#james ramp

[ramp-it-up]

Knock You Down

Knock You Down Materlist | Part II

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. But when he meets you, he finds out that sometimes love comes around, and it knocks you down.

Word count: less than 2K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This fic was in part inspired by Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run 🫠, and partially inspired by an old song by some problematic people, lol. This is the result. As usual, I am Basil Exposition, so this is broken into parts. Part II is already in the queue and will be posted on Friday, 10/11.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Slow burn, cursing, mutual pining, Bucky the player, wild thoughts, kisses on the hand and the cheek. No sex!

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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

"Won't see it coming when it happens. But when it happens you're gonna feel it, let me tell you now."

Bucky always scoffed at Steve’s advice. He and Sam never understood his solitary bachelorhood and his one night stand lifestyle.

The truth was, he hadn’t met anyone who held his interest enough to warrant a second date, much less anything beyond one casual hookup. So, he never made promises that he couldn’t keep, and most women said they were down for that. 

Even if they were lying to themselves.

At 42, James Buchanan Barnes was too dedicated to his business, ostensibly as an art dealer, for a serious relationship. The truth was that he dealt in many things, and that was why his business needed so much attention. 

His life and everyone’s around him depended on it. 

Bucky Barnes wasn’t going to get caught slipping.

In love or in business.

—---

The first time you met James Buchanan Barnes, on what you thought would be a random Monday afternoon, he appraised you in a way that shook you to the core, those ocean blue eyes looking into your soul. You felt as if he were evaluating a piece of art as he gazed at you across his desk. 

You couldn’t know that he felt the exact same way. 

His eyes never strayed from your face as he shook your hand, but he’d noticed every bit of you as you entered his gallery, Rebirth. You were more stunning than any piece of art that he’d ever curated in the space.

While nothing like his normal type, you made Bucky feel as if he’d been so wrong about so much in his life the moment you entered his orbit. He had to get to know you to find what he’d been missing.

This afternoon you were a sight to behold and serving body. Although you were covered from neck to shin in an elegant sheath dress, the high, wrapped waist was giving all of your bounteous curves up to whoever glanced at you. And you had heads turning.

Steve, Sam, and even Natasha craned their necks to watch you as you entered Bucky’s office. And he could have sworn that Nat’s neck was at a 90 degree angle as she watched you leave her desk just outside his door.

You were fine as hell.

Bucky was entranced by dreams of handling your curves and making you smile at him forever.

As Bucky dreamed, you admired the man in front of you. Tall, dark, and handsome, Barnes wasn’t a young man, but the gray in his beard and the crinkles around his eyes made him that much more attractive. 

Even more attractive than in the paparazzi pics of him with various young models and actresses of the moment, waifs and ingénues with whom he was never photographed twice.

You just knew you were safe from any advances from him.

You thought.

“Enchanté, Ms. Y/LN. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Bucky lowered his head as he greeted you, a slight bow and extended his hand to his desk. You noticed the tattoo that started on his hand and seemed to go up his sleeve and went in the direction he pointed.

"You know, you are quite tenacious. I don’t take many meetings with potential buyers. But all of my people told me that I should.”

The silk of his voice, the unexpected tenor of it, and the way he took your hand made you shiver at the aura of experience that he gave off.

The word Daddy floated around in your mind for a moment until he invited you to sit.

You had to concentrate on the business at hand, that of negotiating for a piece of art for the Art and Culture Center in Brownsville, of which you were the director. The purchase was made possible by benefactors to commemorate a deceased Brownsville artist who became famous, then forgotten, during the Harlem Renaissance.

“You’ve made it past Ms. Romanoff, my gallerist, Mr. Wilson, my business manager, and Mr. Rogers, my gallery director, Ms. Y/LN. What makes you think that I’m going to give you a different answer? Letting that piece go for the price you’ve proposed is not a good business move.”

“You can’t afford to miss out on this opportunity, Mr. Barnes. Yes, you will be taking a loss on the artwork, but you will be on the ground floor of a major rediscovery. You will be known as one of the few who helped to resurrect the brilliance of the artist Howard Benson. You can be the Alice Walker to his Zora Neale Hurston.”

And that is when Bucky leaned back in his chair, astounded at your shrewd calculation.

“I love the way your mind works, Ms. Y/LN.”

You smiled and settled back into your chair, causing Bucky to shift in his chair. He wanted to be buried in you. He appraised and decided that he liked the pout that changed your lips almost as much as the smile that initially greeted him when he replied, “But that price is still unacceptable.”

You raised an adorable eyebrow at him and rose to the challenge that he lay at your feet ready to tangle with the inimitable James Barnes. The conversation stretched from early afternoon to dinner time, making you suspect that Barnes was drawing it out for some reason. You matched him, point for point, until it was dark. But he yielded no ground.

The conversation was intellectual foreplay: art history, sociology, american politics. And it was the most stimulated you’d been in a while. 

You could do this all night.

Your phone buzzed and you looked down. There were several text messages and emails lighting up your screen. You’d been in deep with Barnes for hours. It was after 6 pm. It seemed like only minutes. You noticed that it was only you and Bucky left in the gallery and rose to excuse yourself, albeit reluctantly.

“Oh! I’m sorry to keep you so long. I’m sure that you must have plans.”

You’d done your research and you knew that there was probably someone little more than half Barnes’ age waiting for him. When you searched social media, there was a sighting or spotted every month or so of Bucky and a young, beautiful woman.

You reached for your coat, but Bucky was behind you in seconds, taking it from you and helping you put it on. You shivered at his breath at your throat and his hands on your collarbone as he draped the lapels over your neck. His deep chuckle made your stomach flip. He saw right through you.

“No one is waiting for me but my cat, Alpine. How about you, Ms. YLN? Anyone waiting for you in Brownsville?”

“Not tonight. No.”

Why in the world were you doing the sultry whisper thing? This man didn’t want you. 

Did he?

You cleared your throat and you felt dizzy when you looked up and saw how close he was standing to you. Those eyes and the smile that graced his handsome face had you warm, but the way he licked his lips had you spiraling.

Bucky pushed down a mild sense of panic that someone might be expecting you some other night, but that was irrational. Competition never ever entered his mind when he talked to other women. 

What was happening here?

“Well I would consider myself extremely fortunate and would be honored if we could continue this conversation over dinner.”

—-

The way James Barnes turned your meeting into a dinner date had your head spinning, but the wonderful conversation and easy, light hearted banter eased your mind. As soon as the first course was served at your table at dinner at Bohemian, he agreed to your initial price.

From there, once the terms were settled, the conversation turned to more personal questions, each of you sharing the stories of your life in your town, his childhood in Romania, your childhood in Brooklyn, and lots of funny stories.

At one point early in the night, Bucky stopped you from calling him Mr. Barnes.

“Please. Call me James. Or you could call me Bucky. My Friends call me Bucky. For my middle name, Buchanan. Bucky is short for Buchanan.”

Bucky found himself rambling. He had not been this nervous in a while.

You looked at him quizzically. At that moment, he would give you anything you were about to ask of him.

“Do you have a lot of friends? I mean, do a lot of people call you Bucky?“

Godamn, the husk in your voice, those lips, those eyes. Everything about you was about to set him on fire.

“I have a few who are in my close circle. Natasha, Steve, Sam. They and a very few others call me Bucky. Most people I speak with call me Mr. Barnes...”

You nodded slowly, licking your lips, making Bucky feel it in his cock.

“Then I will call you James.”

He got your subtle meaning. You wanted to be different. 

And you were. So very different.

After almost five hours of the best conversation and laughter, he proposed another time for you two to meet before the week was up, on Friday. He had made it clear at dinner that now that business was concluded that he wanted to spend time with you.

Friday night would be a date, the second one at his insistence.

You debated that fact as his driver took you home, even up until he walked you to the door of your brownstone.

He leaned against your doorframe and checked you out as you retrieved your keys from your purse. When you turned and caught him looking, you gasped, causing him to straighten up and move toward you, eyes dilated.

“It will be our second date,” you conceded.

Bucky’s mouth curled into a smirk as he grabbed your hand and lifted it to his mouth. Your soul burned as he pressed his lips to your palm. It was like the hint of a drug in your veins and you wanted so much more.

“What made you change your mind?”

That voice. Did you have a voice kink? Good lord.

You flushed, both at the images that were racing through your mind, and at the arbitrary three date rule you’d made up a while ago. Why was that again?

You cleared your throat.

“Because of the way you are looking at me, James. And the fact that you just kissed me.”

“Is this a kiss?”

“Ummhmmmm.”

You hummed as Bucky raised his eyebrow and your hand again. This time, he brushed his lips against your wrist and inhaled the perfume lingering there. You were about to melt.

Bucky didn’t even know what he was doing. The next step in his mind was to open his mouth and consume you, but he opened his eyes and spied you looking at him in that way, and he knew he had to stop. He didn’t want this to be like all of his other conquests.

He straightened up, but didn’t let go of your hand, entangling your fingers together. 

“You are correct, Y/N. In my mind, this is a date. I am interested in you, for more than just your taste in art. I hope that this is the first date of many.”

You were bowled over at his straightforwardness. It was not what you were used to. This was a man, not a boy in mens clothing.

“I appreciate your honesty, James.”

You went on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, your lips lingering on the black and grey stubble so close to his lips. You turned around, giving him a view of your backside as you opened your door.

“And your ambition.”

You gave him that smile again with a wink, and your “Goodnight, James,” floated up to him on cloud nine.

——-

Let me know if you liked it!

Part II here.

[uwmspeccoll]

Steamy Saturday

". . . it was sinful and dirty to fool with girls, no one said anything about fooling with boys."

"Boys were different, and they could be a heck of a lot of fun."

"Dur Jeffers had his first homosexual experience in a haymow with a neighbor boy. . . ."

"It was an entirely natural and pleasant solution of a fundamental desire."

From the title, we thought this pulp romance was going to be about steam among gay veterans, but it's not. It's about gay veterinarians! Seriously.

In Gay Vets by Ross Hossannah, published in Union City, N.J. by Star News Co. in 1965, the main character Dur Jeffers is just a country farm boy who goes off to Ag School to become a veterinarian because "a man had to get ahead in the world." He starts living with the Dean's permissive family and their gay nephew Tom Ivors. Things get steamy until Tom graduates and is off to a job in "Moccasin County." Along the way there are a lot of down-home farming innuendos. With Tom leaving, he assures the sullen Dur that "I'll be home on weekends. . . . This not the end of the world -- unless you take a tenant to farm the south forty." Later, Tom jokes, "I forget whether I should take the truck or the tractor to the south forty."

"Better take the combine. The wheat's ripe and ready for harvest."

"You can shuck the corn while I'm gone," Tom said.

Unfortunately, Dur will have to do a lot of shucking, because sadly Tom dies in a highway accident coming home. Dur eventually graduates, but instead of taking a steady job, he decides to hit the road and wander. Along the way, he hooks up with fellow Aggie Terry Sullivan and Dur takes him under his wing . . . in more ways than one. Still, there's a whole, whole lot of detailed veterinarian-ing going on, which is a bit distracting. There's also an interesting interlude about race prejudice.

Dur and Terry go on several wacky veterinary adventures, but Dur cannot bring himself to commit, so Terry eventually leaves. Dur begrudgingly settles down to run an animal hospital, with several more weird veterinary adventures. But eventually, Terry returns, they make up, Dur dumps the hospital, and in the end they're off on the road again as the itinerant Gay Vets!

We don't know a whole lot about the author, but we do know that Ross Hossannah is one of several pseudonyms used by gay pulp fiction writer James H. Ramp.

View other gay fiction posts.

View more LGBTQ+ posts.

View other pulp fiction posts.

[melljam]

★ fav busan arc character designs ★

[thankstothe]

Rating: Not Cute

Messing with twink to dilf pipeline is very damaging and can lead to a lasting trauma in an aspiring dilf

[firstfluke]

Chapter 5 of my long Jegulus fic Syncopation is now up!

“Regulus?” It comes out of his mouth like a reflex, and he’s very glad the other boy can’t hear him past whatever is blaring in his headphones. James clamps his mouth shut, like he’s afraid he’ll try to call out again if he doesn’t—which makes no sense. He hasn’t seen Regulus in two years, hasn’t talked to him for just as long.

[servants-hall]

Masterpiece Studio Round Up: World on Fire S2

Here are the World on Fire podcast interviews conducted by Jace Lacob for season 2. The Masterpiece/PBS site also includes a transcript if you’d rather read/skim the interviews. Name of the interviewee is in bold; the show’s episode number that the podcast’s release corresponds with is also listed (all episodes also feature the WWII advisor Richard Overy).

2x01 - Richard Overy [Historical Advisor], World on Fire Season 2 [Masterpiece Site | YouTube]

2x03 - Meenu Gaur [Director], World on Fire Season 2 [Masterpiece Site | YouTube]

2x04 - Ahad Raza Mir [Rajib Pal], World on Fire Season 2 [Masterpiece Site | YouTube]

2x05 - Mark Bonnar [Sir Mark Danemere], World on Fire Season 2 [Masterpiece Site | YouTube]

2x06 - Eugénie Derouand [Henriette Guilbert], World on Fire Season 2 [Masterpiece Site | YouTube]

[paeinovis]

Not super surprising except I didn't realize just how much I listened to WWW this year asjdbdh

[mugiwara-lucy]

SO many good lines in this! 😂

“Unlike you I never thought there was a 13 o clock”

“The only way I’d be surprised is if you were wearing underwear” followed by “Guess there’s no surprises then” 😂

[deatheaterv]

ENDEARING

pairing : james potter x fem!reader

genre : fluff

summary : james potter teases you ALOT

it started small. james potter, hogwarts’ golden boy, had taken a liking to you, and the entire school seemed to know it. at first, it was easy to ignore—the odd smirk across the great hall, a wave during transfiguration, and the occasional “you’re looking radiant today, y/n!” whenever he passed you in the corridors.

but then he ramped it up.

one morning, you were walking to charms when you heard it.

“oi, y/n! i’ve decided i’m gonna marry you!”

you froze mid-step, the bustling corridor falling silent as every single person turned to look at you. your eyes widened in horror, and you whipped around to see james standing at the other end, his hands cupped around his mouth as he grinned like a lunatic.

“what do you say? sound like a good plan?” he called out, his voice echoing down the corridor.

“i say you’re insufferable, potter!” you shouted back, your face burning.

he clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to stagger backward. “ah, rejection. but don’t worry, love, i’ll win you over eventually!”

you stormed off, ignoring the muffled laughter and whispers from the other students.

it didn’t stop there.

a week later, you were in herbology, carefully trimming a particularly aggressive fanged geranium when james sauntered up to your station.

“looking good, y/n,” he said, leaning against the table with a cocky grin. “but you’d look even better if you let me take you out.”

you didn’t even look up. “potter, if you don’t leave me alone, i’ll feed you to this plant.”

“you’re feisty. i like that,” he teased, wagging his eyebrows.

“and you’re annoying,” you shot back, finally meeting his gaze.

he clutched his heart as if you’d stabbed him. “you wound me again, darling. one of these days, you’ll see how charming i am.”

“don’t hold your breath,” you muttered, focusing back on the plant.

the next day, he upped the ante.

you were sitting in the library, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when james appeared, plopping down in the seat across from you.

“potter,” you groaned, not even looking up.

“just thought i’d keep you company,” he said, resting his chin on his hand as he stared at you.

“don’t you have quidditch practice or something?”

“i canceled it. you’re more important.”

you rolled your eyes. “please stay away.”

“sure, but a kiss first?”

“you’re unbelievably irritating,” you finally looking up to glare him.

he just laughed, completely unfazed. “come on, y/n, admit it. you’d regret it if you don’t want to.”

“not likely,” you muttered, though the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

the teasing didn’t stop, but over time, you found yourself less annoyed by it. there was something about james’ relentless determination that was almost endearing.

one afternoon, you were sitting by the lake, enjoying the quiet, when james appeared out of nowhere, flopping down beside you.

“don’t you ever get tired of bothering me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“never,” he said, grinning. “so, what do you say? want to grab dinner with me tonight?”

“is this your way of asking me out?” you asked, giving him a skeptical look.

“obviously. i’m very subtle,” he said, smirking.

you couldn’t help but laugh. “you’re ridiculous, potter.”

“ridiculously in love with you,” he shot back, his grin widening.

you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed at his words.

then there was the moment that truly caught you off guard.

it was a late afternoon in the courtyard, and you were sitting with lily evans, enjoying the crisp autumn air. james, as usual, appeared out of nowhere, his hair even messier than usual.

“y/n,” he said loudly, dropping to one knee in front of you.

“what are you doing?” you asked, your eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“making a declaration,” he said, pulling a small flower out of his pocket. it was slightly squished, but the gesture was oddly sweet.

“oh, merlin,” lily muttered.

“y/n, will you do me the honor of..”

“potter, i swear to god—“

“-letting me carry your books for the rest of the week?” he finished, grinning as he held out the flower.

you couldn’t help it, you laughed. james potter, for all his arrogance and teasing, was nothing if not persistent.

“fine,” you said, taking the flower. “but just for this week.”

“that’s all i need,” he said, standing up and flashing you a triumphant grin.

as much as you hated to admit it, james potter was growing on you. and maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind being the center of his attention.

[dismalflo]

picture perfect

Rugby!James potter x Photographer!reader who meet for the first time while they're both working ✩ 3.2k words

summary: when Lily calls asking you to fill in for the team photographer, you agree. you meet a very nice and slightly flirty team captain - James Potter.

cw: just fluff, James is a sweetheart,

When Lily called you to ask if you could photograph the promo shots for the rugby team's social media, you should’ve said no. But, despite knowing her for years, saying no to Lily Evans is a skill you’ve never quite mastered, and lord knows, you’ve tried.

“I’m sorry, Lily, it’s just not the kind of photography I do,” you’d said, hoping she’d back off.

“I know that, but our team photographer quit out of nowhere to go ‘find himself,’ and it’s just this one time. You’d be my hero if you could help.”

“...Fine.”

So yes, you tried, but to no avail.

Now, as you drive onto the grounds, the nerves start to creep in. Lily’s request meant they were desperate, but that only ramps up the pressure. You have to get the shots right. Perfect. No room for mistakes. Because of this, your car’s boot is packed with a variety of lenses, camera bodies, and a couple of tripods. At least no one could accuse you of being underprepared.

Once you park, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. You’re not sure what you’re walking into, and the unknown is always unnerving. Hands still firmly planted on the steering wheel and eyes staring unseeingly at the dash. This is silly, you haven't felt this panicked once in the lead up to this job, but it seems to have hit you like a brick all at once at the worst possible time.

Just as your mind starts to spiral, a gentle tap on your window pulls you back to reality. You glance up to find one of the biggest men you’ve ever seen, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, dressed in joggers and a jacket with the team’s logo emblazoned on it. His face is calm, his smile warm and relaxed. If sunshine were a person It’d be him. You try to shake off the wave of nerves and return an awkward grin, fumbling to get out of the car.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice steady and easy.

“Yeah, I’m, uh… I’m here to do the promo photos for the team,” you say, your tone hesitant, unsure of your place here.

“Oh, great. Lily mentioned you'd be coming,” he says with a nod. Then, with a casual gesture toward your car, he adds, “Need a hand bringing your stuff in?”

You're taken aback by his immediate kindness. You'd half-expected to be ignored by a bunch of burly men all day, but this tall, curly-haired guy is completely throwing you off. It's a relief, though—one you didn’t even realise you needed.

“That would be great, actually,” you say, voice softer now, but still nervous as you rush to add, “If—if that’s alright.”

As you round the car to pop open the boot, you can't help but feel a little self-conscious. Not only have you just managed to act like a bumbling fool, but there's also this man—who looks like he's been sculpted by the gods—following right behind you.

When the boot clicks open, he lets out a low whistle. “Wow, one of my mates is really into film photography,” he says, his face lighting up as he speaks. “Not sure he’s got a kit as impressive as yours, though. So, what do you need me to carry?”

You can’t help but chuckle at his comment. He’s kind, but rugby players aren’t exactly known for their gentle touch. As charming as this one is, you’re not about to risk it. You point toward the tripod bags. “Those, if you don’t mind,” you say.

He nods with an easy grin, effortlessly lifting one of the heavy tripod bags. “No problem. I’ve got it.” His muscles shift under his jacket as he adjusts the weight, and you try not to let your gaze linger too long on the way his jacket clings to his broad shoulders.

You grab a camera body, a little flustered by the close proximity of this boy, but you make an effort to steady yourself. “Thanks” you mutter, looking up at him, a little rushed.

“No worries,” he says with a chuckle, then adds, “They're all nice lads, you’ll be fine.”

The reassurance is exactly what you needed, even if it doesn’t quite settle the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “I hope so,” you reply with a faint smile, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

As you both start walking toward the stadium, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet morning air, he turns his head slightly, keeping his tone casual. “So, is this your usual kind of job?” he asks, clearly trying to get a conversation going as you both make your way through the car park.

You’re grateful for the distraction, even if the question catches you a little off guard. “I mean, I mostly do portraits and landscapes,” you answer, trying to sound like you have it all together. “I don’t usually do team sports, but Lily called in a favour.”

He gives you a sideways glance, his smile widening just a bit as he lets out a low chuckle. “Well, if it makes you feel better, the team’s not as scary as they look. And, if you need a bit of help with that, I’m more than happy to make sure they stay in line.”

You both reach the entrance of the stadium, and he holds the door open for you, his smile still warm. “After you, photographer,” he says with a playful wink.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure. “Are you always this charming?” you can’t help but ask, a little teasing of your own slipping into your voice.

He grins even wider, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Only when I’m trying to get someone to stop being nervous,” he says easily, then adds with a shrug, “Seems like it’s working, though, doesn’t it?”

You can't help but laugh, the tension easing slightly as you step into the stadium, the vast space unfolding before you. The first thing your eyes catch is the bright red hair of Lily Evans, making her way toward you, a grin spreading across her face.

"Thank you so much for this," she says, pulling you into a quick hug. "I mean it, you're a lifesaver." As she pulls away, you nod enthusiastically, your words failing you. Her gaze flicks over to the man standing behind you.

"I see you've met James," she says, reaching for the Tripod bag from him. "He's the team captain—and apparently not where he’s supposed to be."

James scoffs, indignant. "I was making sure this lovely thing got in here in one piece. Didn't see you rushing to help them." Lily doesn’t respond, merely shoos him away. To his credit, James takes it in stride, backing off with his hands raised in mock surrender.

Just as he turns to leave, you remember yourself and call out, "Thanks for the help!" But James doesn’t seem to hear you, already heading toward the changing rooms.

Lily gives you a soft, amused look and gestures toward a nearby hallway. "Come on, I'll show you where we'll be shooting." Her familiarity with the space is evident, and it's reassuring in a way—this is her turf, a fancy social media manager, and you’re just trying to find your footing.

She leads you down the hallway, her steps confident as she continues to chat. “Alright, so we’ll do individual portraits first. Each player will come up, and you can get the posed shots. Nothing too fancy—just something clean and simple for the social media pages.” She glances over her shoulder at you, offering a quick smile.

You nod, trying to lock that information into place. Individual portraits? You can do that. You’ve done countless shoots for portraits before, even if these players are a bit more... intimidating than your usual subjects.

Lily pauses at the edge of the room and gestures to a clear space by a set of large windows. The natural light coming in looks ideal. “We’ll set up here for the portraits. Nothing too wild. Just enough to show who they are, you know?”

“Got it,” you say, trying to steady your breath. You adjust the strap on your camera, mentally preparing for the first round of shots.

She gives you a thumbs-up before stepping away, her voice carrying back over her shoulder. “After the portraits, we’ll move to the pitch for the action shots. I’m thinking some training photos, maybe a few of them in motion, running drills.”

She turns the corner into the locker room, calling over her shoulder, “Let me know if you need anything. I’m not far!”

As you begin setting up your gear, arranging the tripod and adjusting your lenses, you steal a glance at the team members trickling out of the locker room. Their voices blend in a hum of casual chatter, punctuated by the occasional laugh. A few of them catch sight of you, offering quick nods or polite smiles as they take their positions.

But then your heart skips a beat. James emerges from the locker room, flashing you that cheeky grin of his as he surveys the space. Your hands freeze, nearly losing grip on the camera. He stands there—broad shoulders, relaxed posture—exuding a quiet confidence. His eyes lock with yours, and he winks, that familiar teasing energy lighting up the air between you.

You shake off the brief moment of distraction, focusing back on your task. You work through the shots with precision, photographing each player quickly but methodically. The room feels less overwhelming now as the others drift off, their photos already taken. Just as you finish capturing a man with dark hair and tattoos snaking up his forearms, you look up and realize there's only one player left. James.

He steps up to the backdrop, flashing you that grin again. “You’re impressive, y’know.”

You blink, taken aback. “How do you mean?” you ask, your face flushing at the unexpected compliment.

James shrugs casually, his posture still relaxed but with an edge of warmth in his eyes. “I mean, you’ve got this whole calm, collected photographer thing down. And you’re, like, making it look easy.” His voice holds a playful lilt, like he’s genuinely impressed but also enjoying how much he can throw you off with a few words.

You laugh, trying to shake the sudden flutter of nerves that surge through you again. “Well, I’ve had a bit of practice,” you say, focusing on adjusting your camera settings to avoid his teasing gaze. “And it’s only a little intimidating being surrounded by a team of professional athletes.” You glance up briefly, catching his gaze again. There’s something about him that makes your hands a little shaky, but you try not to let it show.

James doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, he looks even more comfortable, his hands resting on his hips as he gives you an easy smile. “I wouldn’t say intimidating. More like... impressive, right? We’re a bunch of big, tough guys who can knock each other out on the field, but off it? Pretty harmless.” He tilts his head, studying you as if trying to gauge how you’re doing with all the attention. “Plus, I’ve been told I’m easy to work with.” He winks again, and the teasing energy returns.

You roll your eyes playfully, setting up the shot. “Oh, I’m sure you are. I’m just worried I might accidentally photograph your ego instead of your face.” You smile as you say it, hoping it comes off as light-hearted, but internally, you’re wondering how you keep managing to get caught up in this back-and-forth with him.

James laughs, the sound easy and rich, like he's genuinely enjoying himself. “That wouldn't be a good look for me but you're the photographer, angel, do what you want.”

You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure as you adjust your camera settings again, focusing more on the equipment than the man in front of you. His teasing grin hasn't faltered, and it's making it harder to concentrate. You need to get the shot—simple, clean, just like Lily said. But somehow, with James standing there, the task feels a little more complicated.

“Alright,” you say, trying to steady your hands as you bring the camera to your eye. “Just relax and look natural, okay?”

He nods with exaggerated seriousness, then steps back, looking you dead in the eye as if he's about to pull off some grand dramatic pose. But instead, he just stands tall, hands in his pockets, eyes soft, looking completely unbothered. And somehow, it’s perfect.

After a few shots, you pause, studying the pictures on your camera’s screen. They’re good. No, they’re better than good. The natural light falls perfectly on his face, and there’s something in his eyes—something that isn’t quite the usual mischief, but maybe a little more... real.

“Not bad, huh?” James’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and you look up to find him still standing there, this time a little more relaxed than before.

You nod slowly, doing your best to mask just how much you’re replaying the image of him in that moment. “Yeah, these are great. You’ve got a good... um, 'look.'” You immediately cringe, realizing how awkward that sounded, but he just flashes a smile, unfazed.

“Of course I do,” he says, winking again, and you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the embarrassment.

A brief silence settles between you both as you both focus on the photos. Clearing your throat, you turn to James. “Thank you for–” but you're interrupted when the door swings open, and in walks the man with dark hair and tattoos.

“Prongs, stop flirting with the pretty photographer,” he says with a teasing grin, throwing an apologetic look your way. “We’ve got work to do.”

Suddenly, you feel heat rush to your cheeks, realizing you’ve held James up for longer than you should have. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you rush out. But when you look at James, his soft gaze is fixed on you, his smile still warm and genuine.

He shakes his head slightly. “It was really nice talking to you.” His voice is calm, steady, and there’s no teasing in sight. Then, with one last glance, he turns to follow his teammate out the door, leaving you to ponder the sincerity behind his words.

The rest of the day is very uneventful. Aside from the fact your gaze kept wandering back to James, the fact that he kept making eye contact with you as if he’d already been looking, and one rogue comment from Lily.

“What have you done to James?” she asks, smirking.

“I– nothing… what?” you reply, confused and a furrow to your brows.

“He’s usually very focused,” she gives you a pointed look before leaning it, “He doesn't seem to be today.” her tone teasing.

You decided at the time not to dwell on those words. But now, as you make your way back to the car with the equipment, they echo in your mind, replaying over and over. What did she mean? You can’t help but wonder if you’ve done something to make James uncomfortable. A small—no, a rather large—part of you hopes he might actually like you.

Fumbling with your keys, your hands full and your mind racing, you hear a voice call from a distance. “Hey!”

You look up to see none other than James, jogging toward you with that effortless smile.

“Let me help,” he says, reaching for the strap of your bag and gently lifting it off your shoulder.

“Oh, thanks, James,” you reply, a shy smile tugging at your lips as your heart skips a beat.

"Anything for the best and prettiest photographer around." The compliment makes you fluster as he loads the bags into the car. "I can't wait to see the final results." His grin is the biggest you've seen all day, and you return it automatically, lost for words.

"Listen…" James straightens up to face you, rocking on the balls of his feet. "I was wondering if I could get your number?"

Your mind races through a million possibilities, but you quickly dismiss the idea that he's interested in you personally. Instead, you settle on the thought that he probably wants it for professional reasons.

"I—uh, I did this as a one-off. I'm not a sports photographer."

He chuckles softly, glancing down at the floor before raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I know," he says, meeting your eyes. "But I meant it more like... I was hoping to take you on a date." He pauses, then adds, "If you'd like to."

"Oh." You're stunned into silence, and James immediately takes it as rejection.

"You should say no if you don't want to," he says quickly, looking away. "I can handle it."

"No, I—I'd really like that," you respond, nodding more to yourself than to him, but your smile betrays the nervous excitement bubbling up inside.

James’s face breaks into a grin that nearly lights up the entire car park, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice suddenly softer, as though trying to gauge whether this is really happening.

You nod, suddenly shy, your heart doing a strange flip in your chest. “Yeah,” you repeat, giving him a small, tentative smile.

“Good,” he says with a relaxed chuckle, almost like he didn’t expect this to go as smoothly as it has. “So, uh… I’ll text you, then?”

“Yeah. Definitely,” you say, finally letting yourself exhale, feeling the tension leave your shoulders.

He doesn’t hesitate, pulling out his phone and typing something quickly before showing it to you, waiting for you to type in your number. As you do, you can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t mind it. This doesn’t feel weird or awkward, it feels—well, kind of exciting.

“Alright,” he says, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “I’ll let you get going.” He turns toward the building, but not before looking back over his shoulder with a smirk. “I’ll be in touch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, watching him walk away with a mix of amusement and disbelief. Once he’s out of sight, you take a deep breath, your hands feeling lighter now, a strange warmth spreading through you.

By the time you get into your car and start driving away, your mind is a whirlwind. You keep replaying the moments—his smile, his words, the way he looked at you.

Once home, your heart is still racing, the adrenaline from the shoot finally starting to settle, replaced by a warm, giddy feeling you didn’t expect.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to find a message from James: “Had a great time today. Can’t wait to see you again. ;)”

You laugh, your fingers hovering over the screen as you try to think of the perfect response. Maybe something casual, something cool... But who are you kidding? You quickly type back: “Same here. Looking forward to it.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3

[luveline]

jadey you write poly marauders in such a special way it feels so realistic i love it so much 🥹 how do you think it would go if reader and one of them get into a fight/argument? like how would it affect the overall dynamic? (if this inspires anything pls go for it 💕💕💕)

thank you for requesting! fem

Remus lays with his head on your shoulder, but he’s not happy about it. James and Sirius aren’t subtle. They’d forced the two of you together and yes, Remus has missed you, but he doesn’t want to speak to you and he’s sure you’re feeling the same. 

You have put your hand atop his, not holding but resting there. He might be forgiven. He hopes he’s forgiven, but he doesn’t forgive you, so. 

James has made Remus’ favourite popcorn, freshly popped and doused in butter and caramel he made himself with sugar over the hob. Remus takes great grateful handfuls, given the added benefit of James’ smug smiling. Each piece he eats is like James’ receiving a job well done, and Potter’s can’t help but preen. 

Sirius sneaks bits of it over you. You don’t eat any, pointedly, your leg on Sirius’ knee and your foot wagging constantly. Restless. Annoyed. 

“Will you be angry with each other forever?” Sirius asks. 

“Sirius.”  

“What? I’m just asking.” 

“You’re being abrupt,” James says. 

Remus sighs until they both stop talking. He doesn’t know how long you’ll be angry with one another. For him it seems to come and go, and it doesn’t always help that James is neutral about it while Sirius’ loudly complains that you’re not yet over it after a frosty weekend. He wishes one of them would’ve backed him up, but then, he can’t imagine how that would feel for you. It’s not like he wants you to be upset. It’s just an unfortunate consequence of the whole thing. 

You’d cried when you argued but you’d been angry, too, quipping at him with a sharp tongue, not afraid to say what you’d felt, just overwhelmed enough to come to tears. They weren’t, you know, devastated tears or anything, but Remus had felt a pit open where his stomach was supposed to be as Sirius (Sirius, and not James, which felt important at the time) curled his arm around you and encouraged you to take a breather. 

James had stayed, giving Remus a good hug as he’d murmured, “That got too heated, huh? You okay?” 

Remus gets weird about James. About all of you, but James had been his first crush, so sometimes he feels rather daunted in the face of his affection. James likes that he can make Remus blush, but nobody’s acted very fond these last few days. It’s weird. It’s all off. The love is still there, but it’s like everyone’s afraid of showing it. 

You argued about something Remus said, and you misunderstood, and then something you said and Remus understood very well. Never the end of the world, but Remus is stubborn. He shouldn’t be. 

Remus turns his hand slowly under yours. To his relief, you let him do it, sliding your fingers between his. 

He lifts his head a touch. You don’t look at him. Sirius grins from the other side of you, and Remus ignores him. 

You slip further down into the sofa, Remus going with you, the whole group of you tired from a weekend on eggshells. 

Having seemed rather far away for the afternoon, you begin to relax. You force Remus’ head up to tuck yourself into his neck. When the movie ramps into a loud scene of gunshots and high speed car chase, you lift your lips to his ear and say, “I’m sorry, Lupin, but don’t you ever speak to me like that again.” 

He’d bristle if you didn’t sound teasing. Remus squeezes your hand, turns to see your face, and whispers back. “I’ll talk to you any way I like.” You huff a laugh. He’s so pleased to see a smile on your face that his resentment drains away completely. “I’m sorry, too,” he says. 

You nod at him. You accept his apology as he’d taken yours. An hour of being sat arm to arm and a half hour of hand-holding has reminded you both how much you really, really like the other. 

“Can we kiss and make up?” James asks. 

“I think that’s usually saved for the arguing parties,” Remus says. 

“We can argue, if you like,” you tell James. 

“Shall we?” James asks. 

Sirius argues with Remus once a week at least —nothing serious— and he knows the potency of a rough makeup kiss, sending him a knowing, inviting smile. “We can argue, Moony,” he says. 

Remus hugs you with one arm. “I’ve had enough arguing. I’m never doing it again.” 

“Good. I’m very tired, playing peacekeeper and all,” James says, slouching away from everyone. “Exhausted, even.” 

“What shall we do to make it up for him?” Remus asks you, having quickly descended into sickly sweetness, a murmur pressed into your cheek. 

“What does he want?” 

“What do you want, James?” 

James sits up. “Well, it wasn’t just me, you know. Sirius has been comic relief two days running. He’s not usually this funny otherwise.” 

“I resent that.” 

“Luckily for you both, there’s two of us,” Remus says.

You laugh, because you know what Sirius will say before he says it. “No!” you say, lifting a foot to kick at his leg. 

“Don’t be so rude,” Sirius says, grabbing you by the ankle. 

James decides you’ll celebrate with a takeaway and Sirius decides he’ll pick which one for being so diligently well-behaved this weekend, leaving you and Remus alone for the first time all day. Things feel a bit more raw, less soothed, but not bad. Remus peels away from you to look at you properly. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” 

“I’m okay if you are.” 

Remus taps your under the jaw, a little to the left, encouraging you to turn your head. He kisses you on the cheek. 

In the kitchen, James and Sirius giggle like school kids. Somebody gets a good whack in with a tea towel, and the other shrieks. “You thing!” Sirius says. 

Remus feels your side shake with laughter.

[ramp-it-up]

Thank you for sharing! 💙

Claim

Summary: Bucky's not the boss of you. But what is he?

Word count: 2.2 K

Pairing: Congressman Bucky Barnes x Teacher!Reader

A/N: I saw Thunderbolts*! Definitely on my Bucky bullshit for a minute. Just block me now. Or, read, respond, and reblog! Love you heauxes! This is connected to Charm and Celebrate but can be read alone!

This should have no spoilers of consequence.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! Teacher Reader, Congressman Bucky, Protective Bucky, feral Bucky, dom Bucky, Bucky with the dirty mouth, reader tries to be a brat, but well, Bucky, kitchen sex, wall sex, allusion to nipple play, f receiving oral, and anal, raw p in v, praise kink, SIZE KINK, after care, the "what are we" discussion, tiny bit of the Sargeant kink, nicknames Charm and Baby, also Boss, kinda. Basically pwp.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

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

Bucky flew in because you weren’t taking care of yourself. 

There were too many late nights grading papers, too many skipped lunches to tutor your students, and too many weekends you couldn’t make it up DC because you were giving time to everyone but yourself. You were overtired, cranky, and out of groceries.

When Bucky called, you told him you were going to bed early and would shop after the pancake fundraiser in the morning. Then, because you couldn’t help it, you reminded him he wasn’t your boss.

Hell, he wasn’t even your boyfriend.

That was the problem.

You and Bucky met, fell in lust, flirted on the phone, and hooked up once (several times) during a whirlwind weekend in DC. You hesitated just as hard as he did to put a label on things, but tonight, your feelings were in the way. You hung up on Bucky with a lump in your throat, curled up on the couch, and passed out at 5:16 PM.

At 9:06 PM, you woke to the sound of your front door opening.

And there he was, Bucky Barnes in a Brooklyn hoodie, grey sweats and a scowl on his too-handsome face. His hair flopped into those gorgeous eyes chaotically and your heart beat double time when you saw him.

He had bags of food, a backpack, wine, and righteous indignation.

“How did you get here so fast?”

“Sam gave me a lift,” he muttered as he pushed past you to the kitchen.

You stood by your open door, frozen, blinking as reality caught up.  

Winter Soldier. Congressman Barnes. Besties with Captain America.

Oh, right. That guy.

You closed the door and shook your head as you followed him inside the apartment that he’d never been in before, but was now taking over.

He complained about you running yourself down as he unboxed the food and watched you eat like a hawk, then ran you a bath.

“Yes, Boss,” you replied to his back as he retreated into your bathroom. 

How did he know the layout of your place? You shook your head again, laughing, because of course he did. When you stood to clear your plate, Bucky took the dishes from your hands.

The standoff began. You glared. He glared harder.

You, because he wasn’t the boss of you, him, because you’d sassed him for caring. The problem was that his glare was sexy as hell and now you were wet.

Bucky read you and chuckled, then his eyes dropped to your body in your zip up hoodie, tank top, and short shots, then back to glaring at the saucy look on your face. 

“Oh, I’ll boss you, Charm. Don’t even get me started.” 

You felt the heat rise to your face but…you couldn’t help it. You wanted to push him, because you knew why he was so grumpy. He was concerned about you.

And very, very horny. 

It had been a month since you’d seen him in DC. 

On anyone else this possessiveness would be annoying, on Bucky, it was so damn cute. But why? 

What claim did he have on you?

The bulge inside his sweats was so enormous it looked like someone stuffed a giant sausage down there. Yikes. You’d almost forgotten how massive he was. You wanted to tease him because there was something empowering and fun about having him entirely at your mercy. 

“How, Congressman? How exactly will you boss me?” 

Bucky cocked his head, challenging you with his devil-blue eyes. 

“You want to know how?” 

His jaw was clenched and he looked almost dangerous, staring at you in a way that probably intimidated most people. It just got you wet. You were not scared of James Buchanan Barnes. 

He was your Bucky.

So you just shrugged and cocked your eyebrow at him as he set the dishes down and leaned against the counter, his t-shirt clinging to his sculpted chest; his grey sweats tented.

You crossed your arms against your hard, aching nipples and cocked your hip as you silently continued to sass him.

“Well, I’ll start with that smart mouth. Gonna kiss it until you’re hotter and wetter than you already are, Charm. Then I’ll peel off your clothes and suck those gorgeous nipples of yours until you’re squirming and maybe, possibly, I'll give you my thigh to grind on and get all wet with your slick if you’re a good girl.”

You shifted and Bucky smirked, but continued, his eyes on each body part as he reeled off filthy promises.

“I’m gonna hold you down, take my time playing with those sweet tits until you’re almost cuming, but not quite.”

Bucke remembered how responsive you were when he sucked your nipples, and in fact jacked off every day to a tit pic you sent him. He was making a mess in his pants because he knew you were making a mess in yours.

He was relentless in the mission of your ruin.

“Then, gonna take my time licking my way down that hot body to your sweet pussy and eat you out until you cum on my tongue. And my fingers.”

Then his eyes flicked to yours, those ethereal blue eyes making you gasp.

“M fucking starving, Charm.”

Poor baby, you thought, and then remembered you were trying to be a brat. Bucky smiled at you and then focused on your shorts again.

“And with every cute little tug that your pussy does to try and take my fingers deeper…Did you know your pussy does that, Charm? Pulls on my fingers and my cock so sweet, fuck, I need it.”

Bucky's voice broke. He cleared his throat and continued. 

“For every spasm of that cute little cunt, I’ll play your clit to make the pleasure last longer, so you’ll come that much harder. And longer. Until you beg me to stop.”

You were trembling, knees weak, trying not to moan. He watched your thighs press together and grunted, but he kept going.

“I’ll get you nice and wet and ready for me to fuck you with this big cock that is aching for you.”

Bucky reached down and lewdly grabbed himself, your eyes riveted. 

“Gonna fuck you in every position, until there’s no part of you I haven’t tasted and possessed as much as I fucking want. You’re gonna feel it in your soul, Charm."

God he was so damn smug.

"And then, Baby, you’ll sleep. All. Damn. Day. Fuck the fundraiser. I’ll buy the pancakes.”

Bucky met your shock with a self-satisfied grin. 

“I’ll work on my policy briefs and packets while you rest, tomorrow, and Sunday, we’ll go grocery shopping and stock the place before I get on the train back to DC.”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, thinking of a plausible argument against what he just said. Everything but the sex part.

You held your finger up for him to stop.

“Give me a minute.”

You tried to regain your composure. You were wet. Very wet. Your panties and your shorts were clinging to you and your heart was beating fast.

Bucky’s eyes lit up when he saw how flustered you were, and he leaned closer, murmuring into your ear as he crowded you back against the island, caging you in with his strong forearms.

“You like my dirty mouth, don’t you, Charm?” 

He nipped your earlobe as you whined in response. 

“I see you. You love how hard I am for you. You want to grab my cock and feel it, I can see that. I know you’re already wet for me. I bet if I slid my fingers inside your panties right now, you’d be all soft and wet and juicy like the sweetest plum in the world, isn’t that right? You’re just aching for me to eat you real good and make you cum, aren’t you?” 

God.

Yes. 

You thought it, but didn’t say it. You just couldn’t articulate words at the moment.

“And I’m going do all of what I said, Charm, but I think that right now I need to fuck you on this counter top.”

Bucky stepped back and pulled down his sweats and you saw the dark allure of him, a good nine inches, thick and dripping pre-cum in time with it’s own heartbeat making it throb. Bucky’s hand took himself in his grasp, and the pulsing almost purple monster looked beautiful encased in the rare vibranium. 

You appreciated this small dark tower and the dusting of dark hair at it’s base and you don’t know why, but when Bucky pulled his shirt up and pinned it with his chin as he stared at you and stroked, but you got so much wetter.

That’s a lie. You knew exactly why. 

“Take off your shorts and panties. Now.”

You scrambled to comply as Bucky advanced on you and lifted you on the island with one hand while simultaneously lining up with the other. His eyes rolled when he actually felt how wet you were for him.

“Good Lord, Charm. Fuck, it’s been too long.”

He said it as he looked down and tortured you with the head of his cock teasing your clit and the slick on your pussy lips. He looked back up at you, those blue eyes almost feverish.

“I- I didn’t stretch you out with my fingers. But I need it, right now, Charm. Do you want it too?”

You pulled off your top and threw it somewhere behind you. You started pulling your nipples and speaking your filthy mind.

“Don’t need your fingers’ Sarge. Fuck me with that…. whooooooohhhh my goddddddd!”

Bucky slid inside you as you spoke and the stretch had your pussy pulsing when he wasn’t even halfway in. The feeling was indescribable and you couldn't believe that you were cuming almost instantly.

You both looked down at your cream almost immediately leaking out and frothing around his big, red, pulsing cock as he pistoned slowly inside you. You both moaned and closed your eyes.

Bucky grabbed your neck to bring your head back up from lolling back on your shoulders as your pussy pulled him in with your orgasm. He batted your hand away from your breast and started pinching and rolling it, elongating your pleasure.

“I think we’ve lost the plot here, Charm.”

He said it through gritted teeth as he slapped into you and sped up incrementally.

“I told you that I was yours. And I assumed that you were mine.”

You croaked, “You know what they say about assuming…”

You still had a little brat in you. But Bucky took it as a challenge. His hands moved to pick you up, separating your asscheeks as he fucked you against the wall now. Your eyes were rolling from the feeling of vibranium in your asshole.

“I get the ass.”

“Take it, Bucky!” you were gasping for breath.

“Thanks for the invitation, baby, but it’s already mine. Isn’t it?”

You were cuming again, or you’d never stopped as Bucky pounded you hard against your kitchen wall. Pots were rattling in the cabinet, and you were afraid glasses were going to break until Bucky hit that spot.

And then you didn’t care anymore. 

“Yes, Bucky! It’s yours. I’m all yours.” 

You were cuming all over him at this point.

“Fuck, yes! Mine.”

Bucky’s eyes were black now as he fucked you through it.

“Your sweet cunt is milking me… fuckkkkk.”

Bucky came, adding to the moisture levels between your legs, and he buried his head in the juncture of your neck and your clavicle as his climax hit with a guttural moan. You managed to grab his head and make him meet your eyes, both of you dazed.

“Let me see you Bucky.”

Bucky looked at you, pupils blown, lips parted in awe.

“You’re my guy,” you whispered. “Am I your girl?”

Bucky smiled at you, and then grimaced, another pulse of semen spurting out of him.

“You’re my Best Girl, Charm.”

He kissed you as both of you trembled with aftershocks. After he caught his breath, he walked you out of the kitchen into the en suite, where your bath was waiting. Your combined fluids were running down your legs. 

Once there, he let you down slowly and held you until you were steady on your feet, then, he helped you step into the bath.

You looked up at him, eyes heavy.

“You coming in?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, tempted, but he had a mission.

“No, relax, enjoy your bath. I’ll shower and then clean up the kitchen.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed your forehead as he placed your robe and a bottle of water where you could reach it. Then, he grabbed a towel and stepped into the shower. You enjoyed the view of him taking a shower as you got clean, then dozed in the warm water. You felt yourself be lifted and placed in your bed, warm and wrapped in your robe. 

And Bucky Barnes. 

Around 3 am you stirred, and turned in his arms to see Bucky watching over you, never tired.

“Time to make good on your promises, Boss.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkled, but then he pouted a bit.

He was so freaking adorable.

“That’s not my name.”

You smiled at him.

“Bucky. Baby. Boyfriend.”

“That’s better,” Bucky grinned as he parted your robe, his gaze hot down your body. Then he looked back up at you. 

“So much better. And you’re the boss. Because it’s my job to take care of my girl.”

[sunday-bug]

Time To Get Busy

Pairing: Husband!Bucky x Wife!Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Content: breeding kink, p in v unprotected sex, touch of somnophilia, praise kink, mirror sex, it's corn y'all

18+ Minors DNI (NSFW)

Synopsis: Bucky drops the kids off with their godparents so you can spent some quality time together in the sheets.

A/N: not beta read, but thank you to my Discord gals for encouragement 💗 my entry for @ramp-it-up 5k Challenge with the prompt “Look at me. I want to see how good I make you feel.” Some reader POV and some Bucky POV.

Two pairs of little feet pitter patter outside of your bedroom door and you hear giggles before the door knob slowly turns and opens. The twins rush in like an adorable tornado of blue eyes and wild hair.

“Mommy! Daddy!” They yell in unison, rushing to your bed and jumping up. “Wake up!” 

Bucky laughs next to you, reaching for your hand under the warm covers. 

“So much for sleeping in,” you joke to him with a groggy voice. “Good morning, bed bugs!” 

“Mama!” Jamie shouts, hopping on you. “Daddy!” Annie squeals, jumping on Bucky. He lets out a hmph as she lands, catching her in his arms. A tickle war ensues, and you let the twins believe they are the victors. You and Bucky are both sprawled out, covers kicked to the foot of the bed, in a fit of laughter. You meet his eyes and his gaze softens, followed by a sly smirk. He looks at the kids and sits up. 

“Guess what guys? Guess who you’re going to see today?!” He asks them, putting on a show of excitement and anticipation. You look at him curiously, not sure what he’s talking about. Today was just like any other Saturday - you’d sleep in if the twins allowed (they did not), make breakfast (waffles in the Mickey Mouse waffle iron), take a long walk to the park (and try to pry them off the slides when it was time to leave), come home for a family nap (bliss), and then make ice cream sundaes after dinner (extra rainbow sprinkles for Bucky, but he’d never tell a soul). It was the routine. You had it down pat.

Annie and James start jumping up and down on your bed, “Who?!” “Tell us!” 

“Uncle Sam and Aunt Darcy!” Bucky shouts, scooping them into his arms. They both squeal with delight. Any chance they got to spend time running around the Wilson place, they took it. 

“Buck? Since when?” You ask, looking at him with wide eyes. 

“Since last week. They want to babysit.” He says, running a hand through his mussed hair. The kids jump off the bed and run down the hallway yelling Sam and Darcy’s names the whole way. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise you, love. I’m taking them over in an hour and picking them up after dinner.” He pushes your messy hair out of your face and kisses your forehead. “We need some time just the two of us, and I think Sam and Darcy want some practice.”

“Practice?” You ask with a gasp. He laughs and waves off your assumption.

“Not yet, but he told me they’re going to start trying.” He explains with a smile. You nod and silently thank the Gods. They’d make such fun parents. You turn to get out of bed before Bucky stops you, his hand on your arm. 

“You’re staying right here.”

“But I need to pack their bags. They’ll need their nap blankets and Annie will need her stuffed-” Bucky’s hand comes up to your mouth before you can finish.

“I packed everything last night after you fell asleep. It’s all ready to go. I got their blankets and Annie’s stuffed wolf. It’s all taken care of. Now, do as I say, Mrs. Barnes, and stay right here in this bed. I want you here when I get back.” He says the last part with a mischievous grin and a tingle goes down your spine as you sink back under the covers. 

“At least send them in to give me a hug and a kiss before you guys leave!” You beg as he gets out of bed to get them ready to go.

“You got it, mama,” he agrees with a wink.

You lie in bed and listen to the sounds of your little family in the other rooms - Jamie is stomping around pretending to be a dinosaur while he brushes his teeth, Annie is singing her favorite song from Moana while Bucky does her hair, and Bucky? You listen to him laughing and talking to your kids. He’s the best dad, just like you knew he’d be. And this surprise day with just the two of you is exactly what you need. You love being a mother, but you’d be lying if you said you never missed having time with just your husband. Life has been busy and a bit stressful lately, and you think Bucky could sense that. Plus, you’ve been wanting to talk to him about actively trying for another soon anyway. Today would be the perfect opportunity - a quiet chance for the two of you to talk with interruptions, as cute as those interruptions may be.

“Mama!” You hear them both yell as they run into your room again. 

“We’re leaving! Darcy is going to let us eat dessert before dinner!” Jamie exclaims with a cheesy grin. 

“JJ! You can’t tell Mama that!” Annie scoffs. You laugh and shake your head. 

“It’s okay. It’s a special day with Uncle Sam and Aunt Darcy. You can eat dessert whenever you want, as long as you mind your manners and listen to them. Got it?” You ruffle Jamie’s hair and boop Annie’s button nose. Bucky walks in at that moment, car keys in hand.

“You munchkins ready to roll?” He asks with a smile.

“Yes!” They shout.

“Give your mommy a hug and a kiss and we’ll hit the road,” he says, watching from the doorway. They do as their father tells them and you squeeze them extra tight, not worrying too much because you know they’ll be in good hands with their godparents.

“Wait by the door. I’ll be out in a second,” he announces to them, watching as they run back down the hallway. “And you,” he says, gaze darkening as his eyes sweep over you, “keep this bed warm for me. I mean it.” He kisses your forehead again before leaving with the twins.

You listen to the front door shut behind them and spread out in the bed, putting your face in Bucky’s pillow and inhaling softly. Home. You fall back asleep quickly, clutching his pillow to your chest, covers still kicked to the foot of the bed. 

—

I open the front door and hear my phone ping. It’s a photo from Sam - the twins smiling while holding Darcy’s pet rabbits. They were already having a blast. My body relaxes at the thought. I take off my shoes and jacket and sneak back into the bedroom. My wife’s asleep - her mess of curls cascading across the pillows, the bed covers bunched near the footboard, her pajama shorts hugging her hips perfectly, and her delicate arms wrapped around my pillow. She’s clutching it to her body and breathing steadily. I can’t help but to skate my eyes over her body. Mine.

I shed my t-shirt and jeans and carefully slip into bed beside her, mindful not to wake her. I pull the top sheet over our bodies, and wrap my arm around her middle, pulling her close. She murmurs something I can’t make out and presses into me. I close my eyes and nuzzle into the crook of her neck. No perfume, nothing fancy - just her. It’s the best smell. I need it bottled so I can bring it with me on missions. She keeps me going - her and our little ones. I never thought I’d have a family, let alone one this perfect. Lately, however, I’ve been wondering what she’d think about adding another little monster to our crew. It’s part of the reason I made sure we had a day to ourselves today - I want to talk to her about it and just be with my wife like old times. She pushes her backside into me again, this time a bit more deliberately, and mutters in her sleep. I hear her phone ping on the nightstand and reach for it, wanting to make sure it wasn’t Sam or Darcy needing something. I don’t recognize the app the notification is from, and try to lock her screen again, but my thumb brushes it and the notification opens fully: “Time To Get Busy: It’s Ovulation Day!” Oh? Oh. I click the phone off and set it facedown on the nightstand again, my heartbeat thumping a little faster now. Did she want to? We’d been so busy with life lately, we hadn’t talked about it properly. Obviously our “pull and pray” method has been working, but we needed to talk more.

She presses her ass fully into me now and I can finally make out what she says this time: “Breed me.” I groan internally at her unconscious words and feel myself get hard. Fuck.

I run my hand up her pajama shorts and palm her bare ass. She must be dreaming because she murmurs again, but I can’t understand what she says. So cute. Her thighs clench together suddenly. She’s not dreaming about puppies and rainbows - she’s having a sex dream. My hand glides under her shorts over her hip to rest on her lower abdomen. Her own hand comes down to rest over mine and she guides it between her legs. I glance up at her, but she’s still sleeping. Her eyelids flutter as I feel how wet she is. My hips rut into her and she moans in her goddamned sleep. “Buck.” That little sound breaks me and I insert a finger into her, curling it slightly. Her eyes open and meet mine. 

“Were you having a wet dream about me, baby girl?” I whisper in her ear, adding another finger at the same time. She bucks her hips into my hand and smiles.

“I guess it’s not just a dream now,” she sighs. “Were the twins okay when you left them?”

I kiss her neck, “They were so excited. They’re going to have fun.” 

“So are we apparently,” she grins, turning to face me. I remove my fingers and pull her into me face-to-face. 

“So… what were you dreaming about, gorgeous?” I kiss her nose and put my hand on her tummy under her (my) t-shirt.

Her cheeks turn pink and she buries her face in my chest, a giggle erupting from her body. “Umm…”

“You talk in your sleep, did you know that?” I tease, moving my hands up to palm her breasts.

“I do?!” She exclaims, eyes wide. “Oh God, what did I say?” 

I laugh and pull her into me even more so my chest is up against her still unfortunately clothed chest. “You said a few things, but I only made out my name and one other thing. It was quite naughty.” I tease her.

“Buck! Tell me!” She begs. I capture her lips with my own and kiss her.

“I could just show you instead,” I say as I roll onto her, pinning her to the bed beneath me.

—

You laugh and luxuriate in the simple, delicious feeling of his body weight above you. No place on earth has ever felt more safe. His blue eyes look into yours and you know you want to reenact your dream. “Bucky?” 

“Yes, my love?” He asks sweetly while rocking his hips into yours, creating the best kind of friction. 

“Let’s have another baby,” you whisper, biting your lip. He immediately smiles. “That’s what I was dreaming about.”

“I want another one, too,” he breathes out, pulling your t-shirt over your head and planting kisses down your sternum and breasts.

“But, first - tell me what I said in my sleep. Please.” You plead.

“You said ‘breed me’. And I intend to.” He says the last part with a rumble in his chest as he takes off your shorts and his boxers. Your cheeks heat at what your unconscious mind admitted. “Watch it take the first time again,” he says with a devilish grin, kissing your neck, leaving little bites and nips. “I can’t wait to see you like that again. Showing everyone that you’re mine.” You clench at his words alone, loving the thought of what was about to happen.

“Yeah? Like what?” You ask, daring him to say more.

“Pregnant with my baby. Well, babies last time,” he says with a chuckle, pressing his hips into yours even more. “You look so fucking pretty like that. And I love knowing it’s because of me.”

You blush at his words and brush your fingers down his biceps. “Well, what are you waiting for? Put a baby in me, Mr. Barnes.” Bucky groans at your comment and drags his tip through your slick. 

“Gonna make you a mommy again,” he whispers into your neck as he slowly pushes into you. “You’re so wet and ready for me. I wonder why,” he adds sarcastically. You look at him quizzically and he lets out a huff of a laugh. “Your phone pinged earlier so I checked it. You’re ovulating today, baby girl.”

“Oh, my period app. What-mmm, that feels good-what a good day to have to ourselves then, huh?”

“A perfect day, more like it,” he says, his hips now rocking into you, coating him in your arousal. You look down to watch him move in and out of you and catch his eye. 

“You love watching, don’t you?” He asks breathily. “Come on then,” he says, pulling out and maneuvering you to the foot of the bed and angling your bodies in front of the dressing mirror. You get on your hands and knees and he positions himself behind you, lining his cock up at your entrance. “Watch,” he demands, and you look at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror. Your hair is a mess and your cheeks are flushed. Bucky is looking down at you, his hair a bit disheveled. You watch as his hand raises right before it slaps your ass. “Good girl,” he breathes out as he slips into you in one motion. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, my girl. Like you were made for me.” Bucky picks up the pace and you watch him in the mirror as he works behind you. His right hand reaches around your waist to your clit and starts to rub gentle, deliberate circles. You let a moan loose at the contact and fuck back into him on instinct. “There ya go, baby. Just like that," he assures you.

“Ah, Bucky, that’s-that feels perfect. Don’t stop,” you whine. You reach behind you to hold his other hand and he takes it gratefully. The angle is delicious. “Fuck!” You cry out. 

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you, pretty baby?” He whines, snapping his hips into yours with precision. 

“Mmhmmm,” you moan. He lets go of your hand and brings it to your chin, directing your gaze to the mirror. “Look at me. I want to see how good I make you feel,” he instructs you. You meet his eyes through the mirror and do your best not to close your eyes or look away. The coil in your lower belly is about to erupt. He keeps rubbing your clit and slaps it once, twice, three times. “Fuck, Bucky-” you cry out, shuddering around him. He starts driving deeper into you, making you ride out your orgasm on him. 

“Just like that, mama. Keep going for me… you got it. Such a good girl.” He praises you, pushing the hair out of your face before pushing you down onto the bed, off of your hands and knees. “Legs together, baby,” he instructs you and you snap them together in compliance. He leans down to pepper kisses from the back of your neck all the way down your spine as he moves gently in and out of you. 

“I love you,” he whispers. “You’re my angel.”

“I love you so much,” you whine, your legs still shaking a bit from your undoing. He brushes his knuckles over the backs of your legs.

“You okay?” He asks, still pumping in and out gently. 

“I’m so good,” you say, looking up at him through the reflection. 

“Good,” he says, grabbing your hips in his hands and picking them up a bit while pressing your chest into the mattress. He presses into you completely and stays there for a moment, looking at you. “You’re so fucking pretty, my love,” he muses as he starts fucking you harder and faster, “but you're going to look even prettier full of my cum.”

You clench around him, loving when he’s a bit rough with you. “You like that?” He asks, spanking you. “You like to think about me blowing it all inside of you, huh? You’re my little cumslut, aren’t you?”

“Oh, fuck… yes!” You cry as his balls slap you with each thrust. His chest heaves and tendrils of his hair fall into his eyes. 

“I’m so close. You going to be a good wife and take it all?” He groans. “Be my good girl and don’t waste any, yeah?”

“I won’t waste any, sir, I promise.”

“Fuck yeah,” he says with a sigh, gripping your hips even tighter, almost painfully. “Here it comes.” He moans loudly as he spills deep inside of you, cock twitching for what seems like a full minute. A whimper escapes his lips and he finally pulls out. “If you’re not pregnant after that, I don’t know what to tell you,” he teases, turning you over and kissing you sweetly.

“You’re precious. I love you so fucking much,” he says with another kiss before rolling over and lying next to you.

“I love you, Buck,” you whisper, pushing his hair out of his face. “You’re my everything.”

tag list: @ruexj283 @sebastianstan0813

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Bruised Mangoes

Pairing: Wakanda Bucky Barnes x LabTech!Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: An offer to Wakanda by Shuri for a temporary research role unexpectedly draws you into the slow, healing orbit of a man known more for his past than his present. Amidst curious goats, and shared silences, something gentle begins to grow between you and Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: 2.7k+

Warnings/Tags: Slow Burn Friends to Lovers? Fluffy , Winter soldier mentioned , fluff , mentions of creepy professor (nothing happens) , talks of medical/lab

A/N: tysm for every comment reblog and like it means the world and more!! enjoy this sweet healing recovery bucky fic! bye bbys :33

The first thing you noticed about Wakanda as you landed wasn’t the silence—it was the stillness. A kind of sacred , unshaken calm that settled into your skin and made the tension you’d been carrying unwind from your shoulders like a soft breath.

It wasn’t the absence of sound. It was the presence of its peace.

You could hear birdsong echoing from the trees , layered with distant voices and the rhythmic rustle of wind through wild green.

 It felt ancient. Alive. And safe.

As the Quinjet touched down, you stood at the open ramp, taking a long breath before stepping into a new kind of quiet.

“Try not to be too impressed,” Shuri teased as she met you with a grin, her braids tied back and a pair of vibrant purple lenses clipped to her shirt. “We like to keep our visitors humble.”

You laughed, shifting your duffel bag higher on your shoulder. “Too late. I’m already in love with this place.”

“Good,” she said, gesturing for you to follow. “Then you won’t be in a rush to leave.”

You smiled following her , looking around in awe.

When Shuri had called you a few weeks back and asked if you would consider coming and filling in for her assistant that had to go on maternity leave, you didn't hesitate. 

You jumped at the offer and left everything in Seattle to come here.

Shuri and you met when a weapons trafficker led her and her brother to your lab you were working at , at the time.  

Where they were keeping stolen vibranium. 

After the interesting meeting and you being their key to getting justice for the man who stole their precious material. 

You and Shuri became good colleagues and later great friends.

After the incident you moved your work and studies to a college campus where you were at now. It was okay.

 But the overly touchy creepy professors made it not great. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The stone path wound through the edge of the science and research village, fragrant with moss and blossoms, until it led to a cluster of small, curved huts made of smooth stone and honey-golden wood. 

The sun hit the walls like a soft kiss, casting the area in a warm, golden glow.

Your new quarters were at the end, shaded beneath tall trees lining the land.

And directly across the path , set back just a little deeper into the green , across from a gorgeous pond , was his.

James Buchanan Barnes.

He stood barefoot in the grass, a small brown goat tugging at the cuff of his pants.

Around him, three kids from the village sat in a circle, giggling as they added beads  , flowers and tiny braids into his shoulder-length hair.

He didn’t move. 

Didn’t stop them. In fact , he smiled—soft and small, but unmistakably real.

When you met his gaze. 

You forgot how to breathe. 

You have heard of him for sure but , someone should have mentioned how beautiful he was.

“That’s Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri said casually. “Or Bucky, if he lets you call him that.”

Your eyes flicked to hers. “You didn’t tell me I’d be living next door to the Winter Soldier.”

“I told you the arm you’d be helping me with belonged to someone complicated , did I not?” she said, smirking. “I figured you’d put it together eventually.”

You turned back toward him, watching as he gently nudged the goat away with the toe of his boot. “He looks…”

“Better than he did six months ago,” she said, her voice quieter now. “But the healing is slow. You know how it is.”

You nod. 

“Alright alright let's go, I need to show you around.” Shuri said, clapping her hands.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

In the beginning, he hardly spoke.

You worked with Shuri in the lab beneath the hill, calibrating and refining the vibranium tech that made up Bucky’s new arm. 

It was a marvel lightweight, powerful, reactive—and needed delicate adjustments each week to sync with his nervous system.

He came in every Thursday. 

Usually in the late morning. Always quiet and simply did what was asked of him.

“Afternoon,” he’d murmur, eyes low, arm extended for you to examine.

He sat in silence while you worked, letting you rotate the shoulder mount, test reflexes, and calibrate the pressure. 

You never pushed him with conversation. 

Just offered soft reassurances when needed.

“This might feel a little cold,” you’d say, holding a scanner over his bicep.

Or: “I’m going to adjust the anchor at your clavicle. Let me know if there’s any pain or tingling.”

He would nod once. And quietly say , “Okay.”

And sometimes—just sometimes , you caught his eyes flick to your face, lingering for a beat too long as you worked.

You never did mind seeing him watch you. 

Watch the tip of your tongue poke out when concentrated or how your nose crinkles when you are unhappy with something.

If you did catch his eyes watching , you just would smile sweetly and he would look down quickly a light pink tint to his cheeks.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

One evening , after he’d left and you were cleaning up your supplies, Shuri spoke up. 

“He likes you,” she said, typing away at her tablet.

You blinked. “What? No, he doesn’t.”

“He lets you adjust the joint mount,” she replied, barely glancing up. 

“It took us a while to get there , he trusts you.”

You paused, thinking back to earlier that day—how he’d exhaled slowly when your fingers brushed just under the metal near his sternum. 

How his eyes closed, like he was letting himself be still.

Maybe she did see something but liking you was a little far fetched.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The first real conversation you had was after a storm.

The air still smelled like rain, thick and earthy. 

You were sitting on the step outside your hut, a warm bowl of rice and chicken in your lap, watching the sun try to burn through the mist as you scanned results from his recent nerve endings test.

You heard the sway of the cloth door open from his hut.

He stepped out, toweling his hair dry, the loose bun at his neck slightly askew. 

His feet were bare. His pants rolled at the ankles.

He paused when he saw you.

Then, slowly, he crossed the path.

“Is it any good?” he asked, nodding toward your bowl looking down as he spoke.

You smiled. “It's alright , want to try?”

He hesitated—just for a second , before lowering himself beside you. 

His vibranium arm rested between you, warm and shining brightly from the suns rays.

You handed him your spoon.

He took a bite. Chewed thoughtfully. “Better than when I make it.”

You tilted your head. “You cook?”

He shrugged. “Trying to. Taking care of the goats is easy. But cooking I’m still figuring out , things like seasoning and knowing which ones to use is the part I have a hard time with..”

You grinned. “I can help you if you want.”

He looked up in your eyes and smiled , “I would like that”

From then on, your relationship with the quiet soldier changed.

He brought you mangoes in the mornings—slightly bruised, clearly hand-picked. 

You left an old paperback book by his door at night. 

Sometimes, you caught him flipping through them in the garden, mouthing the words like they were new and precious.

He sat with you during breaks in the lab, asking shy, curious questions. 

You let him test your tea blend, adding sugar until he found his preferred ratio.

Once, you caught him letting a goat rest its chin on his knee while he carved small figures from spare wood. You never asked who or what they were for.

But then after coming home from work one appeared on your windowsill.

A little robin, wings spread mid-flight.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next day midafternoon you finished your paperwork early and decided to go see your favorite neighbor. 

“Need a hand?” you called gently.

Bucky glanced up, squinting against the light.

 A smear of dirt marked his cheekbone, and a bead of sweat slid down his temple. But there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth , slight but nonetheless there.

“I’ve got it,” he replied, though the half-shrug he gave suggested otherwise. 

“But I wouldn’t say no to the company.”

You made your way over, crouching beside him in the warm grass as one of the goats you learned was named T’chiki, the little caramel-colored one—nuzzled your side.

“She likes you,” Bucky murmured, tightening the rope against the post with his metal hand. 

“Can’t say the same for me. She tried to headbutt me twice this morning because I wouldnt drop everything I was doing and scratch her ears.”

He said with a huff of a laugh , watching the two of you interact.

“Maybe she’s just trying to assert dominance.” You scratched behind her ears. “She doesn’t know she’s dealing with a supersoldier.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think that title means much out here.” He grunted softly as he stood, brushing off his hands. “They run the place.”

You stood with him, then frowned, noticing the way he winced as he straightened. 

His right shoulder , flesh , not metal—was slightly stiff. 

His top was damp with sweat along the collar and back, clinging to him more than usual.

“Bucky,” you said softly, tilting your head to catch his eyes. “When’s the last time you took a break?”

He looked at you, then at the goats, then away again.

“I’m fine.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Just step forward slowly, placing the back of your hand gently against his forehead. 

He didn’t flinch—just blinked watching you.

“You're burning up,” you said straight.

“I’ve been out here an hour at most.”

“You’ve been out here since before lunch. Shuri mentioned you skipped your last check-in.”

His jaw ticked. “Didn’t think it was urgent.”

“It’s not,” you said softly, “but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

He hesitated, then sighed, letting the fight and strain drain out of his shoulders.

You stepped behind him, your fingers brushing the edge of his shirt where it met his neck. “May I?”

At his nod, you tugged the damp fabric gently aside, inspecting the seam where flesh met vibranium. The skin there also slightly reddened, and irritated.

“You’ve been overusing it,” you murmured.

 “There’s tension here, inflammation. It’s pulling at the connection point.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. 

He just watched the goats scatter across the field, a soft bleating chorus of their “Baaas” ringing out.

“I just needed to feel useful,” he said finally, voice low. “Some days it’s the only thing that shuts it all up in my head.”

Your hands slowed. 

Gentle now, tracing the curve of his shoulder with clinical care , but something more tender beneath it.

“You are useful,” you whispered. 

“But not just because you’re working or fixing fences or hauling buckets.            You matter even when you’re resting. Even when you’re not doing anything.”

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see you from the corner of his eye. “That’s hard to believe.”

“I know.” You moved around to face him, pulling a small diagnostic scanner from your satchel. 

“Which is why I’ll keep reminding you. Sit?”

He obeyed this time, lowering himself onto a smooth stone near the fence as you knelt before him, scanning along the edge of his shoulder, watching the readings on the display flicker. 

Your other hand steadied him, fingers splayed gently against his ribs. He was solid and warm beneath your touch , human and whole and hurting, all at once.

“You’re running a low-grade fever,” you said quietly. “Probably from the strain and overwork. You need water, rest, and a cool cloth. Maybe a dose of anti-inflammatories.”

“I can do that.”

“You will do that,” you corrected, smirking.

He huffed a soft laugh.

You met his eyes again, quieter this time. “Next time… just tell me, okay? When it gets to be too much.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

The moment stretched, easy and warm, like the late sun settling over the treetops. Then, after a beat:

“You gonna promise not to tell Shuri if I promise to listen?”

You grinned. “That depends. Are you going to let me put an ice pack on your shoulder without grumbling about it?”

He gave you a look, lips quirking. “I’ll think about it.”

You leaned in, brushing your fingers against his jaw.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I’ll do both anyway.” you said both giving a small laugh.

Behind you, the goats let out a series of dramatic bleats—as if personally offended by the lack of attention.

Bucky chuckled, resting his metal arm on his knee. “They’re jealous of the attention you're giving me , doll.”

You rose to your feet and held out your hand. “Come on, Sergeant. Doctor’s orders.”

He took it. And let you pull him , leading.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Three days after that , after a long grueling day at the lab , you found him sitting outside his hut with his head bowed, elbows on his knees, hands over his face.

You didn’t say anything.

You just walked across the path and sat beside him.

After a long stretch of silence, he exhaled.

“Sometimes I wake up and… I forget where I am. I forget this is real.”

Your chest ached.

You turned toward him slowly. “You’re safe here,” you whispered. “This is real. You are real.”

His hand twitched. He glanced at your fingers resting beside him on the step.

Then, carefully, he laced them with his. Grounding.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Today at 5 am , you heard a small knock on the doorframe of your hut. 

You threw on a robe over your sleep shirt and shorts , and lifted the cloth to see him 

He had dark circles and hair mused , was barefoot standing there with tea. 

Two cups.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said simply.

So you sat together as the sky turned pink and gold, , sipping the warm drink , your shoulders brushing, the world hushed around you. 

Watching the sun slowly awake across the horizon line.

Today was your rare day off so you asked if he wanted to spend it together. 

Perhaps doing nothing but rest ; you both needed it. 

He of course agreed and the two of you were now sat on the soft swaying grass by the pond as it glittered.

He began braiding your hair. You sat between his knees sprawled out on the hillside, his fingers gentle as they moved through your strands. Making sure not to tug harshly.

“I haven’t felt this… normal in a long time,” he said, his voice barely above the breeze. “It makes me nervous.”

You tilted your head. “What does?”

“This. You. The quiet. It scares me.” he said, finishing the braid with a tie.

You turned, shifting so you could face him. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to lose it.”

You reached up and touched his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Bucky. Not unless you tell me to.”

He looked at you like he didn’t believe it.

 Like hope was still foreign.

“You never flinch,” he said. “Not at my arm. Not at… me.”

You took a breath.

“Because you’re not the man they turned you into , you've proved that to me by seeing you here ,” you whispered. 

“You’re the one who braids all the village kids' hair , the one who saves the bruised mangoes because they still taste the same even after being a little banged up…” you laced his fingers in yours  “…and my favorite is the guy who brings tea to the girl next door.”

He blinked fast. Holding back tears. Trying to steady his heart.

So you kissed his temple. Soft. Certain.

And he leaned into it—into you , like he finally believed he was allowed to.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

After calling it a day and you both parted ways to your own huts.

You were ready to fall on your face and pass out ,  but as you got closer to the plush awaiting bed you saw something on your pillow.

It was a small carved goat. 

Its legs were a little crooked, but its ears were perfect.

You know for sure the smile you had on your face made you look all kinds of  silly. But you didn't care, you loved this.

And the next morning?Right at five in the morning.

He knocked on your door. Right as the birds began their songs.

Two cups of tea in hand but this time–

He also had a question:

“Stay a little longer this time?”

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[angclone]

james “bucky” barnes x reader

summary: you get hurt on a mission and bucky patches you up

word count: 1.3k

notes: just a quick warning about mentions of blood and weapons but I think that’s it.

please let me know what you think!

Arm slung around Ava’s shoulder for support and your breath turning ragged, you limp up the ramp of the jet.

Searing pain burns along the outside of your thigh, but you can’t remember exactly when you were cut. The knife was sharp, your opponent quick, and the burning didn’t start until the other’s body fell and the hall was cleared. That’s when Ava had found you, eyes wide as you stared down at the fresh blood soaking through your uniform.

Neither of you said anything; Ava merely assessed you before dipping to loop your arm over her shoulder and continuing.

You only vaguely remember Bucky’s voice over the comms, reciting your names as if conducting roll call, “You slowed down — what’s going on?”

Your reply is instant, instinct. “We’re okay,” you say, “heading back now.”

You share a glance with Ava, but she doesn’t deny your statement.

And now, you have barely crossed the threshold onto the jet when you hear him, voice gruff, “Get your hands off her.”

And all you see is a pair of large black boots before you are hauled off your feet completely. Bucky’s hands are gentle despite his demeanor, vibranium arm bracing your back and right hand cupping the back of your knee, as he lifts you effortlessly.

“James —,” you say, but his name leaves your lips as barely more than a breath.

You want to chastise him — tell him Ava only helped you and that he should be thanking her. The words don’t come, and you aren’t certain whether it’s your dizziness or the anger flickering across his features that keeps you silent.

The muscle in his jaw ticks, and his steel eyes don’t even flick down as he carries you to the small infirmary at the back of Valentina’s jet. Yet his movements are soft as he sets you down on the too-white cot, uttering a sharp “stay still” as he turns to rummage through a drawer behind him.

“Jamie…” you mumble, but you’re still struggling for coherent words, so you simply allow your head to fall back against the pathetic pillow, which deflates instantly on contact.

Bucky’s hands are surgical, eyes assessing as he turns back to you with a fistful of gauze. He shifts the spare pillow at your feet, and tender fingers cup your ankle as he maneuvers your thigh into an elevated position. He remains silent as he works, stemming the blood flow, cleaning the wound, and wrapping it tightly. And you observe him carefully the entire time, noticing how he stills completely when he’s done — shoulders rigid and eyes fixed on the fresh bandage.

“James,” you begin, voice stronger now that the bleeding has stopped and you’ve finally caught your breath.

You struggle to get an elbow under yourself to sit up, but Bucky’s flesh hand lands on your shoulder, firm, to keep you lying flat against the cot.

He still doesn’t meet your gaze when he speaks, “You said you were okay.” His tone doesn’t hold any more anger. He just sounds tired, maybe frustrated or disappointed, but not angry.

You allow him to hold you against the mattress, instead reaching up with one hand to rest over his.

“I am okay,” you tell him, voice breathy as you lace your fingers between his.

“No.” Intense eyes flick up to your intertwined fingers and then meet your own. His voice is gruff when he continues, “You were bleeding.”

Your fingers squeeze around his gently. “I’m okay, Jamie,” you repeat.

Before you can stop him, he’s tugging his hand from yours and standing abruptly. Space in the infirmary is already tight, and his large form takes up the majority of it as he begins to pace back and forth.

“I should have been with you,” he says, brushing a rough hand through his hair.

You manage to sit up this time, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, now that Bucky isn’t hovering so closely.

“Hey,” you call. Bucky stops in his tracks, and you aren’t sure if he’s responding to your voice or debating on whether or not he should scold you for sitting up. You continue before he can figure it out himself, voice calm but certain, “It’s just a flesh wound. You patched me up. I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, stray pieces of his hair falling over his eyes. “I could have protected you,” he states like it’s an indisputable fact.

You almost chuckle, but you know that he’s serious, so instead you reach a hand out to beckon him closer. “Come here — sit.”

He hesitates, releasing a shaky breath, and sits beside you on the cot, leaving a larger gap between the two of you than he would under normal circumstances. You quickly close the gap though, careful not to bump your wound, and lace a hand through the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes shut, and his head tilts back slightly, leaning into your touch whether consciously or not.

“Maybe you could have protected me,” you acknowledge, scratching your fingernails lightly over his scalp, “but maybe nothing could’ve prevented it. I’m pretty capable of protecting myself too, you know?” His eyes flicker open to shoot you an irritated glance, and you smile and shrug. “It’s not my first scrape from a mission, and it won’t be my last.” You continue to watch him as his eyes fall to where his fists clench against his knees. “But it’s not your fault,” you add.

“Doll,” he starts, already shaking his head again.

And you can practically see it — the battle behind his eyes, the voice that tells him he should have done something, he should have known, he should have never left you alone. Your fingers tighten in his hair, silencing him with a quick tug.

“None of that,” you interject. “What matters now is that I’m okay. You may not have been able to stop it, but you helped the pain.” Your fingers are gentle in his hair again, smile light on your lips as you duck your head to catch his eyes. “You always help me,” you assure him.

His eyes flick back and forth between yours, searching, and his flesh hand lands softly on your cheek. For a moment, you both sit there and bask in the warmth of one another’s touch. And then he’s playfully — yet oh so tenderly — pushing your cheek aside, a smirk tugging at his own lips.

“Don’t you lie to me over comms again,” his voice is teasing, but you see the flash of worry behind his eyes and know that he’s serious. “You’re bad at it. I can hear it in your voice even through that shotty connection.”

You snort, letting the tension diffuse, and playfully shove at his shoulder. “Oh no,” you taunt, “I’m not the one in trouble here — someone owes Ava an apology, and even a thank you quite frankly, you grump.”

He chuckles, nodding. “Alright, alright,” he mumbles. He stands again, wiping his palms over the tight leather covering his thighs, and then he’s leaning over you, forcing you to lean back on your hands. His lips are quick as they brush over your temple, and he adds, “I’ll thank her when you get some rest, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes dramatically but concede and lie back down. His fingers are featherlight as they double check the binding around your thigh and adjust the pillow underneath your knee. And you think he’s content now — maybe he’ll stop hovering and go fly this jet home — but then he's gripping your hand again, tight, and his gaze is too intense again as it roams over the bandages and back to your face.

“I can’t lose you,” Bucky says, and he says it like he has to, like he’s never uttered more true words, like he couldn’t have stopped himself from saying it even if he tried. And it’s a fact for him, just as the sky is blue and the grass is green — Bucky can’t lose you.

Your vision blurs again, but this time it’s not from losing too much blood, it’s from the sting of tears threatening to fall. You just smile and return the squeeze of his fingers holding yours.

“I’m right here, Jamie,” you promise.

[alittleflowerchild]

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