrack @verynormalsstuff @nynxtea @iminyourceiling @seventeen-x @mgchaser @y0urgirl @lovely-seb @laughterafter @mysuperlaserpissnumber1fan @irasciblemogwai @svtbpbts @vivalas-vega @chonkybonky @bmyva1entine @6urmom @homiesexual-or-homosexual @aoi-targaryen @bitter-semi-sweet @soflegacy @kath-666 @hiireadstuff @highhopes1008 @sineminuse @hawkinsavclub1983 @buckingforbuckybarnes @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @huang-the-geek @joewhs @witchywannabe3263 @iyskgd @ironenemycollective @bumblebeebutter @sizzlingstarlightsky @buckybarnesslutshop @starstruck-cowgirl @angelicdarkn3ss @confused-simp-jpg @hufflepuffsforjoy @nicolebarnes @avatarobsessedgirly @escapismurmom @paige0103

---‐------------------------------------------------------

Tw: cussing, tension, description of Hydra tortures (if you squint)

Part 10

Words of command - Part 11

The kitchen gleamed in the sterile kind of way only billionaire kitchens do—glass, chrome, and tech woven into every cabinet.

The sun poured in through the massive windows, streaking golden light across the countertops and the back of Bucky’s shoulders as he stood, stock still, facing a cutting board like it might explode.

You stood to his left, a good half a head shorter, sleeves rolled up, voice guiding him.

“Hold the onion like this,” you said softly, demonstrating. “And curl your fingers under, so the knife doesn’t catch.”

Bucky's expression didn’t change, but his eyes—cold steel rimmed with caution—locked on your hands. He mimicked the movement with uncanny precision, down to the slight shift of weight in your stance.

He didn’t breathe.

He didn’t blink.

His metal arm hovered just slightly, tense and unreadable.

“Good,” you offered, reaching out to nudge his wrist slightly to adjust his angle. “Just like that.”

Tony strolled into the kitchen like he owned it—which, to be fair, he did—with a half-drunk coffee in one hand and his usual exasperated swagger.

“Oh good,” he drawled, leaning against the island. “I see we’ve reached the 'culinary assassin' phase of rehab. What’s next? Battle baking? Murder muffins?”

Bucky’s head snapped up.

The knife paused mid-slice, his entire body tensing like a drawn bow. His expression didn’t change, but his pupils narrowed slightly. Assessing. Calculating.

You reached out and gently placed a hand on his forearm, just enough pressure to signal.

“Non-threat, Soldat,” you said quietly. “That’s Tony. He likes to run his mouth, but he pays my wages too"

Bucky looked at you. Immediately, his shoulders eased—just a bit.

“Understood,” he muttered. But his hand didn’t leave the knife.

Tony raised a brow. “Y’know, if looks could kill, I’d be halfway to a death by now. He always this… stabby in the morning, or is that your influence, Dollface?”

You shot him a look. “Don’t you start that shit too”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to Tony again.

“She’s Doll. To me.”

For a second Tony Stark actually stopped speaking.

Bucky’s metal hand was hovering uncertainly over a carton of eggs.

The other hand now gripped a wooden spoon like it was a combat knife.

You moved slowly, always narrating your actions, never touching him without warning. He still flinched if anyone else came too close.

But you? He leaned into your presence like a plant seeking sun.

“Okay, ready?” you asked, sliding a bowl in front of him. “You’re going to crack the egg like this—not too hard, just a little tap on the side.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed in deep focus. “Like a pressure point?” he asked, staring down at the fragile shell like it might explode.

You bit your lip to hide a smile. “Kind of, yeah. But just a little tap.”

He nodded. Took a breath. Then—

CRACK.

The entire egg shattered in his grip, shell and yolk crushed into his palm. It slid through his metal fingers, gooey and viscous.

You heard applause as Tony’s voice floated from across the room.

“Well done, that egg’s dead. Good work, Terminator. Want me to get him a frying pan or a flamethrower next, Thumbelina?”

Bucky’s jaw twitched. He looked to you immediately, awaiting your reaction.

You just ignored Tony and gave Bucky a soft, reassuring smile. “That was a good first try. You’ll get it. Want to try again?”

His tense shoulders eased just slightly. “Yea, please.”

You guided his hand over the second egg, placing your fingers lightly on his. The difference in size was striking—your hand so small, his flesh palm practically engulfing yours.

“Let me show you,” you whispered.

He watched you carefully, eyes tracking every tiny motion. This time, the egg tapped lightly on the side of the bowl. A clean break. He tilted it just the way you showed him, letting the yolk slide out without spilling.

He looked at it. Then at you.

“I did it,” he said, almost surprised.

You beamed. “You did.”

Tony, mid-sip of coffee, raised a brow. “Great, now teach him how to make toast without treating the toaster like a bomb.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

While you whisked the eggs, Bucky watched your hands move, his voice quieter now.

“I think I remember something…burned toast. Steve made it. Said it was ‘perfectly fine.’” His lips twitched into something almost like a smile. “It wasn’t.”

You looked up quickly. “That sounds like Steve.”

He nodded. “I don’t remember everything. Just… pieces. Smells. The way someone laughed. Cold mornings.”

You didn’t say anything—just listened. Encouraging without pressure.

Bucky's gaze shifted and fixed on the scrambled eggs wherever they went. “ I like this Doll, its quiet. Warm. I think I like the way you… are.”

You hesitated, then touched his hand gently, curling your fingers around his flesh ones and giving them a quick squeeze.

Tony walked past again, intentionally dropping a dishtowel in your direction. “Just make sure he doesn’t use the whisk like a tactical baton. And maybe warn me next time the terminator gets cooking privileges. Stark Tower’s insurance premiums aren’t infinite.”

The island counter is now cluttered with mixing bowls, a half-dozen eggs, and two kinds of cheese—because you weren’t sure what kind Bucky would prefer.

Bucky's metal fingers are twitching slightly at his side, the other hand hovering above the whisk like it’s a weapon he hasn’t figured out how to disarm yet.

“Like this?” he asks, the words a little more fluid now, though his accent still shadows every syllable. He watches you closely, mimicking your motion.

“Perfect,” you murmur with a small smile, reaching up instinctively to adjust the bowl under his arm. “You're not going to break it. Just be gentle.”

He watches your hands again—small, soft, and completely unafraid of him. That still confuses him. No one’s hands have ever touched him with that kind of absent affection, at least not that he remembers.

Tony takes a dramatic sip of his coffee. “God, this is precious. Should we all hold hands and sing Kumbaya next? Maybe teach him how to use a dishwasher without stabbing it?”

"Jesus Tony, I know where free entertainment but give it a rest" you quipped.

Bucky narrows his eyes slightly. “The machine hissed at me. I don’t like it.”

You stifle a laugh, which makes Bucky tilt his head toward you, eyes flickering with curiosity like he wants to keep making that sound come out of you.

Tony’s already halfway out the door, waving over his shoulder. “Just don’t burn the place down, lovebirds.”

You glance up, expecting a flare of confusion from Bucky—but he doesn’t seem to register the implication. Or if he does, he’s pretending not to.

When it’s just the two of you again, the kitchen suddenly feels smaller. Quieter. The whisk clinks gently in the metal bowl as Bucky stirs again, this time slower, more natural.

“Hey Doll,” he says softly.

You look up from where you've turned a pan on, on the stove.

“Why does he… say things like that?”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like we’re… more.”

Your breath catches. Not from fear—just surprise.

“He just teases. That’s how he talks to people. He’s not serious.”

Bucky stares at the eggs, then at you.

“But I don’t think I'd mind,” he says slowly. “If he was serious... your ... kind to me.”

You freeze—not because you’re afraid, but because something in his voice has changed.

Less mechanical.

More his. There’s a quiet pull behind his words. Not fully formed, not romantic exactly. But raw. Almost.

You open your mouth to answer, but he takes a step closer, something unreadable in his eyes.

He’s close enough now that you can feel the heat off his skin, see the faint scarring at his collarbone, the way his jaw tenses like he’s bracing for something.

“Soldat…” you start, voice trembling just a little.

But he interrupts.

“I like hearing you laugh,” he says. “Even when I don’t understand why. I think… maybe I did that ... made people laugh once.”

You say his name again, this time softer.

He’s so close.

So close you can feel the warmth from his chest and the faint scent of old leather and soap rising off his skin.

There’s a tension in the air, soft and dangerous, like something fragile perched at the edge of a knife.

His metal fingers curl slightly where they rest on the counter, not in threat but in restraint.

“Doll…” he says, low, and there’s a crackle in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Like a wire shorting out. “You make me feel—different.”

You swallow, heart thudding. “Soldat, do you know what that feeling is?”

He tilts his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he studies you. “No.”

Then, the smallest shift—his flesh hand lifts toward your face.

Trembles slightly before it even touches you.

He’s not sure if he’s allowed.

Not sure if this is part of the program.

His fingers hover just above your cheekbone.

You don’t move. Not forward. Not away.

“Hey,” Bruce’s quiet voice cuts into the moment, followed by the distinct shuffle of shoes. “Sorry—am I interrupting something?”

You blink and take a quick step back from Bucky, your cheeks warm. Bucky's hand lowers slowly, mechanically, as his gaze flicks to Bruce, all warmth wiped from his features.

Bruce holds up a tablet and gives you a tentative smile. “I ran another scan this morning. His neural pathways are stabilizing in some areas. I think I might’ve found something that could help trigger more of his long-term memory. Safely.”

You blink in surprise. “You did?”

Bucky’s gaze sharpens. He doesn’t move, but his stance shifts ever so slightly—too still. Too alert.

Bruce steps in closer, holding out the tablet to you. “It’s a low-frequency transcranial stimulator. Not invasive. It mimics some of the electrical patterns from sleep cycles and REM states—what helps memory form and reconnect.”

You see it—the soft, hopeful data on the screen—but Bucky doesn’t.

He hears only one word.

Electrical.

A noise escapes his throat—sharp, guttural. Not quite human.

“No.” It tears from his lips in a ragged breath, his eyes wild and suddenly gone again. “No electricity. No chair. You said—no chair.”

His hands slam down on the counter, hard enough to rattle the bowl.

You flinch instinctively, and he sees it.

That’s when he panics.

He backs up like he’s been shot. “I didn’t mean—Doll—I didn’t mean to—”

You move forward quickly, voice low and steady despite your heart thudding in your chest.

“Soldat. Look at me.”

His chest heaves.

His fists are clenched.

His metal arm twitches with barely controlled adrenaline. But he locks eyes with you, like you’ve just thrown a lifeline into the storm.

“I’m here,” you whisper. “I promised you—no chair. No pain. No one is going to hurt you. Do you trust me?”

He swallows hard, lips parted slightly. The panic hasn’t gone, but he’s trying to hold it back—for you.

“I don’t… understand,” he murmurs, softer now, as if ashamed. “But I trust you, Doll.”

Your heart aches at the way he says it—like it’s a truth he doesn’t fully comprehend, but feels all the same.

You glance at Bruce and give him a small shake of your head. “Not yet,” you mouth. “Give us time.”

You find Bucky later, curled in one of the chairs on the balcony just outside the rec room. His knees are drawn up, arms wrapped around them.

He stares at nothing.

You step out into the cool air and sit down quietly beside him. No words. Just your presence.

Eventually, he speaks.

“I don’t like electricity,” he murmurs. “I remember… metal. Pain. Then forgetting. I dont want to forget.”

You nod, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

A long pause. Then—

“But if you ask me to,” he whispers, “I will.”

And that—hurts more than anything else.

Because he still thinks he has to.

You slide your hand over his. He stiffens, then relaxes.

“You never have to do something just because I ask.”

The lab is lit low, the usual sharp white lights dimmed to a softer gold that Bruce said might make things feel less clinical.

The transcranial device sits on the medical bench—more like a padded headband than the hulking mechanical monstrosities Bucky remembers from before.

You can hear the low hum of the cooling system, the soft hiss of hydraulics in the walls—every little sound feels louder with the way Bucky's breath holds still in his chest.

He stands just inside the doorway, like a man staring into a cage.

The chair in the middle of the room looks innocuous now.

Padded headrest, ergonomic design, subtle LED lights rather than cold metal restraints. But Bucky’s eyes don’t see any of that.

They see the chair. They see Hydra. The screams, the static, the burning nerves and ripped memories.

His body language is screaming tension. Rigid shoulders. Chin tucked slightly like he’s protecting his throat. His left hand—the metal one—is half-raised, twitching like it’s already calculating escape routes.

But his flesh hand… his right hand hovers, almost uncertain, before curling into a trembling fist.

You walk slowly up to him. You don’t touch him yet. You just stand in front of him, letting your frame create a space where his fear can breathe.

“Doll,” he mutters, voice low and hoarse. “I don’t know if I can—”

“You don’t have to,” you say gently. “I’ll go first.”

His eyes flash toward you, full of panic.

“No.”

You pause. He almost never says no—it’s fear.

“It's ok Soldat, I need you to see that it’s safe,” you whisper. “You don’t trust the chair. But I trust Bruce. And I trust you.”

“Banner,” Bucky snaps, his voice suddenly cold. “What does it do?”

Bruce looks up from the console. “The device emits a low-frequency transcranial stimulation—non-invasive, non-painful. Think of it like acupuncture, but for the brain. It promotes neural plasticity and helps reactive suppressed memory pathways. There’s no electricity. No shocks. Nothing painful. And nothing remotely like Hydra’s machine.”

He walks over to the chair and lifts the headpiece. It looks more like a padded visor, a soft halo of tech with small light sensors and cooling gel pads.

“See?” he says, letting Bucky inspect it. “No wires. No needles. It just sits on your head and… helps open a few doors.”

You reach out now. Slowly. Carefully. Your hands find his flesh hand—and you take it into both of yours, gently wrapping your fingers around his. His hand is rough, cold with adrenaline, and shaking faintly.

“I’ll sit down first,” you say again, eyes on his. “I want you to see exactly what it does.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand as you move, and you have to ease away carefully to take your place in the chair.

His entire body follows you—watching, tracking, trying to prepare for the worst.

"You hurt her, I hurt you" his eyes are on you, but his words are for Banner.

Bruce give Bucky a reassuring smile before moving to set the device on your head. It emits a soft whirring sound, like a cooling fan.

"If she forgets m—" Bucky murmurs.

"I'm ok Soldat, that wont happen" you say squeezing his hand as you cut him off gently.

There’s no shock, no jolt—just a gentle pulse behind your eyes, like a flicker of warmth moving across your skull.

You smile.

“It just feels like… like a tingle,” you say softly. “Almost like soda bubbles in your brain.”

Bucky’s brows knit, his jaw still tight.

“No pain?” he asks, voice thin.

“None,” Bruce confirms, monitoring the screen, and showing Bucky. “Her vitals are normal. Brain activity looks calm. This is actually encouraging—it’s exactly the reaction I hoped for.”

You glance back at Bucky.

“I’m okay. You don’t have to do this today. But if you want to try—just try—then I’ll be right here the whole time. I promise.”

He hesitates for a long moment.

You can see the war behind his eyes.

Fear.

Conditioning.

The ghosts of command protocols.

He swallows hard.

Then he nods once, slow and sharp.

“…Okay,” he breathes. “But you don’t let go. Don’t leave me in that thing alone.”

“Where you go I go, Soldat”

Bucky moves toward the chair like a man walking into a fire. Every step is a silent scream of resistance. His body sits stiff, muscles clenched so tight you can see the tension trembling in his thighs, his jaw, his neck.

When Bruce tries to approach with the device, Bucky tenses violently, eyes flashing wide with remembered pain.

“Don’t touch me,” he growls.

“Hey,” you murmur gently, stepping into his line of sight. You kneel beside him, taking his flesh hand again. You cup it in both of yours, thumb softly stroking the back of his hand in slow, rhythmic motions.

“You’re safe,” you say quietly. “It’s just me. You don’t have to hold on so tight.”

His fingers twitch, then curl around yours in a slow, deliberate motion. His grip is terrifyingly strong, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“I’m here,” you say again. “I’m not leaving.”

Bruce, carefully watching, steps in again.

“Just putting the band on. It’s going to hum a little. No pulses. No shocks. You’ll feel pressure—not pain.”

The device is secured around Bucky’s head. You see his breath hitch—chest rising sharply as the hum begins.

His eyes flash wide.

“Doll, I'll remember, you promise” Bucky almost whispers to you.

“Yup, no ones taking anything away, promise” you say immediately.

You press both your hands around his hand and lean closer. “Focus on my voice. It’s just static. Like soft rain on a roof.”

His eyes dart between you and the ceiling. His grip tightens. His mouth opens—then closes again. But he doesn’t scream. He doesn’t break.

“You’re doing it,” you say softly. “That’s all you have to do. Just let it be. I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs, eyes wet. “Don’t be proud of this.”

“I am,” you whisper. “Because this is you, choosing something for yourself. Not because someone made you. Because you wanted to try.”

His breath breaks—just once. A faint exhale, a soft tremble, and a barely audible

“…Okay.”

When the hum fades, Bruce gently removes the device. He gives you both space, backing away to the monitors without a word.

Bucky blinks. Looks around. Waits—for pain, for punishment, for someone to shout again in Russian.

But nothing happens.

He looks at you. Eyes exhausted, but clear.

“…That wasn’t the chair.”

“No,” you say softly. “It wasn’t.”

His hand is still in yours. He doesn’t pull away.

“…Can we do it again sometime?”

You smile. “Whenever you’re ready.”

[materia-girl88]

Kiss and Make Up

18+, minors dni

Graphic smut ahead

the aftermath of a fight between you and Bucky ;)

i'm thinking of doing a few final fantasy and red dead redemption 2 one shots as well :) lmk what you think!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The bed was cold.

You rolled over onto your side, thick comforter pulled up to your chin as you curled up. The clock read 1:18am and you sighed. There was a small picture frame by the clock with a photo of you and Bucky from when you first moved in, smiling at each other with his arms around your waist as your palms rested on his chest.

Neither of you remembered what the argument was really about.

Bucky had come home earlier that evening after a meeting with Sam and Joaquin about a mission they had been gathering intel on and he was stressed.

You had tried to get him to talk about it but he had refused, snapping a "Just drop it" at you.

One thing led to another and one shouting match later, he was in the living room sleeping on the couch while you were alone in your king sized bed, eyes wide open, just wishing he was there to keep you warm.

Another 15 minutes passed before you couldn't take it anymore and you stood, blanket wrapped around you shoulders, and padded your way from the bedroom out to the living room where you could see Bucky laying on the couch staring up at the ceiling.

"Bucky," you called softly, slowly making your way to him.

His head turned, eyes becoming soft and a bit sorrowful at the sight of you. He let out a breath before he opened his arms to you with a quit "Come here, angel."

Your lip quivered a bit as you made your way to him, leaning down to lay on top of him with your legs tangling and your chin propping onto his chest.

"I couldn't sleep. I don't like laying in there without you," you told him, fingers clutching into his t-shirt as you shifted.

All you wore was one of his black t-shirts with a pair of dark blue panties, and you felt his warmth seep through to you as you both gazed in each other's eyes.

He let out a sigh, one arm coming to rest on the dip of your spine, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin while the other came up to brush your hair back from your eyes.

"I don't like it either. I'm sorry for snapping at you, baby. It was a tough day and I took it out on you instead of speaking to you," he said, voice soft.

You leaned your head to rest in his palm, giving him a soft smile.

"It's okay. I'm sorry too for not respecting that you weren't ready to talk. I shouldn't have pushed it," you told him.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft peck once, twice, a third time.

On the third kiss, your lips stayed locked and you could taste the minty freshness of his toothpaste.

You sat up a bit to reach him better, sliding your legs to straddle his boxer covered hips while his hands slid to your waist.

A shudder ran through you at the coldness of his metal hand, the movement causing you to shift a bit on top of him.

Bucky's tongue slowly ran across your bottom lip and you quickly granted him access with a whimper as your tongues tangled together.

It was instinct that led you to slowly begin rolling your hips against his and he let out a grunt, hips jolting as he began to harden.

You pulled away for a moment to look at him with a small smile, "Take me to our bed, Bucky."

He didn't hesitate in giving you a grin with a "Yes, ma'am" before throwing the blanket covering you both to the floor as he stood with your arms and legs locked around him.

He made his way down the hall like a man on a mission. Once in your room, he threw you on the bed causing you to land with a squeal and a bounce, laughing as he pulled his t-shirt over his head from behind.

You went to do the same but he stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

"Leave it, doll," he said a bit breathlessly as his eyes roamed over you. "I wanna fuck you in my shirt. Just push it up enough to show me those pretty tits"

You flushed but obeyed, laying back and pushing the shirt up to above your breasts as you gazed up at him.

Bucky loved your body, especially your breasts, and never wasted any time in worshipping them.

Now, for example, he was slowly making his way up the bed towards you like a predator after his prey.

His hands came to rest on your knees where they were bent and he spread them apart, opening your thighs to him as he continued to make his way upwards.

Soon he was eye level with your chest and he didn't waste a moment before leaning in to suck a pert nipple into his mouth, his blue eyes locked onto you.

"Oh.." you gasped, thighs clenching around his hips as one of your hands came to fist in his hair. He knew how sensitive your nipples were and he never passed up a chance to get you squirming.

He gave you a sneaky grin around it before nipping at it with his teeth.

The jolt of pleasure it brought ran from your reddened nipple down to the apex of your thighs and your clit throbbed.

He continued the torture until your breasts were red and sensitive with a large love bite on your sternum between them.

You were slowly working your hips, trying to grind with his as much as possible. Your panties were soaking wet and all you wanted was for him to touch you.

"Bucky," you whined, and reached to grab where his hand was resting on your thigh,"Please."

You guided the hand upward to the damp fabric and saw as his eyes darkened at the feeling.

His hand moved to cup you fully and he ground his palm against you, your jaw dropping open.

"You're such a good fuckin girl" He growled, hand speeding up with the grinding until you couldn't take it.

You were on the edge, shaking like a crazy until Bucky suddenly paused.

Your breaths were heavy as you came down, giving him a frustrated look as your ruined orgasm.

He laughed before saying "Patience," and sat up, hands coming to the waistband of your panties.

With a jerk of his metal hand and a squeak from you, the fabric ripped away and all you could see was a flash of blue as he threw them over his shoulder.

You were ready to berate him but you were stopped when he dived in, lips wrapping around your clit to give a harsh suck as a finger came to your entrance to tease.

"Ohmygod," you whimpered, head leaning back as you arched you spine.

Bucky was good at most things he did whether it be fighting, training or really anything else.

But he was a god at eating pussy.

He feasted on you like you were a glass of water and he was a parched man in the desert.

His finger toyed at the rim of your entrance before sinking in, immediately on the search for that one spot within you that got you every time.

You let out a yelp when he found it, rubbing against it with his finger tip causing you to quiver.

"Please, please, please, baby," you begged, tears in your eyes as he continued his torture.

You could feel the orgasm building again and this time he let you have it, his head bobbing as he sucked at your hard clit.

A yell left you as you came and you clamped down on his finger that was still thrusting into you.

You were still shaking with the aftershocks of it when he gave you one last lick and pulled away.

He grinned down at you, his hair in his eyes and his lips and chin wet.

His hand came from between your thighs to show you the wetness that covered it and he used the other one to work his boxers down, kicking them to the side.

He grasped his hard cock with his wet hand, using your cum to lubricate himself and holy fuck was it hot.

"Bucky, c'mon," you whined as he scrambled into place, his dick coming to rest between the lips of your pussy.

"What is it, doll?" he asked teasingly as he began to grind the head of his dick against you, letting it slide against your oversensitive clit. Your hips jolted with every brush, "What do you need?"

You continued to squirm underneath him and glared up at him.

"I need you to fuck me." you said firmly, causing him to laugh at your neediness.

"Your wish is my command," he said before notching himself at your entrance.

You both let out a breath of relief as he slid inside, bare skin to bare skin.

As his hips began to move your hands came under his arms to rest on his back and he let out a groan as your nails dug into the skin on his back, raking red lines down the length of it.

"You feel so fuckin good. I could live in you forever," Bucky ground our, one hand holding himself up while the other grasped at the headboard.

You were letting out soft gasps with each thrust he gave you and you knew your hips would be sore from taking the impact of how hard he was taking you, but you loved it. You loved when you would bruise and he would spend time after trailing kisses over the skin.

His pelvis was slapping your clit with each thrust and before long you felt the heat rise in you again, your body beginning to quiver as your orgasm rose.

"Bucky, I'm close baby, please," you told him with a strained voice, grabbing for his hand that was holding the headboard and bringing it between you, "Please touch me."

Now that the headboard was no longer being held you could heard the wood of it smacking the wall and you only hoped that his super soldier strength wouldn't cause it to damage the walls again.

It's happened before.

He brought his fingers to your lips for you to suck on before trailing them down to your hard bud, rubbing circles into it roughly and causing you to cry out.

Your pussy tightened around him as your orgasm overtook you, your spine arching and your nails digging into his shoulders.

He let out a groan at the feeling of you tightening around him, his balls drawing up, and before long he too released.

You hummed in contentedness as you felt him spurt within you, warmth filling you.

He slid out once he was soft, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips before moving to lay beside you.

You moved to lay on his chest, his arms around you as you traced at the lines of his abs.

"I hate fighting with you, angel. But if this is the result, we may have to more often," he joked, causing you to laugh.

Before long, the both of you were asleep in each other's arms, legs entwined once more where you belonged.

[jaderabbitt]

Incidents (2)

in which there are many incidents where people forget you are the wife of one Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Descriptions of Violence, Singular Usage of Y/N, Mentions of Racism/Segregation, Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Death, Reader flirts with a woman jokingly but is otherwise of unspecified sexuality, jaderabbitt's esoteric writing style, not beta-read so if you find spelling mistakes, i WILL game-end myself Tags: whipped for his wife!bucky, not a John Walker friendly fic, some angst, comedy, angst with fluff, not good at tagging xo Riga, Latvia

Approaching the “safe” house that Zemo had apparently owned did little to settle your nerves regarding the entire situation. Madripoor had gone to shit, and fast, and you could not believe that they had convinced Bucky that it was a good idea to become the Soldat again.

Whole lot that did.

The two men walking in front of you knew better than to try and rope you into their conversation, though it seemed that Zemo was doing a lot of the talking. Bucky simply walked alongside you, slowing his gait to match yours as you let the events of the past twenty-four hours stew in your head. He had even wrapped his warm blooded arm around your waist, but you refused to lean into his touch–instead, you crossed your arms as you walked. 

There wasn’t much that could’ve taken you out of your current state. 

Sensing vibrational pulses that were abnormal for the surrounding climate, would.

Your pace had slowed even further as you looked around for the source of where the waves were coming from. Bucky’s arm tensed around you, as if he had also sensed what you were searching for.

“–of course not, why would you? We are here.” Zemo announced, promptly stopping in front of a door.

“We’ll meet back here. I need to talk to her alone,” Bucky blurted out, pinning you with a look that said trust me. You nearly rolled your eyes instinctively at how this man was an assassin for so long, yet couldn’t even come up with a convincing enough lie in the moment. It was no wonder why Hydra had you as the espionage asset and kept him behind the scope of a sniper.

Sam’s brows furrowed as he watched the interaction. “Y’all good?” He asked, his eyes darting back and forth between your figures.

“Yeah. We’ll see you guys in a bit.”

Sam gave you both one last suspicious look before walking into the building. You stood watch as Bucky leant down to pick up what you instantly recognized as a Kimoyo Bead. Hissing between your teeth, you ran a hand down your face; you were in for it now…

Bucky stood back up and turned, seeing you with an open and outstretched hand. He winced as he dropped it into your palm, already sensing the headache building on the forefront of his wife’s head. You snatched the bead up, beginning to massage your temple.

“Sweetheart–”

“Save it, James.”

You had already begun walking towards where you felt the next bead’s pulse, following it like a breadcrumb trail. His jaw quickly snapped shut and he nodded, at least having the wherewithal to look a little guilty.

— — —

You found yourselves in between what seemed to be an alleyway. The walls of the buildings on either side were peeling–and an eyesore yellow color to boot. The street itself, however, was immaculately clean. 

Truly, the alleys of New York could never. You half expected a rat the size of Bucky’s forearm to skitter across any second. The edges of your lips quirked up as you remembered when you both found out just how big the rats had mutated to over the decades. Time and a place, you reminded yourself.

“You dropped something,” Bucky called out, clearly trying to rouse whichever Wakandan had led you here. Something told you that you both had an idea on exactly who. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

You quickly turned around, coming face to face with Ayo.

The grin that creeped along your face was inescapable.

“Ayo, you finally came to visit me?” You purred, sauntering up to the Dora Milaje warrior. While she had meant to be all intimidating and serious business, the minute her eyes went from Bucky to you, there was a noticeable glimmer that came over her. You had pressed your cheeks to hers on both sides, making faux kisses in greeting. While it wasn’t one that was customary in Wakandan culture, you felt it appropriate to greet your friend.

You took a glance back at Bucky, where his eye twitched and his jaw ticked–a sign you knew meant that he was grinding his teeth.

The Wakandan warrior curled a hand under your chin, which made you let out a pleased hum in response. Her eyes quickly darted back towards your husband, and narrowed back into the expression that anyone knew meant that she wasn’t going to ask twice.

“I am here for Zemo.” She said in Xhosa, her grip on you leaving as she approached your husband. “How could you free him?”

“We need his help,” he answered plainly, and you sighed. You knew that you did need the man, but that didn’t make him less of a stain upon the earth.

Ayo had begun to prowl around the ex-assassin, chastising him. “With time, will, and the resources, the Winter Soldier programming was removed from you like a rotten fur.”

“And I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for everything you and Shuri have done–”

“Zemo murdered our King T’Chaka at the U.N. The man who chose us–” she paused, glancing down for a second before correcting herself, “who chose me to protect him.”

“I understand–”

“Very little, if anything, of our loss and our shame.”

You watched Bucky search for the words–any words, really–to respond to Ayo in a way that justified what he had done. You truthfully couldn’t find them either. It had not been you who had freed the psychopath, but…were you not one in your own right, after what you did?

You held your tongue, but it did not feel good. You swore a vow–in sickness, and in health. You trusted your husband’s decisions, even if you didn’t agree wholeheartedly with them. You would figure it out. Together.

“He’s a means to an end.”

Hearing him speak the language of the country you both had betrayed broke your glass heart into aching shards. It reminded you of your days together in the peaceful land. You had taken quickly to the people and your small community, even volunteering to assist in the childcare of the tribe. They had been weary to allow an outsider to do so, but the king’s trust in you was not taken lightly.

“Eight hours, White Wolf. Then, we come for him.”

She had held her palm open for Bucky to place the beads in, but you were quick to approach and place them in his stead. Her other hand gently enclosed over yours before you could pull away.

“Aneeka and I miss you terribly, Little Lamb.” Ayo smiled, her eyes softening as she gazed into your own. 

You couldn’t help but pout at that, sighing in defeat.

“You know I am a faithful woman, Ayo–”

“Please stop flirting with my wife.”

“I know, Little Lamb. But, if you ever change your mind…” She gave a chuckle and a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows as she began to walk away. You suddenly felt like the sun was sweltering as she winked back at you, and you bit your lower lip in return.

Bucky growled, grabbing you by your hips and pressing your backside to his front. You gasped as he bit down into the crook of your neck, effectively marking you in front of the other woman.

Hence, the name White Wolf.

– – –

“Something’s not right about Walker.”

You quirked an eyebrow at your husband as he shed his jacket on his way to the cabinets, giving his figure a once over. He caught your look as he glanced back to offer you a glass, but you shamelessly kept gazing. It was a shame you couldn’t see the angry red blush that was surely creeping along his chest as his head snapped back towards pouring a drink, almost hitting against the open cabinet door.

“You don’t say,” Sam snorted, looking back down at his phone.

“Well, I know crazy when I see one–”

“I’d be very careful with how you finish that sentence, dear.”

“–because I am crazy.”

“Nice save,” you smirked.

“Can’t argue with that.”

You plucked the decanter from Bucky’s hand, holding his right hand in your own, forcing him to pick up the glass with his metal one. He squeezed it gently as he took a sip of the whiskey, going on to argue about the shield once more with Sam.

His thumb rubbed circles into your skin, not even flinching as the door was slammed open by none other than John Walker himself. He simply sighed and made to grab the decanter again, and you knew he wished for nothing more than to regain the ability to get drunk in this moment. You shooed his hand away from the alcohol, taking a swig straight from the glass bottle when he turned his back towards you to look over at Walker.

Next thing you knew, a vibranium spear was embedded into the wall inches from Walker’s face.

You gave a low whistle, knowing that it had been a warning; the Dora Milaje don’t just miss. You smiled and gave a wave to the now weaponless warrior who had appeared. She gave an enthusiastic wave back upon recognizing you.

Bucky scowled and grabbed your hand, stopping you from distracting the ladies joining in on the fun.

He shamefully looked down as Ayo began to speak, knowing she was addressing him specifically.

“Even if he is a means to your end, time’s up.”

You tilted his chin up to look at you. The gray in his eyes always seemed to become more prominent when he was thinking negatively like this. He leaned into your touch near imperceptibly, very much aware of the situation in the room.

“Release him to us now.”

Your head snapped towards Ayo once Walker started addressing her. “Well, let’s put down the pointy sticks–”

Your husband was born during segregation and you don’t think even he would voice such a microaggression.

“...you might wanna fight Bucky and (y/n) before you tangle with the Dora Milaje,” you heard Sam say, only half paying attention to the conversation.

You watched in abject horror as John Walker went to touch Ayo. “Walker, don’t–”

The grimace that spread as you watched her lay Walker out on his ass was almost sympathetic. You were mostly just uninterested in being involved in the death of the newly appointed Captain America.

“We should do something.” Sam pointed out to you and Bucky.

The latter of which simply wrapped an arm around your shoulder to pull you against him, smirking like he was watching a cage match where his bet was winning.

“Lookin’ strong, John!” Bucky cheered sarcastically, making you snort.

“Bucky.” Sam hissed, looking to you as if he was asking you for help.

“You’ll land a hit eventually, Walker!” You added, looking Sam dead in the eyes.

You both begrudgingly conceded to stopping your affair-in-waiting-should-Bucky-fuck-up.

Watching your husband’s metal arm fall off his torso had startled you as much as it did him. You looked to Ayo, mouth agape, as she condemned him. The betrayal in his eyes as you locked gazes with him was nothing short of visceral. You quickly rushed over to pick up the fallen limb, helping him reattach it. His daze didn’t last very long; he never was one to allow himself to think instead of running on instinct alone.

“Buck, look at me.” His face locked back into an impassive expression, but his eyes couldn’t lie. Not to you. “I’m with you. ‘Till death do us part, remember?”

I’m with you ‘till the end of the line, pal. xo likes, reposts, comments appreciated <3 taglist: @seventeen-x @svtbpbts @mizz-kraziii @rafesgurl

[axescryinwater]

hi lovely! could i request a bucky barnes x female reader fic where the reader is on her period and comes home absolutely exhausted from a long day at work? she's crampy, moody, and just DONE. but bucky is the sweetest and takes care of her in all the best ways (wink wink). a little comforting + spicy combo? soft!bucky being extra gentle and attentive would be amazing. thank you!

NSFW CONTENT BELOW

warning for period sex if that makes you uncomfy. (the blood descriptions aren't really graphic but just in case!)

the door clicked softly as you stepped inside, the quiet of your apartment a stark contrast to the chaos of your day. the relentless meetings, the endless emails, the pressure of deadlines, everything had piled up, and the world felt like it was leaning just a little too heavily on your shoulders. and to make matters worse, your period had hit hard today, with cramps that had you feeling like you were being twisted in every direction.

you kicked off your shoes at the door, your limbs heavy and exhausted, the only thing on your mind being the thought of curling up on the couch and disappearing into a world of blankets and comfort. you barely had the strength to take off your jacket before you heard his voice from the other room.

“hey,” bucky’s voice called, warm and inviting. “you home?”

“yeah,” you muttered, letting out a long sigh as you leaned against the doorframe. the world felt like it was spinning, and you just couldn’t muster the energy to fake being okay.

bucky appeared from the living room, a soft smile on his face. his eyes softened immediately when they landed on you. his hands, usually so confident and steady, seemed to reach out for you with a tenderness you could never get used to. it was usually like this with him. his care never came in bursts, it was always consistent, unwavering.

“long day?” he asked, the concern clear in his voice as he crossed the room toward you.

“yeah,” you sighed, rubbing your forehead with the heel of your palm. “just... a lot. and cramps. ugh, it’s just... too much.”

he immediately moved toward you, his hands going to your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. you hadn’t even realized how tense you were until his touch made you aware of it. he was always so in tune with you, reading the unspoken signals you never even realized you were sending.

“you want to sit down?” he asked softly, already guiding you toward the couch. you nodded in gratitude, feeling your body practically melt against his gentle insistence. as you sat, he moved to grab a throw blanket, draping it across your lap. his touch was tender, like he was handling something fragile, though you didn’t feel fragile in his care, just loved.

bucky had a way of making everything feel a little lighter, even in your most exhausting moments. he didn’t need to say much; his presence alone was enough. he knew when you wanted space, when you needed silence, and when you needed his comforting touch.

“how about i make us some tea?” he suggested, his voice low and comforting. “i could use a little break, too. you want some ginger or chamomile? or both?”

your smile was small, but it felt like the first real one all day. “chamomile sounds perfect.”

he nodded, he disappeared into the kitchen. you listened to the quiet sound of him moving around, the clink of mugs, the soft hum of the kettle. it was nice. simple. it was the kind of sound that made you feel like you were exactly where you needed to be.

bucky returned moments later, his hands carefully carrying two steaming mugs. he sat next to you, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace between you. he handed you one of the mugs, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

“how’s the back, sweetheart?” he asked, his eyes searching your face.

“better now that i’m sitting down,” you said, leaning back into the cushions, feeling the warmth of the blanket and tea start to ease your discomfort.

bucky watched you for a moment, his brows knitting together with a protective concern. he’d seen you struggle with this before, but he could never quite get used to the sight of you not feeling like yourself.

“i know it’s not much,” he said softly, his fingers brushing through your hair, “but if there’s anything i can do to help, just let me know.”

his words, simple as they were, were a balm to your soul. you didn’t even realize how much you needed to hear them until he said them. he didn’t expect anything from you, didn’t push you to talk or make you feel like you had to smile. he just gave. and that was more than enough.

“i just need you here, buck,” you whispered, leaning into him a little more, your head coming to rest on his shoulder.

bucky immediately wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, his embrace warm and grounding. his fingers traced slow circles along your arm, the motion rhythmic and soothing. he didn’t speak for a while, just letting you lean against him and drink your tea in quiet comfort.

the silence wasn’t awkward. not with him. it was the kind of silence that said everything and nothing at once. a peaceful, unspoken understanding between the two of you that you didn’t need words to be comfortable in each other’s company.

“tell me if you want something more, baby,” bucky murmured after a while, his voice a little raspy. his thumb continued its slow, calming circles on your arm. “anything at all.”

you hummed softly, a content sound. “'m good..”

his eyes softened as he looked down at you, his lips pulling into a gentle smile. he didn’t respond with words, just tightened his arm around you in a way that made you feel safe and cared for. his warmth was a shield against the world outside, and in his arms, you could finally let go.

“okay,” he said simply, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “just let me hold you– for as long as you need.”

you closed your eyes, letting yourself drift into the kind of quiet peace you could only find in his presence. bucky was everything you needed in this moment: patient, kind, and so incredibly thoughtful. he didn’t try to fix you, didn’t tell you to feel better or to stop being upset. he just let you be. and that, in itself, was the greatest comfort. you had everything you needed right here, in his arms. and for the first time today, everything felt okay. his touch was firm but gentle, as he rubbed soft circles over your back, the pads of his fingers tracing aimless patterns against your shoulders. he knew you probably wasn’t in the mood to talk, so he simply held you close, his heartbeat steady and reassuring. he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair.

your hands gently squeeze his big forearms, his forearms flexed automatically under your touch, the firm muscle shifting beneath your fingertips. he gave you a small smile, his hands continuing to move in slow, soothing circles over your back. “you alright?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a murmur. "cramps are bad.." you mumble, your voice strained from the sharp feeling in your stomach.

his expression shifted, the lines of his face softening even further as he listened to you. he could tell that your cramps were giving you hell, and a protective instinct flared in him. he shifted you gently so that you were nestled even more closely against him, his fingers continuing their soft, rhythmic movements. he made a sympathetic sound, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against your shoulder. “i’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “is there anything else i can do? heat pack? more tea?” he shifted a little, trying to get a better look at your face.

you prop your chin up onto his shoulder, giving him those pretty doe eyes. his heart softened even more at the look in your eyes, the expression so impossibly sweet that he couldn’t help but melt. he let out a soft chuckle, his hand moving to tuck stray pieces of hair behind your ear. “oh, there you go,” he murmured, voice low and affectionate. he leaned in a little, tilting his head to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. “can’t say no to those pretty eyes,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “name it, doll. tea, hot pack, back rub, foot rub- i’m yours to command.” his hand slid down to gently massage the inside of your knee.

you gently gnaw on your puffy bottom lip, debating whether to ask him, unaware if he would be comfortable. he noticed the way you were gnawing at your lip, your hesitation and need so obvious that he didn't even have to verbalize it. he could see the mix of desire and uncertainty in your eyes, and he knew exactly what you were thinking. his hand continued its gentle massaging of your knee, and he met your gaze with a soft smirk. "go ahead and ask," he murmured, his voice tender. his gaze flickered down as you nipped at your lip, and a sharp stab of desire shot through him, his fingers tightening momentarily around your knee. he swallowed a little thickly, torn between wanting to give you whatever you needed and holding back, not wanting to press you when you were in pain.

"um... well i was just wondering... well yaknow..." you nervously mumble, your eyes flicking down to his thighs.

he shifted a little, tilting your chin up so that you were forced to meet his gaze. his expression was patient and open, waiting silently for you to continue. he could read the hesitation and shyness in your body language, and he let his hand slide from your chin to cradle your jaw, his thumb absently tracing the line of your bottom lip, where you'd been biting at it. "go on," he murmured, gentle and encouraging.

"you know there's ways to relive cramps.." you shyly mumble. you hadn't done anything too nasty with him, sex was a rarity in your relationship anyway.

he caught on immediately, his hand flexed at side, fingers twitching, wanting to touch you more. he leaned in a little, the hand that was still on your knee shifting to gently squeeze it, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly rumble. "yeah?" he murmured, "and what would that involve?" he knew exactly what you were hinting at, but he just wanted to make complete sure.

you mumble his name and his heart leapt a little at the sound of his name from your mouth, soft and pleading, and the desire and tenderness in your voice had his self control fraying at the edges. his expression shifted to one of near-overwhelming adoration, his hand releasing your knee to cradle your jaw instead, thumb stroking over the soft curve of your cheekbone. his other hand slid down to your thigh, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin, and he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. "i'm right here," he murmured. you kiss him. and he responded eagerly, his lips moving against yours in a slow, sensual kiss, his hand at your jaw moving to cup the back of your head, holding you close. it was a little desperate, almost as if he wanted to drown out the pain he could sense in your body, replace it with only the heady, overwhelming feeling of wanting and being wanted. he nipped gently at your bottom lip, tugging softly, before his tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting the heat of your kiss and the sweetness of your desire.

it had been a long day. and all you needed was some relief. the two of you had been curled up together on the couch, lazily kissing, your body pressed against his. the warmth and the comfort of his body had a soothing effect, and the simple, easy intimacy had slowly been growing more heated, both of you craving the closeness. in a moment his hips had pushed up, slotting between your thighs, and without any words he was guiding you down onto him, your bodies joining and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. he groaned softly, the sound deep and rough in his throat, as you sank down onto him, his head falling back against the couch. he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you close, and he murmured your name like a prayer, his eyes closing and his expression going utterly blissed

your body was a soft, warm weight on top of his, your skin a smooth, delicate contrast to the hard muscle and rougher scars of his own. he shifted his hips a little, his hand sliding down to grip at your thigh, a strangled gasp leaving his throat at the feeling of you wrapped around him. your blood slipped down his thick shaft, leaving it's warm mark. "god, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a quiet, rough whisper that was almost lost in the heavy, tension-filled silence of the room. he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips trailing down to bite gently at your collarbone.

he could feel the way you tensed and relaxed against him, the way your body seemed to melt as he filled you, and a wave of affection and protectiveness washed over him. as he felt the pain and tension start to ease from your body, he murmured soft, soothing words, "that's it, sweetheart, i've got you. i've got you." he shifted, his hips moving lazily underneath you, and he groaned silently as he felt you press against him, your bodies fitting together like they were made for this. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you gently but firmly in place, and he buried his face into your neck. your blood gathered into his rough pubic hair, neither fresh-cut nor forgotten, just in-between. it caught in the hair before gravity slowly guided it down his flesh. it didn’t rush. it painted. smearing across the surface of his shaft like thick ink, glinting like a dark ruby under soft light.

"stay— still—" you moan out. and he immediately obeyed your command, going perfectly still underneath you, his hands gripping you a little harder, his body tense and expectant. he let out a soft, strangled groan, the unexpectedness of your command sending a sharp jolt of need through him. he was desperate to keep moving, but he would wait and obey your every word, his eyes half lidded as he looked up at you, breathless and tense.

he swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the effort it took him to keep still. his hands flexed once, involuntarily, on your thighs, the desire to move almost overwhelming, but he forced himself to remain obedient, to do as you told him. he could feel the heat and tension building between the two of you, like electricity crackling in the air, and his head fell back against the couch cushion as he let out a low, strangled groan.

half a hour passed like this, with you sitting on his lap, his body trembling with the effort of keeping still. his expression taut with need, but he obeyed your command to remain motionless. the only sound in the room was the harsh breaths the two of you exchanged, and the occasional whine or gasp that escaped his lips. it was a slow and torturous pleasure, the sensations building and building with no release, and bucky could feel the tension and anticipation coiled tight in his stomach. finally, finally, you let him move. he didn't need to be told twice, his body moving before his mind could even catch up. his hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin as he began to move beneath you. he was desperate, rough and almost feral in his movements, his control snapped clean in half as he finally, finally got the friction he craved. he let out a sharp groan, the sound low and ragged, as he found a fast and steady rhythm, his body moving with yours as he chased his pleasure. your blood came thick, still spilling slow and hot, like something torn open too suddenly. it didn't trickle it gushed, still coating his shaft in a deep, slick red that clung to his skin, and the couch. he shuddered against you, hips rocking hard against yours, a low groan came out his lips as he found his release, the pleasure washing over him in a wave so intense it had him seeing stars for a moment, his vision going white and his back arching up of the couch. his lungs screaming for air as he panted desperately, the pleasure and tension slowly easing. he fell back against the couch, body shaking slightly, the aftershocks of his release still lingering along his nerve endings. as he finally relaxed, he looked up at you, his eyes dark and clouded, his face flushed. you're both lying still together, your bodies tangled up on the couch in a mess of limbs and bloody skin. sweat glistens on both your bodies, the smell of sex heavy in the air. between your bodies, a sticky, bloody, wet mess of release slowly oozes down both of your thighs. bucky is panting softly against your skin, his body still trying to come down from the high, his hand rubbing up and down your back in a gentle, soothing motion.

his breath is warm against your neck, and you can feel the soft, shaky gasps as he tries to catch his breath, his body still trembling a little. he lets out a small, soft moan, his hand grasping at your hip, his fingers just barely pressing against the skin. he's still holding you close to him, his grip firm and protective, as if he wants to keep you close and never let you go. he's trying to find words, but he's still too speechless from the intensity of his orgasm, his mind hazy. your bodies are both still shaking a little, the aftershocks of your lovemaking still lingering on your skin. he finally speaks, his voice still gruff and rough, a low sound against the sensitive skin of your neck. "you alright?" he murmurs sweetly, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, his touch unexpectedly gentle. that rare kind of gentleness he only ever showed you.

"feel better." you mumble, a soft relieved smile on your face, your cramps subsided for now. he nodded, "good, that's good, sweetheart." he murmured, his voice a little rougher than usual, still tinged with the echoes of the intense pleasure he'd experienced just moments before. his gaze was soft and tender, his expression almost adoring as he looked up at you, his eyes drifting over your face, taking in every little detail.

you exhaled slowly, sinking into the softness of the moment, the weight of the day finally peeling away.

you brush your fingers through his hair, it was soft, a little damp with sweat, sticking up in places from your touch. a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. he leaned down, slow and unhurried, resting his head lightly on your belly. you felt him breathe there, felt the way his whole body relaxed against yours like you were home for him, too. neither of you said anything for a while. there wasn’t much that needed saying.

eventually, he shifted just enough to press a delicate kiss to your before curling up beside you, pulling the blankets over both of you with that one strong arm of his. his other hand found yours under the covers, fingers lacing without a second thought. he whispered something into your hair. you smiled, eyes fluttering shut as you sank into his warmth. bucky pressed another kiss to your temple, and then you both went quiet again, wrapped in soft blankets and softer love, the storm of the day left behind. you were tired, still, but you didn't feel alone. never with him.