#mcu gifs

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Sebastian Stan as Winter Soldier Captain America: Civil War (2016)

[pedro-reed]

Danny Ramirez as Joaquin Torres CAPTAIN AMERICA: BRAVE NEW WORLD (2025), directed by Julius Onah

[buckysleftbicep]

the things we left behind 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!ex!bucky barnes x widow!ex!reader (reader is female)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, a whole lot of angst, unprotected sex, creampie, painful break up, depression, toxic relationship

summary: you haven't seen bucky in years. not since the night he left. the blip changed both of you, and nothing was ever the same after. now, val has you working together again. the job is dangerous, the tension is unbearable. and the feelings? still impossible to outrun.

word count: 6.7k

author's note: hi loves, it's been a tough few days and honestly, i am trying to cope with work and school, and how i gotta start on my research paper in a month. i am so overwhelmed, and writing this fic kinda helped me to escape all of that for a bit 💓. thank you for reading, love ya guys and stay safe out there!

The email came at 3:12 a.m.

You didn’t check it right away—you were halfway through disassembling your beretta on the kitchen table, fingers slick with oil, an old jazz record crackling faintly from the busted speaker in the corner.

Outside, another storm carved itself across the city skyline. Rain hammered the tin roof. Wind screamed through the alley like it was trying to claw its way in.

You'd gotten used to nights like this. The quiet ones. The hollow ones. The ones where silence curled around your spine like a second skin. Where sleep didn’t come easy and ghosts sat in the corners.

But you never ignored a message from Val.

Especially not one marked URGENT.

You slid the half-cleaned barrel aside and reached for your tablet. The screen flickered to life, illuminating the room in cold blue.

A notification pulsed at the top corner, her name bold, bureaucratic, unmistakable. You hesitated for a second. Not out of fear, just instinct. You always read the fine print before you let something gut you.

You tapped the message open.

FROM: V.Fontaine@classified.gov SUBJECT: URGENT: Field Assignment Target: Codename OMEGA. Ex-military. Ex-Hydra. Now independent and building weapons that rival Stark’s worst. Expanding faster than Hydra ever did. You’ll be compensated generously, you’re the best tracker I’ve got. And Barnes could use your help. — V

You stared at the screen for a long time.

Barnes.

Your thumb hovered at the edge of the table, tapping once. Twice. Again.

That name wasn’t a landmine—it was a fucking extinction-level event. A seismic crack straight through your chest.

You hadn’t seen it typed out in over two years.

Not since you deleted every message.

Every photo. Every voicemail.

Not since you shoved him—all of him—into a vault inside your mind and welded the door shut.

Even thinking it felt like betrayal. The air shifted around you. Denser. Sharper. You weren’t sure if it was rage or something colder coiling under your ribs, but it made it hard to breathe.

You rose from the table without realising it, pacing to the window. The alley outside was bathed in harsh shadows, neon from the liquor store sign across the street painting everything a violent red.

You could still remember the last time you said his name aloud. It hadn’t been soft. Or sweet. It had been a whisper strangled by tears. 

Just a few months ago, you had seen his face again. Unintentionally. On your shitty television, the one balanced on a rusted ammo crate next to your gear bags. You were flipping through channels to avoid your own thoughts—when suddenly, there she was.

Val, in that smug little purple coat, standing on some makeshift podium like a bad dream. Flanked by the press, and smiling like the devil.

"Meet the new Avengers."

And there he was. Bucky.

Your hand froze around the remote.

He was different. A little older. Clean-cut, almost polished. But not really. There was still something haunted behind the eyes. Something wild under the surface.

You knew that look. You’d memorised it—held it in your hands during the worst nights. It was the way he looked when he didn’t know how to stay. The way he looked at you.

You didn’t watch for more than a few seconds.

Didn’t listen to what he said.

You clicked the screen off.

Walked out of the room like it hadn’t just set a match to the walls you’d spent years rebuilding.

The last you’d heard, he was a congressman. Or maybe that was just another lie the world told itself to sleep easier at night.

You’d made it a rule not to keep tabs. Not to reach out. Not even when you missed him so much you thought your skin might split.

It was the only way you’d survived.

Now this.

Now Val was offering you money. A job. A mission.

But not just any mission. One that meant going back into the field. Tracking a target dangerous enough to spook even her.

A weapons dealer with enough firepower to start another war, based in Romania, deep-pocketed, ex-military, rumoured to be building something worse than Stark tech.

You could do it. Of course you could.

You were trained for it. One of the best assassins still walking—invisible, untraceable, lethal.

Val hadn’t exaggerated. You were the best.

But this wasn’t about the mission.

This was about him.

Working with him. Seeing him again.

Smelling him. Hearing his voice.

Pretending it didn’t hollow you out.

God, after everything— After everything—

You clenched your jaw until your teeth ached and looked back at the screen.

Val didn’t know your history. Of course she didn’t. She wouldn’t have sent the message if she did. Or maybe she did know, and sent it anyway. You wouldn’t put it past her.

Your reflection in the glass caught your eye. Same eyes. Same scars. But the woman looking back wasn’t the one he loved. Not anymore.

Maybe she never was.

You sat back down slowly. The room was too quiet now. The Beretta still lay in pieces on the table, glinting dully under the bare bulb overhead. The silence felt like a countdown.

Your hand moved on its own. You tapped out a reply.

I’ll take it.

You could still remember the night he left. 

It had started like all the other nights.

Angry, messy and quiet in all the wrong places.

You’d fought again. You couldn’t even remember what about, maybe it didn’t matter. It never really did. It was always about the same things—the silences, the avoidance. 

The way he wouldn’t talk to you unless it was laced in something defensive. The way your voice always seemed to crack just before you said something unforgivable.

The apartment was dark, save for the sliver of streetlight cutting through the blinds and the faint hum of the heater that never quite worked right. 

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, spine tight, fists curled in the sheets. Your chest still heaved from the shouting match, breath shaky, shallow. 

You hated crying in front of him. But it was happening anyway.

Behind you, he stood by the door, tall, unmoving, arms crossed like holding onto himself was the only thing keeping him from saying something worse. 

Bucky hadn’t spoken in minutes. That always scared you more than the yelling. The quiet.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you finally whispered, voice raw.

He didn’t respond.

You turned to look at him, forcing your voice to steady. “Say something.”

He looked up then, and his eyes, God, his eyes. There was no softness left in them tonight. Just exhaustion, grief wrapped in the shape of a man.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said quietly.

Your heart clenched so hard it hurt. “I want you to act like you still fucking care.”

“I do care,” he bit out. “That’s the damn problem.”

The silence that followed was loud. So loud it made your ears ring.

Bucky’s jaw tensed as he stepped forward slowly, stopping just in front of you.

His voice dropped lower, strained, like it hurt him to say it. “You think I don’t care because I don’t yell back anymore? Because I don’t chase you when you storm out? I stopped chasing you because every time I do, you just run further.”

Your throat burned. “I’m not the only one running.”

That landed. You saw it, in the way his expression faltered, just for a second.

“I lost everyone, Buck,” you continued, voice cracking. “Nat. Steve. The world fucking flipped inside out. I came back and people I loved were either dead or moved on. And you—you were the only thing that felt real.”

He didn’t say a word.

“I just kept thinking… maybe if we held on tighter, we could—”

“Break each other slower?” he cut in.

The words hit you like a slap. Brutal, cold and unflinching.

You blinked at him, stunned. “Is that what you think we’re doing?”

“I think we’re trying to survive a war that already ended,” he said, a little softer now. “And neither of us came out whole.”

Your eyes stung. But you didn’t want to cry. 

Not again. Not in front of him. 

“So what? That’s it? You give up?”

“I didn’t say that.” he protested.

“Then what are you saying?”

He ran a hand through his hair, stepped back like he needed air. Like you were suffocating him just by standing there. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just… I don’t know who we are anymore.”

You stood up. Walked toward him. Close, too close.

Your voice was trembling now, but you didn’t step back. “We’re us. We’re still us. You know that.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth—like he wanted to believe it. Like he couldn’t.

“You don’t get to walk away,” you whispered. “Not tonight.”

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It was desperate. 

The fight dissolved the moment your mouths met. Your hands went to his jaw, to his hair, pulling him in like you could anchor yourself inside him.

He kissed you back like a man unraveling, like he had no other language left. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you backward until your spine met the bedroom wall.

Clothes came off in clumsy, frantic movements. Tugged shirts. Shaking fingers. Gasps caught in the quiet like smoke. His lips trailed down your throat, your chest, his mouth everywhere—hot and hungry.

He pushed inside you with a groan, and your legs wrapped around his waist like instinct, like need. Your hips lifted to meet his, the angle bruising, perfect.

It wasn’t gentle, it never was when you fought.

Every thrust was a plea. Every moan a memory.

He held you like he wanted to stay. Fucked you like he didn’t know how to leave.

“Bucky,” you gasped, head falling back as he drove deeper.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured into your neck, voice wrecked. “I know. I’ve got you.”

Your nails raked down his back. Your mouth caught his in a sloppy, hungry kiss. You’d done this so many times, made love like it was the only language you both still understood.

And maybe it was.

When you came, it was with a cry muffled into his shoulder. Your body trembled around him, and he held you through every wave. He followed soon after, voice breaking on your name as his hips stuttered, as he buried himself deep inside you, like he could stay there forever.

For a while, you just lay there. Breathing.

You were curled against his chest, your hand resting over his heart, still pounding hard beneath your palm. His arm was around your waist. His other hand gently cradled the back of your neck. He pressed a kiss to your hair.

And then—he spoke.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

Your whole body stilled.

You pulled back just enough to see his face. “What?”

He didn’t meet your eyes.

“This,” he said. “Us. The fights. The sex. The pretending, (y/n) it's killing us.”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, we can fix it. We always do.”

“This isn’t fixing anything,” he said, voice quieter now. “We're just stalling the inevitable.”

Your eyes filled again, but you blinked fast, furious. “So what? You want to end it?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation was worse than anything he could’ve said.

“Say it,” you whispered. “If that’s what you want, just say it.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. He looked wrecked, like every word he said carved him open too.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he said. “I’m not what you need. Maybe I never—.”

“Don’t say that,” you breathed. “Don’t you dare—”

He kissed you again.

Slow. Final.

And when he pulled away, it was like something tore loose inside your chest. Like a rib cracked open and your lungs forgot how to work.

“I love you, god, I do,” he said. “But we’re not good for each other.”

You stared at him, heart breaking open like glass.“Then why does this hurt so much?”

He looked at you—like it was killing him not to reach for you.

“Because I loved you,” he said, voice wrecked. “And I still couldn’t make it right.”

He left before sunrise. You didn’t sleep for three days.

Bucky hated briefings.

He hated the fluorescents. The cold coffee. The recycled air. He hated the staged professionalism, the smug undertone in Val’s voice, and the folders she always slapped down like a final hand in poker.

But he showed up anyway, half-shaven, black t-shirt clinging to the sweat along his spine, bruises still blooming across his ribs from the chase in Istanbul just a day ago.

A smuggler had gotten lucky with a crowbar and he had returned the favour with a shattered wrist.

Val didn’t even glance up when he entered the room.

“Took you long enough,” she muttered, flipping through a file like she hadn’t been waiting. “Sit.”

He dropped into the chair across from her, spine loose but jaw tight, watching her like he was waiting for the punchline.

“You said it was urgent.”

“It is.”

She slid the top folder toward him across the steel table. No smile. Just business.

“Weapons dealer. Codename: OMEGA. Ex-military and former Hydra, bastard’s freelancing now, he’s building something, Stark-level tech, maybe worse. We don’t know but black market says it’s mobile, adaptive, and spreading faster than anything Hydra ever managed.”

Bucky flipped the folder open, glancing over the first photo. Satellite images. Grainy outlines of a compound nestled in the Carpathians. Weapon crates stamped with false serials. And a man, dark-haired, lean, with a half-smile that made Bucky’s gut twist.

“You want me to take him out?”

“No,” Val said, narrowing her eyes. “Not yet. I want you to find him. Get intel. Map the pipeline. This asshole is exporting something fast, quiet, and powerful, and nobody knows how yet.”

He leaned back in the chair, nodding slowly. “So who’s running point with me?”

That was when she smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile. It never was.

“Someone sharp. Knows the terrain like it’s etched into their bloodstream. I needed someone OMEGA wouldn’t see coming, a ghost, basically.” She pulled a second folder from beneath the stack and laid it down with calculated weight.

“So I found the best.”

Bucky’s chest went still.

She tapped the folder once. “You’ve worked together before.”

His eyes didn’t move. Not yet. He didn’t need to look to know. Something low and cold began to unfurl inside him.

“Who?” he asked, already knowing.

Val didn’t skip a beat. “She’s from the Red Room, trained with Romanov. One of the sharpest trackers I’ve ever seen, maybe the best. You worked with her back in 2016. Rogers brought her in to help you disappear for a few weeks.” She looked up at him. “That ring any bells?”

His throat dried out.

Of course it rang a bell. Of course it cracked the whole goddamn church tower.

“She ghosted after the Blip,” Val went on, oblivious to the way the blood had drained from his face. “Merc work. Off-grid. Her name comes up every few years, always attached to success stories. She doesn’t come cheap, but lucky for us, she said yes.”

Bucky didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His hands had gone still in his lap.

Val cocked her head slightly. “Problem?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his tone flat. “No. Just surprised.”

“Don’t be. I told you I wanted the best.”

And she meant it, that was the thing. 

Val had no idea. None. 

She was looking at him like she’d made a smart tactical move, like this was just another piece on her chessboard.

She didn’t know you were more than a name on a file. Didn’t know that just hearing your name was like being punched in the ribs with a memory.

Of course you said yes. Of course you did.

Bucky looked down at the folder, the one he hadn’t opened. The one that already felt like it was burning through the table. His fingers twitched, fighting the urge to open it. But he didn’t need to. He could already picture your face.

Exactly how you looked the last time he saw you, in that apartment, the light catching the tears on your cheek, your mouth trembling, your voice a broken whisper after one final kiss that hadn’t felt final at all.

You hadn’t spoken since. He’d made sure of that.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think you were the right choice. 

You were. You always have been. Your instincts were lethal. Precise. Back when everything was chaos, when he was hunted, bleeding, feral—you’d found him with no satellites, relying on nothing but your skills.

You’d read the rhythm of his footsteps, you’d seen the man underneath the weapon—and somehow, you’d still touched him like he was worth something.

He remembered it all.

The way you’d looked at him without fear. The way you’d spoken to him like he wasn’t broken. The way you’d fallen— And the way he’d fallen harder.

Too hard.

He clenched his jaw and rose from the chair before Val could get clever.

“When do we leave?”

Val smiled, satisfied. “She’ll be here by morning.”

He turned and left before she could say anything else.

Bucky hadn’t seen you in years.

But the memory of you had never really left.

He had tried to pretend otherwise—told himself he’d locked it away. Buried it. Pushed it down into the same graveyard where the rest of his broken things lived. But the truth was simpler. Meaner.

You were everywhere.

In the way someone laughed too loud on a subway platform, in the weight of silence when he climbed into bed alone.

You’d lived beneath his skin long after you left his bed.

And sometimes, even now—in moments he didn’t expect, he could still feel you there.

He remembered the first time he saw you.

Bucharest, 2016. Steve had said your name, classified—a Red Room defector who knew the streets, the syndicates, the backchannels. A shadow that didn’t leave footprints.

He said you owed him a favour. He never said what that favour was.

You’d found him in less than forty-eight hours.

He was holed up in an abandoned tenement, hiding in corners, still haunted by trigger phrases and mission reports and words like asset and eliminate.

He hadn’t slept in two days. He hadn’t trusted anyone in longer.

Then the door creaked. A whisper of motion. And there you were, boots silent, a pistol tucked in your belt, eyes sharp enough to cut. You looked at him like you already knew every terrible thing he’d done. 

And somehow… you didn’t flinch.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you said.

And maybe that was the first lie you ever told him. 

Because you did. Just not in the way he expected.

You’d stayed longer than Steve asked. Said the apartment wasn’t secure. Said you didn’t trust the local chatter. But you’d also started bringing back coffee in the mornings. Left food on the table without asking.

You never made him say thank you. You never asked why his hands shook when he reached for a fork.

And when he had a nightmare so violent he woke up gasping, fists clenched, blood on his tongue, you didn’t back away.

You touched his shoulder, soft and steady, and whispered his name until the past let go of his throat.

Until he remembered where he was. Until he remembered who he was.

That was the night you sat on the windowsill, legs crossed, and told him about the Red Room. 

Not all of it. Just enough. 

You told him about the girl who never shed a single tear during conditioning. Who learned pressure points before she comprehended math. Who killed a man before she learned how to braid her own hair.

He watched you in the half-light. And something broke open in him. Something painful and quiet.

“You think you’re the only one who came out wrong,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve got blood on my hands too.”

He didn’t know what to say.

So he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It couldn’t be.

Two people clawing at each other for something that made them feel human. That made them feel alive.

You’d kissed him like you were starving. Pulled him in by the collar, pressed your body to his like you could crawl inside him and stay there. It was heat and teeth and desperation. It was need, masquerading as anger, safety masquerading as lust.

But later, when your breath had evened out and the moonlight spilled across your bare shoulder, he held you like a secret. His hand moved up and down your spine like he’d been doing it forever.

You curled into him. Stayed there. Whispered things you’d never say in daylight.

He didn’t ask about the scars. You didn’t ask about the dog tags beside his bed. You didn’t need to.

You’d already seen each other naked long before the clothes came off.

That was all it took. That was all it ever took.

Then the Blip happened. And the world ended.

He didn’t know what hurt more—watching you turn to dust in front of him, or himself coming back five years later to find out you hadn’t come back.

They say grief changes people. But this wasn’t grief. This was obliteration.

When you finally returned, months after the snap was reversed—something in you was different. Sharper. Duller. Both at once. Your eyes didn’t light up the same. Your voice came from somewhere deeper.

Bucky later learned the truth in pieces.

You hadn’t come back with the others. Not because you couldn't. But because you hadn’t wanted to.

The moment your body came back, lungs gasping, heart hammering, soul thrown back into flesh, you were alone. Dropped in a place you didn’t recognize. Somewhere cold. Ruined. A city that had moved on without you. 

No one was waiting. No one even knew you'd returned.

And when you finally made it back to what was left of the world, you found out what you’d missed.

Natasha was gone. Steve was gone.

Everything you fought for. Everyone who held you up. All of it—just gone.

You didn’t go back to the Tower. Didn’t call anyone. You vanished.

You went underground, took jobs that let you bleed. Let you disappear. Let you punish yourself in silence, in shadows, where no one could see the way grief had gutted you.

It wasn’t about survival. It wasn’t even about revenge.

It was about not being seen. Not being found.

Because if someone found you—if Bucky found you—then you’d have to admit that you were still alive.

And some days, that felt like the worst thing of all.

It took Bucky weeks to track you down.

You'd covered your tracks—burner phones, false names, cities that swallowed you whole. But he knew your patterns. Knew how you moved.

He traced whispers of a woman who never stayed long, it had led him to a crumbling outpost in Albania, an old safehouse half-buried in snow. 

You’d just come back from a mission, your knuckles bruised, your jaw clenched, blood dried at your collar.

He watched you from across the road, heart pounding, breath caught in his throat. You didn’t see him until he stepped into the light and said your name.

Soft. Like a prayer. Like a wound.

You didn’t talk about Natasha. Didn’t mention Steve. You didn’t talk at all.

And when he finally got you to come home, Bucky tried to help. God, he tried. He made you tea on the nights sleep wouldn’t come. Sat outside the bathroom door when you locked it, listening to the sound of your breath breaking apart through panic. 

He held you when you let him—which wasn’t often—and never asked for more. And when the words ran dry, when silence grew sharp enough to cut, he touched you like he could piece you back together. Made love to you like it might be enough, like it might remind you how to stay.

But you didn’t come back to him. Not really.

And if he was honest, neither did he.

The world had cracked open. And when it tried to reassemble itself, the pieces didn’t fit.

He still loved you, that had never changed. 

But love isn’t always soft. Sometimes it’s sharp, jagged. 

Sometimes it’s made of splinters and sutures. Sometimes it bleeds.

And this one did.

The fights started small.

You stayed out too late. You took contracts without telling him. Vanished without explanation. Returned like nothing had happened—blood on your hands, silence in your eyes.

“Where were you?” “I handled it.” “You don’t have to handle things alone anymore.” “Don’t tell me what to do, Bucky.”

It escalated.

You screamed. He slammed doors.

You made love like it was the last time, every time. You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you from drowning. He kissed you like he couldn’t bear the thought of breathing without you.

You cried once—during.

He kissed the tears from your cheeks and didn’t ask why.

And the next morning, neither of you said a word.

He had left before sunrise.

Quiet. Measured. Like if he moved too fast, the goodbye would catch fire.

Hours earlier, you’d clung to each other like maybe it could still work. Like maybe the way he held you—deep and slow and shaking, like it could sew something back together that had already torn beyond repair.

He’d kissed you after. Whispered your name like it was a prayer. You’d thought maybe he was staying.

But the words came anyway. The softest ones. The final ones.

“I love you,” he’d said. “But we’re not good for each other.”

He didn’t leave a note, he didn’t need to. The silence between you had already said everything.

You didn’t chase him. He didn’t come back. And neither of you called.

Because whatever it was—love, grief, survival—it had finally burned through.

Now, standing in the tower hallway, hands clenched and jaw tight, he thought about all of it.

About the girl who kissed him with cracked knuckles and laughed when she beat him in hand-to-hand. About the woman who came back from the dead and couldn’t sleep through the night.

He thought about your mouth. Your voice. The way you used to touch him.

You were coming back into his life. He didn’t know what that meant yet.

But it didn’t feel like closure. It felt like fate trying again.

The helicopter touched down just before midnight.

The rooftop landing pad of the compound was slick with rain, wind howling against the glass walls like it wanted in. You stayed seated as the engine powered down, watching water bead and crawl across the window. 

The city pulsed below, indifferent and alive. It had been years since you stood in this place. Longer since it had felt anything close to home.

You adjusted your gloves slowly, methodically. Your bag was already slung across your shoulder, weapons holstered, expression blank. The only tell was your fingers—twitching against your thigh like they were searching for something to hold onto.

Footsteps echoed behind you.

"You coming, or do I have to drag you out?" Yelena's voice, unmistakably smug.

You turned. And for a second—just a second, your composure slipped.

She looked the same. Combat boots scuffed from wear. Hair shorter now—cropped into a blunt cut that suited her sharp grin.

There was something in her eyes that made you feel twelve again. She crossed the threshold and threw her arms around you before you could react.

"You bitch," she said, laughing into your shoulder. "You didn’t even text me. I thought you were dead. I tried everything. Even hacked into a mercenary network that tracks off-grid operatives. That’s how low I sank."

You exhaled a breath that almost cracked. Your arms wrapped around her on instinct.

"I missed you too," you murmured.

She pulled back and looked at you—really looked.

"Where did you go?" Her voice dropped a little. Not accusing. Just softer. Like it hurt to ask. "I tried calling, so many times. You just vanished."

You hesitated.

"I couldn’t be here," you said finally. "Not after everything that happened."

Yelena nodded, but her smile faltered. There was understanding in her eyes. And maybe grief too. You had lost your best friend, and she had lost a sister.

"Well, you're here now," she said. "And Val’s gonna shit herself when she sees the two of us in the same room."

You huffed out a quiet laugh. It didn’t reach your eyes.

The elevator opened with a low chime.

And that was when you felt it.

A shift. A cold crackle in your chest. Like a wire pulled tight.

You turned your head.

And there he was.

Bucky stepped off the elevator like a ghost from a life you didn’t let yourself remember.

Dressed in black, cargo pants, worn boots, leather jacket unzipped just enough to show the grey shirt beneath. His damp hair pushed back like he’d just stepped out of the storm. A duffel bag was slung over one shoulder, his gait loose but alert. 

And his expression—his expression was still, but his eyes...his eyes landed on you like impact—like an old wound splitting wide open

They locked on yours with such force it felt like gravity shifted. Something primal and painful surged in your chest. 

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

He froze. So did you.

It was silent. Just the distant hum of the building, the rain tapping against the windows, Yelena shifting awkwardly between you. No words. Just that unbearable, suffocating pause.

Then he blinked. Swallowed. And nodded once.

"Hey."

It was barely audible. Rough. Like he hadn’t said it in a long time.

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

Yelena glanced between you and cleared her throat. "I’ll uh… give you two a minute."

She was gone before you could stop her.

You turned back toward the window, throat burning. You felt him walk closer—not near enough to touch, but close enough that his presence bent the air.

"You look different," he said quietly.

You didn’t turn around. "So do you."

Another silence.

"Didn’t think I’d see you again," he said.

"You didn’t try to."

That landed. Hard. You could feel it—the way his weight shifted, the breath he held like it might shatter.

"I didn’t think you’d want me to."

You finally turned, eyes sharp, guarded.

"I didn’t."

And it was true. At least partly.

Because as much as you wanted to hate him, as much as you told yourself you’d buried it all—your body still remembered. 

The way he used to touch you. Hold you. Make love to you like it meant something.

It all came flooding back now.

You remembered the press of his mouth against your throat, the weight of him between your legs, the way he whispered your name when he was close—like it broke something inside him. 

You remembered how he moved inside you, how he clung to you like a drowning man, murmuring your name over and over like it was the only anchor he had left.

You remembered his hands, calloused and warm, roaming your body like they knew every inch, every scar, every secret. 

The way he used to fuck you like he was desperate to stay, to feel something that tethered him to this life—to you. Like the act of loving you was the only thing keeping him from disappearing entirely.

And you remembered what it felt like after.

Curled into his chest.

His lips in your hair.

His breath still shaking.

His voice—low and ruined—saying he couldn’t keep doing this.

The ache of it split something inside you.

You swallowed hard. Fingers tightening over your arms like they were holding your ribs together.

"This doesn’t change anything," you said.

He nodded slowly. "I know."

But it did. You both knew it.

Because for all the distance, for all the time, the pain, the silence—the second your eyes met, you felt it. That same, awful, impossible thing.

You still wanted him.

And he still looked at you like you were the only person who ever knew how to touch him without hurting.

It wasn’t love.

It was something worse. It was memory.

The ride into Romania was long, loud, and silent in all the worst ways.

The blades beat a steady rhythm against the night sky, slicing through clouds as the landscape below dissolved into shadow. 

You sat across from him on the side bench, both of you facing inward, knees angled close, but never touching. The blades roared above as the helicopter cut through the clouds, the green glow of the instrument panel washing your boots in ghost-light.

You didn’t look at him. But you could feel it. Every flicker of his gaze, every stolen glance. Like gravity pulling him toward something he had long buried.

When the helicopter finally began its descent, the mountains looked like teeth—jagged, looming, half-lost in cloud. The safehouse wasn’t much. A stone structure tucked into a hillside, half-swallowed by fog and overgrowth. 

The wind howled around it as the blades slowed to a halt, leaving you both alone with nothing but damp air and unfinished sentences. You slung your bag over your shoulder, boots crunching over gravel as you followed him up the narrow path. 

There was no conversation. Just the weight of your history trailing behind you like a second shadow.

Inside, the safehouse smelled like dust and rain. There were two rooms. A generator humming low. A fireplace that hadn’t been used in years. 

The air held the chill of old grief, you dropped your gear on the floor, peeled off your damp jacket, and stood there, cold, wet and exhausted. He did the same, his movements slow, careful, like even the air between you might break if he moved too fast.

The silence thickened. Unbearable.

You turned toward him, voice sharp. “You never came back.”

He looked up from his bag. Stilled. “What?”

You stared at him, every nerve in your chest pulled tight. “After the fight. After you walked out. You never came back. Not even once.”

He blinked. “You told me not to.”

“No, I didn’t,” you said, voice rising. “I begged you to stay. I begged you not to walk away, and you still left.”

His jaw flexed. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“Well, congratulations,” you snapped. “You did anyway.”

He stepped toward you then, chest heaving, anger flickering beneath the surface. “What did you want me to do? Keep pretending we were okay? Just keep  fucking you like that was enough?”

You flinched. “Don’t you dare—”

“I didn’t know how to make it better!” he shouted. “I loved you, god, I loved you, but I didn’t know how to reach you. And every time I touched you, I told myself we were okay, that I could keep us from falling apart. But it was fucking killing me.”

You swallowed against the ache rising in your throat. “So you let go.”

He nodded slowly, breathing hard. “Yeah. I let go.”

“And you didn’t look back.”

He stepped closer. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Act like you didn’t leave too. You shut me out. You stopped talking. You disappeared before I even walked out that door.”

Your eyes burned. “Because I was grieving, because everyone I—I loved was gone.”

“And I was still standing there,” he said, voice breaking. “I was right there, and you wouldn’t even look at me.”

Something in you cracked.

You pushed him, open palm against his chest. Hard.

He didn’t move. Didn’t stumble. Just looked at you with something hollow in his eyes, like he was still standing in the ruins of everything you used to be.

“I waited,” you whispered. “I waited for you to come back.”

He stepped into you then, hands bracing against the wall behind you, caging you in. The air shifted, heat sparking between you like a live wire.

“I never stopped wanting you,” he said, low and rough.

Your breath hitched.

You stared at him, eyes wet, fists clenched. “Then why didn’t you try?”

His voice was hoarse. “Because I thought I already lost you.”

You shook your head. “No James, you gave up on me.”

“I never gave up on you,” he said. “I gave up on the idea that I was good for you.”

The words scraped across your chest.

“I didn’t want perfect,” you whispered. “I just wanted you.”

The distance between you snapped.

His hands found your face, your jaw, your waist, pulling you in like a man dying of thirst. The kiss came sharp, searing, desperate. All tongue and teeth and ragged breath.

You clawed at his shirt, fisting the fabric, grounding yourself in the heat of him. He pressed you back against the wall, hard enough to shake loose the memories.

His mouth dropped to your neck, your collarbone, biting at the soft skin like he was angry at it. You gasped, arching against him, fingers dragging down his spine.

“Tell me you don’t miss this,” he growled against your throat.

“I hate you,” you gasped.

“Not what I asked.”

He lifted you with ease, walked you backwards to the bed, lips never leaving your skin. He dropped you down, followed you with a weight that felt like coming undone. The rain outside slammed against the windows. The bed creaked beneath the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

Clothes peeled off, slow and frantic at once. He kissed every inch of your skin, reverent and bruising. You clawed at his back, moaned his name like a plea, like a prayer.

When he slid inside you, it stole the air from your lungs.

He moved slowly at first, deep, deliberate thrusts that made your toes curl, your body arch. You clung to him, nails biting into his shoulder blades. He buried his face in your neck.

“You feel the same,” he rasped. “Fuck—you feel exactly the same.”

“Don’t stop,” you gasped. “Please, don’t stop.”

His rhythm quickened, rougher, harder. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, punctuated by broken sobs and gasping breath.

“I should’ve fought for you,” he said. “I should’ve fucking fought.”

You kissed him, fierce and shattering. “Then fight now.”

He groaned into your mouth. “I love you.”

“Then stay.”

You came with a cry, your whole body seizing around him. He followed with a broken moan, hips stuttering, breath catching as he spilled inside you.

You stayed like that for a long time, chests pressed together, foreheads touching, breath mingling in the dark.

And in that quiet, brutal silence, something shifted.

Not healed. Not yet.

But something close to hope.

You lay still for a long time after, his hand tangled in your hair, your breath catching on every exhale like your body didn’t quite believe what it had just done. Bucky shifted beside you, his arm tight around your waist, grounding you.

“You meant it?” you asked softly. “When you said you love me?”

He turned his face toward yours. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no flicker of doubt. “I never stopped,” he said. “I want you to know that.”

You closed your eyes. Let the words settle. Let the silence stretch.

Then—his voice again. Quieter now. Rough around the edges, like the words scraped on the way out.

“Can we try again?”

Your eyes opened.

He held your gaze, steady and unflinching.

“I know I left,” he continued. “And I know you shut me out too. We both did damage. But I still love you. And I want to stay this time. No matter how hard it gets, I’m not walking away. Not ever again.”

Your chest ached.

Because part of you still wanted to push him away, to brace for the inevitable.

But a bigger part, the part that remembered the sound of his laugh in the morning, the feel of his hands holding your broken pieces together—that part whispered:

Yes.

And for the first time in a long time, you almost believed it could be enough.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it! your feedback is forever welcomed my loves!

[lady-murderess]

low-key them tbf

—Fyodor Dostoevsky

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Oh, I'm fine. I have a great past, so I'm totally fine. Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes // Thunderbolts* (The New Avengers) (2025)

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Winter's Child

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and your daughter live across the hall from Bucky. However, one night when your daughter won't settle, you turn to him for help.

Disclaimer: A lot of fluff, angst, hurt/comfort vibes. This is also a long fic. Bucky is not a step-dad but a dad who steps up. Brief mentions of abandonment, heavy on the Found Family, cute fluffy date moments between Reader and Bucky. Yelena and Kate being a duo, slight swearing. Not fully proof read.

You were at your wits end. At least, you thought you were until a handwritten letter slipped under your door at nine am on the dot a week ago. 

A noise complaint. 

You were a single, new mom of one. And instead of helping, three of your neighbours – two of whom had children of their own – decided to file a noise complaint against you. 

First, it was sleepless nights with a newborn. Then it was three weeks of convincing male doctors that your baby was, in fact, sick and it wasn’t you just being dramatic. And now…it was teething. 

You’d barely had a minute to yourself in several months. Family helped you where they could, but one night was all they would do in terms of babysitting. 

You had five piles of laundry that either needed washing, drying, folding or putting away. Your apartment was over-run with household chores that needed doing, you felt like you were on auto-pilot as you moved through your home. 

And every time you’d just get your baby to sleep, someone upstairs decided that it was time for yet another rearrangement of furniture because it didn’t fit the ‘movement’ of his vibe. 

“What?” You were practically crying yourself. “What is it? I’ve tried everything. Please, just tell me what to do. Please.”

Nothing was working. You didn’t want another noise complaint in fear of someone suggesting you should move out. It took years for you to find a safe place that was within walking distance of a good school. 

Obviously, you’d planned the whole ‘having a baby’ thing happening differently than being single and alone the whole time. But it was the quiet moments, the moments where your baby laughed and smiled that made your heart lighten a little. 

But at two am, exhausted and desperate – that was not one of those moments. 

You’d never know why – you could only ever guess - but an idea popped into your head. And you could only pray it would work. 

Bucky had just closed his front door when someone knocked on it. It was hurried and for a moment, he felt for his side-arm. 

But when the knock was followed by a baby’s cry, he lowered his hand. By the time he opened the door, he was greeted with you - his neighbour. 

“I’m so sorry, I really really am-”

You looked like Hell. Bucky had been on a ten day mission in Serbia and had the crap kicked out of him twice – and somehow you looked worse. 

“But she won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want another noise complaint or to be kicked out. I know this is really rude and I am sorry but, please. Is there-”

Bucky stepped forward and scooped the baby from your arms for a moment. He held her up, letting her little legs dangle in the air for a moment whilst he checked her over. 

It was like he’d performed some kind of miracle. 

Your baby had stopped crying. 

Bucky could see you in the corner of his eye. It looked like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, only to come crashing back down. 

“How do you do that?”

Bucky shrugged with a small smile as he cradled your baby in his arms. “I had kid sisters growing up. Ma was always run off her feet.”

“I’m really sorry about this, Bucky.”

He just shook his head. “Don’t be. You said you got a noise complaint?”

You nodded, leaning against the wall beside his door. “A week ago. Someone slipped it under my door. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to sign it, I’ve not exactly been a quiet neighbour these last few months.”

Bucky shook his head. “You’re doing your best. Ignore the noise complaint. If you get any more, give them to me, I’ll get it sorted.”

“No, you don’t-”

“If they’d bothered to help, then someone might be able to say they're just in their complaint. But they haven’t. So nothing is right about it. Want me to put her down?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ll show you.”

As Bucky walked inside your apartment, cradling your sleeping daughter in his arms, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You were her mom. You should be able to do it without having to knock on your neighbour’s door in the middle of the night. 

And you knew it wasn’t the first time he’d helped you, either. 

At six months pregnant when she was kicking you like she was about to be the next World’s Greatest Football player, you had to pause outside your door, leaving your grocery bags on the floor for a moment. 

Bucky had just left his apartment when he saw you. In your small exchange, which most of your conversations were, you helped him press his hand to your stomach. 

It was one big kick. 

“Kid, you’ve gotta be nice to your mom,” Bucky had warned. 

The kicks stopped. 

Bucky had also helped when your baby was five months old. You were carrying her on your hip whilst balancing the baby bag and two bags of groceries. Bucky had just, again, left his apartment when he asked if you needed any help. 

“Can you hold her for a second?”

Bucky took her without question and the soft babbles had turned into quiet solitude as she laid her head on his shoulder. Bucky also took one of the grocery bags from you as you searched for your door key. 

Once you’d thrown everything inside the door, you took your baby back who, within the space of sixty seconds, had grown rather attached to your neighbour. 

Which was also clear in the way her little fists held onto his shirt as he carefully lowered her into her crib. 

“I’m really sorry about this.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m happy to help.”

If Bucky was being honest, he was more than happy to help. When he’d first moved in, a lot of the tenants in the building had avoided him. A few even complained about him living there considering he was an ex-assassin. And he couldn’t blame them. He still blamed himself sometimes. 

But you were one of the few that didn’t treat him like that. You treated him like he was just an average human living across the hall from you. So, helping you and your daughter where you asked him to – it gave him another sense of normalcy. 

Something he found to be very rare in his line of work. 

“You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask.” Bucky told you as you walked him to the door. 

You shook your head. “I already feel bad asking you to help me get her to sleep.”

Bucky turned on his heel and looked at you. “You don’t have to feel bad about that. You’re a mom trying to do it all. You’re allowed to ask for help, Y/n.”

That still didn’t stop the guilt, though. 

You’d opted to have the baby on your own. There had been other options, but they just simply were options you didn’t want to take. You’d chosen to do it on your own, which meant continuing to do it on your own. 

“Thank you, Bucky. For everything you’ve done so far.”

You bid him goodnight, feeling the continuing guilt settle in your stomach but gratitude wash over your home. Your baby was fast asleep, and for the first time in months, you got a full night’s sleep. 

When you woke up, you checked on your daughter to find her still fast asleep. So, you took the time you had to finish cleaning your apartment. 

You were folding the third pile of clean laundry when someone knocked on your door. When you answered it, you stalled for a moment. 

“Bucky, what are you-”

“I know you’re not gonna ask unless you’re out of options, so I’m giving you an option to take,” he told you. “When you need help, or need a break, call me.” 

He handed you a post-it note with his phone number on. 

“Bucky, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can. And I want you to.” Bucky pressed. “You’re one of the few people outside of my job that treats me like a person. And, just because you’re a mom, doesn’t mean you should constantly be treated like one. You’re a person, too, Y/n. You deserve the help.”

You were completely shocked. Bucky was…an Avenger. He was someone who helped save the world, twice. But he was offering to help you and your baby. 

You lowered the post-it note. “Would you have any idea how to fix a kitchen cupboard?”

Bucky smiled, feeling a wave of relief wash over him that you were actually asking. 

He nodded, “Let me get my tools.”

Your brows furrowed. “You have tools?”

He laughed, “I have tools.”

What you thought was just going to be an afternoon turned into two years of frequent help – even when you never asked – and a growing friendship. 

The routine of helping you and your daughter also helped Bucky. It helped ground him after a tough mission. One that, if he went home alone, would be playing over in his mind until the nightmares all mixed into one. 

Even the team noticed the change in Bucky. He seemed lighter, happier and calmer. But the only one who knew the truth behind the change was Sam. Mainly because he’d seen the photo on Bucky’s desk at work. 

A picture of himself, you and a toddler who was holding the camera. 

“You should invite them over for dinner,” Sam told him one afternoon. 

“You think so?”

Sam nodded, taking the beer from Bucky. “Yeah, why not? She’s been your neighbour for years. I know you’ve had a crush on her, for like, ever.”

“I don’t have a crush-”

“You’ve got a crush.” Sam told him. “And, it’s about time we meet your future wife.”

“Sam.”

Sam just laughed. “Oh, come on, man. You know I’m right. I’ve seen the way you look at your phone when she calls you. I’ve also seen the look on your face when you find out it’s her daughter wanting to update you about her day. What a two year old has going on in her life, other than apple sauce packets, is beyond me.”

“She went on her first playdate and helped someone make friends. It was a big day for her.”

“Ha, see! Buck – accept it or deny it, they’re your family. Which makes them ours, too.”

Bucky sighed. “I’ll ask, but if she says no-”

“Then we’ll let it slide.”

Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket. “And you’ll make sure Kate doesn’t stalk her online.”

Sam held up his hands. “You have my word.”

Thankfully for everyone involved, you agreed. A week later, you were unbuckling your daughter from her car seat whilst she tried to scramble away and towards the crowd of Avengers who were laughing and chatting over a barbeque. 

That was when a small pair of lungs squealed at the top of their voice, “Bucky!”

Your daughter was running, ignoring your call of being careful before she fell, towards her favourite person. And you had to admit, aside from your daughter, he was yours, too. 

You watched as Bucky stopped his conversation with Sam Wilson and turned to jog towards your daughter. By the time they reached each other, Bucky lifted her into the air as she squealed with more happiness. 

“Hey, firecracker. How was pre-school?”

“Good!”

Resting her on his arm, Bucky talked to her and waited for you to reach him. “Really? You gonna tell me about it?”

You smiled, “Only if you want your ears to fall off.”

Bucky chuckled. “Didn’t need them anyway.” 

You stopped just short of him and he led the way over to the table that was still being set up. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everybody.”

You’d had anxiety for a week over agreeing to the BBQ. What would they think? Would they hate you? Would it be awkward? 

But after twenty minutes, everything felt…normal. You helped a very chatting Kate Bishop and a calmer Laura Bishop set the table for the multitude of Avengers and kids that were attending the BBQ. 

People hugged, laughed, asked as many questions as they could – most of them coming from your daughter who, despite attaching herself to Bucky for most of the day, wanted to know everything she could about everyone she was with. 

And they answered every one of her questions. 

By the time the stars were peeking out behind the few clouds that remained in the sky, your daughter waddled her way over to you from where Kate had let her back onto her feet, and you picked her up. 

As you finished your conversation with Natasha, you started packing away what you could with a sleeping child on your shoulder when Tony appeared. 

“Why don’t you stay? You should stay. We’ve got plenty of room and the roads can be dangerous, really, at night. You should stay.”

You tried to shake your head, but Natasha stood. “Just say yes before he says he found a fault with your car.”

“That’s a generous offer, Mr Stark-”

“Tony, please. And don’t sweat it. Come on, I’ll show you.”

You don’t remember agreeing but somewhere between Tony showing you inside to the compound and a sudden new message alert that a scan of your car had resulted in a few, rather dangerous faults being found, you were putting your daughter to be at the Avengers Compound. 

And then you were being led back into the living area where everyone was sitting around the coffee table talking. And the only available spot left was right beside Bucky. 

He sat you beside him with ease. Too much ease to be normal between friends. Not that you were complaining. There was safety with Bucky, in a way you couldn’t describe. 

Of course, when you felt his fingers trace up and down your arm lightly, you felt your cheeks heat. But you still felt safe. Not so nervous where you felt like running in the opposite direction, but nervous enough to enjoy being with him. 

And after an hour or so, Yelena walked back inside with a little hand holding onto her finger. 

“Someone wanted to join the party,” Yelena said as she led your daughter over to you where she climbed into yours, and technically, Bucky’s lap. 

Bucky smoothed down the back of her hair as she rubbed her eyes. 

“Don’t you want to go to sleep, honey?”

She shook her head, and pouted. “No. Not without you and Bucky.”

Bucky smiled softly, “C’mere, kiddo.”

Leaning over, your daughter settled herself between you and Bucky before leaning her head against his side. 

“Okay, that is way too cute,” Kate said as she pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures. 

As conversations started up again, your daughter fell into a deep sleep against Bucky. Something you almost did yourself until you managed to gain enough energy to lift yourself from the sofa and carry your child back to bed. 

Bucky followed you, his palm warm on your lower back as he led you down the dimly lit hallways.

However, by the time you woke up in the morning and went to check on your daughter, you found her bed empty. But just as the anxiety that you tried to keep calm spiked in your chest, a voice spoke inside the room. 

“Your daughter is currently interrogating Mr Wilson on his preference of breakfast cereal.”

You relaxed a little. “Of course, she is.”

You were slow to round the corner into the kitchen, wanting to watch your daughter for a few moments. Bucky was right in her nickname; firecracker. She was like some kind of professional quizzer. 

It amazed you some days, at how head-strong she was for such a young age. But you wouldn’t change her for the world. 

Slowly, you lean against the kitchen counter beside your daughter, listening to her explain to Sam about how cheerios were better than eggs, Sam softly arguing back. 

Little did you know, her arguing with Sam would become a frequent image in your own home. 

It seemed, for as much as your daughter had fallen in love with the Avengers, they had fallen in love with her and each one of her questions. You started to see Sam at Bucky’s apartment more often, Yelena and Kate would show up at the park when you’d take your daughter out for the day, your daughter’s preschool also started to get a little more funding here and there throughout her school year. 

And on the days where Bucky would offer to pick her up from school when your work ran over, they would turn into sleepover nights at the Compound since you couldn’t pry your daughter from their arms no matter how hard you tried. 

Eventually, you started to feel like family to them. They loved your daughter like one of their own, and she loved them right back. If anyone at school said that Captain America was less cool than Iron Man, or that Kate wasn’t the better Hawkeye or that anyone on the team wasn’t as cool as your daughter thought they were; she would defend them to her last breath. 

But the one she defended most passionately was Bucky. How he wasn’t scary but actually really kind and funny, even if he was grumpy sometimes. And how his metal arm was like having a normal one – he could still feel everything the same. Almost. 

She even drew him in all of her pictures when it came to her art class. Which, one day, turned into a list of questions which she just so happened to ask out loud one morning when Bucky had just made her breakfast. 

“Are you like my dad?”

Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing to look at your daughter. But her gaze was focused on her breakfast and the picture she’d made at school the day before. 

“Why do you ask, honey?” You asked her softly, leaning down beside her. 

“Because Jeremy said I couldn’t have a ‘Bucky’. I had a mommy, so I needed a daddy, too.”

You felt your heart sink a little in your chest. “Honey…” 

You didn’t quite know what to say. Her biological dad hadn’t been in the picture since he’d seen the positive pregnancy test on your bathroom counter. 

“Jeremy was wrong.”

“He was?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. Look around you, baby girl. I know you don’t exactly have a daddy, but you do have people that love you.”

That was when your daughter looked around to the other people in the kitchen for reassurance. They all agreed that Jeremy was wrong. 

“Truth is, honey, maybe not everyone has a daddy, but not everyone has a ‘Bucky’ either.”

Steve smiled, “And that makes you extra special, kid.”

Your daughter smiled  before turning around in her stool and hopping down before walking over to Bucky who picked her up instantly. 

She hugged him around his neck. “I love you.”

Bucky was on the edge of tears. “Love you, too, firecracker.”

Later that night, Bucky put her to bed whilst you finished up in the kitchen. You’d offered to make dinner but since half of them got called out on a mission and Bucky was already being used as a human pillow for your four year old, Kate took his place on the mission. 

So, you’d packed the dinner into different take-away containers and stocked them into the fridge and freezer, along with a couple of post-it notes on how long to reheat. 

You were wiping down the counters when Bucky walked back inside. 

“She okay?”

“Out like a light,” Bucky smiled. “Mind if I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Always.”

“Earlier…when she asked me…what happened to her dad?”

You stopped cleaning for a moment before you took a breath. 

Bucky had lived across the hall from you for a while, even before you were pregnant. But he’d never seen someone in your life long enough to consider they would be your partner. 

“We’d been dating for a couple months, but since he lived closer to my workplace, I stayed at his house more often than he did mine. His house was also closer to his work, so it meant we could spend longer together in bed. Pretty sure it was one of those mornings when I got caught…” You took your time, and Bucky let you. 

If you had told him you didn’t want to talk about it, he would have backed off and waited. You didn’t have to tell him anything, but he was glad you were. 

“But, as we hit the three month mark, I started getting a weird feeling. More than I ever have before. Woman’s intuition told me he wasn’t exactly staying loyal. But it felt like more than that, so…I took a test. The minute he saw the two lines he told me he was seeing someone else and that he didn’t want to know about me or the baby, ever. I’ve never heard from him since.”

Bucky couldn’t feel his blood boil. First, a guy who was with you…he let you go. He strayed, cheated and let you go. And then, he abandoned you when you would have needed him the most, and finally…he didn’t even want to meet you or your little firecracker. 

“Well, that’s technically a lie. I heard from some cheap-shot lawyer of his after I sent him some pictures of his daughter’s birth. Just one of her in a hospital onesie and a little hat that one of the nurses had knitted for her. She was so little,” you smiled as you thought back to those first moments where you held her and heard her cry. 

“What did the lawyer say?”

“That he was giving up all parental rights. He wanted to make sure, as far as the law knew, he didn’t have a daughter.”

“He’s…something I would say if there wasn’t a four year old sleeping down the hallway.”

You chuckled. It was nice to know someone was just as angry, if not more so, at the thought of someone not wanting to know your daughter. 

“I guess I was kind of lucky in a way, though.”

Bucky looked up at you from the counter. 

“If he did want to know her, she might not have had you. I might not have…I probably would have moved closer, for the baby’s sake.”

Bucky let the breath go from his lungs. “God, I can’t imagine not having you both in my life.”

You smiled, “Luckily, you don’t have to. We’re both lucky to have you, Bucky. And I’m glad we do.”

Bucky smiled back at you, his heart rate increasing just that little bit more. He managed to look away before you caught the flush in his cheeks. 

A few months later, you were at home finishing up your third load of washing for the week when someone knocked at your door. 

“Kate? Yelena?”

Kate’s expression held nothing but relief as she turned around and faced the door when you answered. “Oh, thank god.”

“What’s going on?” You asked them as they walked into your home. Yelena was carrying several different garment bags whilst Kate carried two more and dragged a small make-up trolly behind her. 

“We need your help.”

“What on earth for?”

You closed the door, balancing the laundry basket on your hip as they turned around to face you. 

“We need you to attend Pepper’s gala tonight.”

“What- Why?”

Kate looked at Yelena who nodded. 

“Because you do.”

“Girls, I’m gonna need a better explanation than that.”

Yelena rolled her eyes as she dropped the bags onto the sofa. “God, you’re such a mom.”

“Yelena.”

Yelena just fixed her hair. “We need you to be someone’s date.”

“Can I ask who this someone is?”

“It’s-”

“No.” Yelena cut Kate off. “You can’t know because it’s a surprise. So, enough questions. Give me that.” 

Yelena took the laundry basket from you and pushed you along down the hallway. Meanwhile, she pulled out the worn hair tie from your hair. 

“Yeah, you need to get washed first. Use your fancy stuff.”

“Yelena-”

“Go, now. Please.”

You gave a small huff as you got into the bathroom. “Fine. But only because you said please.”

Yelena smiled before she shut the door. “Thank you.”

By the time you’d finished your everything shower, along with the fancier shampoo you tended to save for dates and nights out – a shampoo that’s only use was before parent-teacher meetings, or any place you had to look like you hadn’t been up half the night reading parenting books. 

You were rushed into your guest bedroom where Yelena sat you down at the vanity desk. Meanwhile, Kate was lying with your daughter on the bed, looking through different eyeshadow colours, naming them all. 

“Katie knows a lot of colours, momma.”

Kate smiled. “I really do. Hey, you know what this one is called?”

Your daughter shook her head. 

“Aquamarine.”

“Aq…aquaamarr-”

“Aquamarine,” Kate repeated a little slower and your daughter copied. 

An hour and many more unanswered questions later, Yelena had finished your hair whilst Kate was helping you apply your make-up. 

You had been planning a quiet night in. More than likely, it would have ended with you watching the last half an hour of a Disney movie alone whilst your daughter snored herself to sleep on the sofa. 

“Okay, dress time.”

Kate stood and opened up each garment bag. “Which one?” She asked your daughter. 

“Don’t I get to pick?”

“You don’t know the plan, momma.” Your almost five year old, told you. 

“There’s a plan?”

Kate shrugged. “There’s always a plan.”

It took a total of seven minutes and a game of ‘left or right’ to decide on your dress. A floor length gown with a high slit up one leg. There was a soft shimmer to the fabric like you’d been spritzed with body glitter beforehand.  

All three girls gasped as you stepped out from behind your dressing divider. 

“Wow, momma,” your daughter seemed mesmerised. “You look beautiful like the stars.”

You smiled, “Thank you, babygirl.” Then you turned to the two elders. “Will you answer my questions now?”

They smiled, like they knew something you didn’t. But before you could get your answers, someone knocked on the door. 

“I’ll get it!” Your daughter sprung from the bed, quickly followed by Yelena. 

“You really do look beautiful, Y/n.”

You smiled. “Kate, what’s going on?”

She just smiled back. “You’ll see.”

As you tightened your shoes a little, you heard your daughter call out for you. 

“You can come out now, momma!”

And as you did, it was like your breath had been taken from you. 

By your door, Bucky was standing wearing a tux. You’d always known he was handsome, but there was just something about a man in a tux…

You felt yourself smile as you walked closer. “I thought you were away-”

“I know, I was. But…I managed to finish early. You look…” Bucky was lost for words. Or maybe he had too many. 

Stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, breathtaking…

“She looks beautiful like stars,” your daughter jumped in. And he had to agree. 

“You’re right, firecracker. You look beautiful like stars.”

You blushed and smiled. “Thank you.”

Then Yelena jumped in. “Right, off you go.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry,” she pushed you both towards the door as Kate opened it. “We’ll make sure the little firecracker gets to bed before you’re home. She’ll be safe. She’s with two avengers.”

You knew that was true. But, you also knew there was a chance they wouldn’t be safe. Yelena was a trained spy, but Kate? Kate would crack under the pressure of your little girl's thousand and ten questions questionnaire. 

Before you knew it, you were being waltzed inside of the venue that had been rented out by Pepper’s company for the charity gala. All the while, holding onto Bucky’s hand and arm. 

“This is a lot of people,” you whispered to him. 

“We only have to show our faces for an hour. Two max. Then we can ditch.”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a ditcher,” you told him, a little surprise in your voice. 

He chuckled. “No. Ma would have killed me for skipping school, not that I ever did. I actually enjoyed it. It was fun when Steve wasn’t getting his ass kicked. But, for things like this? It’s not my favourite thing in the world.”

You shrugged. You couldn’t blame him. It was lovely; getting ready, witnessing Bucky in a tux for the first time, feeling a little less guilty about leaving your daughter for the night. But there were a lot of people. People who you didn’t know. And you doubted Bucky knew, either. 

“But it’s better having you here with me.”

You whipped your gaze away from the crystal chandeliers, to your date. You covered the butterflies in your stomach with a soft smile. 

Before you could say anything, someone called your name. And then Bucky’s. 

It was Pepper. 

She introduced you both to different people before she was called away by someone else. 

Although it was a lot, it was easier having Bucky by your side. It was rare his hand ever left yours. At one point, his fingers had intertwined with yours and there was no way you were going to cut that off. 

By the second turn of the venue, looking at the items that were going to be auctioned off for charity, you and Bucky tried to sneak away from the crowd for a while. Only, you were caught in a conversation with a couple who – despite their fortune and education – didn’t know when to end a conversation. 

Half way through their very boring conversation, a thought passed through your head. Bucky could have fucked you right there and then, and they still would have carried on the conversation. 

But you pushed that thought away as quickly as it came. Although, it did try to resurface every ten minutes, when Bucky’s other hand would warm your lower back, your other hip or, briefly, the top of the slit in your dress. 

“We really should be going.”

You and Bucky managed to escape. But only for ten minutes. Because the couple were coming back. 

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. But Bucky beat you to it. “Fuck-”

You were pulled down a small corridor that led to the back of another room filled with  items up for auction, before being pulled into the smaller, darkened alcove in the wall. 

The couple passed you both right by, without being noticed. 

In the confined space, you and Bucky stayed as quiet as you could. Your hands were on his chest, letting you know that you weren’t alone with the rapid heartbeat in your ears. Though, his was a little calmer than your own. 

His own hands remained fixed on your hips, holding you steady on your feet. For a split second, he shifted and his knee brushed your inner thigh. 

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. 

Then you felt his hands lightly trace up your body. Your breath hitched. 

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asked you, his voice in a soft whisper by the shell of your ear. 

You nodded and answered quietly. “It’s fine.”

With Bucky’s gaze on you, you started to realise just how small the alcove was. The scent of his cologne was intricately lodging itself into your mind – any time you’d smell that scent, you’d been pulled right back into the alcove. 

Then, with a breathy chuckle, he smiled. “Want to get out of here?”

No. 

“Think the coast is clear?”

Please don’t be.

Bucky peered around the corner before he turned back and nodded. 

“Let’s go.”

Let’s stay. 

With Bucky’s hand in yours, he swiftly got you both out of the venue unnoticed. It wasn’t until you were half way down the block, and Bucky was laying his jacket over your shoulders, that you realised you’d forgotten your coat. 

“But, you’ll get cold.”

Bucky just smiled. “I’ve got the serum. I can’t get cold, doll.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he assured you. 

And for a while, you both just talked. About the night, about the couple that couldn’t seem to take a hint and the fact Bucky had come back early. 

And then he asked you to dance.

“There’s no music.”

“We don’t need music. Come on.”

The street was completely empty. A couple of street lamps lit the way, and every once in a while, a taxi would drive down the main road ahead. But other than that, it was just you and Bucky. 

“Is this what you used to do?” You asked him after a few moments. “Take a girl out, ask her to dance under the streetlights with you. Bet you were a real heartbreaker.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe. Just a little. But if this was a date, I would have done this-” Bucky softly dipped you in his arms. “By now.”

He was slow to bring you back to your feet, your forehead against his, your lungs in need of some air despite already being outside. 

His palm burned a little on your back. You just wished it would make a permanent mark. 

“Does that make this a date now?”

“I don’t know. I’d like it to be,” he admitted to you, honestly. “If I asked you on one, officially, would you say yes?”

“I wouldn’t want to lose you, Bucky.”

“I promise you won’t. If it goes badly, we can laugh about it later. Just, say yes?”

It took you a short moment, but you nodded. “Okay. Yes.”

Bucky walked you back home. And by the time you opened up your door, you walked in to find Kate, Yelena and your daughter all fast asleep on the sofa, the bright colours of the Disney Princess film flashing across their faces. 

“Do you want to get her out of the tangle?” You asked Bucky. “I would but I’m afraid to get a fist to my face.”

Bucky chuckled, softly closing the door as he nodded. Even he knew how it was when trying to wake Kate up. She was a fighter until she opened her eyes and realised who was trying to get her up. 

Bucky got your daughter out with ease and carried her to bed, leaving you to deal with the two sleeping Avengers. 

Meanwhile, down the hall as he laid her in her bed, she woke up briefly. 

“Did you ask her?”

Bucky brushed the baby hairs that had fallen from the braids in her hair. He smiled, “Yeah, I did.”

“Did she say yes?”

He nodded. “She said yes.”

She gave a tired cheer before he kissed her head and tucked her in. “Get some sleep, kiddo.”

The moment she rolled over, she was snoring. And just as Bucky passed the guest bedroom, he could hear two more sets of snoring coming from inside. 

You crept out of the room and softly clicked the door shut. From there, you and Bucky took your time walking back to the front door. 

“About this date-”

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he told you. “If you don’t feel comfortable-”

You smiled. “I was just gonna ask if you’re free on Sunday.”

Bucky was a little surprised but smiled. “I’m free on Sunday. I’ll pick you up at ten?”

It was definitely the earliest date you’d been on. 

“There’s a place I want to show you.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

After picking you up on his motorcycle, Bucky drove an hour out of the city to a small town. The entire main street was taken over by a farmer’s market. There were smaller stalls with different homemade items. 

You and Bucky ended up picking up a few things for a make-shift picnic in the park before he took you to the local watering hole where a live band was playing and people’s shoes were scuffing the wooden floor from dancing. 

“How did you find this place?”

“Barton told me about it.” Bucky told you. “Him and Laura passed through it once before, so I decided to come and check it out. I’ve wanted to show you ever since, but each time I came to tell you, something came up at work so I wouldn’t have been here to show you.”

“But now you are.”

“Now I am,” he told you before he took your hand. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re dancing.”

It was a small two-step, nothing major. But for you, it felt like everything. Being in his arms again – you knew there would never be another place where you would feel this safe. Feeling his hand in yours, seeing the blush creep up on his cheeks each time you looked at him. 

Slowly, the rest of the room disappeared. The music from the band became nothing more than background noise and the only person you could see was Bucky. 

And when you closed your eyes, and felt his lips against yours, the only thing you could feel was him. 

The light breeze that wafted past the barn doors disappeared, the air of apple pie and ice cold lemonade disappeared from your skin.

The only thing that soaked its way into your bones was the feeling of him. His hand in yours, his other at your opposite hip, holding you flush against him, his belt buckle making a small impression behind the fabric of your outfit. 

It was more than you ever dreamt of. 

The Talk came two weeks later. The one that neither you and Bucky had mentioned, but had to be done. Because it wasn’t just both of you in the relationship, if you were going to continue. 

Your daughter was involved, too. 

“She loves you, Bucky.”

“And I’ll never want to see her hurt, either,” he finished. “I never want to hurt either of you, ever.”

“I know.”

“So, we take it slow,” he offered. “But I think we should involve her, too. You come as a package deal, and I don’t want to ignore that.”

You gave him a small smile. There had been plenty of one-stop dates who had ignored that fact, plenty who had wanted you to come as a single package. 

Bucky was the first. 

So, a few weeks later, when a knock came to your door, your daughter beat you to the door and opened it to find Bucky. 

“Bucky!” 

Your daughter ran for his legs and wrapped her arms around them before she let go and he bent down. 

“Why are you here?”

Bucky looked from your daughter, up to you with a half cocked smile. “I’m here to give you these.”

Behind his back, Bucky pulled out two bouquets of flowers. One was a little bigger than the second. 

He presented the smaller bunch to your daughter before he stood to his full height and handed you the bigger section. 

“And these are for you.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky crouched back down to your daughter. “And I was hoping that you and your mom would want to come with me for the day.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Okay!” Your daughter turned around and ran back inside. 

“Careful, honey. Put your flowers in the kitchen, I’ll put them in some water!”

“Okay!” She yelled back before going to her bedroom to get her shoes. 

With the coast clear, Bucky leaned in and pressed three light kisses to your lips. 

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

Bucky closed the door as he entered and you walked into your kitchen to run the tap for some water. 

“So, where are we going?”

He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

“From me, too?”

He nodded. 

Two minutes later, your daughter came running back down the hall. Bucky managed to scoop her up before she tripped down the small step. 

“Got my shoes!”

“Firecracker?”

“Yes?”

“Your shoes are on the wrong feet, honey,” he told her. She looked down, very confused. 

Bucky popped her on the kitchen island before offering to fix them. Swinging her feet, she nodded. 

As you placed the flowers inside of a vase, finding a smaller one for your daughter’s; you watched as Bucky taught her a trick to always remember her left and right before he reached into one of the cupboard draws and pulled out a small sheet of stickers. 

“When the star touches, then you know they’re on the right feet.”

“So cool.”

A little under an hour later, your daughter was on Bucky’s shoulders, looking with amazement at all the artifacts in the museum. You could see her little brain working overtime to find out all the answers to every question she had, knowing she was going to be telling Kate and Yelena all about it in a few days time. 

After lunch and the second half of the tour, you heard your daughter gasp before she took your hand and dragged you down the hall. 

Secretly having been holding Bucky’s hand, you pulled him with you. 

“Slow down, honey. Where are we going?”

“Come on, you gotta see! Come on!”

By the time you both found yourself in the exhibit room, you looked around and realised why she had seemed so excited. 

The entire thing was dedicated to Captain America. 

“Look, momma. It’s Steve!”

You picked your daughter up and carried her over. “That’s right, honey.”

“Look, Bucky. It’s you.”

Bucky smiled. “That’s me.”

“Why is it not got colours?”

Bucky chuckled. “Because it’s from the 1940s.”

Your daughter watched, puzzled, as a small clip of Bucky and Steve laughing played on the big screen. 

“That’s over 90 years ago.”

“Wow, that’s old.”

You and Bucky chuckled lightly, just before your daughter wiggled her way out of your arms. The moment her feet were planted on the floor, she ran over to the small window where people were standing on the scale. 

The picture didn’t even move. 

“Come here, firecracker.” Bucky scooped your daughter up in his arms and planted himself on the scale. The picture changed and you watched as your daughter looked at herself in uniform. 

However, for a glimpse, you caught Bucky’s face in the reflection. 

You’d seen plenty of pictures, news segments, documentaries and home videos of Bucky both in and out of uniform, back in the 40s. But there was just something in that moment that it hit you- 

Bucky had lived that life. He’d seen that world. If you had met him on the streets of Brooklyn over ninety years ago, you would have been watching him getting shipped out to England. 

“Okay, where to next?”

“Hmm, over there! Come on, momma!”

The little voice, filled to the brim with excitement, broke you out of your trance long enough for you to follow after them. 

However, hours later; long after Bucky had carried your daughter from her car seat and up the steps and into your apartment. You surprised him. 

He was in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil as you got dressed into your home clothes. But, when you returned and he felt his heart light up at seeing you as you, he was shocked. 

You hugged him. 

He held back the laugh in his chest. “What’s this for?”

“Just because,” you told him. 

Then you kissed him. 

“And that?”

“That was because I love you.”

Bucky faulted for a moment. He didn’t want to come off too excited in case he’d heard wrong. 

“You love me?”

You nodded. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time, but seeing you today…it just hit me. And I wanted to tell you.”

Then he smiled, keeping his hands on your hips as he pulled you closer. “I’m glad, because I’m in love with you, too.”

A smile broke onto your face before it was kissed away by him, his hands pulling you flush against his body. 

It had taken years for you to realise, and even longer to work up the courage to tell him. 

Who knew all it took was a family trip to the museum? 

Thankfully, those family trips started to become more frequent. As did the solo and family dates you, Bucky and your daughter went on. 

But, for Bucky, nothing beat the date night you and he had after the parent-teacher meeting you both attended just a little under a year of dating. 

It was in that meeting that the teacher gushed over how far your daughter had come in the last year, how incredible her artwork was and how they were looking at moving her up a couple of reading grades. 

Although Bucky wasn’t there to create your daughter, or there to cut the cord. She was like him in so many ways, it was scary. 

The pouting face when she was tired, the overly cute aggressive face she gave when she was getting competitive. And then there was her love for school. Steve had shown you some of Bucky’s old school reports. 

Your daughter was starting to get the same. 

Maybe Bucky wasn’t your daughter’s father by birth, but he was her dad in every way that counted. He dried the tears, cleaned the grazed knees, carried her sleeping frame to bed. 

And after that parent-teacher meeting, it was going to become official. 

He had proposed and you said yes. 

And when your daughter had found out the next morning when you and Bucky went to pick her up from the compound, where Sam and Yelena had been put on babysitting duty, she cried. 

“Can I call you my daddy now?”

Through your own happy tears, you watched Bucky’s own fall. He was hugging your daughter just as tight as she was holding onto him. 

“I’d love nothing more, firecracker.”

[marvelouslymarly]

I'm your Huckleberry [Bob Reynolds x female Thunderbolts!reader]

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x female thunderbolts!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Bob wants to surprise you with dinner but things go wrong, so the of you end up having a movie night instead (among other things xD)...

Rated: E for explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

Requested? No

CW: angst (struggles with depression), fluff, half of this is smut MDNI ([are we even surprised at this point?] fingering, handjob, oral (female receiving), squirting, dry humping, unprotected piv (be responsible, peeps <3), denied orgasm, needy Bob (i kinda feel like, at this point, this is a given?)); as usual: mild spoiler warning for Thunderbolts*; second half of this is not beta-read...

Word count: 12.3k

[A/N: This took longer than expected, so...] feeback and reblogs appreciated!

You turned the water off and slid the glass screen open, stepping out of the shower. The cold air of the bathroom hit your body and made you regret not turning on the little space heater before. Quickly snatching the towel hanging on the rod next to the shower, you wrapped it around your body tightly before you wiped the condensation off the mirror to look at your reflection. The bruises from the last mission were gradually fading, turning all kinds of shades of brown, green and yellow, some still a little bluer than others. The tear in your bottom lip was slowly closing, the scab having come off during your shower, but there was still a faint pink line where the skin had split after the punch to your face. You had a few more wounds covering your body than before going on the mission, but you’d told yourself that they were nothing a few stitches and painkillers couldn’t fix.

The smell of burning food filled your nose and then there was a loud clattering sound, followed by Bob’s angry screams echoing from the kitchen.

You wrapped the towel tighter around your body and ran out of the bathroom, worried about what you’d find in the kitchen. When you reached the origin of the commotion, you looked around frantically, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. There were splatters of food all over the kitchen, pieces of pasta and sauce stuck to the cabinet fronts, the wall on the opposite side of the room, broken pieces of the baking dish with even more remnants of what Bob must have tried to cook. 

And then you saw him… In the middle of it all was Bob, cowering on the floor, his hands in his hair, pulling at his locks. His gaze was fixed on the mess before him, and you could see him fighting the tears that had started to cloud his vision. He was muttering words to himself that you could barely make out, but by the tone you detected, you were sure they weren’t words of praise and appreciation. He was slowly rocking back and forth, his thumb coming up to his mouth before he started biting at the skin around his nail. He hadn’t heard you enter the room yet, too caught up in his own thoughts, and you were contemplating your next move, not wanting to scare him in this state.

“Are you okay, Bob? Did you hurt yourself?” you asked softly, approaching him one careful step at a time, trying to stay clear of any pieces of broken porcelain. When he looked up at you, his eyes flashed in a faint grey and then he closed them, shifting away from your approaching figure, his hand coming up to hide his face.

“I’m fine,” he sneered, his voice darker, rougher than he usually sounded, and then Bob cleared his throat. “I’m sorry… yes, I mean… No, I didn’t get hurt”, he amended, his voice softer this time but still hard-pressed as to stop from breaking.

You stepped over the broken dish on the floor, and crouched down next to him. Being closer to him now, you could hear parts of what he whispered to himself, making out “waste of space” and “only making everything worse”, and felt your heart breaking a little. 

You’d seen him having an episode before several times by now, you’d hold him after waking up from a nightmare. But this seemed different. There was a dark air around him, his finger tips had started to turn black, the darkness slowly creeping up towards his palm. Bob didn’t seem to notice.

“Bob…”, you tried, putting your hand on his shoulder. He jerked away and you pulled your hand back, unsure of what to do.

“It’s okay. I don’t wanna hurt you, love,” you started again, and his eyes were on you again, anger pulling his features into a grimace. “What happened?”

The grip on his hair got harder, his knuckles turning white, and you went for his hand, putting yours on his and not letting go of it this time. You pried his fingers open carefully and then took his hand in yours fully, intertwining your fingers and inching closer to him.

“Talk to me, please,” you begged him and cupped his cheek when the tears started to run down his face. “I’m not mad at you, Bob. Please just talk to me?”

He leaned into your warm touch and closed his eyes for a second, more tears streaming down his cheeks and a soft whimper leaving his lips. He took a moment, trying to calm down his erratic breathing and turning his face into your hand to place a soft kiss to the inside of your palm. This had become somewhat of a habit of his whenever he felt overwhelmed. Once, he had told you that it helps him stay grounded in the moment, to realise that he wasn’t alone and that you were there. Your touch quieted his mind and kissing the inside of your hand was like using his mouth for good. His mouth wasn’t just for saying mean things about himself, it was also for peppering kisses on your skin, for worshipping you. For being close to you like no other person was.

“What happened?” 

You searched his face, not sure what you were looking for but also scared that if you let him out of your sight, he’d disintegrate and be gone the next time you’d look at him. His locks were standing up at odd angles from him pulling at them and there were deep lines on his forehead. You couldn’t see much of his lower face with it hidden in the palm of your hand, but the left corner of his mouth was turned down, his chin quivering fighting back the sobs that were trying to come out.

“I burnt the lasagna,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear and when his eyes opened, they seemed to hold the pain of the entire world in them.

The blue in his eyes had turned dark and cloudy, the thick unshed tears lining his lower eyelids catching the cold light in the kitchen. You sighed softly, your heart breaking even more at the sight before you. He no longer looked like an adult but like a kid, standing in the door to his parents’ bedroom after waking up from a nightmare, begging them to let him sleep in their bed for the night.

“I wanted to surprise you… To make dinner for us, to make myself useful,” he went on, wiping his eyes and then the tip of his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You know, since I can’t help you guys on missions…” His bottom lip quivering and his eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “And I fucked up…”

He sobbed loudly, covering his face with his forearms, falling backwards against the bottom cabinets with a loud thud. Bob’s head almost hit the drawer handles if you hadn’t let go of his hand and put yours out to lighten the blow.

“I’m sure, it’s not that bad, honey,” you offered, looking at the deeply burnt top of what you now recognised as the remnants of an attempt at lasagna. “I bet it would’ve still tasted worlds better than whatever Alexei cooks whenever it’s his turn.” You sat down next to him, then, stretching out your legs and pulling at the towel to readjust it a little. 

“Man, I really do not know how he survived as long as he did on his own,” you added, a chuckle falling from your lips.

You shook your head at the thought of the last – absolutely disastrous – dinner extravaganza, as Alexei liked to call it. I make best food from my home country, like no other. He had a point with that. You were sure there was no one else cooking quite like that.

For a second you weren’t sure if you’d made Bob feel worse or not but when you looked over to him, you could see his shoulders bop up and down in laughter.

“Yeah, that… borscht was really something,” he agreed, sniffling into the sleeve of his sweatshirt again. There was the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips and when he looked at you for a second, you saw a glimpse of the man you were falling in love with. The kindness in his eyes and the softness of his features.

“Also, I think lasagna is like, really hard to master, you know? Sometimes, you just burn the lasagna, babe. I’ve tried soooo many times and I can never seem to get it quite right, either.” you poked his side playfully and his shoulders slumped a little again.

“But I made a mess… Not just making it,” he said sorrowfully, looking around at the state of the kitchen.

There were cans of tomato puree stacking in the sink next to pots and pans, the cutting board still on the counter, the knife precariously close to the edge.

“I was just checking something in my room when I realised that I had forgotten to set a timer… God, how stupid am I to have completely forgotten about setting a god damn timer?!”

“Honey, that happens to the best of us.” you smiled at him and wiped away his tears, placing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Have I told you about the time I almost burned down my apartment back in D.C. because I accidentally turned on the wrong stove top and left my kitchen towel on it?”

This earned you another small laugh from him and you smiled proudly at being able to elicit this beautiful sound from him.

“Look at you, smiling again. God, I love it when you smile.” You poked his cheek and grinned at him, the air around you feeling a little lighter already.

His cheeks turned pink, and he chuckled a little, quickly averting his gaze and running his fingers through the locks that had fallen into his face. Then, his shoulders slumped and he started playing with the soaked cuff of his sweatshirt, pulling it over his fingers and letting go again and again. “I’m sorry, [y/n].”

“What for?” you asked and took his hand again.

“For being such a mess.” He looked at you with an unsure look on his face, shrugging his shoulders and scratching the back of his head, more tears rushing into his eyes. “You deserve to be with someone who has his shit together…”

“We’re all a mess sometimes, Bob. That’s part of being human,” you told him, intertwining your fingers with his and putting your head on his shoulder, caressing the back of his hand gently. “You’re allowed to be a mess, and it’s ok to make mistakes, sweetheart.”

“But I…” you could hear his voice break again, his shoulder starting to shake underneath your head a little. “I make so many mistakes,” he sobbed, his eyebrows knitting together in a deep frown before continuing: “I just waste everybody’s time… Yours most of all…”

Pulling back a little to get a better look at him, you shook your head vigorously in disagreement to his statement.

“Bob, you’re not wasting anybody’s time.”

You made to stand up and pulled him up with you before wrapping your arms around him into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around your body instinctively, digging into the soft fabric of the towel still wrapped around your body, and he put his head on top of yours and turned it sideways a little.

“I am so glad to have met you in the Vault that day,” you mumbled into the embrace, turning your head to make it easier for him to hear your words.

“While I feel a lot of hate for Valentina and everything she has done to us… I will forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe put you in that box in the vault with us.”

“You don’t mean that, surely,” he grumbled, the disbelief in his voice prominent, and his grip on the towel loosening when he pulled away from you again.

“No, I do,” you assured him, your gaze not leaving his. “I really am so incredibly thankful to have you in my life and to be with you every single day.”

Bob didn’t say anything to that, just gulped and then looked down at the floor again, kicking his foot at an imagined rock.

“You know what? I’ll put on some clothes real quick,” you started and then looked around the room. “And then we, uhm, order some pizza and clean up a little in the meantime. How about a movie-night after?”

He bit down on his lip to calm down and then shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t you have better things to do than to spend your evening with me?” He was playing with his sleeves again and you quickly took his hands, angling your face and making him look at you.

“What in the world could be better than spending the evening with my incredibly hot boyfriend? While everyone else is gone on a mission? Better than watching a film and eating some tasty pizza? Maybe even getting some cuddles in?” 

You smirked at him, caressing the back of his hands with your thumbs.

“I think I’ll take cuddling with you on the couch any day,” you added and then got up on our tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his lips. 

He melted against you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer, one of his hands buried in your wet hair and the other placed on the small of your back. You grabbed a hold of his shirt and held onto the back of his neck, trying to get more stable. He noticed, his right hand leaving its place in your hair and, with the other hand, moving down over your ass to grab the back of your thighs. Bob picked you up and then broke the kiss for a second, making sure he was putting you down on a clear spot on the counter before continuing to kiss you hungrily. You wrapped your legs around his hips and pressed up to him, your fingers playing with the locks at the back of his head. 

His fingers danced up the side of your thigh and moved up under the towel to rest on your naked hip. His soft touch sent sparks up your spine, and you could feel your body reacting to him with that familiar, warm glow in your core. You ran the tip of your tongue over his bottom lip and Bob moaned softly, giving you access to his mouth. Your tongue slipped into his mouth and met his, dancing with it masterfully. Then, Bob’s right hand moved up the side of your body to where you had tied the towel around your frame, and he pulled the fabric from the fold, making the towel drop and pool around your hips. Bob broke from the kiss, looking down at your naked form. At how your back was arching into his torso, your tits perky and nipples hardening from the sudden loss of protection from the cold air. 

“Oh, god…” He bit down on his bottom lip and then met your eyes again. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

Now, it was your turn to blush, still not entirely used to having him look at you like that. His eyes darkened with lust and his kiss bitten lips a little fuller. His locks standing up at odd angles from your fingers running through them. His lips parted, shallow breaths flowing in and out while he took you in. There was something so primal, yet so loving in the way his eyes drifted over your figure. Like he wanted to burn the image of your naked form into the inside of his eyelids, to have it there whenever he closed his eyes.

“How do I deserve you?” He asked, running his fingers over your clavicle and down your breast, his hand cupping it while the pad of his thumb brushed over your pebbled nipple.

“Because you’re a good person, Bob,” you breathed, your mind a little hazy from making out and from his hand on your breast. Your hand went up to his cheek and you caressed the soft skin, brushing away a lonely tear. “Because you deserve to be loved.”

You ran the heel of your foot up the back of his leg and moved in closer, placing your lips on the slope of his neck, peppering the skin with kisses. You stayed at his pulse point, sucking on his delicate flesh, your tongue darting out and over the spot every now and again. Knowing there would be a bruise if you kept going, you stopped and brushed your fingertips over the spot in soothing circles.

“You deserve all the good things in life, my love,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear, and nibbled on his earlobe playfully.

His grip on your breast got a little tighter, when your hand ran up the front of his leg and then over his growing bulge, a low whimper escaping his parted lips. Your hands did quick work, grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt and pushing it up his torso before pulling it over his head. You dropped it onto the floor and then your nails dug into his skin on their way down his chest, appreciating the rise and fall of his abs flexing under your touch.

“[y/n], we should probably clean the kitchen before we…” He shook his head, trying to free his mind of the thickening fog of lust and cleared his throat but his hips betrayed him when they bucked into your touch squeezing his growing erection through the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Why clean up a mess if we’re just gonna make another,” you purred, your lips parted and lids hooded. There was no innocence left in your words anymore.

You met his gaze once more and bit on your bottom lip, your hand undoing the little bow he had tied the string of his sweatpants into. You pushed down his sweatpants, the fabric pooling around his ankles, and then placed your hands on his still covered asscheeks, squeezing them a little.

His jaw dropped, surprise and eagerness playing at his features, and he could only nod in agreement, before you kissed him again. The kiss was hungry. Tongues meeting like the waves crashing into the rocks during a storm. Lips bitten. Hands roaming the other’s body. Your fingers slipped into the front of his boxer briefs and a harsh gasp fell from his lips when your hand ran down his length and then cupped his balls. Bob’s lips left yours as his head fell back, his right hands gripping the edge of the countertop tightly. You played with them for a second before moving back to his dick, wrapping your hand around it and pumping it up and down slowly.

“Fuck, baby…” His head fell to your shoulder, eyes closing tightly, while his left hand danced up the side of your right thigh. Your thumb swiped over the tip of his dick, sticky precum clinging to the pad of your finger. Bob’s fingertips pressed into your flesh, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, a muffled but guttural groan escaping him at how delicious your touch felt.

“You like that, love?” You wrapped your fingers around his chin and made him look at you through his lashes, pleasure pulling his eyebrows together and his bottom lip between his teeth. He whined, grinding his hips into your hand, and his eyes rolled back when you let go of his chin and slipped your hand into his boxers to work on his balls again.

“Touch me,” you begged, your lips at his clavicle. Your tongue ran up the curve of his throat and you placed a few kisses along the underside of his throat before moving on to his lips again. Kissing you back hungrily, Bob’s hand left its place on the edge of the countertop and moved to your left hip, angling you back to gain more access to your pussy.

His fingers slipped over your thigh and ran up the inside, slowly, tentatively, knowing exactly what he was doing. Your breath hitched when the tip of his finger dipped against your clit, lazily pushing apart your folds and he smirked against your lips, feeling the slickness pooling between your legs.

“So wet… Just for me. And I haven’t even done anything yet,” His voice was barely louder than a whisper against your lips, but the lustful darkness vibrated through you, adding to your arousal. The ball of his thumb brushed against your clit as his finger slid further through your folds and slipped into you. Bob curled his finger on the way out and you could hear a wet squelch when he pushed his appendage back into you. “God, listen to you.”

After a few more slow thrusts of his finger, he pulled out and worked on getting another finger covered in your arousal. Your hands were still working on him and you could tell that he was trying to fight his orgasm, his breaths shallow and deep concentration making lines on his forehead appear. His hips were moving with your hands, the precum leaking out of him helping with making your hand slip up and down his member more easily. But then he stilled, the fingers on your hip digging into your flesh firmly, and a deep moan fell from his lips as his head fell back. Looking down at where your hands dipped into his boxers, you saw the petrol fabric darken as his climax overtook him. His cum flowed over your hand, seeping in between your fingers and you kept pumping your hand up and down, purring into his ear about how much you loved seeing him cum. See the wave of pleasure wash over his face in furrowed brows and his jaw going slack. Hearing the string of curses fall from his parted lips like a prayer to the goddess that you are.

He kissed you hungrily and just as his tongue slipped into your mouth, he pushed two of his fingers into you quickly and knuckles-deep. He didn’t give you any time to adjust to the way his fingers filled you, just pulled them back out and curled them, brushing up into that spot that has you seeing stars, before thrusting them back into you. The pad of his palm brushed against your clit and you whined into the kiss, the sensation of him touching you like that too good to be true. The noises filling the kitchen were obscene and you were thanking the gods that you had the Tower to yourself when his name fell from your lips.

“You say my name so sweetly, love. Makes me go crazy every time,” he groaned, his breath hot against your ear. 

His lips connected with your pulse point, and Bob sucked on your skin, the sweet sting clouding your mind. He sank his teeth into your neck and then licked over the sore spot. You whined wistfully when he broke away from you and dropped to his knees, your sticky hands running over his chest. He pulled you closer to the edge of the countertop, your hips practically hanging in mid-air, and then wrapped your legs around his neck, telling you to lean back on your elbows before burrowing his head between your legs.

Eating you out was his favourite way to worship you. Feeling your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at the strands when his tongue brushed over your clit in that way that had you calling out his name. Tasting you on his tongue, sweet and salty and so delicious he’d tell people the taste of you was his favourite. Feeling your thighs strain against his head, quivering from your climax cursing through your body. Covering his hand in a mixture of his own spit and your arousal while pumping his fingers in and out of your slick pussy.

This time was no different. His eyes were fixed on you as the tip of his tongue ran through your folds, watching your chest rise and fall quickly, your head fallen back, mouth hanging open with quiet moans on your lips. Bob put his lips on your clit, sucking on it gingerly, and let his fingers slip back into you. Your fingers ran through his hair and buried themselves at the back of his head, as you already felt the familiar knot tighten in your lower stomach. You grinded your hips into his face and he chuckled at how eager you were, the vibrations of his voice pulsing through your core and right up your spine.

“Oh, fuck, Bob. You feel so good,” you exclaimed when he’d found the perfect pace for his fingers to move inside of you, eliciting obscene moans from you with every thrust of his middle and ring finger. Your mind was getting fuzzy around the edges and your eyes rolled back, feeling him push you closer to the edge with every swipe of his tongue against your sensitive clit and every brush of his fingers against your g-spot. You could feel the pressure building deep inside of you and chuckled, your head spinning with pleasure.

“Come for me, baby. Be a good girl,” he coaxed, pushing his fingers in even deeper, and lapped at you, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit.

“Oh, Bob, yeah, right there,” you cried and felt the knot burst in your core. Your orgasm washed over you and with it came a release you’d never felt before, your juices squirting out of you and covering his hand and mouth. Your thighs clamped around his head and you arched your back, pleasure raining down on you and washing the last bit of composure away. He hummed against you, making sure to get every last drop of you, and rode out your climax, his fingers slipping in and out masterfully.

Laying down on the cold countertop, you put your arm over your eyes and tried to catch your breath, chuckling in absolute awe of just how good Bob had made you feel a moment ago. He pulled away from you and you looked at him from under your arm, a big grin on your lips as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. There was a dark glimmer in his eyes and he licked over his lips as he brushed his hands off on his briefs.

“Fuck, babe… I think I need a shower before we clean up the kitchen.” His thumb ran over his bottom lip and he scratched the back of his head, looking at how you were lying on top of the counter, your legs still spread and dangling over the edge, your pussy glistening. “Wanna join me?”

His fingers danced up the inside of your leg and he kissed you softly when you pushed up on your elbows. His arm wrapped around your back and rested on the small of your back, pulling your chest into his. Your arms snaked around his neck, knowing that he’d hold your weight, as your legs wrapped around his waist, hooking in the back. 

“Ready?” he asked against your lips and held onto your leg with his free hand. You nodded, pulling from the kiss, and put your head on his shoulder, turning your head to have your face burrowed in the crook of his neck. You could still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm leaving your limbs feeling weak. “Here we go, babe. Hold on tight.”

You cuddled up to him tightly and he picked you up from the countertop, grabbing your towel before making his way out of the kitchen.

~~~

Bob set you down on the bathroom floor carefully, his hand on the small of your back while you took a second to find your footing. He, then, ran his hands through your hair and leaned down, kissing you softly, a small smile playing on his lips. It was the softest of kisses, innocent and almost endearing in the way his hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over the freckles dusted there. The swipe of his tongue was tentative, shy even, asking for permission to slip into your mouth rather than a demand. Your tongues danced together for a moment, before he pulled away from you again, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Hey.” His eyes wandered over your features and then Bob smiled at you lovingly, soft lines appearing at the corners of his eyes.

“Hi,” you chuckled at him and felt your face split in a big grin.

You looked at each other for a second then, basking in the intimacy of the moment. You looked at the locks curling at his temples, at the way his head turned into your hand when it came to rest on his cheek, at the sparkle in his blue eyes. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt like you were sixteen again. In love for the first time in your life. 

“I love you,” he mumbled and pushed a lock of hair behind your ear.

It was the first time any of you had said it. And it sounded like it was the easiest thing he’d ever said. Like he’d said it a thousand times before. And he had. He had said it over and over in his head. Every time he caught a glance of you from across the room. When he heard you laugh at something Yelena had said. But especially when it was you who was telling the team about something you thought was funny and your face would split into a grin before you even got to the best part and how you would try to keep going, saying whatever it was you wanted to say between heaps of laughter. The words had rolled off his tongue so smoothly like they were made especially for him to say. Like it was second nature. And they set a fire ablaze inside your chest. A fire that quickly consumed all of you, heat rolling over your arms and legs, sending butterflies to your stomach and you felt your cheeks heat.

“God, I love you so much and I just needed you to know that,” he blurted out and then gulped at your surprised face. You didn’t know what to say, all words blown from your brain, the rushing of your blood everything you could hear. You had hoped to hear him say these words just as many times as you wanted to tell them to him and now that he had said them, you were so blown away and flustered that you couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

His face fell when you didn’t reply, and he took a tentative step back, suddenly feeling the need to cover himself. His eyes fell to the tiled floor between you and then he ran his hand over his face, while you tried to work through the pure disbelief.

“But it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, you know,” he muttered, turning away from you and looking for his bathrobe hanging on a peg on the wall.

“No, Bob. It’s not that…” You walked up to him, putting your hands on his arm and his cheek, making him look at you again. He tried to avert his gaze but when his eyes met yours, you could see that there were tears forming and on the verge of rolling down his cheek. 

“It’s not that I don’t feel the same,” you started and smiled at him encouragingly. “I love you, too. So much.” Your thumb brushed away the lonely tear that had escaped and you kissed him gently. “You just kinda took me by surprise, right there.”

“You do?” he asked, his voice so low and haunted that it sent a pain right through your heart. His eyes flitted around the room but then met yours again and you nodded, your eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

“I do. And I will make it my life’s mission to make you feel loved everyday,” you promised and he took a deep breath, his shoulders straightening out a bit. “There is nothing that I wouldn’t do to make you feel my love, Bob.”

“Oh, don’t go quoting Adele on me, babe,” he laughed and your heart grew lighter at hearing your favourite sound. He wrapped his arms around you and spun you around, earning himself a highpitched squeal from you. You clung to him, laughing wholeheartedly at the butterflies in your stomach, and buried your head in the crook of his neck. He walked over to the shower and when you heard the water turn on, you looked at him, your eyes wide with suspicion.

“Bob, no! My hair, please, I’ve just washed them…” You tried your best to get out of his arms, kicking your feet and squirming. “And you’re still in your boxers! Don’t you dare,” you begged and his face split into a big grin, before he stepped into the shower, the cold water raining down on the two of you. You let out a shriek and slipped down his body, pulling at his torso and trying to get him to shield you from the cold. “God, you are so evil. It’s so cold.”

You rubbed your hands up and down your arms, trying to get as far away from the stream of water as possible, and swatted at his arms when he tried to pull you back to him. 

“No, turn on the warm water first,” you told him, pointing your finger at the tap, while the water was running down his face and body, his drenched locks sticking to his forehead. He pouted at you playfully and then sighed dramatically, mumbling a ‘you don’t love me anymore, be honest’ under his breath. 

“Yes, I do. But look, your boxers are all soaked now.”

“Well, they already were before, so…” He shrugged and then bent down, pulling his sodden boxers off and tossing them into the other corner of the shower, before putting his arms out by his side and presenting himself to you for a second. “Better?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, and turned to switch the warm water on. 

You let your eyes travel over his body, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and nodding half-aware, a quiet ‘yeah’ leaving your mouth. Turning back towards you with a confident smirk on his face, he brushed the hair from his face and motioned for you to come over to him. You obliged, stepping up to him again, and followed a bead of water down his torso with your finger.

“Can I wash your hair?” you asked under your breath, your eyes flicking up to him under your lashes and he cocked his head, an amused look on his face.

“Your wish is my command,” he accepted and turned around, bending over to get the bottle of shampoo that rested on the tiled step in the corner. Taking the chance, you slapped his ass, a surprised chuckle leaving his lips as his hand moved to the tap and he accidentally cut off the warm water. Ice cold water flooded from the overhead shower and directly onto you and you screamed as he turned back to you.

“Oops, guess I turned off the warm water. My bad,” he laughed and wrapped his arms around you, pushing you to the tiled wall. He kissed you in between chuckles and you swatted at his arm, your body shivering from the sudden change in temperature.

“Asshat,” you muttered under your breath and glared at him, fighting the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Oh, and you love it,” he purred into your ear while his hand trailed up your leg and up your side.

“I’m starting to regret it,” you lied, a playful tone in your voice, as you tried to grab the shampoo bottle from his hand.

Bob stepped away from you, his arm in the air, and pushed his bottom lip out in a dramatic pout. “Take that back,” he cried out in fake-shock and held out his hand to keep you away from him. You looked at him for a second and then intertwined your fingers with those of his outstretched hand.

“Ok, I’m sorry, I would never regret loving you, Bob.” You tugged on his hand and asked him to come back to you.

“No, I don’t believe you.” He turned up his face and fought the smile daring to split his lips.

“Do you want me to get on my knees and prove it to you?” you asked and started to drop down, his eyes watching you closely. You could see him debating his choices for a second, trying to keep his face hard but then he smirked, a puff of air leaving his flared nostrils.

“No, it’s ok, I believe you.” He grabbed your elbow and pushed you up on your feet, handing you the bottle of shampoo before turning off the water altogether. “We’ve got enough time for that later.”

You took the bottle of shampoo from his hand and squirted some product into your hand while he got on his knees in front of you. He looked up at you with bright eyes and a loving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, wrapping his hands around your thighs to get a bit more stability. After putting the bottle aside and rubbing your hands together for a second to build up some lather, you buried your fingers in his wet hair and started massaging his scalp. His eyes fluttered shut at the soothing touch and you bent down to his face, pecking his lips, your fingers still working on spreading the shampoo in his hair.

“Ok, I think you’ll have to wash my hair from now on, babe,” he said, a satisfied hum following suit as you found a particular good spot. You let your fingers stay there a little longer, drawing circles on his scalp, and then ran your hand through his ends, excess foam dropping to the floor with wet splatters. Brushing off some foam from his brows, you placed kisses over his face, starting at his forehead and then moving on to his closed eyes. When you’d reached his lips, you kissed him softly before pulling away from him and getting the hand shower. Bob looked at you from the corner of his eyes, a thick swoop of foamy hair on his head and the softest gaze in his eyes, as you turned on the water again and held your hand into the stream, making sure it was neither too hot nor cold.

“Close your eyes and put your head back,” you instructed and stepped behind him, holding his head gently. “Tell me if the water is too hot, ok?” You moved the shower head over his hair and ran your fingers through his locks, making sure to get everywhere.

“This feels nice,” he mused and put his thumb up.

When you’d finished washing out his shampoo, you took the bottle of conditioner that stood next to his shampoo and went on repeating the same process you’d just worked through with the shampoo.

“Ok, so, we should probably leave this stuff in before washing it out,” you explained, looking at the back of his conditioner, while scrunching his hair a few times.

“Can I get up from my knees?” he asked and opened one eye cautiously, his hands resting on the small of your back for balance.

You nodded, putting the bottle aside, and washed the residual conditioner off your hands while he was getting back up on his feet next to you. Your eyes followed his body and you smiled to yourself.

“Like what you see, hm,” he teased and turned from side to side, offering you the whole view and you rolled your eyes at his antics, chuckling softly.

“Would it be so bad if I said that I do?” you asked him, running your fingers over his jaw and pulling him down to kiss him. Bob shook his head against your lips and deepened this kiss, one of his hands cupping your cheek while the other rested against the wall behind you. You pawed at him, pulling him closer, and moaned into the kiss when he pressed you up against the wall. You hooked your leg around his and he slipped his tongue past your lips, while the hand on your cheek moved down your body, his fingers loosely following the drops of water running down your figure. Your hips rolled into his and you let your hand run up his other thigh, testing the limits.

“How long do we have to leave this stuff in because… uh, I don’t know if I can stop if you keep going, babe,” he panted, out of breath from the last kiss, and rested his forehead against yours. His eyes had darkened with lust and you knew he was serious because you felt his dick growing hard against the inside of your thigh.

“Uh, I think it should be fine to wash out by now,” you stumbled and nodded, a little light-headed yourself. You ran your hand through your hair and tried to suppress the urge to grind into him again, your eyes travelling down his chest and to where your hips met his.

“I’m begging you, stop looking at me like that or I will have to take you right here,” he whined desperately, holding your hips tightly to keep them from moving. His eyes flitted to your lips, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, and then you closed your lips around his finger, sucking on the fingertip a little. His eyes closing tightly, he shook his head and sighed: “Please, I don’t wanna risk breaking your neck slipping on these tiles.”

You let go of his thumb and it slipped out of your mouth again with a popping sound. Your leg slid from around his hip and you made to stand up straight again, the corners of your mouth dropping slightly.

“God, you’re gonna make me regret trying to be the responsible one for once…”, he sighed, and kissed your forehead, lingering there for a second. “Let’s make a deal, babe…” He pulled away from you and grabbed the hand shower. “We’ll finish up here and then clean the kitchen real quick…” He thought about how he’d go on for a second, turning on the water and waiting for it to heat up to the right temperature. “And then, we can go back to what we were doing? Unless you really wanna watch that movie. Whatever movie.” 

You pursed your lips, considering his offer for a moment and then sighed, crossing your arms in fake-protest. “Fine,” you muttered disgruntledly and added: “I guess that works, too.”

He watched you for a second, before grabbing your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. Bob squeezed your hand a little, getting you to look in his eyes, and he smiled softly.

“Hey, I love you.”

Your features softened and you cocked your head, a smirk on your lips.

“Yeah, I love you, too.”

~~~

You were just drying your hair with one of Bob’s towels when he popped his head in from the bedroom. Your gaze met his through the mirror and you stopped for a second, a smile on your lips.

“Wanna borrow one of my shirts or should I get you something from your closet?”

He had put on some clean sweatpants and a sleeveless top, his broad and muscular shoulders on display. His hair was still a little damp from your shared shower, curling at the ends beautifully.

“I wouldn’t mind borrowing one of your shirts. Oh, and maybe one of your boxers?”

 He nodded and then vanished in his bedroom for a second, before returning with a stack of his clothes. Bob walked over to you and set the folded clothes onto the vanity next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nodded and tugged at his shirt when he turned to leave for the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks and turned back to you, an expectant look on his face.

“I’ll get started on tidying up the kitchen, come and join me when you’re done, ok?”

“Kiss me?” you asked and pouted at him with big puppy dog eyes. His face brightened and he leaned down, cupping your cheek and kissing you gently. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kept him there, deepening the kiss. The hand resting on your waist slipped down your side and stopped on the back of your thigh, Bob’s other hand moving between your shoulderblades before he tipped you back swiftly. You held onto him and chuckled into the kiss, your heart skipping a beat. When he put you back on your feet, you ran your fingers through his hair and then put your hand on his cheek, your cheeks burning brightly.

“Was that good enough for you?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, a little out of breath, and nodded your head. “That was a good one, love.”

He saluted you and then turned to the bathroom door before marching off.

~~~

“You’ve got everything?” you asked, looking over your shoulder at Bob who was holding two glasses, a supersized bottle of coke and a bag of buttery microwave popcorn. He nodded after checking again, and then you turned off the lights to the kitchen with your elbow, balancing two giant boxes of pizza in one hand, while the other held onto packets of peanut M&Ms and sour patch kids. Trying your best to not let the top box slide off the other, you made your way over to the living room and put the pizza boxes and snacks on the coffee table.

“What do you wanna watch?” You looked up to Bob, taking the bag of Popcorn and plopping down on the couch.

“I’m open to whatever you suggest as long as I can cuddle with you.” He sat down next to you and slung his arm around your shoulder, kissing your temple gently. You leaned over, getting the folded throw blanket, and put it over your and Bob’s legs before grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

“Oh, you know what I haven’t watched in forever?” Your eyes went wide and you looked at Bob with an excited grin on your face. He cocked his head, asking you to enlighten him, his eyes glimmering in the dim light.

“Tombstone.”

“That Western from the ‘90s?” he asked, a chuckle falling from his lips, while he bent forward to get a slice of pizza.

“You mean ‘that absolutely iconic Western from the ‘90s’? Yes, exactly that one!” You nodded enthusiastically and looked the film up. “Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday is simply something else!” You looked at him looking at you and your smile faltered a little. “But… we don’t have to watch Tombstone if you don’t wanna.”

Bob shook his head and grabbed your hand to kiss the back of it. His eyes turned soft and he intertwined his fingers with his.

“Oh, no, babe. Like I said, I’m down.” He slumped against the backrest again and took a bite from the slice of pizza. “I just love when you’re excited about something,” he told you in between chews, his free hand covering his mouth. “Whenever you get really excited about something, your eyes sparkle and then that dimple pops on your cheek and…” He leaned over and ran his thumb over your cheek, his eyes falling to your lips, before he added: “Man, I love you so much.”

He kissed you passionately, dragging you closer, and you put your hand on his chest. His muscles flexed under your touch and Bob pulled you into his lap, the blanket slipping off of your legs straddling his hips. Your fingers were in his hair, tugging at his locks, as his hand slid up your naked thigh. His palm stopped on the small of your back, his other hand still cupping your cheek, keeping you close to him. In the background, the intro to Tombstone started playing, setting the scene for the plot but you didn’t catch a word of it. Too lost to the way Bob’s lips felt against yours. How his tongue would dart over your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth. How his fingers felt against your scalp and poring over your back. How your chest brushed up against his when you took a deep breath mid-kiss. 

When the cowboys started shooting up the wedding, you pulled away from him, breathless and your mind a little hazy. You slipped off of his lap, throwing your legs over his lap, and then leaned over to get one of the pizza boxes. Putting the cardboard box in your lap, you picked up a slice and handed it to Bob, whose eyes had followed you the whole time.

“What?” you asked, biting off the tip of the slice you’d grabbed for yourself a second ago, squinting at the TV screen from the corner of your mouth.

“You really went back to watching the movie, just like that,” he chuckled and took a bite of his slice of pizza.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to miss the entire beginning. Let’s try and make it at least through the first 40 minutes.” You finished the first slice of pizza, suddenly realising how hungry you were, and picked up another one, guiding the sloping tip into your mouth with your other hand. By your side, Bob’s jaw tensed while he readjusted the way your feet rested on his right thigh, trying to hide the fact that it wasn’t the pizza he wanted to taste. What he didn’t know, however, was that he wasn’t the only one who was left insatiated after what had happened in the kitchen and then almost happened in the shower…

You didn’t quite make it through the first 40 minutes of the film. You really tried, your eyes glued to the TV screen while you watched Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday reunite in the titular town. When the two of you had finished the first pizza just as Josie Marcus and Mr. Fabian got into town, Bob took the empty cardboard box from off your lap and put it aside, his fingers dancing up your legs. A few minutes before, he’d started drawing loose patterns on your skin, his eyes flickering from the TV screen to you. Every now and again, his gaze would stay on you for a little while, mesmerised by the way your lips moved as you recited the dialogue. By the way the corners of your mouth would bop up and down a little in a silent chuckle when one of the Earps or Doc said something funny. Every so often, he’d shift in his seat a little or exhale a little harder, a whine falling from his lips. When you felt his eyes stay on you longer than before, you glanced at him, his eyes still glued to your lips and his bottom lip between his front teeth.

“Bob, you’re not even trying,” you laughed and threw a pillow at his head. He caught it easily and put it aside, a smirk on his lips while his eyes never left yours.

“Well, who can blame me when the most beautiful woman sits next to me and we’ve got the whole tower to ourselves?”

He moved quickly and trapped you beneath him, his arms next to your head while he tried to not put all of his weight on you. Bob shifted a little, his hips slotting between your spreading legs, and then he dropped his head to your neck, blocking your view of the TV. He started placing kisses all over your throat and the slope of your neck, his hand running up your side underneath your shirt. Your arms snaked around his torso, one hand burying in his hair while the other moved down his lower back. You let out a moan when Bob cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple before he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. The soft squeeze sent shocks down your spine and your back arched into his touch, begging him to keep going.

“And seeing you in my clothes, too,” he purred into your ear, his voice darker than a second before. “You know, this is torture…”

His hips rolled into yours and you gasped, feeling his erection rub up against your core. Bob looked at you, his blown pupils filled with lust, and then he kissed you hungrily. The kiss was messy, lips crashing into each other, teeth clinking softly as your tongues pushed through them. His hand was on your jaw while his hips grinded into you, a meek whimper leaving his mouth.

“God, watching you mumble the lines under your breath has me wanting to make you forget every word you’ve ever known,” he told you, no hesitation in his voice. Bob pulled away from the kiss and you weren’t surprised to see his eyes glimmer golden for just a split second. His words knocked the breath right out of you, your jaw dropping slightly as heat rushed up your neck. You could feel the arousal pool between your legs as his hips continued rolling into you, the friction of the layers of fabric against your clit adding to the pressure that was slowly building in your core. Your eyes rolled back in your head and you rolled your hips against his, meeting his movements perfectly.

“You like that, baby?” He asked, his lips brushing against your ear lobe. There was something animalistic in the way he had uttered the words, a deep growl in the back of his throat. You just nodded, your breath caught in your windpipe while his hand travelled down your side again, hitching your leg higher.

“Bob, feels so good,” you whimpered, feeling the first sparks of your nearing orgasm shoot up the base of your spine with every time his clothed erection brushed against you.

“You know, I thought I’d get used to just how badly I want you… That this constant need to feel you, to taste you would just… get better with time…” He held onto your jaw, making you look at him while the words left his mouth, his hips rolling against your clit with every thrust. “But it just gets worse every day,” he added, his eyebrows pulling together in pleasure. His jaw went slack and he stopped for a moment, his grip on your chin growing stronger. “This isn’t working…”

He pulled away from you, running his hand through his hair. You pushed up on your elbows and looked at him confused, your eyebrows raising in silent questions.

“What do you mean ‘this isn’t working’?”, you asked, your eyes wandering over his body and then staying on his face, trying to find any signs of what had just happened to make him change his mind.

“I… I can’t do this… Not again,” He bit down on his lip, not in a lustful way but with a nervous edge. He started fidgeting, his fingernail scratching at the skin on the side of his thumb, his other hand adjusting the way his briefs and sweatpants sat on him.

“Bob, you’re scaring me, a little… Did I do something wrong?” You sat up, your hands coming up to him, one trying to stop his left hand from fidgeting while the other cupped his cheek.

“No, you didn’t do anything, love.” When you made him meet your eyes, you could see that the self-assured glimmer in his eyes was gone, replaced by sheepishness. His left thumb came up to his mouth and he nibbled on the bit of skin he had scratched at before.

“Then what is it?”

“I wanna feel you… Wanna come inside you.” His voice was a whisper, so low you almost couldn’t make out what he’d said over the applause coming from the TV. “I need you.”

“Love, you can have me. All of me.” You moved onto your knees, kissing Bob’s cheek, hoping he’d wrap his arms around you again and go back to what you’d just been doing.

“Not here… Or not like this. I don’t want to have to worry about the couch getting messy.”

You had to put your hand over your mouth to hide the smile that had started to spread on your lips at his sudden innocence, a warmth spreading around your heart. You hadn’t even stopped to think about anything getting on the couch, every thought in your mind about Bob and how good he felt. How good it felt to feel his lips against your lips or on your skin, his fingers rolling your nipple and squeezing it so deliciously… His hips bringing you closer and closer and closer to your climax.

Coming up with a solution to your problem, you got up from the couch for a second and picked up the blanket that had long been forgotten, spreading it over the spot you’d just laid in before. When you nodded, satisfied with yourself, Bob’s eyes moved to where you were standing in front of him, his eyebrows raised.

“Well, now we don’t have to worry about the couch getting messed up because we can simply wash the blanket.” You cupped his face with one hand, the other one brushing away the stray locks that had fallen into his face again, and straddled his legs. Closing the distance between you, Bob kissed you once, his hands moving up your thighs. His fingers wrapped around your hips and then he turned, laying you down on top of the blanket, your hair fanning out around your head in a halo.

His gaze traversed your body before he moved down, his fingers hooked in the waistband of the boxers he’d lent you. Bob stripped the fabric off your body, letting it fall to the floor and then spread your legs, a coy look on his face.

“Are you sure about this?” The question came while he got himself situated between your legs, his arms wrapping around your thighs and putting them over his shoulders. He looked up at you through his lashes, pulling you down a little before placing a kiss first on your left inner thigh and then the right one.

“Yes, baby.” You ran your fingers through his hair and nodded encouragingly, your chest rising and falling steadily while you were resting on your elbows. He let his head sink a little and blew a breath on you, keeping his eyes fixed on you. A chuckle fell from your lips at the sensation and you bit down on your bottom lip, your head falling back. He started pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on your skin, moving from your pubic bone to the point where your leg melted into your hip and then closer to your core with every subsequent kiss. The anticipation and need to feel him where you wanted him most had you pulling on his hair, eliciting a snicker from him that sent vibrations up your spine.

“Ever so impatient,” he scolded you, his eyes on you again.

He put his lips around your clit and sucked on it, the tip of his tongue circling the ball of nerves slowly, expertly. Your breath hitched and the grip on his hair tightened, tugging at the roots. A low hum echoed from him, as he put his tongue against your folds and then pushed the tip through them in an upward motion. His laps were slow, reverent and your mind was growing hazy while more and more arousal pooled at your core. You could feel the point of his nose bury between your folds while his tongue circled your cunt, slipping in every now and again. You whined at his slow pace, growing more and more desperate with every passing second.

“What’s up, baby?” He kissed your clit, his lips wrapping around it again and your mouth fell open, an obscene moan leaving your mouth when he sucked on it harshly.

“I need you,” you breathed desperately and grinded your hips on his face once, twice, three times.

“What do you need me to do?” Another kiss to your hipbone, his lips sucking on the sensitive skin stretched over the bone there.

“I wanna feel you inside of me.” Your eyes met his and there it was again, that golden glimmer. His lips jerked up in a smirk and then Bob ran a finger through your folds, getting it nice and slick with the mix of arousal and spit.

“You mean like that?” His finger ran down through your folds again and then slipped into you. He slowly pushed into you until he was knuckle-deep and then pulled his finger out just as slow, curling it to brush against that spongy spot in you. You nodded, the feeling of his finger slipping back in making goosebumps rise over your arms and legs. When he’d found a torturous rhythm, he lowered his head again, his mouth moving back to your clit.

“Bob, please… faster,” you begged, your hips trying to meet his movements, rolling into his fingers and mouth. He obliged, pumping his finger in and out quicker, every thrust accompanied by a wet squelch from deep inside of you. You could feel your arousal mixed with his spit run down your perineum every time he pulled his finger back and felt your cheeks heat at the fact how wet you were for him. Bob stopped sucking on your clit for a second, releasing the nub of nerves with a soft popping sound and then lapped up your juices as if he’d read your thoughts.

“You think you can handle another?” He asked, moving up to your face and placing a kiss to your cheek. His lips were sticky, covered in the mixture of his spit and your arousal, and you ran your thumb over them before kissing him hungrily. When you didn’t answer his question, he broke from the kiss and put his forehead against yours, asking you again. “I’m not gonna go on unless you tell me to.”

You gulped, your throat a little dry from all the quiet moans he had coaxed from you. Closing the distance between you, you kissed him eagerly, pushing your tongue past his lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it sent you into overdrive, your fingers digging into his back while you pulled him down.

“God, please Bob. Go ahead already,” you begged hopelessly, pushing his hand down between your bodies.

He chuckled against your cheek, the ball of his thumb brushing past your sensitive clit while he pushed his fingers through your folds. Your head turned to the side a little, your eyes rolling back, the thrill of his touch leaving you breathless. When he felt that they were sufficiently lubricated, he thrusted them into you, your mouth opening in a satisfied ‘o’ at the way his fingers stretched you. After a moment of letting you adjust to the size of his fingers inside of you, he started moving them again and you slipped from your elbows, your back now on the blanket underneath you.

“Just look at you.”

Half-dazed by your approaching climax, you let your hands wander to the front of his sweatpants, and pulled at the strings to undo the bow. Your finger slipped past the waistband and into his briefs and you hummed when you wrapped your hand around his hard, throbbing cock. Bob groaned into your ear and his hips bucked into your touch, eager for some attention.

“Fuck, babe, I need you,” he muttered, his dick twitching in your hand as your thumb brushed over his tip. “I don’t know if I can last long enough if you keep touching me,” he added, his head resting on your shoulder while you pumped his length.

“Fuck me then,” you whispered into his ear, the nails of your free hand scratching over his lower back. He slipped his fingers out of you and then pushed down his sweatpants, kicking the fabric off his legs. Your legs spread a little more instinctively, making more room for his hips to fit, and then you let go of him, his own hand taking over and covering his erection in your arousal. Slotting his hips between yours again, he guided his dick through your folds and then stopped, the tip of his erection at your cunt.

His eyes flashed up to you, silently asking permission, and you nodded, pulling his face closer to yours and pressing your lips to his. You both broke from the kiss when he pushed into you, filling you slowly, inch by inch. It didn’t matter how often you’d slept with him before because every time you felt him sliding into you, stretching you so well, you were convinced that there was no better feeling in the world. Bob stopped, pulling back out and then angling your hip a little before thrusting back in painfully slow. That time, his length slid in deeper, his balls flush against your ass as he bottomed out.

His brows were pulled together and you could see him struggle, trying to give you time to adjust to having him this deep inside of you before pulling his hips back. Your thumb ran over his cheek and you kissed him softly, your leg hooking around his hip.

“Don’t hold back, Bob,” you told him, your gaze fixed on him and he gulped, his eyes flashing to where your bodies melted into one.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” He leaned down on his elbow next to your face while his other hand moved to the leg wrapped around his hip.

“You won’t.” You winked at him playfully and rolled your hip into his.

His jaw clenched as he slowly pulled his hips back, leaving just his tip inside of you and then his eyes searched yours again.

“You sure?”

You just nodded, your thumb caressing his face again, and then he thrusted back into you, not holding back this time. You yelped a little and closed your eyes tightly, relishing in the slight pain you felt from his thrust.

“Keep going, I’m ok,” you assured him and he repeated what he’d done before, pulling out almost completely before thrusting into you and bottoming out, his balls slapping against your ass. Your head rolled back in pleasure and your jaw dropped, a high-pitched moan falling from your lips. Seeing you like this was the only prompt he needed to keep going, plowing into you again and again, pushing you closer to the edge with every brush against your g-spot. Your vision was going hazy at the edges as your eyes locked with Bob’s, his mouth hanging open, panting breaths and curses escaping him.

“M-hm, Bob, just like that,” you cooed as you felt his hand rub on your clit, the pad of his thumb circling it expertly.

“Fuck, you look like an angel taking me so well,” he groaned, his lips sucking on your pulse point delicately.

You could feel your orgasm crawling nearer by the growing pressure in your core, tiny sparks rushing through your body with every perfectly timed thrust of his hips. And Bob didn’t seem to be far behind, the grip on your hip tightening with every time his hips rolled into you. His movements were picking up in speed, growing erratic even. Your lips were just about to brush against his ear lobe, telling him that you were close, when you heard laughter in the hallway.

You sobered up immediately, recognising the signature Eastern European drawl that clung to Yelena’s voice.

“Bob, stop,” you whisper-shouted and your hand came to cover his mouth, anticipating him wanting to ask what was wrong, when Bucky’s voice echoed through the hallway, making the footsteps stop for a second.

“You know what? You go ahead to that bar. I’m gonna meet up with Sam, talk to him about this whole lawsuit again.”

Bob’s eyes went wide as he pulled out of you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness inside of you.

“What are they doing here? Weren’t they supposed to come back tomorrow at the earliest?”, he asked, his voice on the verge of breaking from the shock of almost being walked in on.

He clambered off of you and started gathering your clothes, throwing the pair of boxers you’d worn over to you before he hastily tried to get back into his own sweatpants. You shrugged, slipping into his boxers, and tried to pull the blanket over your legs in an attempt to hide any wet spots. Running your fingers through your hair, you hoped to fix any signs of sex-hair and looked at Bob with a questioning look, who was still struggling to get both the sweatpants and his briefs on at the same time. When he finally pulled the fabric up to sit on his hips, he leaned over to you and flattened out your hair, bringing some of them over your shoulder, covering the darkening spot on your throat. You could feel heat rush up to your face and put your hands up, hiding your face as you started laughing silently.

“What’s so funny?” Bob asked, embarrassment making his cheeks flash red while he plopped down on the couch a good distance away from you so as to not draw any further suspicion on you.

“Sorry, I just can’t help it,” you laughed, turning your body to face back to the TV and trying to swallow any laughter when you heard footsteps coming down the hall again.

“[y/n]? Bob? Where are you?” Ava asked loudly and you sank in your spot on the couch, trying to look as comfortable as possible.

“We’re in the living room,” you yelled back and then looked over the back of the couch just as Yelena, Ava and Alexei reached the door.

“Surprise! We’re back early,” Yelena yelled, putting her arms out at the side and shaking her hands excitingly.

“Yeah, I can tell,” you laughed with her and then let your eyes wander over the three of them, looking for any signs of major injuries.

“The mission was an absolute bust, so we figured we’d go out and get some drinks,” Yelena explained and you nodded, your heart still thumping in your chest quickly.

“We’re just each gonna take a shower before we leave, wanna join?”, Ava asked and looked at Bob, who was sitting in the corner of the couch, his back awfully straight and his stiff arms at his sides. His hands were clasped over his lap, hiding his raging erection from showing through his sweatpants.

“Nah, I think we’re gonna stay in today. I’m kind of tired from working out.”

Bob choked on his spit next to you and everyone looked at him, his face turning even redder from coughing. 

“Is he ok?” Ava chuckled and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Wait, are you watching Tombstone? Oh my god, I love that movie,” Alexei exclaimed, his eyes trained on the TV behind you. “Kurt Russel as Wyatt Earp is so good.” He pushed through Ava and Yelena and made his way over to the couch, a sixpack of beer under his arm. He plopped down on the end of the U-shaped couch and looked over his shoulder at the two women standing in the doorway.

“I think I will stay home, too. Catch movie with Bob and [y/n],” he told them and then his eyes moved to me. “Is that alright with you?” When you nodded, he looked over to Bob and grinned at him. “What about you Bob?” Bob, who had just recovered from his coughing fit, nodded and sank deeper into the cushions, mumbling a strained ‘sure’ while looking like he was hoping for a hole to open up and swallow him whole.

“Wonderful! And look, you even have pizza!” Alexei leaned over to the pizza the two of you had forgotten about and grabbed a slice, stuffing half of it in his mouth and letting the other half slope down over his chin as he ripped through the cardboard of his sixpack. He pulled out a bottle and then slammed it into the edge of the coffee table, the bottle cap flying through the air and landing next to Bob with a soft thud.

“What perfect timing, just in time for the shooting at the OK corral!” Alexei shimmied his hands while pronouncing that last part, spilling some of his beer over the carpet with his exaggerated gestures.

When they’d left in the direction of their respective bedrooms, you looked over at Bob, who had half of his face hidden behind a hand. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes and then readjusted his sweatpants a little. You mouthed a silent ‘sorry’ to him as Alexei laughed loudly at Doc Holliday’s iconic “I’m your huckleberry” line.

“Dad, please be careful. Walker will have your ass if you get the living room dirty,” Yelena groaned and you looked at her from over your shoulder, just as she ran her hand over her face. She turned to Ava and then motioned for them to go on. “Come on, we should get going before it gets too late.”

[authoressskr]

As soon as I read “ooh baby, ooh baby” I KNEW it was from 10 things I hate about you and that’s all I really needed to know.

Oh Baby, Oh Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Synopsis: (6.2k wc) As a new recruit, y/n isn’t allowed to go on all the missions yet. To make matters worse, they left behind another, someone that she had despised ever since she first stepped foot in the compound - James Buchanan Barnes.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of smut, enemies to lovers

masterlist

Hey, y’all! Thank you so much for all of the love you gave my first one-shot, Remember Me you guys are unbelievably kind. Here is a Bucky fic for y’all. I am open to writing pretty much any marvel character so send a request of a story you would wanna see :)

DAY 1

This couldn’t be happening. Why was this happening? Y/n knew she was ready. She needed to go on this mission with the rest of the Avengers, she didn’t care about what would become of her.

“I don’t get it, Steve, I’m ready!” Y/n exclaimed. She crossed her hands, making her way around the kitchen island to better yell at the Avenger.

“ Y/n, you’re still new,” Steve began. “You need to train more before-“

“I’ve been here for almost a year,” she pleaded with him. “I’m ready for this I need to go with you guys!”

“Listen up, Ripley,” said Tony, standing up from his place on the couch. Ripley was the name Tony gave her when she arrived at Avengers Compound because she mentioned once that she liked the movie Alien. It greatly upset her but she also knew that no amount of pleading would get him to stop. He walked over to her, hesitantly putting a hand on her shoulder.

“We understand you wanna get revenge on the people that wronged you but you can’t do that from a grave. Let us handle it right now and we promise next time you’ll come.”

“Tony, you said these people might actually know where he is I have to be there!”

“We just don’t want you to get hurt,” Natasha said, still sitting on the couch with her arms crossed.

“So instead you’re leaving me home alone in the compound for five days.”

“You won’t be alone,” said Steve. “Bucky is stay behind-“ Y/n scoffed before he could finish his sentence. “His deprogramming isn’t done yet it's not safe for him in the field.”

She shook her head. “This is why you guys didn’t tell me until the day you were leaving right? That you were gonna leave me alone in compound with him.”

“He’s my best friend, Y/n. He’s not the man Hydra made him out to be.”

“All right, enough chit-chat,” Tony interrupted. “We gotta get to the jet.”

Everyone stood up, waving goodbye to Y/n as they left the room, Steve staying behind for one more moment. “I thought I was your best friend,” she said quietly, crossing her arms.

Ever since arriving at the compound, Steve had been the one she was closest to. He helped her through her own nightmares, knowing what it was like to return to civilian life after such a long time.

“You are, Y/n. But Bucky has been with me since we were kids. When I found out he was alive…I couldn’t abandon him. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have two best friends right? I just wished you too would get along.”

Y/n looked down at her feet, unsure of what to say. Slowly, she lifted her head again. A figure caught her eye from behind Steve’s shoulder. He followed her eyes, turning to see the former hydra assassin standing in the doorway.

“Hey Buck, we were just leaving,” Steve said to him.

“All of you?” Bucky asked, leaning against the frame.

“ Y/n is staying behind. Don’t worry, we’ll only be gone for five days.” Steve walked towards him, patting him on the shoulder before leaving the two alone in the kitchen.

Silence filled the air, neither of them moving to be the first to speak. Bucky made his way into the kitchen, moving closer to her. Y/n didn’t know what he was doing as he stood only two feet away.

In a low growl, he said, “Move, Sunshine.”

She rolled her eyes stepping a foot out of the way. “Don’t call me Sunshine,” she said, watching as he walked over to the fridge and opened the door.

“I can call you whatever I want, Sunshine.”

He knew it pissed her off. From her first encounter with him, he had been this arrogant, stuck-up old man. She didn’t know what Rogers what talking about. All the happy stories he told her, the kindness he showed to him; Y/n didn’t believe that side of Bucky could exist.

“I would prefer if you called me by name. Or should I start calling you Old Sport?”

He closed the fridge and made direct eye contact with her. His brows scrunched and she knew that the name pissed him off. But as if the last second of frustration hadn’t happened, he look away, setting the pitcher of water on the table.

“Call me whatever you want Sunshine,” he said. “Just don’t walk around in those shorts anymore, too tiny.”

She looked down at the shorts she was wearing. They were very short, she had to give Bucky that, but she liked them that way. The way they clung to her body made her feel safe in a place that was still kind of foreign to her.

She sighed, not wanting to deal with his games anymore. Y/n walked out, back towards her room. This was going to be a long five days.

DAY 2

Just one more minute, that’s all she needed. One of the perks of living at Avengers compound was the unlimited amount of training equipment. As she finally hit the last mile of her run, Y/n got off the treadmill, ready to work on building up the muscle. As she turned, stepping off the machine, she saw Bucky in the doorway.

He gave her a smirk, “Morning Sunshine,” he said.

“Morning Old Sport,” she said with a fake smile back.

She watched as he walked over to the treadmill she had just gotten off of. He scoffed. “Just ten miles? I thought you could do more than that, Sunshine.”

“It was a warm-up if you must know. I bet I could run more than you.”

“I think you’re forgetting I’m a super-soldier.”

“I think you’re forgetting I am too.”

That shut him up. Bucky didn’t know much about Y/n's background, the only encounters he had with her more than likely ended in screaming matches. But what he did know was that somehow, at some point, she had gotten the serum as well. He stared back at her, unsure of what to say.

Y/n smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

She turned back towards the bench press, hearing the sound of the treadmill turning on behind her. Sharing the gym with him wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but she could certainly think of better things.

As she sat down on the bench, examining the weights before deciding to pick up a 300 pound one. Lifting it up like it was nothing, she took one last look at Bucky. He had started his run, moving at a steady pace without the hint of fatigue. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Y/n looking at him, with a smirk, he quickened the pace, running faster and faster.

Y/n rolled her eyes. Of course, he was trying to show off. Well, two could play at that game. She put down the 300-pound weight, opting to go for the 800 one instead. She laid down on the bench and began to push. Almost effortlessly, she moved the weights up and down. Rep after rep she moved, not a hint of exhaustion on her face.

She could feel a pair of eyes on her from across the room. Bucky looked over again, scoffing before turning up the speed on the treadmill again, going into a full sprint. Panting, he swayed his arms in long motions, gaining more momentum. Y/n sat up again at the sound of heavier footsteps. She had to top him, she didn’t know why it was so important to her that she did but now it was her mission.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she dropped the weights, moving to grab the 15000-pound ones. Laying back down, she pressed with all her might. Slowly, the weights moved up and down. She grunted as she pushed on them, it had been a while since she bench pressed and that time off was really getting to her.

Panting, she pushed the weights back up, holding them above her. She peeled her eyes away from the weights to look at Bucky who was still running, now at almost full speed. It was only a second, but that was enough to make her lose her balance. The weight came crashing down on Y/n's chest, sending pain throughout her torso.

“Argh!” she yelled out.

She tried to push the weight off her chest but it was no use. She pushed and pushed and pushed before suddenly gasping for air. The pressure on her chest lifted as she took in a deep breath.

Y/n tried to sit up before feeling a warm hand on her back help her. When she looked up, a very concerned Bucky stood before her.

“Hey,” Bucky said cautiously, a hand still pressed to her back. “Are you okay?”

Y/n took in another breath and nodded. “Thanks,” she mustered out.

He took a step back, panting as well. When she looked up at him, she could see the fear that was slowly washing away. Why did he look so concerned? He had hated her since the moment he arrived at the compound, the day that Steve came back with his best friend from the 1940s.

“Wow, you genuinely care for me Barnes,” Y/n said sarcastically.

Bucky straightened his posture, his brooding face back in position. “I don’t,” he insisted. “Just didn’t want anyone to think I’m the reason you died.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, it is. So next time don’t go around lifting weights that you can’t handle.”

“I can handle 1500 pounds, Old Sport. I just didn’t warm up beforehand.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, still breathing heavily. “Sure, Sunshine.” He began to walk away back towards the treadmill.

She didn’t want to end the conversation there, not with him in the lead. “And what about you? Can’t handle how fast you were running?”

He turned back to face her, his hands on his hips. From Y/n's perspective, he looked genuinely pissed off. His t-shirt stuck to his body from his workout, his still slightly long hair pulled into a man bun. Looking her up and down, he didn’t bother to say a word, just turned back towards the treadmill.

She crossed her arms, not sure of what to do. “Well, thanks I guess,” Y/n said, walking out of the room.

She didn’t stop to wait for an answer, but as she passed through the door frame, she swore she could hear him faintly say, anytime.

DAY 3

The one plus side to having everyone gone is that Y/n could finally watch what she wanted in the theater room. That’s right, a theater room in the compound. When she first arrived at the compound, she spent a lot of time in there, rewatching old movies from her childhood, movies that she missed during her time away. Being a super-soldier was rewarding at times but she would never wish what she went through upon anyone else.

One of the movies that Wanda told her to watch, one that she swore she would love was 10 Things I Hate About You. Wanda was right. She was only about 20 minutes into the movie but boy was it good. Y/n had to admit that this Heath Ledger guy wasn’t all that bad looking either.

As Kat and Bianca argued about their dating lives, there was a sudden light projected on the screen. Y/n turned her head to see a silhouette in the doorway and there were only two options of what it could be. One, the Avengers returned early from their mission or two, it was her not so friendly super-soldier buddy; she knew it was probably the latter.

Bucky came walking down one of the isles sporting a white shirt and a flannel; he looked normal for once. With his hands in his jean pockets, he awkwardly approached her, Y/n paused the movie. “I didn’t know you were in here I was going to watch a movie.”

She raised her shoulders. “Well here I am,” she said.

“I’ll just leave then-“

“Wait!” She said suddenly. Bucky turned back in surprise at her call out to him and to be honest, it surprised her too. “Y-you could watch this with me if you want. I don’t know how much you’ll enjoy it but you’re welcome to stay.”

She watched his eyes as he tried to figure out what he was going to do. It was an absurd proposition, since the moment he arrived he had a distaste for her. She could still remember it like it was yesterday. It was six months after she arrived, finally having time to warm up to the rest of the team.

Before moving into the compound, Steve was the only one she knew. He was the one that found her, who hid out in an abandoned mall with her for two weeks while they waited for his colleagues to arrive. He had become her best friend over those six months, practically inseparable.

Steve had come back from a week-long mission, his long-lost best friend at his side. Hydra was finally gone, and Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He had his first real meal with them that night, watching intensely as Steve and Y/n bickered and laughed with one another.

But after that night, Steve hung out with her less, Bucky always staying away from her unless they had to deal with Avengers business. Every time he entered a room he groaned like he was disgusted by her presence. After long enough she started to hate when he entered a room as well.

But now they were the only ones in the compound. Maybe it was the loneliness kicking in, or maybe he was starting to warm up to the idea that she was a decent person, but something in him responded in a way he never thought he would.

“Okay,” he said softly.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Okay?” He nodded again, taking a seat on the opposite end of the row she was seated in. She rolled her eyes, patting a seat closer to her. “Come on, Old Sport. I don’t bite.”

Hesitantly, he stood up again, walking slowly towards her before settling in the seat next to her. They shifted, in their seats not used to being this close to each other. This was awkward. Really awkward. Why did she think this was a good idea. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt she owed it to him to make an effort, especially after he helped her in the gym yesterday.

Y/n felt his eyes glancing at her, not brave enough to say anything. Wanting it to be over, she pressed play on the movie. The next scene came by Kat walking out of the store to find Patrick leaning against her car. As they watched the scene, their dynamic seemed very similar.

You’re not afraid of me, are you? Patrick said, sliding closer to Kat.

Why would I be afraid of you? she asked back.

Most people are.

Well, I’m not.

Bucky looked towards Y/n who was staring at the screen, her knees scrunched into her chest. She studied her figure for a minute, so petite yet he knew how powerful her punch could be.

Well maybe you’re not afraid of me, Patrick continued. But I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked huh?

Bucky turned back to the screen to see Kat furrow her brows. Am I that transparent? She said sarcastically. I want you, I need you! Oh baby, oh baby.

Y/n chuckled next to him, making him turn back to look at her. She noticed his stare, instantly quieting down. “Sorry,” she said. “That was a good comeback.”

“It was,” he agreed. “Sounded like something you would day.”

“In your dreams, Barnes.”

The rest of the movie was a little more bearable. The conversation was small and almost nonexistent but it felt like they had broken the ice. Something that they should have done a long time ago. Over the course of the movie, Y/n found herself moving closer to him. Not cuddling-close, but she let less afraid to lean into the arm rest that separated their chairs. She felt that he had realized as well; his breathing became more steady as leaned his head back against the chair.

As the movie came to a close, they both stared absent-mindedly at the credits rolling. She didn’t know what to say, what to do - it felt weird now to be all cold and distant after this. Before she could figure out anything to do, Bucky stood up abruptly. Her eyes followed him as he turned to face her.

“Well, thanks I guess,” he said, also unsure of what to say.

“I’m surprised you enjoyed it,” she said with a smirk.

“Did not.”

“Did too. I saw you try to hide your smile when Patrick gave her that guitar and then end.”

Bucky tried to contain an awkward laugh. He crossed his arms, looking anywhere in the room but at her. “Good night,” he said, walking out of the room.

“Night,” she said back.

What just happened? She thought to herself. Since when could he tolerate her?

Before tonight, she thought it was painful for him to be even in the same room as her. She was surprised by how easy it felt to watch the movie with him. How even though at first it was a little awkward, they fell into an almost comfortable silence.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all…

DAY 4

Man, what Y/n hungry. She had slept in late that day, wanting to just be alone before deciding to go for a jog outside. By the time she got back, it was already dark. The halls were barely visible, the only source of light coming from the kitchen.

Curious, she made her way into the room. The sight she saw was one she never thought she would see. Super-soldier Bucky Barnes was cooking - in an apron. She couldn’t help but snort.

Bucky turned around suddenly, spatula still in hand. “Hey,” he said, still slightly startled.

“Is old man Barnes trying to become the next Gordon Ramsey?” she mocked him.

He tilted his head in confusion. “Who?”

“Never mind,” she said, walking over and sitting on the island stool. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Turning back to the pan, he shrugged. “Why would you?”

“Good point. You were too busy brooding when I met you to let anyone know anything about you.”

He ignored her comment. She didn’t know why but he tried changing the subject. “Back from a run?” She nodded. “Would you wanna join me for dinner? We are the only ones here.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “You want me to join you for dinner? What happened to your whole I’m never coming out of my room while you're around, thing you had going on?”

“I think we passed that point when you made me watch a chick flick with you.”

“I did not force you to watch that with me!”

“What was I supposed to say no?”

“Yes! You could have said no!”

Bucky sighed, not wanting to deal with the conversation once more. “Why don’t you go shower and I’ll finish up dinner, Sunshine.”

Y/n was shocked. Why was he being so calm about this? It was like the last six months of bickering and arguing never happened. “Sure,” she responded calmly before walking out of the room to get ready.

When she came back, the table was already set. Bucky was sitting at the table waiting for her, having changed too into something nicer than gym shorts and a shirt. He looked up, making eye contact with her.

Trying to hide a smile on his lips, he stood up pushing open the other chair for her. She sat down in the offered chair, him pushing it in before returning back to his own seat.

“I never knew you could be such a gentleman,” she commented. He chuckled softly making his way back over to his side of the table.

“I wasn’t raised by animals, Y/n,” he said.

“But you were raised in the early 1900s right? Are you gonna tell chivalry isn’t dead and call me doll?”

“No, I think Sunshine fits you better.”

Her cheeks started to turn red. Why did he have this effect on her? They barely knew each other.

“I still don’t know why you have the super serum or anything about you for that matter,” he said, taking a bite of the chicken piccata on his plate.

“Steve didn’t tell you?”

“I never asked.”

“Well,” she started, cutting into her chicken. “There was a Hydra scientist, Arnim Zola, who helped create the super-soldier serum-“

“I’m aware who Zola is,” Bucky cut her off, knowing that name all too well.

“Did you know he had a son?” He sat back in his chair, eyes wide. No, he didn’t know that. “Ian was only a baby when all that stuff happened to you and Steve. But when he got older, he wanted to continue his father’s legacy. I was friends with him, but, he was using a different last name. We were studying biochemistry together at ESU and I offered to be his test subject - what he didn’t tell me was that he was trying to replicate the super-soldier serum.”

Bucky crossed his arms, listening intently. He didn’t know Zola had a son, how could he? Y/n didn’t look a day older than 28 so that begged the question - how long had she been 28?

“Y/n, what year were you born?” he asked, not being able to resist.

“1945,” she answered. “During the testing, I went into apocalyptic shock. Ian told me that he was going to put me in a cryogenic freezer to prevent the reaction from spreading through my body. I guess at some point while I was in there SHEILD discovered what he was doing and went after him. All I know is that when I woke up, I was a super-soldier and it was 2012.”

“Jesus,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, I know…”

Bucky didn’t know anything about this and he knew Steve cared too much about her to talk about her past without her knowing. He wished that he knew this when he arrived at the compound instead of giving her the cold shoulder. Maybe they would have gotten along instead of forming a mutual hatred for one another.

“Enough about my brooding past,” Y/n said, leaning forward and placing her arms on the table. “Why don’t you tell me when you started liking rom coms.”

Bucky laughed at that, launching into a whole speech about how he wasn’t a fan of cheesy romance movies. The night continued on, both of them making playful banter as they finished their meals. He noticed the way her face lit up when she talked about the stuff she liked, how her nose scrunched when she laughed too hard; he liked noticing the little things.

Y/n didn’t know that he could be this nice. She could tell that event though he had gone through a lot, that suave demeanor from the 40s was still in him. As the meal came to an end, he reached over and grabbed her empty plate before walking over to the sink.

“Here,” she began picking up the glasses. “Let me help you clean up.”

“Oh you don’t have to do that-“ he protested but she did listen.

“No, it’s the least that I can do, to thank you for dinner.”

He watched as she brought the rest of the dirty dinnerware over to the sink. They stood with their shoulders touching, washing the dishes in comfortable silence.

“Okay can I ask you a more personal question?” she asked abruptly.

He turned to look at her for a moment before returning to washing. “I don’t see why not.”

“Why do you hate me?”

Bucky was taken aback by her question, setting down the plate in the sink. “I don’t hate you.”

“Maybe not now but when I arrived you most certainly did. I remember that dinner so clearly, you stared me down the entire night.”

“I-“ Bucky tried to find the words to describe how that night was for him. “That night, you sat and talked to Steve the entire time.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “So? He’s one of my best friends.”

“He was my only friend.” She looked up at him, he was trying to focus on washing the dishes. It was clear he didn’t talk about this much with other people. “He was the only one I knew in a foreign place of people who used to want me dead. I guess it felt like I was losing the only person I cared about.”

“Bucky I’m so sorry-“

“It’s not your fault,” he cut her off. “My life was changing so fast I guess I was just trying to hold on to the one thing that had stayed the same. I realized now that I had no right to be jealous.”

“You would stare at me like your eyes were made out of daggers, I didn’t want to enter the same room as you after that.”

“I thought you were afraid of me,” he said softly.

She turned his head, trying to make eye contact with him. “I never was. Why would I be?”

“Most people are.”

“Well I’m not,” she said blatantly trying to reassure him that the past was in the past, that she didn’t care how things were, but how they were now. She saw a smile creep on the corner of his lips. What could be so funny at this moment? “What?” she asked him confused.

“Well maybe you’re not afraid of me,” Bucky started, “But I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked huh?”

Y/n burst out a laugh. Of course, he would make that reference right now. She rolled her eyes as she looked back up at him, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

“Am I that transparent? I want you! I need you! Oh baby, oh baby.”

She couldn’t stop chuckling as she watch the smile take over his face and before she could register what was happening, his lips her on hers. Y/n stumbled back slightly, dropping a sponge into the sink.

His strong arms took hold of her shoulders and she tried to balance, still not processing what was happening. But as soon as the kiss began, it was over. She opened her eyes, looking directly into his. Her mouth was still partly open, wanting to say something to ease the anxious look she saw on his face.

All she could muster saying was “I-“

But Bucky quickly interrupted. “I’m sorry,” he said before quickly walking out of the room without a second thought.

Y/n stumbled forward slightly wanting to go after him, wanting to talk about what had just happened. But then her legs went still, her movement stopped and she was alone in the dim light of the kitchen, left to think about what had just happened and how everything was going to change.

DAY 5

Y/n hadn’t seen Bucky all day. She went to the gym, he wasn’t there. The kitchen, the theater room - he was nowhere to be found. She needed to talk to him after last night barely getting any sleep as she stared up at her ceiling trying to piece together what had happened.

Out of all ways, these five days were going to go, the last thing she expected was it to end with her kissing Bucky Barnes. It all went down so fast she barely had time to think of it. She could still feel the warm touch of his lips on hers, lingering from the night before. It was like anything she had ever felt before, not that she had much experience over the years.

And she liked it. She surprised herself with that one, she liked kissing Buck Barnes. Y/n always thought he was good looking and with the stories, Steve had told her he was a nice guy and she was happy that she was now starting to see that.

She needed to find him, needed him to know that he shouldn’t be sorry for kissing her, that she wanted to kiss him back. The last place that she hadn’t checked was his own room. Hesitantly, she knocked on the door.

No answers. She knocked again.

“Bucky, it’s me. Can you open up?” she asked. There was shuffling behind the door but no response. She knew he was in there and was going to talk to him no matter what. She wasn’t going to kiss him and then leave this unresolved tension for when everyone gets back that day. “fuck it,” she whispered to herself.

She opened the door anyway, surprised to find it unlocked. Entering the room she immediately found Bucky still in bed. Of course, he sleeps shirtless, she thought herself as she walked closer to him.

“Bucky you can’t stay in bed all day,” she told him, making him groan, not wanting to deal with her.

He sat up against his headboard, still not making eye contact with her as he stared at his sheets. It was clear that he thought last night was a mistake. It was probably just a heat of the moment thing for him and he felt like he ruined their new friendship. Y/n decided to make a decision.

“Listen, Bucky we don’t have to talk about last night okay? I just need someone to talk to. Meet me in the theater room? 15-minutes?” She watched as he nodded his head, still not looking up at her. “Okay,” she continued. “Get dressed I’ll see you soon.”

Almost exactly 15 minutes later Bucky walked into the theater room - she couldn’t help a small smile from forming. He approached her, hands tucked into his jeans as she stood awkwardly. Looking towards the screen, he saw that she had already picked a movie, having it ready for when he came in.

“What chick flick do you have this time?” He said, completely wanting to ignore everything that happened in the last 24 hours.

“The Proposal,” Y/n said. “Another recommendation from Wanda.”

Bucky nodded, taking a seat, leaving one chair in between them. Y/n rolled her eyes at his awkwardness, getting up and moving over next to him. There was a shift in the air as she pressed play, letting Sandra Bullock taken the screen.

The movie went on, neither of them talking as they stared intently at the screen. As Margaret and Andrew crawled into bed together, trying to keep their fake relationship a secret, Bucky felt a weight on his shoulder. He looked over to see Y/n laying her head on his shoulder, laughing along with the funny scene playing on in front of them.

He tried to focus on the movie but with her head on his shoulder, it was becoming hard to focus on anything else. Turning his head slightly he caught a whiff of her shampoo. Lavender, he thought to himself. God, she smells so good. Why did I have to go and kiss her?

Y/n shuffled again next to him, leaning in to his side more. She could feel his bicep through his arm, the one that wasn’t metal and yet it still was extremely defined. His gaze caught her eye, as she turned her head to stare at him.

They locked eyes, looking at each other with intent. She watched as his eyes flickered between her and her lips. His arm tensed beneath her as she leaned closer and closer. Maybe he didn’t want to forget the kiss after all.

Finally she decided to give in. “Fuck it,” she said.

Y/n crashed her lips on to his without a second thought. His arm immediately wrapped around her, inviting the kiss like he had been waiting for it since the moment he stepped in the room. Moving up, she crawled over the arm rest and on to his lap, the movie king forgotten in the background.

Out of breath, Bucky asked, “Thought you said you wanted to forget the kiss?”

“I lied.”

She pulled him back into the kiss. Her hands tangled through his hair as she moved her lips to get a better angle, a deeper angle. He opened his mouth more, letting their touched dance as he gripped her waist harder. He tried to pull her down more, to make them getting closer though it was not physically possible.

Suddenly, there was a booming noise, a burst of light flooded the room. Y/n buried her eyes into the crook of Bucky’s neck before looking up. Steve stood in the doorway, still all beaten up and dirty from the mission. His eyes widened at the scene before him.

“Steve!” She exclaimed. She felt Bucky’s hands grasp her waist and throw to the chair next him. “Y-You’re back!”

“Yeah,” Steve said, staying still in the door.

She fixed her hair, looking back to see Bucky adjusting his shirt. She needed to get out of here, fast. Quickly, she made her way up the alley towards Steve, shuffling past him in the doorway. “Good to see you, Steve,” she said before rushing off to her room.

Her heart was racing. It had only been an hour since Steve walked in on them but it was the only thing that was playing through her mind. Pacing back and forth in her room, she tried to remember the feeling that he had kissing Bucky. His lips on hers, his hands on his waist… it was quickly interrupted but a knock on the door.

“It’s me,” said a voice softly, a voice she had come to know very well over the pass five days.

She opened the door to see a disheveled Bucky walk into her room immediately. She closed the door behind him, turning to see him running his fingers through his hair.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said back, not knowing where this conversation would lead. “I’m sorry for running out back there… I just needed to get out I can’t explain it.”

“It’s okay, I get it…” he reassured her. “Steve hounded me with questions when you left.”

“Oh no, what did he say?”

“Just asking how long this has been going on, are we together-“ Y/n bursted out into a laugh, causing Bucky to stop embarrassed. “What’s so funny?”

“Huh?” She asked, starting to regain her composure as she realized what it looked like. “Oh no! I just can’t imagine Steve giving the what are your intentions talk, especially when we don’t know what we are.”

“Oh… I guess that’s funny.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh it just came out,” she apologized, crossing her arms against her chest.

“It’s okay, really.” He moved closer to her, reaching out to touch her arm. “Though while we’re on the apologizing chain I guess I should say that I’m sorry for being a total duck when I arrived at the compound.”

“No, I get it I just wished we had gotten closer before.”

She looked up at him, only a few inches from her face. A smiled tugged at his lips as he held her in his arms. “We’ll, I’m glad I know you now, even if you did hate me back then.”

She smiled back, knowing both of them wouldn’t be able to resist for much longer. “I could never hate you.”

At that, he closed the gap between them, bringing a hand up behind her neck. They mouths intertwined, making Y/n gasp as he moved his kisses down to her neck. She stumbled backwards with him until they hit the bed, falling backwards until he was laying on top of her.

Urgently she reached for the hem of his shirt. Realizing what she was doing, he broke away from her neck to remove his shirt. Y/n dragged her fingers along his stomach, up to his metal arm. She traced over the part where the metal met his skin, Bucky reaching her her shirt.

“So beautiful,” he growled, helping her bring her shirt over her ahead.

Once it was discarded, he attacked back at her neck again. Y/n felt her back arch at the sensation, gripping his back with all her might.

“Let me know if you need to stop okay?” He asked.

Y/n nodded, bringing his mouth back up to meet hers. As their mouths danced, she reached her hands down, trying undo his buckle. Bucky looked downs at what she was doing and, helping her take of his belt and jeans.

She leaned back on her shoulders watching him undress. Bucky smirked. “I bet you’ve thought about me naked huh?”

Y/n smiled as he crawled back on top of her. “Am I that transparent?” She asked, not a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “I want you! I need you! Oh baby, Oh baby!”

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Propuesta Indecente

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader

SMUTSMUTSMUTSMUT

The bass vibrated under your feet like a living pulse, the rooftop deck alive with glittering bodies and flashing lights. You scanned the crowd, heart racing before your eyes locked with Joaquin’s — dark, sharp, full of promise.

He moved toward you with a slow, deliberate confidence, fingers brushing your waist as he drew you close.

“¿Quieres bailar, mami?” His voice was low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your breath hitched, hips pressing into his as the music swelled.

He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear. “Tonight, mi reina, I’m going to make you forget everyone else.”

Grinding to the beat, your bodies synced, heat spreading through your veins. His hand slid down your back, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before pulling you tighter.

You matched his movements, teasing with every sway, every brush of your body against his.

A slow smile spread across his lips. “You like this, preciosa?”

You bit your bottom lip, eyes locking with his. “I like what you do to me, Papi.”

His breath hitched at the pet name, the way you said it—half teasing, half pleading.

“Dame eso, mami.” His hand slid beneath your dress, fingers exploring, staking claim.

The world around you blurred. The party, the people, the music — none of it mattered except the heat between you two.

“Let’s get somewhere quieter,” he murmured. “I want to show you exactly how much you’re mine.”

Without waiting for a reply, he tugged you toward the elevators, a wicked grin curling his lips as he whispered, “This is only the beginning, mi vida.”

——

The elevator doors slid shut behind you, sealing you in a glass box suspended between floors — just the two of you, the hum of the machinery the only soundtrack.

Joaquin’s fingers curled around your wrist, pulling you flush against him. His breath hit your neck, warm and heavy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

You pressed your body harder against his, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Show me.”

His hands slid to your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft curve beneath your dress as he leaned in, lips ghosting along your jaw.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer until his mouth captured yours — slow, demanding, tasting every inch.

The elevator jolted as it moved, but neither of you cared.

Your breath hitched when his hand slipped under your dress, tracing fire along your thigh, inching higher.

“Papi,” you whispered, voice thick with need.

He groaned against your lips. “Mami…”

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open, but Joaquin’s lips never left yours as he swept you into the corridor, eyes blazing with hunger.

“This is just the beginning,” he promised, voice low. “Wait until we get to the kitchen.”

——

The sleek kitchen was deserted, bathed in the soft glow of recessed lighting and the city lights spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows. The distant bass of the party upstairs was a muted pulse, a reminder of how close danger lurked.

Joaquin wasted no time. He pressed you against the cold marble counter, fingers tracing the curve of your spine beneath your dress.

“Tell me, mami,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Do you want to come right here? Right now?”

You swallowed hard, the thrill of being so exposed, so close to being caught, setting your nerves aflame.

“Yes,” you breathed, arching into his touch.

His hands slid beneath your dress, fingers exploring the heat of your skin as he teased and stroked, slow and deliberate.

You tugged at his belt, needing more — needing him.

He groaned low, slipping his fingers deeper as you shivered under his touch.

Then, without warning, you sank to your knees, lips closing around him with reverence and hunger. His name slipped from your mouth in a ragged gasp, and he bucked against your mouth, already lost in the delicious torment you gave him.

“Fuck, mami,” he cursed, voice thick with need. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You smiled up at him, eyes dark and playful. “That’s the point, papi.”

The cool marble pressed against your thighs as you knelt before him, lips and tongue worshipping every inch of Joaquin. His fingers tangled in your hair, steadying you, while his hips twitched with each desperate stroke you gave.

“Fuck, mami,” he groaned, voice thick. “You’re driving me crazy.”

You looked up at him, eyes dark and hungry, whispering, “Make me come later, papi. Right now, I want you.”

His breath hitched as you took more, hands roaming your curves, teasing you through the thin fabric of your dress.

When he pulled you up, spinning you around until your back pressed to the cool counter, his mouth captured yours with fierce urgency.

His hands roamed your body, fingers slipping beneath your dress to stroke you, teasing that spot that made you shiver.

“Tonight, mi reina, I’m going to ruin you,” he promised, voice low and rough.

——

 Joaquín’s mouth lingered on yours, dark and demanding, as he lifted you off the counter and carried you effortlessly toward the living room. The soft glow from the city lights painted shadows on his face, highlighting the hunger burning in his eyes.

He settled you onto the plush couch, fingers trailing along your bare thigh before slipping beneath the hem of your dress. His touch was electric, sending shivers racing down your spine.

Joaquín’s hands didn’t waste a second, his fingers trailing from your exposed thigh up beneath the fabric of your dress. The sensation was electric, making your skin flush and your breath hitch.

He leaned in close, lips grazing your jawline, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine. “Tell me, mami, how badly do you want me right now?”

You bit your bottom lip, the mix of anticipation and heat burning in your chest. “More than you can imagine, papi.”

His grin was wicked, eyes darkening with hunger. His hands roamed with purpose — tracing the curve of your hip, sliding beneath your dress to cup your ass, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together. The warmth of him was intoxicating.

Joaquín’s mouth found your neck, teeth grazing softly before he sucked a dark, bruising mark onto your skin. You gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him deeper into your space.

“Así me gusta,” he whispered. “You’re mine tonight, mi reina.”

Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, nails digging in lightly as his lips trailed lower, kissing a path down your collarbone and across your chest. His touch was both fierce and gentle, setting you ablaze with every breath and brush of skin.

You arched into him, your hips grinding against his hand as he teased you mercilessly. The world outside faded into nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths and the slick, urgent rhythm of his fingers.

“Papi…” you breathed, voice trembling. “Please, don’t stop.”

He chuckled low, voice thick with lust. “Only getting started, mami.”

With a firm grip, he pulled you fully onto his lap, pressing you flush against him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your body on fire as he captured your mouth again in a fierce, demanding kiss.

Every touch, every whispered pet name—mami, mi reina, preciosa—was a promise of what was yet to come. The night was young, and neither of you were ready to let go.

Joaquín’s hands were everywhere — one palm pressed flat against your back, holding you steady, while the other explored your curves with expert precision. You could feel the hard press of him beneath your dress, every inch begging for more.

Your breath hitched as his mouth left a trail of heated kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. His teeth nipped gently, eliciting a shiver you couldn’t hide.

“Te voy a hacer sentir cosas, mami,” he murmured against your skin. “Cosas que nunca has sentido.”

You bit your lip, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him back to claim his mouth in a fierce kiss. His tongue slid inside, matching your hunger stroke for stroke.

His hands tightened on your waist, grinding you into him as your hips rolled with his movements, the friction between you both electrifying.

“Papi…” you gasped, voice thick with need. “I want you so bad.”

He groaned, low and guttural, fingers dipping beneath your panties to stroke your most sensitive spots, sending waves of pleasure pulsing through you.

“Dime que eres mía,” he demanded, voice rough as he kissed down your neck again.

“Soy tuya,” you breathed, meeting his gaze, heat flaring between you.

His hand slipped lower, teasing, then curling inside you, making your breath stutter. You arched into him, hands clutching his broad shoulders for support.

“Así,” he whispered, “Just like that. You’re going to make me lose control.”

The couch creaked beneath you both as his hips ground harder, matching the rhythm of his fingers inside you. Every touch, every whispered pet name — mami, preciosa, mi reina — only drove you wilder.

You tangled your legs tighter around him, desperate for more as the tension built to a fever pitch.

“Papi, please,” you begged, voice trembling. “I’m so close.”

With a growl, he captured your mouth again, the taste of him intoxicating as he whispered, “Come for me, mami. Let me hear you.”

Your world shattered into sparks of pleasure as your body clenched around him, waves crashing through you again and again.

He didn’t slow, pushing you higher as he chased his own release, the sound of his groans filling the room as he finally spilled over the edge.

They collapsed together, breaths ragged, bodies slick with sweat, hearts pounding in unison.

Your limbs felt like molten fire, your body still trembling from the orgasm he pulled from you with nothing but his fingers and filthy words. But you weren’t done. Not even close.

Joaquín was still hard—aching, thick, straining behind his zipper. You could feel him twitching against your thigh as he shifted beneath you.

You dragged your fingers through his hair, tugging gently. “You gonna keep teasing me, or are you finally gonna fuck me?”

His gaze darkened instantly. Dangerous. Devoted. Desperate.

“Get on the floor,” he growled, his voice deep and rasping. “Hands and knees. Now.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

You slid off the couch, knees meeting the polished wood as he stood, eyes locked on you like you were prey. He shoved his pants down, groaning when his cock sprang free, thick and flushed and dripping.

You looked back at him with a smirk over your shoulder, arching your back slowly just to hear him curse under his breath.

“Fuck,” he hissed, kneeling behind you. “You’re already so wet for me.”

He didn’t rush. He gripped your hips with both hands, guiding you back until the blunt head of him nudged your entrance. Then—slowly, teasingly—he pushed inside.

Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

He was thick. Deep. Stretching you in the most perfect, obscene way. You could feel every inch as he sank into you inch by inch, until his hips met your ass and you were full—finally full of him.

He stayed there, just breathing hard behind you, hands tight on your waist.

“Joaquín,” you whined, rocking back against him. “Fuck me, papi.”

That broke him.

He pulled out halfway, then slammed back in hard enough to knock a moan out of your throat. And again. And again.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room. Your palms braced flat on the floor as he pounded into you from behind, each thrust harder, deeper, more punishing than the last.

“Ese es mi chica,” he groaned, his hand sliding up your spine. “Taking me so good. Tan jodidamente perfecta.”

You met every thrust with one of your own, crying out as the pleasure twisted tighter and tighter inside you.

His hand slid around your throat, not squeezing—just holding. Anchoring.

“Mía,” he growled. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped. “Papi—I’m yours.”

——

Your cheek pressed to the floor, the cool hardwood no match for the heat rolling off your skin. He fucked you like a man starved — hard, fast, filthy — each thrust driving the breath from your lungs, each drag of his cock hitting deeper than the last.

His fingers dug into your hips, holding you steady as you clawed at the floor for something to grip, moaning shamelessly as the sound of skin-on-skin echoed through the room.

“Look at you,” he rasped, leaning over you, his chest brushing your back. “Taking all of me, begging for more. You like being fucked like this, huh? Face down, ass up, dripping all over my cock?”

You moaned, arching your back harder, pushing back against him. “Yes—fuck, yes. Don’t stop, papi.”

That hand on your throat came back, a little firmer this time, just enough to make your head spin while his other snaked around your body, finding your clit and rubbing tight, fast circles.

“I wanna feel you come again,” he growled. “Wanna feel this pussy squeeze the fuck outta me.”

Your eyes rolled back, body jerking as pleasure spiked — his cock deep inside you, his fingers working you mercilessly, his grip tightening at your throat in that perfect balance of control and hunger.

“I’m—fuck, I’m coming—” you cried out, voice raw.

He didn’t stop. He slammed into you harder, chasing your orgasm with his own. Your body convulsed around him, toes curling, vision going white-hot as you shattered all over his cock, screaming his name.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, voice guttural as he followed you over the edge, burying himself deep and spilling inside with a low, desperate grunt.

He didn’t pull out right away. His forehead rested against your back as you both panted on the floor, your bodies still twitching from aftershocks.

Then his hand slid over your ass, giving it a sharp slap that made you gasp.

“Don’t get comfortable, mami,” he murmured darkly. “We’re not done.”

Joaquín pulled out slow, letting every inch of you feel the drag as he slipped free, your body shivering from overstimulation, thighs sticky with both of you. But he wasn’t finished—not even close.

He gripped your waist and helped you to your feet, only to lift you into his arms like you weighed nothing. You giggled breathlessly against his shoulder, still dizzy from the last orgasm.

“You’re insatiable,” you panted.

He grinned against your throat. “Y tú eres adictiva.”

He carried you down the hall, past the dim glow of the common area, until you reached the sleek glass-walled office off the corner. The lights from the city cast long shadows through the room—and there it was.

Tony’s ridiculous, custom-built, twelve-thousand-dollar desk.

Joaquín set you down on the edge and kissed you deep, tongue slick and possessive, hands sliding between your legs again as you leaned back onto your elbows, legs spread for him.

He looked down at the mess between your thighs and groaned. “Fuck… look at this pussy. Still wet, still twitching. You ready for another round, preciosa?”

“Come take it,” you dared, voice hoarse, smirking. “Unless you’re too tired.”

His eyes flared. “Oh, you wanna be a smartass?”

He flipped you over so fast you barely had time to react—palms flat on the smooth surface, ass in the air. You felt him line up behind you again, his cock dragging through your slick folds.

And then he slammed into you.

The sound was obscene—skin smacking against skin, desk creaking beneath the force of it.

“Papi!” you gasped, nails scraping across the polished wood. “You’re gonna break it—”

“Let me worry about the desk,” he growled, fucking into you harder. “You just worry about coming on this cock again.”

His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his lips to brush your ear.

“Say my name, mami.”

“Joaquín—fuck—Joaquín, you feel so fucking good—”

“That’s right,” he hissed, breath hot against your cheek. “This pussy’s mine tonight. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to hear you cry like this.”

He reached around, fingers finding your clit again, circling it as he thrust even harder, angling himself deeper. You cried out, legs shaking as that familiar pressure built again—sharp and hot and too much.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he growled. “One more, baby. Give it to me.”

You shattered around him again, sobbing out his name as your body convulsed, pussy clenching so tight it dragged him over the edge right after. He spilled inside you again with a groan, hips jerking as he rode out every wave.

This time, neither of you spoke for a long moment. Just breathing. Shaking. Fucked-out.

Then Joaquín leaned down and kissed your shoulder, whispering:

“…think there’s enough time to ruin that couch again before we shower?”

The desk was left in shambles—stained, creaking, an obvious crime scene of pleasure—but you didn’t even stop to catch your breath. You pulled Joaquín by the wrist back into the living space, both of you flushed, panting, half-dressed, bodies slick with sweat.

You shoved him down onto the couch with a grin that could’ve killed him.

“Sit back,” you purred, straddling him. “Let me ruin you this time.”

His head fell back against the cushions as you reached between you, wrapped your hand around him, and guided him right back inside you in one smooth, slick slide. He groaned—loud and hoarse—his hands flying to your hips on instinct.

“You’re so tight,” he gasped. “Still?”

You leaned down close, lips brushing his as you whispered, “You should’ve fucked it loose by now, Papi. Maybe you’re just not doing it hard enough.”

His growl vibrated against your throat—but you were already riding him, hard and fast, bouncing in his lap like you needed to break him apart with nothing but your body.

His hands grabbed your ass, your thighs, but you were in charge now. One of your hands wrapped around his throat, light pressure just enough to make his eyes roll back.

He choked on a moan, grinning even as he gasped, “You tryna kill me, mami?”

“You love it,” you growled, grinding your hips down with more force, more hunger. “Look at you, so pussy drunk already.”

And then—God help him—you opened your mouth.

“Spit in it.”

He blinked, breath catching.

“You want that?” he rasped, pupils blown wide.

“Do it, Joaquín.”

His eyes locked with yours, and he spit—slow, dirty, right onto your waiting tongue.

You swallowed it with a moan and laughed when he cursed under his breath like he was going to lose his mind.

“You’re gonna make me fucking come,” he warned, already trembling.

“Not yet,” you hissed, grabbing his jaw, fingers hooking inside his mouth, dragging his bottom lip down in a filthy, possessive gesture. “Not ‘til I say.”

You fucked him harder, using him, letting his cock hit deep, filthy angles inside you that made your vision spark.

And then—one palm slipped between your thighs. A slap. Quick, sharp, right to your soaked center.

You cried out, body jolting, clenching around him in surprise.

“Like that?” he panted.

“Again.”

Smack.

Your back arched violently, your nails digging into his chest as you rode harder, chasing another high that felt just beyond reach. The sound of your skin slapping against his filled the room, drowned only by the wet, breathless moans you couldn’t hold back.

“You’re my nasty little girl,” he groaned. “Fucking own me, mami.”

And you did.

You choked him again—light, loving, filthy—watching his eyes flutter as your pace picked up. Both of you right there, right at the edge, your bodies a slick mess of overstimulation and desperate need.

When he started to beg, you finally gave in.

“Now,” you gasped. “Come with me. Now.”

And you shattered. Together. His hands bruising your hips as he came inside you again, your body convulsing with one last orgasm that shook you to your soul.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you shaking, breathless, clinging to each other like you didn’t know where you ended and he began.

Neither of you said a word.

Still panting, still trembling from round two—or was it three?—you tugged him by the wrist straight into the bathroom, stepping under the hot stream like your body knew what it needed before your brain did.

You didn’t even look back.

The second the water hit your skin, steam rising around you, he followed—fully naked, flushed, and still hard, already pressing up behind you.

“You trying to kill me?” he murmured, breath hot against your shoulder as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“No,” you said, reaching behind to stroke him once, slow and firm. “Trying to drain you dry.”

He groaned—deep and hoarse—grinding into your palm like it hurt to hold back.

You turned around slowly, water trailing between your bodies, and looked at him—really looked. Hair soaked, jaw tight, lips kiss-bruised. His eyes roamed you like he couldn’t decide where to start.

And then his mouth was on yours.

Slippery. Starving.

He kissed you like it was still the first time, like you hadn’t just ridden him raw on the couch, like you hadn’t screamed his name already. Tongue deep, hands groping your ass, pressing you against the slick tile until your back arched into him.

You broke the kiss with a gasp, head tipping back. “You gonna fuck me again?”

His grip tightened.

“Right here, against this wall. You want it?”

You nodded.

He bent just enough to hook your leg up around his hip, lining himself up without hesitation—and slammed inside.

You both groaned—loud, desperate, echoing in the steam.

“Fuck,” you cried out, fingers clawing at his back. “Still so full.”

“Still so tight,” he hissed, moving inside you slow at first, then faster—rough, punishing, deep. “How are you still this wet?”

You gave a breathless laugh, eyes fluttering shut. “Because you haven’t stopped fucking me.”

He grinned, licking the water off your throat as he thrust into you harder. “Good. I don’t plan to.”

Your wet bodies slapped together, each movement messier than the last. He wrapped both arms around your thighs, lifting you fully off the floor so he could fuck you harder, deeper—your back flat to the wall, your moans echoing off the tile like a song he was desperate to memorize.

“You feel that?” he panted, forehead pressed to yours.

“Yes—yes, I feel everything—”

“Good,” he growled. “I want you sore tomorrow. I want you remembering this every time you shift in your seat.”

You whimpered, nails raking down his back.

He slammed into you once—twice—and then suddenly dropped to his knees, letting your legs slide off his shoulders as he kissed his way down your stomach.

“What are you doing?” you gasped.

He grinned up at you.

“Finishing what I started.”

And then his mouth was on you again—filthy, tongue lapping between your thighs while water streamed down his back. You cried out, one leg lifted over his shoulder, fingers tangled in his wet hair as he devoured you.

Moaning into your pussy like it tasted better every time.

Like he’d never get enough.

His tongue had barely left your clit before you grabbed him by the jaw and hauled him up.

“Get on the floor,” you growled, voice shredded and dripping with lust. “Now.”

Joaquín blinked, stunned for half a second—then smirked. “Yes, mami.”

He sank down onto the slick tile, leaning back on his elbows, legs sprawled, cock flushed and thick between his thighs. You straddled him before he could say another word, water cascading down your bodies, steam rising in waves.

“You said you wanted me sore,” you panted, grinding your soaked pussy along his length, not letting him inside yet. “Then take it.”

And then you slammed down onto him in one brutal thrust.

He choked on a gasp, head tipping back against the wall. “Shit—”

“Oh, don’t go quiet now,” you purred, circling your hips with slow, punishing control. “You said you could handle it.”

His hands gripped your thighs, trembling. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“Good.”

You rode him hard—slick, wet, unforgiving—your ass smacking against his thighs, water splashing beneath you, moans echoing off the glass. Your nails dragged down his chest as your pace built to something wild, frantic. Unhinged.

His hands came up to your hips, trying to slow you—but you slapped them away.

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed, fingers gripping the base of his throat. “You take every fucking stroke.”

His hips bucked. “Mami—”

“I said,” you gasped, grinding deep, “take it.”

You felt him twitch inside you—felt his abs contract beneath your thighs.

“Look at you,” you whispered, cupping his jaw, riding him faster now, sloppier. “So good for me. So full. You gonna come again, Papi?”

He whimpered—whimpered. You’d broken him.

“I can’t—fuck, I’m close—”

“Give it to me,” you growled, riding him like he belonged to you. “Come for me. Let me feel that cock pulse while I’m milking it.”

He came with a shout, whole body arching off the tile, cock throbbing deep inside you. You kept going, grinding through it until you tipped over too—screaming his name, walls clenching around him in the wettest, filthiest orgasm of the night.

You collapsed on top of him, both of you trembling, panting into each other’s mouths, your bodies still moving—slow now, dragging every last pulse out of each other.

After a minute, he managed to speak.

“Marry me.”

You barked out a laugh, dazed. “Shut up.”

“Deadass. You just tamed me.”

You grinned, forehead pressed to his.

“Good. Now get up so I can rinse off and fuck you again properly on that bed.”

[sunberrybarnes]

UNDRESSED ╱ with BOB REYNOLDS x READER ────⠀⠀⠀ relationships are messy things to define.

warnings explicitly implied sexual activity. reader has hair long enough to get tangled. no use of y/n or gendered language.

note this took so long i’m so sorry. i rewrote the beginning about 5 times... i hope you enjoy! title from the sombr song ‹𝟹

SWOLLEN, low hanging clouds hover over the city. Lightning strikes and thunder crashes, a cacophony of noise closing the world in. You take a sip of your drink, eyes focused out the window. You’ve been watching the storm roll in for over an hour; 2 AM has come and gone.

“Hey.”

You startle, head whipping around. Your drink sloshes wildly, licking up the edges of the glass.

“Oh, Bob,” you say, letting out a breath. “Hi.”

You wave Bob over, inviting him to join you on the couch.

“It’s dark in here,” he remarks. His sweater is curled over his fingertips, turning his hands into soft paws.

“You can turn on the lamp.” You gesture towards the lamp on the end table nearest to Bob. He pauses to flick it on before curling up next to you. His shoulder presses into yours, warm warm warm.

“What are we doing?” he asks softly. He tilts his head to rest it on your shoulder.

“Storm watching,” you reply. A few stray droplets of rain tinkle against the windows; the rain hasn’t quite made it to you yet. “I couldn't sleep, so this is my solution.”

Bob hums softly. “It’s nice.”

He smells like fabric softener and mint. It clings to his skin and clothes, pressing into you everywhere he touches. You take another, much longer sip of your drink. It’s heavy in your throat when you swallow. You wonder how nice Bob must be to hug, sweet-smelling and warm.

The rain picks up from a drizzle to a heavy pour. Bob pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it across your laps. There is nothing but the rush of rain and the burning heat where he leans against you.

The clouds outside are purple, bruised. Aching and full, spitting torrents over New York. You think of the stray bruise on your hip from hitting a table corner, skin tender. You think of darkly sucked hickies, mottling the skin like a painting.

Bob’s fingers ghost over your shirt sleeve, dipping under it just enough to wrap his thin fingers around your wrist. Your pulse jumps and sputters, trembling anew beneath his touch. He says nothing, but you know he can fel it.

There is longing wedged between your teeth, spilling bitter juice across your tongue. Your jaw tenses; it bursts like downy fruit into your mouth. It tastes like sunburns and sex.

—

Bacon sizzles in a pan on the stovetop. Your head rests limply against your palm. You never returned to your bed to sleep last night, staying up hours past Bob bidding you goodnight with a quiet whisper in your ear.

John, who wakes up rigidly at five am still, slides the bacon onto a paper towel-covered plate. He sets it on the breakfast bar in front of you, amidst a horde of other breakfast foods: toast, eggs, waffles, sausage, microwavable pancakes, biscuits and jam, croissants, cereal boxes.

He leaves with a “be back later,” off to do something he neglects to mention. You gather yourself some food but pick through it slowly, sleep deprivation making you both starving and nauseous.

It’s a while later before you see Bob again.

Yelena comes through, commenting on how she could hear Ava snoring through the walls. You laugh; she smiles. It’s easy enough, even as an ache blossoms in your chest, the beat of your heart reoriented to repeat Bob Bob Bob over and over.

He leaves his room after noon. You’ve moved yourself to the nook in the living room, into a pillowed chair hidden behind bookcases. Bob wanders over soon enough, plate of food in hand. He stops abruptly when he sees you, eyes a bit wide.

“Did you need me to move?” you ask awkwardly when he hasn’t said anything.

He quickly shakes his head, cheeks flushing a brilliant rosy color. “No, no. Sorry. Uhm. I just didn’t think you’d be up.”

He takes a seat on the floor in front of you, plate balanced precariously on his knee.

“Haven’t slept,” you admit. Bob’s brows furrow. His care for others is a lake, wide, care for himself barely a puddle. You wish you could crawl between his ribs and stitch together all the wounds that hurt him.

“How long have you been awake?”

You count off on your fingers. “Thirty…thirty-six hours, I believe?”

“You need some sleep.” His cheeks still carry a lingering blush, his eyes all doe-like and concerned. His hair curls messily around his ears. “That’s not healthy.”

“I’ll have a nap later,” you say, mostly to appease his worry. You don’t sleep very well, anymore. You usually wait until the point of absolute exhaustion, unable to keep your eyes open, borderline hallucinating, to finally settle down.

Bob eats quickly, swift and dainty bites that make him look princely. He offers you a bit, grinning sweetly. You take it, the knowledge of his mouth being the last thing to touch the fork heavy in your mind.

“We can nap together,” Bob says eventually. He plucks at a string on his shirt. “If you want?”

He looks a bit like an angel, you think. Soft skin and glowing eyes. A gentle demeanor that can easily get intense on both sides of the scale. A sweet voice and delicate bones.

“Yes,” you breathe out. His smile is like the sun.

You end up in his bed, curled like parenthesis, facing one another with restless eyes. The curtains are pulled shut, the room dim, a soft glow emanating from a lamp. The room is warm and smells like vanilla, sweet and strong. Everything feels soft and close, safe, like nothing can touch you from outside this little bubble.

A shelf of books sits in the corner, stacked with Bob’s favorites and paperbacks he’s been gifted. A candle sputters away on the top shelf, flicking shadows around. His bed sheets and blankets are soft, a variety of smooth and simple textures to not overstimulate his sensitive skin.

You think you could live here forever, so long as he stayed too.

“Your hair sticks up here,” you murmur. You thumb at a curl that pokes out from behind his ear. His hair is smooth and soft, kinked to never lay flat. Your palm brushes his cheek accidentally and he lets out a shaky sigh at the contact. His eyes remain open, fixated on yours, lids lowered, giving him a sleepy, pleased look.

“You have a freckle here,” he says. His fingers, warm, draw down along your neck. You shiver.

The two of you go back and forth like that, trading you haves as an excuse to touch, running fingers along the other’s skin. His palm rests against your neck, thumb curling to brush your collar bone. You put your hands against his chest.

You lie close enough to trade breaths now. His fans over your face sweetly. He brushed his teeth after eating; more mint. Your nose brushes his, lips only the barest bit apart.

You want him to kiss you. You want him to devour you raw.

He doesn’t.

His eyes rest on your lips, plump and soft, but he doesn’t move. You wonder if he tastes like mint, too.

You fall asleep there, hungering and aching.

—

His sheets are warm. They tangle around your legs. You come to slowly, blinking open your eyes and pushing back your tangled hair. It takes you a moment to realize Bob is gone.

With a soft groan, you shove yourself up and reach out to his side of the bed. Still warm. He’d gotten up for breakfast, or the bathroom.

You pad through the house, sleep-clumsy, narrowly avoiding doorways. The air conditioning is running; you shiver in your shorts and long sleeve tee. Bob isn’t in the bathroom—Ava is showering, loudly having proclaimed that when you’d knocked. He isn’t in the kitchen either, where Bucky and Yelena are arguing about breakfast.

“We should have crepes, yes?” Yelena demands, questioning you. She shoots a glare at Bucky. “Not eggs on toast.”

“Crepes,” you agree, though you don’t even register saying it. Bucky throws his arms up in defeat. “Where’s Bob?”

“He said something about fruit,” Yelena answers. She throws a questioning glance at Bucky.

“Wasn’t very clear,” Bucky elaborates. “He rushed out, some kind of strawberry emergency.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you only take a seat at one of the island’s stools.

Bob comes back two hours later, distinctly fruit-free.

You don’t talk about it.

—

The shower spray runs loud in your ears as you wrench through another knot in your hair. Water trickles into the drain and you try to not think of heat running down, down down.

Your mouth tastes like ash, bitter and sharp on the tongue. There’s something to be said about longing, the way it eats at you like rot until you’re suffocating, but anything that can be said already has been.

The ache in your ribs is not new; the way you hunger to touch every bit of his skin has been felt before; the images flashing through your head at night, your hand between your thighs, are a recreation of billions of loves before.

You know now that Bob tastes like hot tea spiced with cinnamon; mint on the days he chews gum. That he runs cold, always wrapping himself in warm layers. That a hug from him slows your breath and heart rate, oxytocin levels surging.

He feels like a dream, hazy and blurred at the edges, too good to stay for longer than a few hours. But the solidness of the way he feels beneath you, the rough of his palms and the chapped skin of his lips are more earthly perhaps than anything else.

You switch off the water and climb out of the tub, dripping onto the smooth floor. You wrap in a towel, gray and fraying at the edges. A swipe of the steam covering the mirror reveals your too-large pupils and flushed skin.

Sometimes you dream of Bob and the stars.

Other times you dream of gasps falling from his lips, sweeter than honey.

—

An oversized pot of soup bubbles away on the stovetop, the scent slowly creeping throughout the floor. You stir it slowly, watching the way it bubbles. Most of the team had gone off on a mission earlier, soon to return, leaving you, Bob, and Bucky in the Tower.

You’re fairly sure Bucky is passed out in his room, exhausted from helping with a variety of things. Bob, however, sits at the breakfast bar, sketching away in a small journal.

You think he might be drawing you.

But that’s probably just your heart hoping.

“Do I get the first bowl?” Bob asks with a smirk. He knows the other will arrive in a matter of minutes; they’ll be exhausted and falling upon the food with tongues lolling.

You shoot him a look. “If you want to fight off a hungry Yelena, be my guest.”

Everyone knows better than to get between the Widow and her food. Especially after a mission, where she often collapses until she garners the strength to shower off the job.

When Ava, John, and Yelena arrive ten minutes later, you and Bob hand them wide bowls filled to the brim with a mix of vegetables and chicken swimming in broth. You manage to grab your own bowls, quietly sipping away while sitting on the kitchen floor, not wanting to disturb the others who have spread themselves across the living room.

Bob grins at you over the rim of his bowl. A bit of carrot sticks to his upper lip as he takes another sip of broth.

“This is really good,” he says. “My compliments to the chef.”

You grin back and lean forward, close enough for your chest to bump his dish. His pupils go wide, a blush spreading across his cheeks. You scoop the bit of carrot off his lip with your index finger and slide it into your own mouth with a grin.

“The chef says thank you very much.”

“That’s—what—that wasn’t fair,” Bob stutters. “It’s bad form to make someone think you’re about to kiss them and then not.”

You raise a teasing eyebrow. “Oh? Are you interested in a kiss then, Mr. Reynolds?”

His blush darkens, spreading to the tips of his ears, but his gaze remains firmly on yours. “Yes, I am, in fact.”

You carefully take his bowl from him and set it aside on the polished wood floor. His breath shakes as you lean in close again, resting your hands against his knees.

“I like you,” you whisper softly, grinning like a little kid.

“I like you too,” he responds, breathless. You laugh and lean in, lips meeting sweetly, a rush of rightness and satisfaction flooding over you.

—

Sunlight curls around the room, puddles on the wooden floor. Everything is quiet. There’s only the hum of the air conditioner and the rustle of book pages from Bob. You tilt your head back to look at him, the soft scrunch of his brows and the twist at the corner of his mouth.

You think: He’s not made for Earth. He’s something else entirely, pure and holy in a way a person could never be.

You know of his past, heard spoken in hushed confession under the blanket of night, curled with covers pulled over your heads like a confessional. Bare skin against bare skin, trembling, overwarm, sore.

I don’t deserve this, he’d said.

You had traced a finger over the line of his nose, skin warm and damp, flowers at dawn, bending together in wait of the sun.

Stay anyways, you’d replied.

You push yourself up from your spot on the floor.

“What book is this?” The cover faces you; you trail a finger along the top of the pages. Your eyes on Bob’s. He looks up. His breath hitches for a moment before he clears his throat and looks down.

“It’s, um. It’s Moby-Dick.”

”Any good?” The skin of his neck is soft. You want to sink your teeth in and hold.

You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His eyes flit to yours and back away again.

”I like it so far,” he says. His voice is quieter now. His gaze hooks on your lips. Your canines poke out just a bit, digging into your bottom lip.

For a long moment, there is nothing but your breaths mingling. Your hand curls around his on the book, slowly lowering it to his lap.

“What are we doing?” you murmur. “One moment I think we’re the most in love anyone has ever been and the next we’re tip-toeing around each other like we just had an affair.”

Bob winces. His eyes cast downwards. “I’m not very good with feelings.”

“You don’t have to be,” you say softly. “Just let me know if we can be a thing, or if friends are a better option for us.”

“I want to be a thing,” Bob rushes out. His cheeks go red with blush. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed if I can’t handle things sometimes, or most times.”

You brush his hair off his forehead and press a gentle kiss there. “You could never disappoint me. Not like that.”

He offers you a watery smile and you grin back, ignoring the tears pricking your eyes.

“Partners?” you ask, holding your hand out. Bob chuckles and grabs your hand.

“Partners,” he agrees.

reblogging supports your writers !

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Begining of a beautiful friendship Sebastian Stan as Winter Soldier // Anthony Mackie as Sam Wilson Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014)

[fandomnerd9602]

Y/N knocks on the Maximoff house door, holding a bouquet of roses…

Y/N: you got this. you got this. All you gotta say is Maximoff, will you go to prom with me?

Pietro opens the door right as Y/N says that…

Pietro: thanks but I do not like you in that way

Y/N: not you!

Wanda walks out and gasps…

Wanda: (squeals) oh detka! Yes!! Yes!!!

Wanda jumps into Y/N’s arms…

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

I was wondering if you could write a steve rogers x reader where the reader wants to move in with steve but due to his 1940s values he doesn't want her to move in. How-ever she begs him over months and months, how-ever he doesn't stop telling her 'no', and then she starts sneaking her stuff in his apartment. and he finally gives in.

Sneaky » Steve Rogers/Captain America

Pairings: Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You want to move in with Steve, but he doesn’t want you to move in yet so you start sneaking your stuff in his apartment and then he finally gives in and lets you move in.

Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the lovely request @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers 🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

You and Steve have been dating for a little over a year. You’re always spending time at his apartment. It got you thinking. Why not move in together? It’s a great idea. At least that’s what you think.

“What’s on the pretty mind of yours?” Steve asks softly.

“I’ve been thinking about the next step in our relationship that we’ll both love.” You say.

“Mind telling me what it is?” He asks curiously.

“I should move in with you!” You say excitedly and happily.

Steve didn’t say anything. He just stared at you.

“What? You don’t want me to move in with you?” You asked nervously.

“No! It’s not that. It’s just- I don’t know how to explain it.” Steve says.

“I’m here all the time. I basically live here.” You say.

“I love having you here.” He says softly.

You could sense that Steve was beating around the bush about you wanting to move in with him.

“You don’t think we’re ready to live together yet, do you?” You say.

“It’s not that, sweetheart. It’s just hard to explain.” He says.

“It’s ok. I think I get it.” You say, looking down.

Steve gently grabs your hand, getting your attention.

“Please don’t be upset with me, honey.” Steve says softly.

“I’m not upset with you, Stevie.” You said. “I just love the idea of us living together.” You say.

“I love the idea of that too, but I don’t think we’re quite there yet.” He says.

“You could’ve just said that.” You say.

“That probably would’ve been a good idea.” He says.

Steve left to go to a meeting at the Avengers compound shortly after that. You got to thinking. If you move your stuff into Steve’s apartment little by little, he won’t notice, right? Unless if he catches you taking your things in his apartment. The best time you can do that is when he’s at the compound and when he’s on missions.

You started with a little bit of your stuff so he doesn’t notice right away. You leave your clothes in his bedroom almost all the time so you know he won’t have a problem with it. You made sure to have your clothes blend in with his clothes so he didn’t notice right away. You were finishing up putting your clothes away when Steve got home.

“Hi, Stevie.” You greeted him with a kiss.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Steve kisses you back. “How was your day?” He asks.

“Good. I just hung out here all day.” You tell him. “I was about to make dinner.” You say.

“What are we having for dinner?” He curiously asks.

“Your favorite.” You say.

“Technically, everything you make is my favorite, sweetheart.” He says, making you blush.

“You’re so sweet.” You say, kissing him softly.

While you were making dinner, you thought about asking Steve if you can move in with him. You were so caught up with thinking about what it would be like to live with Steve that you didn’t hear him come into the kitchen. You were brought back to reality when Steve wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and gave you a kiss on your cheek.

“What’s on that pretty mind of yours?” Steve asks softly.

“I was thinking about you.” You say, leaning against him.

“Anything specific?” He asks.

“Moving in with you.” You say.

Steve sighs and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“You know how I feel about that, sweetheart.” Steve says.

“I know. I just thought maybe you gave it some thought and you changed your mind.” You say.

“I did give it some thought, but I didn’t change my mind.” He says.

“Ok.” You mumbled.

Little does Steve know that you’re going to continue to move your stuff into his apartment without him knowing.

———

Months go by and you’re still asking Steve if you can move in with him. You’re still moving your stuff into his apartment without knowing.

“Baby, please!” You begged. “I want to move in with you.” You say as you followed Steve around the apartment as he was about to leave to go to the compound.

“You keep asking me the same question and you know the answer to it.” Steve says.

“I just love you is all.” You say, pouting up at your boyfriend and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He almost whispers, kissing you softly. “I’ll see you later, ok?” He says.

“Ok.” You replied.

You watched your boyfriend leave the apartment, grinning to yourself after he closed the door. You went to your place to get more of your things to sneak into Steve’s apartment shortly after he left. After you got more of your stuff, you began to organize it when you got to Steve’s apartment. You put a framed picture of you and Steve on the nightstand that’s on the side of the bed you sleep on.

Meanwhile, Steve was at the compound, thinking about you moving in with him. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t he Bucky talking to him.

“Steve?” Bucky says, waving his hand in front of Steve’s face.

“What?” Steve asks, looking at his best friend after he was brought back to reality.

“You ok?” Bucky asks.

“Of course I am. Why?” Steve asks.

“You looked like you’re in outer space a few seconds ago.” Bucky says.

“I was thinking about something Y/N keeps asking me.” Steve says.

“What did she ask you?” Bucky asks.

“She keeps asking me if she can move in with me.” Steve tells him.

“I’m not telling you what to do when I say this, but I think it’s a great idea for her to move in with you.” Bucky says.

“You think so?” Steve asks.

“Of course, man. Y/N loves you more than anything in this world. She’d be the luckiest woman alive to live with you.” Bucky says.

After hearing Bucky say that, Steve thinks it’s a great idea for you to move in with him. He would love nothing more for you to live with him.

“I’m going to tell Y/N that she can move in with me.” Steve says with a smile.

“Let me know how it goes.” Bucky smiles as he watches Steve leave the compound.

Before going home, Steve bought you your favorite bouquet of flowers.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!” Steve announces as he walks in the apartment.

“Hi, Stevie!” You greeted him with a soft kiss on his lips. “What are the flowers for?” You asked.

“You.” He says, handing them to you.

“Really? You’re so sweet.” You smiled, kissing him again.

You went to the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase of water. Steve followed you in there.

“I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been asking me. I think it’s a great idea for you to move in with me.” Steve says.

“Wait, really?” You asked.

“I would love for you to move in with me.” He says.

“Oh my god! Yes!” You exclaimed excitedly.

You threw yourself in Steve’s arms and kissed him passionately.

“You have no idea how much I love you right now.” You say happily.

“I already know how much you love me. I love you the same.” Steve says softly.

Steve kisses you again.

“Oh and by the way, I seen that you moved some of your stuff here.” Steve says.

“Are you mad?” You asked.

“No. I could never be mad at you, sweetheart.” He said softly. “I just didn’t know how sneaky you are.” He says.

“You love me for it, right?” You asked.

“You know I do.” He says with a smile and kisses you once more.

-Bucky’s Doll

[avengerscompound]

Chris Evans as Steve Rogers AVENGERS: ENDGAME

[yellenabelova]

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