xxeatualivexx

[xxeatualivexx]

Drowning out the Sorrow

Word count: 6.9k

Pairing: (FATWS)Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: When you're lost in the chaos of battle, Bucky panics, desperate to find you. As you come to terms with your impending death, you reflect on how you once asked of it; and who will save you now.

Warnings: violence, suicide and mentions of alcoholism, depression, and miscarriage. guys this one is kind of heavy and full of angst. I'm sorry :(

Notes: hi. I'm back after not posting last weekend. this fic has given me so much trouble and I'm not sure if I'm entirely pleased with it. BUT, it's finally finished so here we are. it's very angst centric so make sure to have your favorite snack for comfort.

(also, the fight scene at the beginning was written before I rewatched fatws so it's not entirely accurate to the series. but for context, it's loosely based off the truck fight in ep. 2)

enjoy reading :)

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“Where is she?”

Bucky’s voice is a growl, threatening despite the pure panic he feels. You were nowhere to be seen, the chaos of the Flag Smashers and John Walker surrounding him on the half-destroyed bridge. 

He looms over Walker, grabbing the collar of his suit, that awful suit, a distasteful and ugly copy of something which he had once associated with hope and which now sat as a misused relic in the man’s hand. 

Walker’s eyes widen as his feet are lifted off the ground, just for a moment, just long enough for Bucky to remind him how he could pummel the so-called “Captain America” into the ground if he felt like it. He repeated the question, his voice straining against the lump in his throat, the worry of your missing person overwhelming all his senses. 

“Where is she?”

“I-I don’t know. Her comms went quiet before she was attacked by the big one.”

“Well, get her to talk,” Bucky releases the man with a jerking motion, pacing around the small patch of broken concrete as John holds a hand to his earpiece, calling your name.

It was killing Bucky that his only contact with you was through someone else. 

Why had he let you go on this mission?

It wasn’t really his decision to make. Where you were sent was up to the government; a part of your pardon during the blip to work as a contracted agent, following their orders and going where they sent you. He hated having to say goodbye to you every time they emailed you another target, another recon mission, another gala to spy on. 

And now, you had been sent with the new Captain America, your skills as a spy necessary in gathering information on the Flag Smashers. And you were missing in the midst of the battle. 

From above a sound of an engine rumbling comes into the fray. 

Bucky glares against the bright sun, half covered by the billowing smoke from the fire on the other side of the bridge, watching as Sam soars, touching down onto the bridge, feet coming into contact with one of the Super Soldiers as he charges into view. He’s pushed over the bridge and into the water, a large splash following his fall. 

Sam moves towards Bucky, out of breath.

“What’s going on?”

“John lost her.” Bucky doesn’t have to specify who ‘her’ is. The venom in his voice is enough for Sam to know you are nowhere to be found. The man looks around, watching as John calls out for you again.

“If you can hear me say anything. We just need to know you’re still alive.”

“Buck, she’s strong. She can hold her own against a super soldier. She’s taken you on plenty of times before.” Bucky shakes his head, eyes desperately searching the bridge for any sign of you.

“You don’t understand Sam.” 

He couldn’t understand. Bucky barely understood it himself. He only had suspicions. 

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It started when you had begun to avoid the medical bay check ins after your missions, arguing you would rather come home to see Bucky and have him patch you up than wait hours for a computer to tell you needed a bandage and a pack of ice.

Then, there was the way you would pass out in the afternoons. You weren’t a nap person, claiming you needed total darkness and quiet to fall asleep. But there you were, head in his lap as you’d watch a movie together, soft snores escaping your lips as you slipped into sleep, Bucky running his hand down your arm in languid motions.

There was the hunger. Bucky had found you sneaking into the kitchen at night for a helping of brownies or a slice of toast. And at meals you’d finish your entire meal, when typically you’d leave some for him to polish off.

And to juxtapose your significantly increased appetite, he would find you sometimes leaving the bathroom wiping your mouth, trying to hide the sweat along your forehead and the shakiness in your hands. You’d kiss him when he’d ask if you’re alright. 

“Of course. Right as rain.” 

But you couldn’t do much to hide the lingering smell of stomach acid in the bathroom.

Bucky could only suspect what was going on, reading between the lines of what he was observing. 

He’d almost had them confirmed. Almost. 

You had come home after a week long mission, flinging yourself onto him as soon as you had come in the doorway, hands sliding up his shirt, his own fingers making quick work of the zipper on your tactical vest. 

It was a slow and passionate night, soft noises of love and longing echoing in the dark bedroom. 

Bucky had laid beside you, his hand coming to rest on your side, bare beneath the cool sheets. And it was there he had noticed. In the week you had been away, your body had changed. Maybe it had been changing before, but the separation had made it all the more prominent.

He had looked at you, feeling the way your hips curved into his hands more, your chest a bit fuller, cheeks glowing as if you’d been kissed by the sun. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing you need to tell me?” He had whispered into the dark of your shared bedroom. 

You had looked at him, eyes glassy in the moonlight. 

“James…” 

“You can tell me anything, doll. Anything. I’m here for you.” He could see you were thinking over your words carefully. 

“There is something I need to tell you,” you whispered, eyes vacant and avoiding his own face. Bucky had touched your cheek, bringing your gaze back to him. You had looked so sad, although he hadn’t thought that in the moment. “It’s nothing bad, just… complicated.”

“Okay,” he had nodded. 

“And I want to tell you, but I just can’t say anything yet. Not while I'm still under the contract.” You had whispered the last part so quiet, even with his enhanced hearing he almost missed it. 

Under the contract. The one which you were to complete in a few weeks.

The one you would be free from unless you had to take a break and which you would have to restart. And there was only two reasons you for you to take a break:

A. you had fallen injured on a mission and needed over a month to recover.

B. you had fallen pregnant. A strange caveat, one Valentina De Fontane had personally seen to include in your contract. 

Bucky had taken a shuddering breath, nodding. He had looked into your eyes, trying to tell you without words that he understood. He knew why, or he thought he knew why, and you weren’t alone.

You weren’t alone.

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Bucky ducks as a car goes flying in his direction, trying to not hurl as he’s overwhelmed by your absence. Where on earth were you?

Sam flying above him, coming down to punch another Flag Smasher as they charge forwards, Walker’s shield whizzing by and hitting another as he flings himself over onto the bridge.

Something runs by in the smoke. 

Bucky squints trying to catch a clear glimpse of what it is. A small figure darts behind a truck, crouching. He sees a Flag Smasher, tall and muscular, looming towards the figure. There’s a gunshot and the Smasher’s shoulder jerks back, a cry resounding from across the bridge.

Bucky’s heart skips a beat as he sees the small figure move from the truck, leaping over it and sprinting towards the van the Flag Smasher’s had been protecting. 

It was you. 

Bucky moves towards your direction. Watching as you glance at him, hand moving towards your ear. He watches as you mouth something and then disappears into the van.

“Bucky, she’s going after the supply van they stole. She says to be ready to run-” 

Walker’s words are lost as a Flash Smasher runs into Bucky.

Bucky hadn’t seen him coming, too focused on finding you and making sure you were alright. The enhanced soldier’s weight is crushing, and Bucky is thrown off balance, feet shuffling unsteadily backwards towards the edge of the bridge.

He grits his teeth, pushing back, straining against the effort of the brute force. His metal fingers grip the vest of the enhanced soldier and he lifts the man, bringing him down with a swinging arch, crushing the concrete below with the impact. 

A girl runs by, and Bucky can pick up the sound of ticking. He watches as she fumbles with something, a small package, a clock, a- 

It’s a bomb. 

“Sam!” Bucky yells, running for the girl. Sam soars up higher, twisting in mid air and diving down towards the girl.

“I see her.” Bucky has almost reached her when he sees John moving from the corner of his eye.

“I got it,” he says as Bucky yells at him to stop. John reels back his arm, flinging the shield at the girl, the impact knocking her down, the bomb flying from her hand.

Time seems to slow for a moment, and all Bucky can focus on is the van you are in, the bomb landing barely 10 feet from it. 

All is quiet for a second. And then there is nothing but the ringing of his ears, and the fiery heat blowing him off the edge of the bridge.

The last thing he sees as his feet leave the concrete is the van you were in start moving, the light flickering on, wheels squealing as the van moves to avoid the destruction of the bomb. 

But the hulking Flag Smasher is back, blood streaked down his body, and he runs into the van, flipping it until it comes to a rolling stop, teetering over the edge. 

Bucky falls, screaming your name.

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You painfully open your eyes, head pounding from where it had come into contact with the steering wheel. You can feel blood trickling from your nose, your eyes watering. 

Your breath quickens and you try not to scream, eyes widening as the dark water below the bridge meets your vision. The van is creaking around you, and you dare not breathe too heavy; You don’t dare to move, or let the van come crashing down into the murky water with you in it. 

Not that you could move anyways.

You groan, feeling pressure around your abdomen, the driver’s seat all the way forward till your torso was pushed painfully against the steering wheel.

Your hand comes down slowly, fingers feeling your belly through your tactical vest. They come in contact with something sharp, something poking through your abdomen, and you feel the tears forming as you realize what this means. 

It was just supposed to be a recon mission.

You had stood in the doorway of your bedroom, eyes glued to the email on your ipad as you read over the details. John would be the showman, using his persona as the new Cap to try and smooth things over while you snuck in the shadows, digging for any useful information on the Flag Smasher’s hideouts.

But things never turn out how they’re supposed to, do they. 

That’s how you had wound up running into Bucky and Sam, the door of the truck you had snuck onto being thrown open, your husband hanging in the opening as you sped down the highway. 

“What are you doing?” You had yelled.

“Rescuing you!” 

“No, you shouldn’t be here!” 

That was how John had tracked them down, using your location and following you, deciding to take out as many Flag Smashers as he could. It didn’t matter what bridges he burned or property he damaged. As long as he had the victory at the end of the battle. 

As long as the name Captain America still shone proudly in the wake of destruction.

Your cover had been blown, and as the vehicles had come to a crashing stop on the bridge, chaos erupting in a clash of fists and fire, you had tried to find a way to get everyone out alive.

The van the gang had stolen, still filled with food and supplies, had been mostly undamaged. You had made your way towards it, hidden in the shadows and silhouettes of the cars, avoiding the fight, only making a move when you had to.

Not your usual style, and it killed you that you weren’t by Bucky’s side. 

But it wasn’t just yourself you had to think of. Keeping yourself safe and out of harm's way was more important to the small life you were harboring deep in your womb.

A sob escaped your mouth as you tried to push back against the van’s seat. 

Your baby. 

In under a minute, you had gone from jumpstarting the van, feeling its engine roar to life, a smile on your face, hope rising on escaping unscathed. And then you had gone flying, a brute force barreling into the van,  your hands gripping the window and seat as you tried to secure yourself in its rolling metal shell. 

You had been so close to getting out of there. So close to finishing the job and signing your Pardon’s contract in its close, being able to start fresh with Bucky after the turbulence of the Blip’s aftermath. 

But that future’s possibility was slowly diminishing as blood pooled in your lap. And despite the hope you clung to, you knew the chances of you saving your baby now were bordering on the lines of magic and miracles, not science. 

Behind you, there's a loud noise and the van groans, shifting forward. You scream as a large metal canister comes flying down, hitting the windshield with a clang. A line cracks onto the bullet proof glass and you look back, the large muscular Flag Smasher standing menacingly, a gun clutched in his fist, shoulder leaking blood.

You watch as he takes a step forward, the van shifting again, the sound of rubble and concrete outside crumbling.

“Don’t!-”  your words are swallowed by your silent scream. As the Flag Smasher shifts his weight, the van goes tipping forward off the bridge.

The force of the fall leaves the man tumbling forward, his gun going off, the bullet bouncing off his mask, spraying blood and brains onto the seat beside you, his body falling limp. 

You scream as the van plummets downward.

You hit the water with a hard force, your body thrown with a painful jerk as your seat is dislodged. The back doors shut closed, the water swallowing the van whole, the heavy metal sinking deeper and deeper into the water.

You groan as you sit up from your new position, throwing the body of the now dead Flag Smasher off of you with a grunt. 

There’s blood everywhere, making your fingers slick and the ground wet. Wet. 

You look down. There’s already water rushing into the van, cold and icy. It’s barely Autumn and the river under the bridge had already begun to grow frigid with the changing season. 

Despite the pain, you push yourself to move, the water already seeping into the bullet proof windshield from the crack, water rushing around your boots.

You stand, hand coming to support your bleeding abdomen, and you begin to crawl upwards, grabbing the back of the van’s seats for purchase. 

The back doors are shut tight and when you push against them, they don’t budge. Your ears are ringing, already the pressure is getting to your head. Your lip trembles, from the pain, from the cold, from the fear. You hold onto the door handle, sliding down onto your bottom, exhaustion coming over you.

There is a creaking sound and you can see the water begin to rise faster, swallowing the body below by the front of the van, slowly making its way towards you. Death, crawling in waves. 

“John,” you try your comms. “JOHN!” You scream his name. Nothing but the static quiet breaches the earpiece.

“BUCKY! SAM!” You sob, pushing against the door again, your efforts in vain. 

“BUCKY!”

There is no escape. Not this time. 

And to think you once asked for this. 

You push the thought out of your brain, taking a deep and shuddering breath. Now was not the time to dwell on your past. Especially the parts that keep you up some nights. 

You didn’t want your last moments to be stuck on that memory,

The lake lapping below the deck, your hair whipping in the wind as you look back at the Avengers compound, looming empty and barren from across the snowy lawn. One last look at the life you had. Or could have had.

You step forward, bare feet hanging over the deck now. 

You take a shuddering breath, eyes closing, and let yourself fall in- 

The water in the van is now up to your waist, the air space becoming tighter. Already it was getting harder to breath, harder for your lungs to gather oxygen. You’re shivering, fingers trembling as you hold your belly. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes, lip quivering as tears slide down your face. 

The water begins to close around your chest and you’re shivering, the cold seeping deep into your bones. 

You were all alone. Alone with nothing but the water, the dead Flag Smasher, and your thoughts. 

Alone. 

That was how it had begun. Wasn’t it? 

The loneliness. 

The blip had taken away your friends. Your family. Bucky-

Stop. 

You shake your head, exhaling deeply as you try and push against the door, wasting both your energy and your time. It was useless. Useless. 

Just like you when you tossed yourself into the lake,

“Stop,” you cry, pleading with yourself. Pleading with no one. “Stop, please. I just want Bucky. All I want is to see him again.”

If you could just see him one more time, feel the warmth of his hand against your cheek, the soft scruff of his stubble when he kisses you.

You just wanted to see him once more-

-Once more was all you were asking. 

You sat on the dock, watching the lake. Your eyes clouded over, lost in thought as you had been for the many months since Thanos had taken everything. Since he had brought your whole world crashing down. 

It had been two years. 

Two years of chaos. Two years of trying to pick yourself up like a broken puzzle, trying to piece together the parts of you left over, and create a new picture. 

Two years of loneliness so strong, not even the alcohol you’d started drinking could take away the pain.

You weren’t like Steve. No matter how many of his meetings you went to, no matter how you threw yourself into your new job or made sure to show up at the Avengers Compound for check-ins, the feeling still remained. 

You weren’t like Natasha. Fighting seemed useless now, just a thing to pass time. Even though the government had secured a pardon for you, issuing you a contract for you to earn your place back in society, you often wondered what you would even have to go back to.

The therapy sessions your friends encouraged you to go to did little to help. You’d sit in the small office, the older woman across from you telling you how important it was to move on, to let go. To face the reality that you weren’t alone, that you had friends who loved you, a job which kept you secure, a life people would exchange in a heartbeat. 

You hadn’t disappeared. And that should be enough. 

You would nod during each session, eyes glazed over, fingers picking at the scabs surrounding your ripped nails. And then when it was finally finished, you would walk to the store, pick up a new bottle of wine or vodka to try, slip into the dark bathroom of your empty apartment and just sit in the dark. Drinking. Wishing you could forget. 

Laying on the cold tile, your head spinning, thoughts spiraling. And the loneliness remained.

At one point you had tried. You had paid attention to your therapy sessions, you’d thrown away the alcohol and the reminders of the life you’d once had in Wakanda, you’d been intentional in visiting Nat at the Compound, trying to feel like the smile on your face was genuine.

And then Steve had set you up on a date. And you’d stood in front of your bathroom mirror, watching as the minutes ticked by, hours past when you were supposed to leave. 

You threw off the dress- the dress Bucky had picked out for you, the one you had first kissed in- and you crawled into the shower, laying beneath the freezing cold water. 

You had cried so hard you’d had to cancel your next mission assignment, the blood vessels all burst in your face. 

You knew your friends could see you struggling. 

Natasha called you every night, texting you goodnight when you refused to answer. Steve would pick up your laundry, would drive you to the compound and place a container of takeout in front of you, encouraging you to eat. 

They let you stay over, watching you like a bomb about to explode. 

“You can talk to me you know,” Nat would whisper as she sat on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor next to you, your body hunched over the toilet as you threw up. 

“There’s nothing left to say,” your breath stale, lips stained red from wine.

Steve would glance at you, watching as you pick at your nails, making a small joke to try and get you to laugh. And you would, but he could see the way your eyes stopped shining, the way the kindness slipped away, leaving only a void of sadness. 

The way when you all were together for dinner, even the overhead lights seemed to dim above you, the conversations seemed to drift around you, as if you weren’t really there at all.

You walked past their room one night, when they had insisted you stay at the Compound, stopping as you heard your name.

“I just don’t know what to do with her. I feel like I’ve done everything I can. I’m just so tired of trying-” 

You just walk back to your room, letting Natasha’s words die with the distance. You slip under the covers and breathe heavily.

You didn’t want to be a burden. Didn’t want to feel so useless anymore. 

You wanted to move on, to feel better. You wanted to wake up from this dream you’d been walking in, clear the fog from your mind.

But how could you, when all you wanted was to see him. To see Bucky. 

Even if it was just one last time.

You didn’t want to be so lonely anymore. So burdensome. 

You didn’t want to feel like your life was happening without you, like every room you walked in would be just the same if you’d never even been there.

Maybe everyone would be better off if you just… disappeared. 

You stood on the dock, the Avengers compound looming behind you, cold and empty. Snow fell steadily around you, into the freezing lake. But you didn’t feel it. 

Everything was numb, pale, lifeless. 

You take one look back at the compound, where you knew Steve and Natasha lay together in bed, clinging to one another. You just wanted one more moment like that. Wanted to see Bucky one last time. 

You eye the frigid water, your nightgown clinging to your skin as you take a step forward.

Your lip trembles as you take another step. 

And then another, your toes at the edge of the dock. A voice pricks your ears, faraway and desperate. You just look straight up, watching the snow fall.

And then you take a final step, letting yourself fall in, disappearing into the dark water below. 

Icy. Frigid. Numb. 

You let the darkness swallow you, and it’s painful- 

- Your lungs burning as the icy water engulfs you, filling the van. Your limbs grow heavy as you fight against the doors of the van, blood spilling into the water around you. Your strength leaches out of you as the cold takes over, as the numbness becomes too consuming.

You try, but it’s no use. Death is crawling towards you, clinging onto your baby and you, cradling you in the water.

It’s all familiar, as your eyes begin to blur, your hair floating around your head, body weightless in the water. 

And as it goes dark, you wonder if there will be somebody to save you again.

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Bucky plummets down towards the water, his limbs flailing as he tries to grab purchase of something. Anything. 

It’s the train all over again, a cold and painful death waiting below him. 

And then he sees Sam above him, wings angled down as he arches in the air, flying to reach Bucky as he falls. Sam grunts as he grabs hold of Bucky’s metal arm, straining as he pulls the both of them up, high above the bridge. 

Bucky immediately locks onto the surface of the highway, eyes searching for the van you were in. Panic takes hold as its absence sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Sam, where’s the van?”

“The what?” The man looks down at him, adjusting his grip. 

“THE VAN SAM! THE ONE WITH MY WIFE-” Bucky screams, thrashing in Sam’s arm. As if falling again would help.

Sam sends off redwing, his feet touching down on the bridge, holding Bucky’s arm tight, to remind him running off and jumping into the water wouldn’t do anything if he didn’t know where to look for you. Bucky removes his arm with an aggressive tug, his chest heaving with worry. 

He moves towards the edge of the bridge, watching redwing zoom about, ignoring whatever was happening with Walker and the remaining Flag Smashers. 

That didn’t matter right now. All he cared about was getting you back. Getting you home safe. 

Safe. 

He couldn’t live with himself if something happened to you. Or to-

“There.” Bucky turns his head back to Sam so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. Sam jogs up next to him, leaning over the edge. He points down into the water, where redwing hovered over the bubbling surface, a dark shadow sinking below. “She’s down there-”

Bucky doesn’t let him finish before he’s taking a large breath, diving. His body barrels down into the water with intense speed, metal arm dragging him down. It’s dark beneath the surface. Cold. 

He swims towards the sinking van, metal hand gripping the handle of the back door. Bucky tugs and pulls, but it’s useless. Even with his metal arm, it’s shut tight by the pressure.

He moves around to the windshield window instead, objects floating out of it. It’s been shattered open, and Bucky can only hope you’re adept at holding your breath.

His own lungs were beginning to burn, his head pounding with the pressure of the water. It’s freezing, his face going numb as he searches the inside of the vehicle.

Bucky moves into the van, pushing himself to move faster as he spots you. It’s as if his heart stops beating.

Your eyes are closed, lips already blue. You float weightless, hair above your head like a halo. He can see the watery trail of red seeping from your abdomen. 

Bucky pulls you to him by your wrist, holding onto you as he swims out of the van, clutching you tightly as he pushes himself towards the surface. His lungs burn, muscles aching as he fights against the water, against the heaviness of his arm and your body weighing him down. 

And then there’s movement in the corner of his eye, and Sam is there, pulling you out of his arms. Bucky protests at first but quickly understands. 

You’ve been under for too long already. And with his metal arm, he wouldn’t get you to the surface fast enough. He lets Sam take you out of his hold, the man kicking his legs, sending the two of you up towards the surface.

Towards air. Towards your saving grace. 

Bucky pushes himself up, breaking through the surface with a gasping breath. His eyes dart around as he looks for Sam. The man is already swimming towards the small rock surface jutting into the water beneath the bridge, your head bobbing lifelessly besides him. 

Please don’t let her die. Please-

Bucky’s prayer is the only thing running through his head as he gasps, pulling himself up onto the rock. He scrambles towards your body, splayed out on the rock, water running off of you. Sam stands there, laying you down, your chest remaining still, body dripping wet. Bucky is quick to tear open your vest, hands coming down on top of you-

-pressing down hard, beginning chest compressions.

“Come on, come on!” Steve’s voice is loud across the empty lawn, Natasha teary eyed, squatting next to your lifeless form as Steve tries to resuscitate you, his blonde hair dripping, arms soaked with cold.

Steve yells your name, as if it can bring you back. He’d promised he would look out for you. That he’d keep you safe. But how was Steve going to keep you safe from yourself? 

“You can’t leave-”

“-not like this doll. You can’t leave me yet.” Bucky pinches your nose, blowing air into your mouth, willing his breath to reach your lungs. Sam turns, pulling out his waterlogged phone, cursing when it won’t turn on. He runs, trying to find someone who can call for an ambulance, leaving Bucky with you, his trembling hands working to save you-

-Steve presses harder, almost sure he’s bruising your ribs. 

“Steve, she’s so blue. Oh god…” Natasha sobs, holding onto your freezing hand. She strips her jacket off, placing it over your torso, trying to warm you up. It feels like she’s being eaten alive by her own guilt. How had she not seen this, how had she let it get this bad? 

What more could Natasha have done for you?

“COME ON!” Steve yells, giving your chest one final pound before you cough-

-Bucky cries out with relief as you spew water from your mouth. He turns you on your side as you retch, gagging and sucking in air with a panic. Bucky sobs, his arms coming around you as you cough, your cold fingers settling shakily over his hand as he holds you. 

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” He whispers into your ear, hands working to try and warm your shivering form. 

You blink at him, blue lip trembling. Bucky leans in close, kissing your wet cheek, listening as you muster up the strength to whisper three words. 

“I'm pregnant, James.” 

Bucky holds your wet form, his hand sliding over your abdomen. He pulls it back so he can see a trail of slick blood staining his palm. Your eyes slide shut, and panic takes over. It’s like his mind goes blank, the only thing Bucky can think of is trying to shake you awake again. 

Sam comes back to him screaming your name, having to peel Bucky off of you as the paramedics arrive. Sam only lets go of him when Bucky climbs up into the ambulance, his hand clutching yours like a lifeline as they work on stabilizing you. 

“I’m here,” Bucky whispers as the sirens of the ambulance sounds, his hand running through your wet plastered hair, “I’m right here.” 

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Everything is cold. Dark. Ringing.

Before you even attempt to open your eyes, you know you are in a hospital. You can feel it in the thin gown which clings to your damp skin, can hear the soft beep of a heart monitor, can feel someone’s presence next to you. 

There is a bandage tightly wrapped around your abdomen, and you’re scared to ask. To ask about the baby- 

You crack your eyes open slightly, the harsh white light of the hospital room like daggers to your sensitive eyes. You're quick to close them again, swallowing dryly, head lolling to the side.

“James?” you whisper, hand moving slowly towards the presence, reaching for him. Your throat feels sore and swollen, dry. You desperately need water.

You feel a hand on yours, and you frown. It was soft, gentle. Not the calloused and firm grip you were expecting from your husband. You hear the voice as you open your eyes again, turning despite the pounding in your head, blearily looking at the feminine outline next to you. 

She turns, and you hear water pouring, the sound of glass clinking.

“Here. Drink this,” you accept the lip of the cup placed against your cracked lips, letting the water fall in slowly. It’s painful and cold. But it helps.

You lick your lips and swallow, blinking away the last of your blurry vision.

“Why are you here?” You ask, voice strained and cracking. You watch as Valentina shifts in her seat, crossing her legs. 

“I figured you could use some company. You are, after all, technically under my care.” 

You close your eyes and press a shaky hand against your temple, feeling the tug of an IV needle in your arm. She was the last person you wanted right now.

“Where’s my husband?” Valentina sighs.

“Always worried about the soldier. Bucky’s the one who got you into this mess you know,” she peels off her gloves, laying them flat on her black clad thigh. You’re not sure which ‘mess’ she’s referring to. “I sent him on an errand. He’ll be back soon.” You crack your eyes and glare at her.

“What did you do to him?” She smiles coyly.

“I forget how smart you are. He’s just being held in a detention center for a few hours. Some mix up over his therapy date. I needed to talk to you alone.” 

Valentina pulls out a piece of paper, and holds it for you to see. Your lip trembles at the image. It’s an ultrasound. 

To be precise, two ultrasounds; one dated a few weeks ago, the image grainy and warped, the other dated from just yesterday, clearer and so obviously a baby. Tears prick at your eye as Valentina watches you. 

“Please don’t,” you whimper, “I don’t want to see them right now.” Valentina, to her credit, puts the ultrasound away. 

She sits for a moment, watching as you take trembling breaths, your hand feeling along the bandage beneath your hospital gown, feeling the space where you knew the large wound was.

You can feel the faint sting, even under all the layers of gauze and medication. You can feel the absence of something within you; the emptiness, the void where your baby once occupied. 

“I thought I made it clear that if you were ever to get pregnant, you were to report it at once. Especially in your circumstance, being married to a super soldier and all.”

You don’t look at Valentina. You refuse to. Maybe if you don’t acknowledge her she’ll just go away, leave you alone with your thoughts and the pain. 

But she doesn’t leave. Valentina just sighs, like she’s tired of a long game. 

“Look, it’s not because I want you to extend the contract, who cares about the contract alright,” she throws her hand up, rolling her eyes. “In fact our new ‘captain america’ cleared you from your contract. It was important you tell us because of how unprecedented the situation is.” 

You narrow your eyes, glancing at her. 

“Walker did- what did he do?” 

“He cleared your contract. You’re free. Yay,” She gives you a faux smile and small jazz hands that feel more condescending than celebratory. You can barely wrap your aching head around that. You’re free.

“Mr. Walker took about three seconds to realize we sent you on a mission in your condition and grilled the board pretty hard. So thank you for the lovely afternoon full of unplanned meetings I had to sit through yesterday.”

You huff, looking at the door to your room, wondering if you stared hard enough you could summon some kind of doctor or nurse to save you. 

You weren’t surprised Walker had that reaction. You’d seen him interact with his wife, had heard him talk about how Olivia was expecting. You saw how he practically worshipped her, how he protected her and loved her so publicly. A part of you was a little jealous of that.

Even if Walker was a bit egotistical and blunt, Bucky could never have that with you. That public adoration and love. Not with both of your pasts. Not with the fact you were both under the careful eye of the government who loved to interfere with anything new. Anything fantastical. Like super soldiers. And spies. 

And babies who had parents with enhancement serum running through their DNA.

You knew why Valentina is so interested in your baby-

Was. 

The thought shoots through you like venom, and you sit upright, a hand clutched to your mouth. 

Was, you useless and pathetic-

Valentina gives you a disgusted look and places a trash can in front of you as you vomit into it, crying out as pain rips through your abdomen. 

She stands, clasping her hands as she watches you dry heave, tears falling down your face as you cringe, the pain intense in your stomach muscles. 

“I’ll go call a doctor for you. It was fun while it lasted Barnes-”

“Get out,” you spit at her, groaning, your body feeling like it was on fire. She leaves you there, alone. Tear stained face, pain in your gut, without your husband… alone

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

The nurse practically quivers in fear at the withering stare Bucky gives her.

“Seargant Barnes, I’m sorry but I really don’t have that information. Because of her classification, your wife’s records aren’t kept in the hospital’s public files-”

“Then find someone who knows where she is.” She squeaks and runs off, pushing through the swinging doors labeled ‘medical personnel only’, her sneakers scuffing the floor with her speed.

Bucky paces in the small lobby room, Sam eyeing him from the chair he sits in.

“I can’t believe this. I shouldn’t have let them… I should have stayed with her.”

“She’ll be okay, Buck. Your wife’s a tough girl.” Bucky rakes a hand through his hair, his chest heaving with worry. 

Bucky had stayed in the hospital all night, pacing as you had been in surgery, clinging to your hand once you had been brought into your own room. He had nodded as the doctor explained what happened, how the shrapnel had impacted your side too deep, how it had cut the baby off from oxygen support, how your ten week old baby girl had passed long before ambulances had arrived.

Even thinking about it now had Bucky wanting to kick at the sitting room chairs and yell. Especially because he had been taken to a sheriff's detainment cell that morning, explaining he had missed his court-mandated therapy session. He didn't know what had happened to you in the time he was waiting for Sam to come get him.

“It’s been six hours Sam. They busted into the room early this morning and took me. What if she’s been awake this whole time, wondering where I am. Wondering if I left.” Sam shakes his head.

“She wouldn’t think that. She knows you wouldn’t-” Bucky glares at the man, leaning down his fingers pinched in emphasis.

“My wife has been alone this whole time, Sam. She’s alone and she just lost a baby. You have no idea what she’s thinking,” Bucky’s lip quivers, whether in anger or emotion, he’s not sure. Sam just looks up at him, his eyes widening. 

“Buck, I didn’t…”

“Of course you didn’t know. Heck, I didn’t even know.” Bucky stands straighter, his hands moving towards his hips. Sam stands, clasping his shoulder, trying to look Bucky in the eye. Bucky refuses to look at him. 

“I’m sorry Bucky. Really, I am.” 

Bucky glances up as he hears the nurse's quick shoes, the doors banging open, her eyes filled with clarity, a hand waving at him to follow her. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry too.”

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

Bucky doesn’t know what breaks him more… the smell of fresh stomach acid, the splotches of blood on a wadded up gown on the counter of the room, or you. Sitting on the hospital bed, you're back to the door.

He can see your bare back, the hospital gown open; Bucky sees the fresh bandages that must have been put on not too long ago. Your shoulders are slumped forward, and when he finally forces himself to enter the room and you turn, he can see the vacant stare in your eyes. The emptiness. And it scares him.

You don’t say anything as Bucky comes around the bed. He sits on the other side of you, his knee pressing into yours, metal hand coming to bring your hand into his. You both sit there for a while, not saying anything. Just staring, your fingers interlocked firmly in his.

And eventually, when Bucky feels the trembling in your shoulders, when he turns and sees the tears falling down your face, the exhaustion and sorrow, he pulls you close.

Your arms wrap around him, fingers tightly gripping his shirt as you sob, pained and pleading.

“I should have told you. I shouldn’t have gone…”

“Shhhh, doll,” Bucky whispers into your ear, rocking you gently as you cry, his hand cradling the back of your head. “It’s not your fault. You did everything you thought was right.”

“I could have done more. I’m so useless-”

“Don’t say that,” he pulls away, forcing you to look at him, “don’t you dare say that okay. Don’t go there. I won’t let you, okay. We are doing this together alright.”

“James…” 

“You’re not alone,” Bucky sniffs, his chest shaking as he feels a lump rising in his throat. “You don’t have to be alone this time.” Bucky can feel his own tears falling and you bring your hand to brush away one which slips down his cheek. 

You pull him into a hug and you both hold each other, like lifelines. Trying not to drown in the sea of sorrow.

[xxeatualivexx]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 [𝟐]

pairing: history major!bucky x librarian!reader

summary: a reserved librarian and a history-loving student are now left to navigate a heartbreak born out of misunderstanding, but like it has always been known, frozen hearts never fail to seek out warmth from those that feel like home

word count: 5.9k

warnings/themes: fluff, healing, did i mention fluff?, ⑱ minors dni, masturbation (clothed, affectionate and very soft), just a lot of softness

a/n: this 💌 is a love letter to everyone who read, liked, commented and reblogged part one of this story ♡ every single interaction brought a smile to my face. i know it seems like this little thing, putting words together and posting them, but to me writing is personal, intimate and revealing. i'm over the moon whenever someone says they loved it, or that it stirred emotion in them. thank you for your time and love, and i hope you enjoy part two!!

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

Bucky Barnes was known for his easy-going demeanour and patience, but as he was pacing restlessly back and forth, those qualities have somehow turned their backs on him when he needed them the most.

Steve was sitting on the couch in Bucky's room steadily losing patience, getting increasingly dizzier watching Bucky like he was witnessing a taxing match of tennis. 

“Jesus, man, will you calm down and sit? You will wear down the floor.” Despite the partial amusement Steve felt at that moment, he couldn't help but empathise with his annoyingly dense best friends. He knew that the two of you will find a way to get back to each other, as he was a first hand witness of both you and Bucky gradually falling in love. Steve also received a no-nonsense kind of message from Nat that he needed to beat some sense into Bucky or else, and he took Nat's threats very seriously. 

Bucky needed him now, he needed his best friend to help him find his way back from the confines of his mind, he needed Steve to save him from the agonising thoughts threatening to drown him. 

“I can't, Steve. I've been restless since she ran away from me. And then she didn't show up for her shift in the library. Oh god, I've messed up everything.“ Bucky heavily plopped down next to Steve, propping his elbows on his knees as he held his head with shaking hands, eyes glossy and hair disheveled.

He looked dejected and defeated, a man who couldn't accept that he might have lost the best thing in his life before it even had a chance to happen. Steve never saw his friend in such a state before, his eyes tracing Bucky with a worried furrow in his eyebrows. In a moment of clarity, he understood the intensity with which Bucky has truly fallen for you. 

“You didn't mess up anything.” Steve placed his arm around Bucky, squeezing his shoulders affectionately in an attempt to provide comfort.

“Trust me, okay? I know her. She was just overwhelmed, and her coping mechanism is to flee. She ran away because of you but not for the reasons you might think.”

That made complete sense, as it was a habit of yours to retract whenever you found yourself in a situation you couldn't handle. But sense had been locked out of Bucky's mind by the unreasonable irrationality currently in power, dictating his nonsensical behavior. 

Bucky raised his head, a dull headache suddenly settling in. His blue eyes were filled with unshed tears, unable to release the pent up heartache that was building up which genuinely had Steve worried.

“No, Steve, it's my fault. You don't understand. I pushed her when she wasn't ready, I didn't even stop to think if I'd be crossing her boundaries, I was selfish but she when she looked at me like that I just couldn't control myself-”

“Whoa there Buck, stop. Stop.”

Steve noticed that Bucky was rapidly spiraling, and his voice was laced with seriousness, demanding of attention and authority Bucky was too weak to even try and fight against. 

“That's all in your head, you hear me? You're overthinking the whole thing. Did she kiss you back?”

“.....yeah, she did.”

“Did she push you away and tell you to stop? Did y/n indicate in any way that she didn't want that?”

Bucky sat calmly for a change, his gaze pensive as he was ruminating over Steve's words. “She didn't. She… actually pulled me closer.”

For the first time in two days, some clarity was finally settling in his mind, a realisation sinking in.

“And there you have it, man. I guess you have your answer, no?

A sensation of palpable relief washed over Bucky as a mental weight fell off his shoulders, Steve smiling with gentleness at his childhood friend. “Something else - I was at her place yesterday.”

Bucky's head snapped, now entirely focused on what he's going to hear next.

He missed you, even after a day and a half of not seeing you. He never realised how much he depended on your presence until he no longer had it. Your absence felt like a void in his life, which was quite contradictory because when you weren't physically there, you still constantly inhabited his thoughts. 

“She's okay, but she's hurting. I'm going to tell you something she made me swear not to tell anyone, and if you ever tell her I told you, I'm going to burn all of your history books. This is a threat.”

Bucky finally cracked a smile at this, trembling as he was running out of patience. “Cross my heart and hope to die, Steve, but for the love of god just fucking tell me already or I'll lose it.”

“Okay, okay-”, Steve held his hands up as if surrendering. “She's got it into her head that you don't like her romantically, that you kissed her just…. to kiss. She thinks she's unworthy of you. I tried talking to her but...” 

Time stood still as Bucky heard what Steve said perfectly well, but it was failing to make any sense to him. It was silly, almost, to think that your pretty little head was in such a dense state of false impression that you were not good enough for him.

He stood abruptly, making Steve flinch from the sudden action. 

“I need to see her. I need to talk to her, I have to tell her everything. Don't wait up for me, man,” Bucky was flying across the apartment with a rush of adrenaline, putting on his shoes, grabbing his coat and phone and opening the door with such intensity Steve thought it was a miracle it didn't come off its hinges. 

Bucky stopped in his tracks, and pulled Steve into a tight hug. “Thanks man. I owe you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Steve grinned, hugging Bucky just as tightly. “I know, pal. Now stop lingering about and go get your girl.”

Insistent, determined knocking on your front door awoke you from a deep sleep. While you still felt a dull headache behind your eyes, you felt a little bit better after a few hours of sleep. Nat will definitely be happy to hear that, as you noticed that she was no longer here. She must've left for her morning classes while you were asleep.

She rushed to your place the moment you called her sobbing and gasping for air, your words so incoherent that Nat managed to hear only “library”, “James” and “kiss”. She made sure you took a hot shower, and then lovingly tucked you in while she went to buy some dinner and ice cream.

By the time she was back, you had calmed down a bit, and were able to recount what had happened. While Nat personally thought both of you were idiots who needed to confess to each other, she hid that sentiment and comforted you as much as she could. She refused to leave you alone in your state, and had invited herself for a sleepover for which you were eternally grateful. She loved you, you were her found family, her sister, and her shoulder will always be there to collect your tears, and her arms ready to hug the sadness out of you.

Exhaustion had settled deep in your bones after more than a day of crying every so often - sometime last night you completely surrendered to your heartache in Nat's arms, defeated at long last by the suffocating weight in your chest and you cried until your tears ran dry, the cathartic feeling washing over you, finally letting you fall into a dreamless slumber. 

Dragging yourself out of the bed, you unlocked the door and opened it, the shock of seeing Bucky jolting you awake and aware as adrenaline rushed through your system.

He was panting, inhaling deep breaths while leaning on the door frame in hopes of catching his breath. Taking in his disheveled appearance, you wondered if he had run here. A palpable moment of sheer awkward silence was suspended in the air, none of you knowing how to break it.

Despite the rush of emotions, you were surprised that you actually began to calm down once being in Bucky’s presence, no matter the circumstances.

“Can we talk? Please?” Bucky decided to go straight to the point and speak frankly, unwilling to lose more time. Something softened in your countenance seeing his eager expression, his eyes filled with regret and a tremble noticeable in his voice.

You nodded, letting him in your dorm room, secretly feeling a thrill of being in his proximity again, although the nervousness started to creep in. Both of you were on the verge of speaking but none uttered a word, and it was beginning to feel stifling and downright unbearable.

He took in your messy hair, wrinkled oversized shirt, bruised eyes that spoke of many shed tears, and he was heartbroken by it. 

The guilt was weighing him down. To have been the reason for your sadness, a once shy but gentle girl that now stood in front of him with slumped shoulders avoiding looking him in the eyes. He was supposed to be your safe harbour, not a storm surge in an open sea. 

“Bucky, I- “, you began but he cut you off before you even uttered a whole word. “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so sorry.”

The pain was evident in his voice, in his eyes, in the downturned corners of his mouth. You wondered why on Earth would he apologising, when you were the one who hightailed it out of the library. It was maddening to think of all the things that must have brewed in Bucky's mind since then. 

“I should be apologising, not you.” You looked down at your feet, your voice raw and subdued. “I ran away without an explanation and then avoided confronting you. I am the one who’s sorry, James.”

The more he listened to you, the more he realised that both you have interpreted this situation in vastly different ways - you thought he was upset because you ran away as if his kiss was unwanted, and Bucky thought you were upset with him because he was hasty with his actions and had done something you weren’t ready for.

“Y/n, I didn’t respect your boundaries. I didn’t even consider if you wanted to be kissed, I got lost in the moment like some kind of idiot and went for it without thinking.”

“You are an idiot, James,” you breathed, incredulous at his absurd statement. “You are the most respectful guy I know. I wouldn’t have let you kiss me like that if you were crossing any boundaries.”

Bucky’s eyes slightly widened, hope and anticipation etched on his face. “So you…?”

“Yes, Bucky, I very much wanted to be kissed by you”, you stated, feeling relieved at finally admitting that. “For an academic genius, you really are dense.”

Seeing how you were opening up to him little by little, he took a few steps forward to stand closer to you, but still at a significant distance he desperately wanted to lessen, as his hands ached to touch you and hold you.

“I was so worried I pushed you into it…why did you run away then?” He pleaded. He was begging at this point. He had to know. 

This was it, y/n. Now or never. You’ve yearned and longed and loved him all by yourself for too long. The room was suddenly stifling and devoid of air, nevertheless, you drew a shaky breath and braved the storm ahead.

“Because I don’t think that you have feelings for me. And because…I don’t think I’m good enough for you. You’re out of my league, you always have been. I can’t measure up.” 

There was a deafening silence as he stood there listening, rigid and motionless, an unreadable look on his face.

“And…”, your voice wavered as you hung your shoulders low wishing that you could fold into yourself and disappear, but you pushed through. “And because I think that kiss doesn't hold the same meaning to you as it does to me.”

Hearing this was the final drop for Bucky, and all the unsaid words rushed out of him uncontrollably as the walls between you shattered to pieces. 

“How can you even say that?” His hoarse voice was laced with undeniable emotion as he looked at you with a pained expression, both that you thought so little of him, and so little of yourself. 

“My feelings for you have been getting stronger since the moment Steve introduced us. Every invitation, every conversation, every touch, every cup of coffee, the kiss was to get closer to you. I was trying to let you know how I feel about you.”

The tight knot you felt in your chest was getting untangled with every step he took towards you and with every word that passed his lips, your eyes burning and glistening with tears that came bursting in hot waves the moment he circled his arms around you in the most affectionate way you’ve ever been held; and he held you so tightly that you couldn't fall apart even if you wished to.

You hid your face in his neck, silent tears gently falling on his skin and disappearing beneath his shirt, while you struggled to calm your breathing. 

“Have I ruined things between us?“ You asked softly, so inaudibly and muffled that Bucky only heard you because he was holding you impossibly close. 

He tightened his embrace when he heard your voice shaking, gliding his hand from the small of your back, across the length of your spine to finally place it on your head and affectionately caress your unruly hair. You crying made his chest tighten with a weight that could be dispersed only after he'd made absolutely sure that you were okay. 

“You haven't ruined anything. I would never let go of you so easily”, he spoke with tenderness. “Shhhh, my love, please. Don't cry.”

Love. My love. Just as those words left his lips, you held your breath in disbelief and Bucky hugged you even tighter when he no longer felt the rising and falling of your chest.

His words didn’t have the effect he intended because hearing him calling you his love almost made your knees give out if it weren't for Bucky holding you. “Breathe, y/n.”

You took a tentative breath as you moved away just enough to look at him, your arms still intertwined with his as both of you were unwilling to let go of each other.

Bucky caressed your cheek lovingly with the back of his fingers, then placed his hand fully on your cheek and brushed the remnants of your tears with his thumb. He leaned down, his eyes searching yours finding nothing but affection in them. Encouraged by this, he closed the space between the two of you, pressing his lips on yours with such passion that you were ready to melt on the spot. Addicted to the sweet taste of him, you vowed to never kiss anyone's lips but his. As Bucky was kissing you, devoted to communicating his love without words, he realised that every person he's ever kissed before you had long vanished from his mind. Everyone else ceased to exist the moment he had a taste of you. He pecked your lips one final time before pulling back so you can catch your breaths. 

World seemed to shift back to its axis, your thoughts pleasantly swimming through clearer waters now that the anxiousness has settled down, the lungs no longer obstructing the path of the air. The ache in your chest was still very much there and stronger than ever, but it was no longer menacing. This ache felt… good. Exhilarating. Pleasant, even. 

“So….we’re good?”

Bucky pressed his forehead to yours, a comfortable feeling cascading down and enveloping you both in a satisfying warmth. “Yeah baby, we’re good. Under the condition that I ask you out on a date, and you say y-”.

“Yes.”

A chuckle left Bucky’s lips at your eagerness, coaxing out a genuine smile out of you, your heart happier than you ever remembered it to be.

After half an hour of persistent begging by Nat and Steve for a night out at the club to unwind and have some fun, you finally relented and said you'd go. Needles to say that Bucky was down the moment he heard you were coming as well.

All of you were standing around a high table in a club whose walls were vibrating from the bass so strong you could feel it in your chest. The air was shimmering a pearly white due to the fake mist pumped in the club, its sweet aroma mixing with all the perfumes and cigarette smoke.

Both Bucky and you had a fair amount of drinks, the table littered with shot glasses, water bottles, mints and cigarette buds. You were both drunk, not enough to skew your awareness or your memories but just enough for your blood to sing with liquid courage you both consumed. Your head was pleasantly light, body unwinding as the alcohol settled into your system.

This was not your kind of place, but there was something about the laughter of your friends, the loud music and the tingling feeling on your skin from having Bucky's gaze on you at all times. Nat and Steve knew that something special had transpired between you but they decided to leave you both be and not ask any questions, knowing how emotionally taxing these months have been. Seeing the subtle loving touches already told them everything they needed to know, for now.

There was always time for an ambush and interrogation later, because there was no way Nat or Steve would survive not knowing the details. 

Bucky's blue eyes were glazed with slight redness, which made his irises the clearest hue of blue you've ever seen. He was attentively following your every move while you jumped and danced with Nat to the deafening EDM coming through the speakers. He couldn't take his eyes off of you.

You jumped without a care in the world, your hair flowing around your face as you moved. To Bucky's delight and utter despair, you opted for a crop top shirt tonight, and even though you had a high waisted skirt, your shirt rose up with every jump, revealing more of your skin.

A peculiar scorching feeling was spreading through Bucky's chest and all the way down to his crotch. The dangerous yearn was fleeting, but once he felt it there was no going back from it. 

He wanted to place his hands firmly on your soft hips, and dig his fingers into your pliable skin. 

Bucky had no idea what to do with himself. He saw something in you beyond your beauty that took his breath away. He lovingly unraveled parts of your personality not even you knew you had, and he fell in love with each one of them. And he knew all that just by being friends with you. It made his head spin imagining what a real relationship with you would be like. Despite knowing where he stood with you and you with him, you still didn't make anything official. But, god, he wanted that. He wanted you. 

And the physical desire was never this consuming and controlling before. 

He walked towards you in the packed club, moving through the sea of people who paid him no mind. You felt a warm hand take yours as Bucky spun you around making you face him. Everything moved in slow motion as if you were under water, and you could feel your heart beating so loudly that you felt it pulsating in your stomach.

Bucky's hands hesitantly found your waist, his fingers slowly reaching under your shirt to feel your skin under his fingers. You didn't stop him and were certainly not planning to which Bucky noticed, dazed by the way your breath hitched when his fingers grazed your ribcage, almost reaching your breasts while the other hand was on your lower back, pushing you closer to his body.

You leaned, sneaking a hand to press it on the nape of his neck and gently push him towards you until your lips were brushing against the side of his face, close enough for him to feel your breath on his skin.

The warmth of your breath made Bucky's skin erupt in goosebumps and he was keenly aware of every little move of your lips once you started speaking. “Do you want to leave with me?”

He groaned, eagerly nodding. “Thought you'd never ask.” 

The trip to your dorm was clumsy and in a haste, Bucky stealing a kiss after kiss rendering you unable to watch where you're going. You thought that it was definitely a miracle that both of you arrived in one piece. In the span of what felt like 5 seconds, Bucky had you sitting on his lap on the mini couch in your room, lips plastered together in a dimly illuminated dark room. There was nothing holding you back from surrendering to the feelings that were suppressed for so long, and it was liberating to be able to love and show that love to Bucky whenever you wanted and needed. 

"Can you keep a secret?" Bucky's voice was suddenly raw with emotion, his eyes solemn. He said it very softly, like the words he's about to say are too delicate and intimate to be spoken any louder.

He placed slow, gentle kisses on your neck, eliciting quiet gasps and whimpers from the sensation. 

"When it comes to you, always", you said in a whisper. 

There was a palpable pause between the two of you, a second that lasted for eons. Your heart was both beating too fast and not beating at all. 

"I'm in love with you. I have been for a very long time". He spoke against your lips, forehead touching yours, eyes tightly closed hoping that not being able to see your face will somehow make all this easier. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to tell you this sober". 

"Will you then say it to me again, tomorrow?"

“Tomorrow, and every day after that for as long as you will have me,” he promised. 

You traced your finger over his velvet lips, your touch as gentle as a feather. “And I with you. I'm in love with you too. ”

“And will you say it to me tomorrow?” He echoed your words, making you laugh. 

“Oh you bet, James. I will make sure my words are forever etched on your tongue because I plan on kissing you every time I say that I love you.”

“Now there's something to look forward to. Doll, you are dangerous”, he looked at you with such adoration and desire that you had to glance away for a moment to compose yourself. 

"And I think I'm going to lose my mind if you don't kiss me within the next three seconds", he breathed as he dived to catch your lips without giving you a chance to react.

He kissed you with fervour, like this would be the last time his lips would touch yours. You could feel him growing beneath you, and you shuddered as he moved you further up on his lap and ignited every single nerve in your body as your skirt hiked up to pool around your hips.

The desire was getting more intense, fueled by the alcohol and raw emotions both of you felt after your confessions. You hooked one finger on the waist of his jeans, looking expectantly at Bucky as you noticed he was trying to hide his frustration that the thick denim dulled the feeling of warmth he could be feeling from you.

“Can I….?” You trailed off, knowing he'll know exactly what you meant. He nodded eagerly, and undid his button and zipper, lifting his hips so he could slip his jeans lower, leaving him in his boxers.

You both released a tense gasp when you lowered down on his lap, the feeling much more intense than before. There was something infinitely ecstatic and arousing having your and Bucky's most intimate and sensitive areas lovingly touch with nothing but thin layers of cotton in between that let you feel everything, and somehow still not enough. He could feel your wetness, you could feel his pulsating warmth, and it was mind-blowing. 

“I'm sorry but I don't think I can stop, this feels too good”, you said breathlessly, thoughts incoherent and leaving you almost tongue-tied as you moved on his lap, unhurried and deliberate. 

“I don't want you to.” Bucky moved his hand from your hip to brush away the tear that was rolling down your cheek.

He was about to ask you if you wished to stop despite what you both said, albeit it would be a weak attempt of speaking, but you anticipated him and placed your finger on his lips, touching your forehead to his and looking deep into his eyes. 

“It's okay. I'm okay.” You moved slowly on his lap, your clothed core sliding deliciously over him and making him shiver of overstimulation as there was nothing but thin layers of fabric between you.

“I just- I've never done this with someone I'm in love with,” you said, voice filled with emotion. He answered you wordlessly by giving you a chaste kiss, both of you breathing the same air with heavy breaths, bodies radiating with heat and covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Every cell in your body felt like it was short-circuiting. “It feels overwhelming. It's- oh my god”, a gasp leaving your lips when he pressed your hips down harder on him and the pressure increased tenfold.” I- It feels too much to love you physically and emotionally like this at the same time.”

Your breathing was uneven, it was impossible to know where an inhale began and an exhale ended. Bucky looked at you with intense adoration, his lips swollen and long strands of hair plastered to his forehead.

His hands found their way beneath your shirt to delicately cup your breasts and deliciously squeeze the wonderful softness. 

God, he looked sinful. A sin that will be your most delicious undoing. “James, I'm- I'm going to-”, your voice shaking and unable to form a sentence, but Bucky didn't need any words to know you were close. “Baby it's okay, you can let go.” 

Your whole body was speaking without words, and he was the one who understood its language.

“Y/n, let go. Come on, baby. You can feel the effect you have on me, can't you?” he breathed with a strained voice, helping you roll your hips over him with an intensity that made you see stars. “You're the only one who makes me feel like this.”

You could definitely feel him beneath you, hard and a glorious fuel for the imagination.

“I- y/n, I'm so close,” his voice now barely a whisper. He moaned deliciously in your ear, his head falling on your shoulder, too overwhelmed to process anything else other than your movements.

This was a breaking point for you, and you surrendered to the euphoric climax as your body trembled in Bucky's arms, your mind filled with static buzz as he continued moving. Bucky's own climax caught up with him as he stilled, breathing hitched and his hands digging in your hips. 

“Y/n? Love? Come back to me.” You have never felt so euphoric, your mind seeing other dimensions as you fought to come back to reality, letting the sound of Bucky's voice guide you.

"Was it that good? Did that feel okay?" Bucky asked and you could hear that he spoke through a smile, but it took you a moment to find your voice. "Okay? No, it was not okay. It was fucking earth-shattering."

“Enough… to say yes if I asked you to be mine?”

“Bucky, I'm already yours.”

His hands started roaming up and down your thighs, leaving goosebumps on your skin in their wake. The tension in the air was rising again, and it was you who broke the agonising silence.

 “James… can we take this slow?”

”Of course we can, doll. You don't ever have to feel pressured, we can take this at your pace. Besides, we're both drunk and overstimulated and I-” he paused to place a hungry kiss on your lips, “want you when our heads are clear. I want you when you're able to remember every touch of my hands on your body or how I'd feel inside you. I don't want you to forget how my lips feel on your skin, or I forget how yours feel on mine because we were intoxicated."

Bucky pecked your lips, smiling in amusement in the process. "Or because my baby can't function because she just had an earth-shattering orgasm," he added, poking your sides tickling you, eliciting a wave of uncontrolled giggles.

"So... you mean intoxicated on love?" you grinned widely.

"On alcohol, you silly,” he laughed and left a loud, endearing smooch on your cheek.

You noticed that he spoke as if the most intimate act he could do with you will be a proof of divinity and he needed to savour it with a clear head.

Words so divine that felt like a promise when spoken aloud. Hearing him display such raw, honest feelings at the palm of his hand and offering them to you, made the affection you felt for him grow. He really cared about you.

It was evident that he did, his actions were louder than his words. But this time you truly felt it, with no doubts in your mind clouding this revelation. He cared. And he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. 

At the same time, Bucky was secretly waging a silent battle with himself. You were right there in his lap, sitting flush against him, feeling your breasts push against his chest with every breath you took.

Hair messy, hands pleasantly cold and your lips swollen and bruised from kissing his - resisting you was the hardest thing he's ever done.

You were too important to him, and no matter how much of a herculean feat this was, he will wait for you to initiate the first step. There is nothing on this Earth that will make him cross your boundaries without your explicit permission. Besides, you were his, and he was yours. Everything has finally fallen into place, and there was a while lifetime awaiting you, filled with chances and opportunities to lovingly show you bliss in infinite ways. 

You relaxed in his lap, peppering his neck with delicate kisses, slowly, excruciatingly tempting and no less divine than any other touch Bucky received from you that night. Pressing your forehead against his, and with a quick, sweet peck on his nose, you nodded, hugging him tightly. 

“Um, baby? I know you're comfortable but I kinda came in my boxers. Wanna change and order food?”

“Sounds perfect”, you stated, not hiding your pride at being the one responsible for his current situation, at which he adorably blushed. “We can also pretend to watch a movie while we make out.” 

Winter was slowly rolling in, and the still crimson leaves were now covered in shimmering crystals of morning frost. The heating in the library had finally been fixed, but it didn't matter much to you or Bucky as your hearts felt like little fireplaces of their own. There was nowhere as warm as when his arms were around you. Both of you hid amongst the bookshelves in the history section, sat beneath one of the large windows, each basking in the presence of the other, conversing about nothing and everything. Eventually, you had started playing an impromptu game of questions. 

“Why do you still call me James?” 

“Because, James, it's your real name. The name people who love you and brought you to this world gave you. And because it's not what your friends call you by, it's what I call you by. I love calling you James.”

You leaned away slightly, eyebrows furrowed, a contemplative look in your eyes. “Do you…. not like it? Because, you know, that's the only name that comes to my mind when you touch me or kiss me.”

You leaned in further to whisper in his ear. “Or when you make love to me.”

Bucky's eyes widened at this, a shiver running down his spine. “I was okay with you calling me anything but after hearing that, you're not allowed to call me anything but James. And that was you using your question.”

“But-!”

“No buts, my turn.”

“Did you fall in love with me at first sight?” Bucky asked, a question he meant to tease you with but a part of him genuinely wished to know. 

“I didn't,” you mused, absentmindedly combing your fingers through his dark hair, twirling it around as the pleasant feeling of softness glided over your skin. He raised his eyebrows in question, expecting you to elaborate further. 

“I don't believe in love at first sight. I was infatuated with you at first sight, that's for sure,” you said, enjoying the feeling of his hand gliding pleasantly down your thigh. “I fell in love with you over time as I got to know you more and more each day. I felt it every time you were kind and attentive to me. I mean, don't get me wrong baby, you're beautiful, but I realised I was in love with you for real when I no longer craved you only physically with my eyes, but also emotionally and mentally with my heart.”

His hand stilled in its tracks, and he looked at you with an affection only found nestled in Cupid's arrows. “Jesus y/n… remind me to never ask such questions from a librarian or you'll be mopping me off the floor.”

You shot him a flustered grin and playfully jabbed him in his side. "My turn. Why history?”

Bucky didn't answer immediately. He seemed to be pondering, gathering his thoughts in order to express himself truthfully. You watched him patiently as he took his time to find the right words.

"I suppose... I feel this genuine connection to it somehow. I remember reading this diary of a World War II soldier when I was younger, and it eerily resonated with me. Like I was someone just like him in my previous life. I think that was the catalyst that set me on this path. After reading that, all I wanted to do was to learn everything about history."

You hummed, urging Bucky to continue with your unwavering eye contact because you could tell there was more he wanted to say. 

"I'm kind of scared of uncertainty. Of the future. Of all the inevitable things completely out of my control that will happen whether I want it or not. History's different, and what happened has happened, there's no way around it. We can learn from it and it's safe, and long gone. "

You let that thought simmer a little before asking a hesitant question. "So... if I were to be a part of your future, would you still be frightened of uncertainty?" 

"Baby, you're the only thing in my life I've ever been absolutely certain about." 

You placed a chaste kiss on his lips because what can a person even say to something like that? A kiss can take up where words left off. He left you speechless, but your mind was chanting i love you i love you i love you like a prayer over and over again.

“My turn,” he whispered against your lips,”You just had an extra question. What are you thinking about right now?"

"Kissing you again."

"And you never let your thoughts get the best of you?"

"No, not usually. But this time, I might just let them."

tagging list: @lomlbuckybarnes @calwitch

[xxeatualivexx]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

pairing: history major!bucky x librarian!reader

summary: a reserved librarian and a history-loving student keep crossing paths in the cold library, where shared smiles and hidden glances will make them understand that burning hearts don't do well in a place that easily ignites.

word count: 6.7k

warnings/themes: fluff/a bit of angst, making out, insecurities, no real warnings except for two silly humans falling in love

a/n: hello hello!! i have not written this much in years, and i'm both excited and anxious to share this with you. i'm rediscovering just how thrilling it is ✍︎ i'd like to send my love to @elixirfromthestars @whatever-lmaoo and @buck-star for being unimaginably kind, lovely, supportive and encouraging whenever i was doubting myself ♡ and to anyone reading this, thank you so much for giving my little story a chance. i am over the moon if you decide to grace it with your time ♡

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

The library was quiet at this time of day, students scattered around finishing their projects and essays or studying diligently for the upcoming exams. Spending time here was a source of comfort and a therapeutic refuge, which is why you were one of the first ones to hastily apply for this part-time position.

As most of your classes were in the mornings, and you usually spend your afternoons and evenings studying in the library, you thought you might as well use this chance to get some financial independence.

Besides, the college library was quite calm and uneventful, and as long as you finished your given tasks, the other librarians were okay with you studying during your shift. You unconditionally cherished this place, the enormous time capsule that hid you from the world, a place where you could be yourself.

The metaphorical warmth you felt for the library didn't help much when it got cold outside, as it wished to live in eternal spring and couldn't be properly warmed up. Regular students and staff already knew to dress as warmly as possible in layers and thick sweaters, some even opting to bring blankets.

The library was old, but very well looked after. The wooden chairs and sturdy desks were meticulously placed near the tall, gothic windows that provided the most beautiful atmosphere when letting the sunlight through. The bookshelves crafted out of deep dark oak and walnut wood, with beautiful wood carvings alongside their edges.

Your favourite were days with rain or snowfall, as they stained the library in a muted, sort of hazy light that looked magical when the warm lights had to be switched on. The enormous windows acted as moving paintings in those days. 

The old wooden library door squealed in the deep silence of the study hall, announcing someone's arrival. Your eyes traveled towards the sound, a warm feeling washing over you immediately.

It's him. James Barnes. The history major prodigy with a sharp wit and gentle, old soul who is currently studying for his master's degree.

Despite his bookish academic personality, there was a part of him that was outgoing and a little wild. He loved being around his friends, and rarely declined an invitation for hang outs and parties. People like to be around him, as if they’re orbiting planets around the shining sun.

He was a presence to be reckoned with - with his soft dark hair, ocean eyes, a thickly built constitution that made him look effortlessly handsome in his well-fitted coats and cardigans;  with the addition of a genuine, outgoing and caring personality, it made him someone people can very easily be infatuated with. The two of you moved in the same friend circles so it was not rare for you to see him around, especially when Nat and Steve pressured you to attend house parties with them. You'd be left feeling fatigued for days, having drained your already depleted social battery as you were reserved and introverted by nature.

What made it worthwhile was spending time with your friends which is why you usually gave in to their pleas, and what came as a surprise to you, stealing glances at one particular history genius. 

Those subtle, unwavering glances didn't go unnoticed by Nat, who started paying a lot more attention to this newly perceived state of yours.

Your infatuation confused you, but it was nevertheless expected.

You saw him in the library almost everyday, and while you were not friends per se, you politely interacted with each other with small smiles and tiny nods whenever one of you arrived while the other was already there; uttering sweet thank yous when Bucky returned his books when they were due, or if you managed to find a book he was looking for. Those moments were precious and special, because you got to see a side of Bucky others did not.

Seeing him at parties, however, turned out to be bittersweet, as it was a recurring sight to witness him with a girl sitting in his lap with his arms around her, or having another girl's lips pressed to his. He was not a careless heart breaker as he was not the type to lead someone on, but he liked to have a bit of fun and blow off some steam in a harmless way.

It was such a contradiction to who he was when he studied diligently in the library's silence that you couldn't wrap your head around who Bucky genuinely was. But you wanted to know more, and he was a mystery you wanted unsolved, even if seeing him with someone else made your chest feel like it's caving in on itself; a deep, heavy heartache that left you with a sore feeling of emptiness that was left to fester.

Every time you saw him kiss and touch someone else, you felt the painful strain in your lower jaw as you held back hot, unshed tears, the fluttering feeling settling in your stomach but not of the good kind. These felt like wasps, stinging from within.

You had no reason or right to feel like this, as he isn't, and never will be, yours. There was no place for you in his solar system. 

Bucky, however, has always treated you differently ever since he became acquainted with you, whether because his childhood friend Steve was best friends with you or because genuinely considered you a good friend himself. He was more reserved when interacting with you, distanced but gentle. 

Now acutely aware of Bucky's presence, you watched him as he struggled to keep the doors open with his hands multitasking beyond reason - he somehow managed to carry his satchel, seemingly quite heavy as he was leaning to the other side to balance out the weight on his shoulder, black coat propped at the elbow, coffee and his phone in one hand with the dorm keys dangling from one of his fingers, and a stack of books in the other.

Trying to keep the door from closing with a crash, soft locks of hair fell on his forehead and over his eyes, obstructing his view. His hair was getting longer again, and to your infinite delight, he made no indications of getting a haircut any time soon. This was a recipe for imminent catastrophe, one which both of you would be more than happy to avoid. 

You quickly stood up from your chair behind the library desk and approached him, reaching for the books. "I've got you, I can take these,” you whispered to him so you don't disturb the other students. 

Bucky looked at you with gratefulness in his eyes, sighing a quiet sigh of relief. "You're a lifesaver, y/n,” he whispered back, offering you a smile. 

You walked with him to his usual spot where he likes to study, just to the right of where you work, next to a big window that provides him with much-needed natural daylight.

“For you,” he stated, placing his things on the table and outstretching his hand holding the coffee towards you.

You were completely taken off guard and all you could do was utter a small ‘It’s what?’ 

“Got it for you. The coffee. You seemed pretty tired yesterday. That's why I was rushing here, so it doesn't get cold.”

The silence of the library was deafening, the air as thick as the autumn morning fog. While you had an abundance of kindness and empathy to give to others, you always had trouble accepting it when it was offered to you. On top of that, this was not just anyone.

This was James, and the thought of him noticing your tiredness and caring enough to bring you coffee today has your heart skip a few beats. You realised that you were silent for a while because Bucky was looking at you with an amused look, and you had to clear your mind just enough to answer him and not embarrass yourself by acting like a lovestruck silly fool.

“You really didn’t have to trouble yourself,” you uttered softly. 

He kept the hand with which he held the coffee cup still outstretched towards you, nudging it a little bit as if saying that he had no intentions of taking no for an answer. “I didn’t, but I wanted to. Come on, have it while it’s warm. No take backs.”

You tentatively took the coffee from him, and your cold fingers brushed against his warm ones. Feeling the coldness of your hands made him glad that he risked a chaotic entrance just to get you a warm beverage. 

“Thank you, James,” you looked at him with warmth which makes Bucky try to hide the lump in his throat as he nervously swallows.

The fluttering in his belly always emerged whenever you looked at him like that, sweetly, lovingly. Bucky smiled and feigned nonchalance so you wouldn't notice.

“No need for a thanks,” he smiled gently at you, warmth rushing into your face as he made direct eye contact.

“Sorry, I’m keeping you from work. And these,” he gestured towards a significant pile of books sitting on his desk, ”are unfortunately waiting for me.”

With a final glance and a reciprocated smile, you nodded and went back to your chair, feeling all kinds of feelings that felt too loud for this quiet room.

He looked at you while he took out his notes, smiling to himself when he saw you hug the hot coffee cup with your cold fingers in hopes of warming them up.

After a long study session, during which night had already fallen and soft yellow glow bathed the library's dark wooden shelves in golden lights, Bucky started packing his things and getting ready to leave. The library had mostly emptied out by now. He walked towards you, confusion etched in his face.

“You’re not leaving?”

“Yeah, not yet,” you sighed. “There was a new shipment of literature workbooks that I need to file on the computer by tomorrow, and it’s going to take a while. I should be done in an hour or so.”

Bucky glanced outside, noting how dark it was, the thought of you walking alone making him feel uneasy. “Do you want me to stay with you? I can walk you home when you're done.”

His offer excited you the moment it left his lips but you didn’t want him to waste his time waiting for you. With a heavy heart, as your inside voice scolded you for being nonsensical, you declined spending time with the guy you’ve been daydreaming about every waking moment.

“No need, you were here for hours. You should go and rest. Nat will be coming by in about half an hour so we'll walk back together.”

Bucky hesitated for a brief moment, not sure if you said that just so he wouldn't stay, or if Nat was really coming by. He eventually decided not to push, and hummed in agreement. “Okay, sure. Be careful on your way back, yeah?” 

“I will James, you too.” 

He nodded and walked towards the entrance door. Hesitating with his hand on the handle, he turned around, and coughed awkwardly to get your attention.

You looked up, and his blue eyes caught yours. “Did you fix the extra heater you told me broke last week? The one you and the librarians use behind the desk.” 

“No, not yet,” you stated with slight disappointment. 

“Well, um- it's getting cold in here. Especially this late. Don't forget to bring an extra sweater tomorrow.”

He paused for a brief moment. “And just so you know,” he continued, ”I wouldn't have minded staying with you.”

He nervously scratched the nape of his neck and without waiting for your answer, opened the door and left, leaving you with a flustered look on your face staring at the spot he was just standing at. 

On one particularly miserable day, you burst into the library in a rush, as you finally slowed down your pace and strugglde to get your hectic breathing in order. Long breath in, long breath out. This whole day started as if you wore a big sign over your head saying “Do your worst, universe!”

First you overslept, jumping from the bed like you were struck by lightning, and barely arrived 5 minutes late to your first lecture. In your haste you realised you forgot to pack your lunch, and your mood’s been completely upside down since you had no time to have your morning coffee. 

As fate would have it, it was the coldest day so far and the freezing air was biting your skin almost out of spite as you walked towards the library, just having finished your last class.

The campus was coloured in beautiful autumnal shades of rust and crimson and mustard yellow, a slight burning smell hanging in the air from the neighborhood’s ignited fireplaces keeping everyone warm in their homes.

The library was colder than it was yesterday, and you stopped in your tracks realising you forgot an extra sweater in your rush to leave your dorm room. Today simply decided to be against you and you sigh in defeat, not looking forward to being cold in the most comforting place you could think of.

Bucky was already at his usual spot, his gaze following you as you were getting ready to start your work. You didn't offer him your usual wave and smile upon arrival, which he found unusual. He wanted to get up and talk to you, but something in your countenance told him you weren’t in the mood for a conversation at the moment.

Something felt off with you, and he decided to let you wind down a little first, fearing he’ll just make it worse. Little did he know he was one of very few people whose comfort you would never turn down.

He’s surprised when he realised how in tune he was with your feelings and body language, how much he could read the look in your eyes, the barely noticeable downturn of your lips and frown of your eyebrows, the way your shoulders were sloped down.

Bucky doesn’t remember when he started feeling this way about you - perhaps it was the way you smiled at him when Steve introduced the two of you, saying how important it was for him for his two best friends to know each other.

Or when he saw you placing books on the bookshelf in the library, humming a song from his favourite band.

Perhaps it was when your friend group went to the cinema to watch a horror movie and you reached for his hand as a reflex and held it tightly when a scary scene was playing out on the screen.

Or it could have been that one time he found you crying in front of your classroom having failed an exam you spent many all nighters studying for, and stayed with you hoping his presence would soothe you. He silently sat next to you with your head propped against his shoulder until your breathing calmed down, after which he took you to a café nearby for hot tea where you stayed and talked about everything and anything for hours.

There was something captivating about you, but Bucky noticed you were reserved and shy, at times a little anxious, and someone who’s not particularly enjoying being the centre of attention.

He struggled to find a way to express how he felt without overwhelming you, and one evening after a particularly unbearable overthinking session, he finally called Steve to confess how he felt about you and ask him for advice. Steve was delighted that Bucky had finally admitted his feelings and said - little acts of kindness.

Express it without making it straightforward. You should feel it in the gestures if he offers them with genuine kindness. Make her feel safe and comfortable with you, Steve said. And that’s exactly what Bucky started doing.

Bringing you hot tea, warm coffee, holding the door for you, reminding you to dress warmly, bringing an additional umbrella for you on rainy autumn days knowing how forgetful you can be, closing the window because you were in the cold draft, carrying heavy books for you, buying you cold medicine when you showed up sniffling and coughing.

He tried to convey his feelings in a way you'd notice, but it seems that it wasn't that easy getting through to you. However, his feelings for you grew warmer with each day in this cold library, so much so that even the library didn't feel all that cold anymore whenever you were in his field of vision. Unbeknownst to him, you felt very much the same. 

He noticed you shivering, your hands going up and down your arms to create some warmth. You’re in a thinner sweater and he assumed that you must have forgotten to bring an extra layer of clothing.

Taking his maroon cardigan off, he pulled out his chair and made his way towards you. Your eyes were tired and misty, but when you saw him in front of you the world seemed to shift back to balance.

Bucky's height was obstructing your view, and you found that him shielding you from the outside world felt comforting. 

“I'll be here for another hour, and then I thought I might go to our café for hot chocolate and raspberry muffins. I think I'll be bored without any company.”

He placed the cardigan in your hands, and walked back to his desk. You smiled for the first time that day, sending an inaudible “I'm in” his way. The oversized cardigan smelled like him, still heated by his body warmth.

You snuggled into it and for the first time in a long time, a person started to feel like home.

You walked down the street towards Steve's dorm, the sun slowly setting behind rust-coloured roofs. Dry leaves of every kind of earthy hue are swirling around you as if asked by the air for a dance.

They were crunching beneath your feet, having been scattered around the pavement on the wings of a chilly wind, as the daylight was slowly ending to make way for a starry night and visible warm breaths in the air. You wished you could savour this walk a bit longer, but the weather was growing increasingly colder.

You were aware that you should speed up your pace if you wanted to make it to Steve's before dark because you were only in a thin sweater, but this walk turned out to be a peaceful refuge of silence amongst the autumn trees. Your path eventually led you to a small park filled with other students talking and hanging out, most of them packing up to go warm themselves up in the nearby cafés.

You entered the dorm without anyone paying you attention and made your way up. The hall was barely illuminated but you already knew the way by heart as you've visited Steve a thousand times by now - 3rd floor, three sets of stairs and 25 steps each, the door with newly oiled hinges and someone's initials carved in the upper right corner. You knocked and waited a few moments, noticing soft footsteps approaching from the other side of the door, followed by a sound of keys jingling.

A set of crystal blue eyes landed on yours as the door opened, slightly widening as if he was expecting anyone but you. Another thing the universe has plotted for you, or against you - Steve's recently new roommate is none other than Bucky Barnes. 

"Oh, James- um, hello,” you said with a soft tone, cheeks dusted with an embarrassing blush. You face-palmed internally at your inability to react normally and not embarrass yourself at least once. Jesus y/n, way to go. 

Bucky wasn’t expecting you, but he hid his surprise way better than you. "Y/n, hey! And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Bucky?" 

"At least once more as always, James." 

He sighed, admitting defeat for the moment. It was something he secretly wished for; for you to call him by the nickname all of his best friends use. He wanted to be closer to you, and calling him by his name felt like an arms length between you. What Bucky doesn't know is that you considered it closeness to call him by his real name, and you simply love saying 'James'. It is timeless, gentle. Every vowel and consonant felt soft on your lips. 

Bucky's voice brought you back from your reverie. "So… are you coming to the pub with us or are you here in revenge because I completely forgot to return ”The Global History of World War II”? It's kinda long overdue,” he said with a sheepish grin. 

"Yes, Bucky, that is my favorite pastime when I’m outside of the library," you chuckled light-heartedly, basking in the feeling that he’s comfortable enough around you to be playful and at ease. "Full time student, part-time librarian, book vigilante out of campus for good measure,” you teased, elated when you see that it brought a smile to James' face.

"But now that we're on the topic, you don't have to worry about that. Steve told me that you've been really busy with a big history project for your modern world history class because I noticed you weren't coming by the library, so I took the liberty of extending the loan on your book for you." 

"Wow, pays off having an inside connection at the college library, that's for sure." Despite his playful demeanour, Bucky's features softened into a genuine, grateful smile. "Thank you, y/n.”

There was softness in his gaze that was disarming. He often looked at you like that, as if you were something precious and endearing, but you never allowed yourself to think that he might be feeling anything other than friendly affection for you.

At times it made you wonder if there’s something more he was hinting at, but perhaps you’re just projecting your own feelings where they did not exist. You've never felt like this strongly about anyone, and it's evident that you’re reluctant to allow yourself to have hope because his rejection would be a sting you weren't ready to experience. 

"Nothing to thank me for, really. I know how much that class means to you." 

"By the way - you asked Steve about me?" 

"I, well - I mean -uh. I did,” you stuttered your words and Bucky thought you were the prettiest thing he's ever. He noticed that you were flustered around him before, and he definitely stored that information in a special corner of his mind.

"You're punctual with your library visits, that'all. And I'm used to seeing you there, so of course I noticed you weren't coming as usual. Just wanted to check if everything is okay. It was actually kind of lonely without you around," the words slipped out before you even had the chance to stop yourself. 

Bucky's heartbeat increased hearing you say that. You were lonely without him.

"Well then, I'll have to make sure to come by more frequently and I'll definitely let you know about future absences. Wouldn't want to worry my favourite librarian now, would I?" Bucky said, gently tapping your nose with his index finger and reveling in watching you try to compose your flustered gaze and widened eyes. "You-" a breathy laugh passed your lips, "are incorrigible."

Bucky found you absolutely adorable. He noticed the way you act around him. He's felt your stolen glances in the library. You've never admitted it though, and Bucky is left to speculate. He burns with the desire to ask you how you feel, but he fears pushing you away just as you were getting closer. 

“Oh my god, I can't believe I'm making you stand in the doorway, come in.” He moved aside, motioning with his outstretched hand for you to enter. “Steve is in the shower, his football practice was longer than he thought.”

You stood awkwardly, playing nervously with your hands. It’s strange how Bucky made you both comforted and nervous at the same time. “That's okay, I'll just wait in his room. We can go when he's done.”

Bucky hummed in agreement, his eyes analysing your figure and motioning to the thin sweater you wore. “Y/n, is that all you brought? It must be cold outside.”

“Yeah, well, you know me. It was nice outside when I left the dorm this noon and I didn't plan ahead. Actually, the wind was kinda freezing to be honest,” you shrugged as Bucky gave you a disapproving look, as he always did when you failed to look after yourself.

He paused for a second as if he was mulling over a thought, and then he took off the black hoodie he was wearing. Your face burned hotter than a furnace as the t-shirt beneath rose up, revealing his hips and the heavy muscles of his abdomen. He put the hoodie over your head and the closeness of his body to yours made you light-headed. “Come on, arms through the sleeves. There we go.”

The hoodie was warm, like everything else he wore. If you glimpsed inside his soul you might even find that his whole being is fuelled by the sun.

He delicately took your hair out from the inside of the hoodie and tucked the stray pieces behind your ears, letting his touch linger before retracting his hand, gliding a finger along your jaw. It felt like traces of fire were left where his fingers had touched you. 

“You keep giving me your clothes.”

”And you keep forgetting yours. Maybe you're doing this on purpose,” he said quietly. 

I'm not but I might start doing so, the little voice inside your mind spoke against your better judgment. You looked at each other for another moment before the door opened abruptly and Steve came out followed by steam coming out of the bathroom.

Bucky was unnerved by the interruption but he tried to hide it. Steve looked at the two of you raising his eyebrows with a knowing look, especially when he noticed you dressed in Bucky’s hoodie, and sent a pointed look your way that suspiciously meant ‘we’re so talking about this later.’

Bucky moved out of the way while Steve hurried towards and tackled you into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you so much! I need to get you out of that library more often. You’re seeing Bucky more than you’re seeing me.” He pouted and you rolled your eyes, squishing his cheeks.

“How can a six-foot something human act like such a baby,” you teased. “I’ve missed you too. Now go get dressed, go!” You gently pushed him towards his room. “Nat and Sam are waiting for us.”

You took your phone to send a message to Nat that you’ll be arriving soon, completely oblivious of Bucky’s inner turmoil of feelings caused by seeing you and Steve interact so naturally. He wasn’t jealous of his childhood friend, he knew Steve’s heart like his own and there was not one tiny seed of thought that Steve harboured romantic feelings towards you or that he would hurt Bucky in such a way.

Bucky was jealous of the closeness Steve has with you, the light-hearted nature, the way you didn’t hesitate to hug him or touch him. He wanted that with you, he wanted to be the one your hands instinctively reach out to.

The feelings that were brewing are irrational, he knew this. He also knew that he was slowly snapping at the edges, stitch by stitch, and if he didn’t confess to you soon, the feelings pulsating like a dying star would go full on supernova.

"There she issssss, finally, finally!" Nat hurried towards you, hands outstretched expecting a hug that you gladly offered.

"You're late. You guys are late. Late for a group get-together, y/n! Was your nose stuck in a book again? Is the library holding you hostage?" She teased, as her voice held nothing but giddiness. Nat’s genuinely happy to finally see you out and about. 

"And my nose would still be there if you didn't drag me all the way here,” you repled to her, a playful smile on your lips. It's been forever since the last group hangout, and you sorely missed them.

"Steve was running late so we waited for him, Nat. We didn't mean for you guys to wait- hang on, where Sam?" You looked around the bar, but you didn't see him.

“Said he's rain checking, sudden emergency but nothing serious. He might be joining us later.” You nodded, a little bummed because you haven't seen him in a while and he was always good company to have around.

Nat scaned you up and down, trying to be unobtrusive about it so she doesn't make you uncomfortable or give you a chance to hide something from her. She’s been worried about you lately because you were pulling all-nighters often, going to classes, working part-time in the library.

Not to mention venting to her at 3am when you should be asleep how you think you're falling in love with Bucky and how frightened you were about it.

She was expecting you to shut down from exhaustion at any moment. However, she's glad to see you in a better shape than she  expected. Even with your slightly dark circles indicating lack of sleep, you seemed somehow lighter, happier. 

After a few drinks and a laughing fit about a story Steve recounted from his and Bucky's childhood that made James flush in embarrassment, Nat sighed and placeed her hand on your forearm.

"Is that yours?" she said, feeling the material of your oversized black hoodie between her fingers. "I don't recall you having this, did you get it when we were at the mall last week?" 

You were checking your class schedule on your phone and replied absent-mindedly, not even registering what your words would make Nat think. "It's not mine, it's Bucky's. He let m- ouch! Nat! What was that for?" Her eyes are slightly opened in shock, her fingers pinching you hard where she was touching the hoodie earlier.

The devilish grin appearing on her face made you regret saying anything to her in the first place. She will never let you hear the end of this. "You sly little- Bucky's? Is there something you're not telling me? I can't believe you kept this information to yourself. Tell me everything, and tell me now."

She gave you a pointed look you knew all too well when she saw the hesitation on your face. "Babe, you know I will find a way to find out. Please don't make me grind my ass for answers on why my best friend is wearing the hoodie of the man she's secretly pining for." 

You continued your hushed conversation while you recount what has happened, not noticing that someone has been listening to everything you've been talking about as you and Nat were not as silent as you thought you were.

Bucky sat with a love-sick grin plastered on his face, while Steve's knowing expression revealed a sense of relief because he was so damn tired of watching his two friends pining for each other and doing nothing about it. 

Bucky's thoughts were going a thousand miles a minute. You were pining for him. He was right. I mean, you didn't even negate what Nat said. That must mean something, right? Silence could be interpreted as agreeing, especially knowing how guarded you were and would have defended yourself on the spot.

But you didn't. You have feelings for him. And there's an additional something that made him smile even wider - you just called him Bucky for the first time since he met you. 

“Hey.” Bucky felt your hand on his shoulder, interrupting him in the middle of reading a paragraph. He turned his head to look up at you, your face apologetic.

“Hey.” He circled around in his chair to give you full attention, which was all you needed to push away your guilt for interrupting his studying.

“You wanna go to the history section with me? I think I found the book you asked for last week, the one about the most influential battles of the twentieth century? We could look for it together. Plus you've been sitting slouched for hours too, you need to stretch your legs.” Bucky’s heart soared at the invitation and your concern over his well-being, and he nodded in silent agreement while hastily bookmarking the page in his textbook.

You walked to the back of the library, searching the number of the bookshelf you saw written on your computer. “Section 1…..2….ah here, we go.”

You approached the shelf marked as 3. You felt him hovering near you in silence, and you felt the very atoms in the air vibrate with his presence. You were acutely aware of his every step. Your soft footsteps were muffled by the carpet as you finally spotted the book, high up and just out of your reach. Lifting yourself up on the tips of your toes, you reached as high as your hand allows you and all you  managed was to brush the spine of the book with your fingertips.

Without warning, you suddenly felt his chest flush against your back as he stood behind you and reached over your fingers to take the book from the shelf. His fingers ghosted over yours for a moment, and you whipped your head around, completely flustered by his actions. By the time you noticed how close you were, it was already too late as you sensed his hot breath mixing with yours. He towered over you, deep in thought and with a look in his eyes that had the appearance of a brewing storm, the book long forgotten.

Both of you stood stunned, gazes fixed into each other's eyes. You couldn’t stop thinking of how Bucky's irises you once thought were like the summer sky suddenly appeared green. The dying sunlight casted its rays through the windows straight into his eyes, and it suddenly made sense how the sunny yellow mixed with his blues gave a beautiful green. Bucky broke the trance you were caught in when he placed his left index finger under your chin to make you look up at him, while his other hand slowly inched closer to your face, brushing your cheek with a gentle, feathery touch.

"Eyelash." The low baritone of his voice in this close proximity made your blood rush straight to your cheeks and in between your legs. Wait, what? Did you just- ? You have always reacted to him innocently, with butterflies in your stomach and a warm blush on your cheeks, but it was never this physical before.

Not like you haven't thought about it, but it was just harmless daydreaming and to get this reaction out of you by simply touching you in innocent places bewildered you. The intensity of the moment catches you off guard, nervousness gradually setting in but something keeps you firmly in place. He glanced at your lips as his breathing got deeper and laboured, like the air he was breathing had become as thick as honey. He deeply inhaled once, and exhaled shakily, as if he was fighting an internal battle. His control was hanging by a thread which snapped the moment he saw your eyes look down at his lips while you slightly parted yours. 

In a moment of complete lack of self-control, he dived and captured your lips in eagerness as you immediately reciprocated the kiss, the two of you acting like magnets unable to fight the pulling force for connection. None of you knew who actually initiated the kiss but the sense of shock lasted but a second, and your body took over as you placed your hands at the nape of his neck, fingers lost in his silky, dark locks of hair.

Bucky's lips were soft, softer than you expected, and he was kissing you both delicately and with the fervour of someone who has waited a lifetime to do this. Bucky cradled your head with both of his hands, tilting it upwards to get better access to your lips, his heart wishing to turn this into something more heated but his brain holding him back so in fear of scaring you away.

The gratification you both felt of getting to act upon the pent up desires and bottled up feelings was beyond words, and it brought about a new wave of emotions that burned from within. Bucky gently licked your bottom lip, and his blood sang in his veins when you softly moaned, accelerating his heartbeat.

He captured your lips over and over again, his tongue dancing with yours with each wet, warm press of his lips that drove you insane. You reciprocated every kiss and every touch, your hands digging into his shoulder blades in an attempt to alleviate the intensity you feel, while his hands moved agonisingly slow down your spine until he reached your lower back and pushed you impossibly close against his body. 

You placed your fingers over his lips so both of you could catch a breath as your lungs screamed for air. Bucky pressed his forehead to yours, lips swollen as your faces radiated a pleasant warmth. Bucky gave you a chaste, sweet kiss just as a sudden slam of the library door sounds off and it harshly brought you back to Earth.

The air was filled with uneven breaths as you broke the kiss, your gazes still locked on the swollen lips of the other. Reality came crashing down on you, like icy cold water poured straight onto your head as you’re cruelly snapped back to present.

What has just happened? You weren't even thinking. How could you when all reason went to hell when his lips as soft as petals were just attached to yours? But now that your mind was clearing up, your insecurities rushed all at once in a fight of which one is going to prevail and ruin this for you. 

You couldn’t believe you just did that. Oh my god.

Oh my god, oh my god. There was no way in hell that he liked you like that. Maybe he just wanted to kiss, and you were conveniently there. From what you recall, he kissed you first. Or did he? God, you couldn’t recall a thing. You couldn't even trust your thoughts at the moment. James Barnes kissing you first was an insane thought, even for you. Daydreaming about it was one thing, but it actually happening?

No way in hell. You were out of his league, and he deserved someone as outgoing, beautiful and confident as he is. The whole ordeal was foggy to your overreacting mind, still under the influence of his lips. But James is kinder than that. He’d never be so cruel as to lead you on, his actions up until now resonated only with kindness and respect.

You guessed you must have kissed him first as that was the only thought you had when he had you pressed against the bookshelf. He probably didn't reject you because he didn't want to hurt your feelings. That had to be it, right? 

Nothing made sense to you anymore, and each new thought contradicted the previous one. Insecurities fought against rationality. That was definitely no ordinary kiss, but you're so overwhelmed that you couldn't even think straight, heart rapidly pounding in your chest. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” Bucky's voice was low, rich with warmth and worry, looking down at you as if your internal turmoil is etched on your face.

It was too much, the kiss, his warm hands holding you; the affection he so freely offered but you were reluctant to accept, the insecurity of not being good enough for someone like him but being in love with him nonetheless - if all hit you like a wave. 

“I- I'm-”you tried speaking but not one coherent word came out of you as your mind drew a complete blank.

Bucky watched in horror as your eyes filled with hot tears, one by one slipping down your cheeks in rapid succession. Kissing a man with ocean eyes seemed to have repercussions, as your own eyes were overflowing with salty ocean water. He was frozen in shock as you fell apart in front of him, and just as he was about to snap out of it and comfort you, you left his embrace and ran out of the library after gathering your things in haste, leaving Bucky stunned in silence amongst the empty shelves, the library feeling colder than ever.

[xxeatualivexx]

thinking about kissing bucky’s metal hand

can i?

gn!reader (let me know if it’s not!), 1.8k WARNINGS/TAGS: attempt at writing emotional/sexual tension, reader is a new avenger, mentions of past injury, intimacy

The two of you are in the Tower’s common room when you finally ask about it.

2AM on an uneventful Monday. Yelena, Ava, and John are somewhere in Eastern Europe on a cursed sequence of back-to-back recon missions. Bob is asleep in his room. Alexei is nowhere to be found.

Which leaves you and Bucky alone, and not in the way that you’re used to.

You’re used to being alone with Bucky in a corridor of a dilapidated power plant, shadows entwined and guns raised. In a black SUV, him at the passenger seat and you behind the wheel, sharing stale air as a stakeout bleeds through the hours. On a training mat while your feet and his trace watchful circles, patiently waiting for the first pounce.

This kind of alone is different.

No context to hide behind. Just two complicated people in simple silence, doing the little dance of strangers in a grocery store aisle. The unspoken, delicate measures of am I taking up too much space, are you passing me by, are we reaching out for the same thing?

A dance you’ve been doing for far too long.

You’re past the “can’t sleep?” conversation. It died seconds after it started—the two of you cross paths like this way too many times to the point where asking feels like a pointless formality. So many nights where his bedroom feels like a cage. As many as the ones where your bloodstream pronounces your thoughts out loud.

He’s always there first.

Always standing by the window, looking down at the city that’s just as awake as he is, as if staring at it long enough will reveal some kind of answer. Always looking at you when you walk in.

Tonight is the same.

You make tea—the flowery one Yelena bought for you. She claims it’s calming.

“Want some?” you ask, pouring boiling water into a cup with a teabag. Steam begins to waft, and so does a faint chamomile scent, the softness of it almost out of place against minimalist concrete curves.

“It doesn’t work,” he replies.

“I’m not drinking it because it does.”

A beat. Then, whispered quietly, “yeah, sure.”

That’s how you end up hanging around the kitchen island with him, sipping floral tea past midnight while exchanging sentences that barely count as small talk.

Like grieving mothers. Not knowing the words, yet understanding so fully what it feels like.

In the dimly lit room, you catch the glint of his metal arm, fully exposed thanks to his standard issue black t-shirt. Gold markings on sleek Wakandan vibranium ripple and glow when he rests his arm on the counter, plates shifting quietly.

Despite the many times you’ve seen it, it’s still mesmerizing. Especially tonight.

Maybe it’s the hour. Maybe it’s your lucidity, or lack thereof.

It must be a heavy thing, the arm, literally and figuratively. How it carries his past.

You’ve seen Ava lug it like a pipe. Seen him wind it up when it reattaches. Heard the sound it makes. Learned how it affects his gait and reveals vulnerabilities on his right side—the side you always cover when you’re assigned to him. The side you prefer to stand on.

But more than that, you’ve felt it. Not just brush of his fingers when he returned a dagger he borrowed from you—but on your forehead, firm and real. The weight of it reassuring, the coolness of it almost soothing.

“Remember Brunei?”

You say it so soft, like you don’t mean to say it out loud to him. He looks at you, standing almost right in front of you across the island. The room seems to shrink.

“The paralytic agent?”

You nod as you replay the way that mission went sideways just two weeks ago.

The two of you and Yelena, John at the jet. An illicit research facility deep within a rainforest. How you caught a microdose of something potent through a hollow-tip dart to the neck while extracting yourself from the scene. How the hundred-degree fever hit one minute after, too fast to be harmless.

Walker had his hands full piloting the take off, rocky and bullet-riddled. Bucky noticed the signs first: your thousand yard stare and the flush on your cheeks.

“What is it?” Yelena asked, eyes darting.

His vibranium hand was on your forehead in an instant. Flesh hand on your pulse. A status check.

“You’re burning up,” he whispered, scrambling to strap you in your seat before barking all military-like at Walker—something about going faster.

You blacked out after that.

In the kitchen, you nod with your chin towards the metal arm.

“You can feel temperature?” you ask behind the rim of your mug, all casual, like you haven’t thought about it for the past fourteen days.

He glances down. The plates flex, as if they don’t appreciate the attention.

“And other indicators,” he answers quietly. “Nano-receptors. I can feel if something so much as hovers over it.”

There’s a pause before he continues. “Helps with reflexes.”

You put down your drink, not taking your eyes off dark metallic fingers against the smooth marble countertop.

“Can I touch it?”

The air is sucked out of the room into a cold vacuum. You realize what you just let escape from your mouth.

Your eyes snap to his. They’re blue and just a fraction wider than usual. Your lips part, eyelids fluttering as you avert your gaze to everywhere except him, unsure of how you’re going to glue back the moment you just shattered into pieces on the floor. How will he ever trust you again?

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

“You can.”

It takes a second for his words to register. Two. Three.

Even after they do, the world is still stopped on its axis.

Your eyes find his again, searching in them the balm to your mortification, and it’s there. A look. Soft and wavering, as if he doesn’t quite believe what he’s saying, just like you.

But his palm is still upturned. Open. For you.

And then your hand moves, a motion so subtle you swear it’s not your own, like it got pulled by a gravitational force emanating from where his hand sits. Your fingertips stop above his, an inch apart, and you feel it.

The electricity. A kind of energy that’s not just alchemical reaction of two warm bodies, but a spark elusive enough to be craved, too real to be hallucinated.

You realize it has always been right there, in the space between your existence and his.

In every furtive post-mission glance, cataloging each other’s wounds from afar, how looking away feels as difficult as a ten-step containment protocol.

It’s there in the circles you draw around each other on the training mat, prolonging a tightrope tension that was never just about sparring.

It’s in the look on his face when you woke up in the med bay, the first thing you saw after tilted Bruneian skies. Steel blue silencing a brand of suffering you recognized as his. Like his sanity was tested while you slept.

You’ve ignored this for so long, it can only be blamed on negligence. A conscious carelessness towards your own feelings—and his—just so you can move on through life with a false sense of security.

Tenderness means both sweetness and an ache. If avoiding it means not hurting, then that’s what you’ll do.

That was your intention, and you have a feeling it was his, too. But you can’t run, not now.

You’re not sure you want to anymore.

Your fingers brush against his before you slide them down to hold his knuckles in your palm. Bucky breathes out like he hasn’t for the past minute. You sigh. He’s cold and hot at the same time, foreign but familiar.

The air crackles with heat, condensed to a fine point that coalesces in your point of contact. Your thumb brushes slowly down the back of his index finger, tracing cybernetic knuckles.

His eyes follow your movement.

Bucky tries to even out his breathing, he really does, but there’s not enough and too much air in his lungs. Box-breathing doesn’t work when you’re touching him like this.

You caress his hand like it’s made of glass and not a thousand crimes, touch so featherlight he almost thinks you’re testing its sensitivity. Like you want to find out the softest thing he can feel.

The answer is you. You are.

Bucky feels goosebumps forming on his other arm instead.

You study him like you’ll never get the chance to again, running your fingers down his with the lightest of touches—did he just shiver?—until you’re left with his pinky. You gently grab the pad of it between your thumb and index, tugging.

Like a child who wants to play, a lover who begs to stay.

He breathes your name. You look at him, lips suddenly dry. His pupils are dilated.

“Tell me to stop,” you whisper, walking round the island to stand next to him.

The thought of stopping makes him ache.

He doesn’t say anything. Just shifts, his body aligning with yours like a magnet finding its match.

The metal arm moves to your face, gently guiding your chin up to meet his gaze. Your knees are close to buckling. Intoxicated by a single look.

Bucky brushes his thumb across your lower lip, taking his turn to study you. The motion is both patient and indulgent, slow and sensual, betraying a deeper want in the way the metal pad of his finger catches against the plush of your lip.

The pronounced ‘thump’ behind his ribs cracks the facade. He camouflages as a silent observer, a shadow in the corner of the room, a colleague who only looks at your six for threats—when between God and himself, he’s stared at your lips like he’s memorizing the shape of them to feed his dreams at night.

And he has dreamed of them. Just never as dangerous as this.

His thumb parts your bottom lip slightly. Your breath hitches.

Then you turn your head just enough to kiss his palm.

A quiet groan escapes him, one that sends rushing warmth through every nerve in your body. You stand there, hand gently keeping his in place as your mouth traces reverently across precise indentations, down to the inside of his wrist.

Your lips are supplicant against gold veins, slow and light like a private prayer.

There’s fire in his body, a holy purge or hellish torment, he’s not sure. He just knows he wants more. His heart is overwhelmed with feeling. Thanksgiving to the Wakandans who allowed this to happen. Disbelief at the sweet, sweet way you twist his hand. Salvation for every sin he’s ever drowned in.

You kiss the back of his hand first—three trailing up—then his knuckles last. One by one, your mouth closes around each protrusion with affection so pure it’s nearly erotic.

He’ll worship every part of you like that, too, if you’ll let him.

In a moment of impatience, he cradles your face again, forcing you to look at him. This time his flesh hand is on your other cheek.

You’ve never seen Bucky look so lost.

“How does it feel?” you whisper. Earnest.

Then he leans down, breathing the same air as you. He’s so close—broad chest brushing against yours—you swear you can count his eyelashes from here.

He exhales and you grow dizzy.

“Like I’m losing my mind,” he rasps, thumb swiping your bottom lip again.

Your hands move to his chest, compensating for the sudden weakness in your legs, painfully aware of the inches between your lips and his—almost zero.

“You didn’t ask me to stop.”

His eyes contemplate yours with a look that barely barricades a flood. Waves of silent secrets and denied desire thrash beneath blue rings, waiting to be let out, to be known. They scream I want you and you’re the most precious thing I don’t deserve to have in the same silence.

“I’d be stupid to,” he replies, voice low.

The electricity sparks. You can’t take it anymore.

“Bucky…”

Half-lidded eyes stare up into his, voicelessly spelling out the five letters that make the word please, the eight that make I need you, the very many that tell him there’s no going back from this.

He seems to understand.

Time stands still.

Then he kisses you—slow and deep—and the world spins.

[xxeatualivexx]

Beefy Bucky who has been dying for the chance to fuck you in front of a mirror.

once again, today's fic did not get written... take this as my peace offering. been in the back of my head for two weeks

your hands are on the cold marble countertop in the bathroom, holding yourself up as he unbuckles his jeans behind you. he shoves them to his ankles, his shirt lost somewhere along the way. he's unclothed every inch of you already; what's the fun of fucking you in front of the mirror if he can't see you?

his metal hand comes to the swell of your ass as the other finds its way between your legs, dipping two fingertips inside you.

"you ready, pretty girl?" he mumbles, distracted as he steps forward, notching himself at your entrance.

you let out a low, drawn-out moan in response.

your hands manage to stay put, keeping you in place as he presses himself in. his arms reach to wrap around your torso, leaning you backwards and up against his chest, taking on your weight for you.

"that's it," he mutters, giving a few shallow thrusts, looking at your face in the mirror.

you can't do anything but moan, head hung forward and eyes shut, mind long gone.

"come on," he encourages, bringing one hand to your chin and tilting your to lean back on his shoulder. "open your eyes."

you blink your eyes open. "good girl, sweetheart," he coos as you meet his gaze in the reflection.

"you look so pretty all stretched out on my cock."

you moan, again.

he chuckles.

"that's it, going all dumb for me, aren't you? go ahead, baby, you don't need to worry about a thing," he assures you softly, before instructing you, his voice rougher and gaze pointed,

"just keep your eyes on me."

✦ masterlist ✦

divider creds @/cursed-carmine

[xxeatualivexx]

The Feral Three

Summary: Bucky is an incredibly patient man. He’s given you space, time and opportunities. But when he finally reaches his limit, he decides to do something about it. One shot.

Pairings: Bucky x Female Reader

Warnings: Hints of slight stalking (in a non-angsty way, Bucky’s curiosity is piqued is all), mentions of insecurity of reader, explicit consent, mutual horniness, unhinged dirty thoughts, swearing, explicit smutty smut.

A/N: This is unapologetically self-indulgent, so I suppose it’s a marmite fic. If my marmite’s not your jam (wow, this is dad joke level…) please feel free to move on and dive into someone else’s gutter mind.

I do, however, apologise for the liberties taken to interpret and manipulate the fictional characters of Bucky and, by extension, Steve.

Crossposted on my Wattpad account.

Wordcount: 5.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky knew about The Feral Three.

The three days a month when you dropped off the radar.

Of course he caught on to it straight away. Recognising and studying behavioural patterns had become instinctual to him. What before was used on assigned targets for an efficient kill was now background noise his subconscious catalogued regarding the people that surrounded him.

Your regular disappearance worried him, mostly because it deprived him of your presence. Something he noticed he’d not just gotten used to but needed. So he observed with intent.

He knew that you locked yourself away in your apartment. He also knew what you were doing there. Modern recon tech was incredibly sophisticated. Hacking your computer at work to access your calendar not so much, but he made sure you wouldn’t notice.

That’s when he discovered the acronym. It was only much later that he found out what it stood for.

He had tracked this for over a year now and he was able to predict the beginning of The Feral Three within an hour window, because, well, patterns.

Was he surprised at what he found? Maybe a little, but mostly, he was enticed and so fucking turned on.

However.

Bucky was a patient man. So he gave you space and plenty of opportunities to make a move. Steve had told him that some women liked to take initiative these days.

Apparently not you.

Steve told him that some women needed time to make a move. So he gave you time, space and opportunities. God did he give you opportunities.

And you let every single one slip through your fingers.

Steve told him that some women needed encouragement, reassurance. So he tried to show you that he was interested. Very much so, in fact.

He’d lean in a little closer than necessary when talking to you. He’d make eye contact, lean in when you talked, really listen to you, show interest in your life and work. He would accidentally on purpose brush his hand against yours. The blushing, the hitching breath, the loss of words – it satisfied him in a primal way, to see what an effect he had on you.

But you still made no move. It was getting irritating, how stubbornly you refused to act on your feelings. As if you didn’t deserve him or some shit.

So he had no other choice but to up the ante and lean over the table next to you, standing so close he knew you could feel his body heat without him touching you. He made sure his breath was puffing against your skin as he stared at something on the screen you were pointing to. Not that he gave a damn about what was on that screen. Not when you were standing there sucking in shaky pockets of breath, trying hard to keep yourself under control. 

He could see the hairs on your skin stand to attention, the goosebumps break out and cover the length of your arms, disappearing under your top to reappear at the collar, all the way up your neck. Your accelerated breathing and the red hue on your cheeks. The stammering was a bonus. The fact that you were so responsive to him without him even actually touching you was… very intriguing, to say the least. Also the source of many late night fantasies that either played out with him fisting himself in the sheets or in the shower.

He found out he’d get the strongest reaction out of you in the staff kitchen, where you’d routinely brew a coffee before a meeting. And he’d make sure to randomly pass by at the right time to stand behind you, placing one hand on the counter, grazing your hip, the other trailing up your arm to your hand to reach the mug you couldn’t, his nose placed just so you would definitely feel his breath puff against your skin and the rumble in his chest when he’d use his bedroom voice to say: “Let me get that for you, sweetheart”.

After thirteen months, however, Bucky’s patience had run as dry as the fucking Atacama Desert. He was done waiting. According to his meticulous calculations you were two hours and forty seven minutes into The Feral Three.

Time to take matters into his own hands and get things moving.

*****

You called them The Feral Three (TFT for short), because you hardly recognised yourself during those three days. This was due to the fact that in the immediate run up to and during ovulating you couldn’t keep your desires under the safe lid you normally forced them under. Absolutely airtight.

But not during those days. No. 

Then it all exploded right into your face. Metaphorically. Your body would be aching with the need to make lots and lots of babies at the slightest stimulation, like looking at Bucky knickers ruining Barnes at work. You managed exactly one and a half TFTs whilst seeing him at the office, before you folded – conceding it would be better and much less embarrassing for mostly you if you just stayed at home and tried to get rid of the lust that pulsated through your body for 72 hours, with the help of your vibrators.

Plural because, well, turned out battery recharge time took longer than your hormones raging again.

You hardly left the bed. If you did, it was for bathroom trips and to shower (hurrah for waterproof vibrators) or to get some food. Bucky was on your mind constantly. Did you have a crush on him? Of course not. You sailed well past that and crashed straight into ‘being in luuurve’. Like the fucking loser you were.

And all you could think of was what those lips would feel like on yours. Or that stubble of his on your skin, or between your legs. What could that pink tongue do that you had seen peek out at work sometimes? What his hair would feel like as you ran your fingers through it – silky or coarse? And what of that vibranium arm of his? Could it not just absorb but also… release vibrations? And if you’d ask him nicely would he fill you up with cum and fuck it into you until it took?

Usually, you buried those thoughts deep, deep down in your mind. However, during TFT Pandora’s box was opened and your mind dove all the way down into the stickiest, deepest depths of the gutter. Bathing in a sea of sin.

After the three days you’d emerge exhausted, deeply embarrassed, with a drawer full of super clean and fully recharged dildos. Ashamed of the secret you held and your feelings for Bucky. If anyone knew… you’d die on the spot of shame. And guilt.

So much guilt.

Because the thing was Bucky was a nice guy. Grumpy? Yes. Moody? Yes. But genuinely kind.

He didn’t mind that you weren’t all sunshine and rainbows, were socially awkward, stood in your own way most of the time and that you had bad days – everyone had their own demons after all. He sensed when yours reared their heads and left you the fuck alone. Unlike other people and their constant “are you okay? You’ll feel better if you talk about it?” bullshit. You preferred solitude. 

And Bucky just got that. Without so much as a word of explanation, he just… got it. It made him even more attractive than he already was.

And yet.

And yet.

You were absolutely delusional to fall in love with him. He was out of your league, out of your world. Over the course of the last year you had displayed extremely embarrassing behaviour. You tried not to react. But whenever he got close to you by accident… Like that one time when he was leaning over the table to see what you were pointing at. He was so close, so close you could feel his body heat and then he’d said something. You couldn’t remember for the life of you what it was. But that gravelly voice of his in your ear made you cream your knickers right then and there. It was nothing short of embarrassing.

And highly unprofessional. And… gross. What would Bucky think if he ever found out? He’d never be able to look at you again without anything other than utter disgust. Something was seriously wrong with you.

So as you locked the door of your flat after a long day at work, you sighed as the hormones started to rage through you, your mind inundated with images of… him. You always tried to wait for as long as possible before you caved. But the memory of him standing behind you just hours ago, helping you get a mug down in the staff kitchen, touching your arm and hand… yeah. Something was not right with you.

A few months ago you’d worked up the courage to go to a shrink for help. Because this was not normal, right? You chickened out, though. Talked about plenty of childhood trauma instead. The shrink seemed happy enough to help you unpack that shit. Your bank account not so much.

You put away the food you had bought on the way home. Changed the sheets on your bed. Closed the curtains. Had a shower. Sat down on the couch with pot noodles, watching some telly until the urges would kick in and get… unbearable.

It was a practised routine by now.

The ringing of the doorbell, however, was not.

*****

“Bucky?”

You couldn’t believe your eyes. There he was, standing in your doorway, looking darker than usual, a bunch of flowers dangling in his metal hand.

“Can I come in?” It sounded… rough.

Your body moved as if his words were a command. And then he was in your flat. The visual of him standing in your hallway knocked the breath out of you. He made it look small. When he turned to you, the cellophane of the flowers crinkled against his leg and he looked down at them, as if only just remembering that they were there.

“These are for you,” he said.

They looked terrible, despite coming from the expensive place around the corner. Some of the heads were missing, the shop’s sticker half peeled off, cellophane wrinkled as if he’d clenched his hand around the plant stems repeatedly. Maybe he battered the poor flowers against the walls of the staircase on his way up. As if he was… angry, perhaps.

You tried to save as many of them as you could, when you clipped the damaged bits of stems off into the kitchen sink and put them in the water jug for lack of a vase. Questions flooded your mind. How did he know where you lived? Why was he here? Why did he bring flowers? Why did he have to wear your favourite top and the flipping leather jacket? Was this just your mind playing a trick on you after all?

The flowers looked pretty in the jug, despite the mistreatment. You turned, hands clutching the counter behind you nervously, to find him staring at you, hands in his pockets. He looked… kind of pissed off.

“Thank you,” you all but stammered out. “For the flowers.”

He nodded, but kept staring at you and you couldn’t help thinking that you were in trouble.

Had you done something to upset him? But then why would he bring flowers? Why was he here? You couldn’t ask him that. He already looked ticked off, you didn’t want to make things worse. Maybe a peace offering would calm him down.

“Coffee? Tea? Squash?”

He inclined his head ever so slightly.

“I mean fruit punch,” you explained quickly. “Would you like some?” 

He shook his head.

Well, that was all the ammo you had in your sparse arsenal of social interaction. You really sucked at that. The lack of friends proved it. As did your anxiety.

Bucky just stood in the doorway, staring at you. You couldn’t look at him, instead, you bit your lip and studied your socks. One of them had a loose thread. But it wouldn’t distract from him.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaning against the doorframe. The movement filled the kitchen with his scent. Worn leather, soap – whatever it was, it made your core clench and you shifted slightly to press your thighs together and swallow dry.

Maybe you should ask him what he was doing here after all, this was getting awkward. Just as you took a breath to speak, he beat you to it.

“I’ve been very patient,” he sighed, expression giving nothing away. “I noticed your feelings for me over a year ago. I gave you space and time to realise and to act on them. But you didn’t.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach like a heavy rock. He knew? For over a year?

“I tried to encourage you. Then you disappear every 21.3 days for several days. I got worried. I investigated.” There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his voice dipped. “Imagine how surprised I was to find you holed up here, moaning my name as you were trying to get yourself off.”

If you were embarrassed before, you were absolutely horrified now.

He knew?!?

Your hands flew up to your face, covering your eyes in shame. As if that would make you disappear. Holy shit, he knew.

“So you see,” his voice moved closer and stopped right in front of you, “I have been an extremely patient man. And I just can’t let you go through another three days of this. Let me help you.”

You were mortified by what he knew. That he knew.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, I–”

He tutted. “Look at me.”

You lowered your hands. He was so close it was hard to think.

“Do you want me?”

“...What?”

His eyes held yours, as his lower lip rolled into his mouth, his tongue peeking out to glide over it, his teeth catching the plush pillow as it rolled back. Heat rolled down your spine at the sight.

“It’s simple, really. You like me, I like you. So let me ask again: do you want me?”

Yes. Yes, your reproductive system and heart screamed. Your mouth, however, malfunctioned.

“I– it’s not that simple. We, uh, work together–”

“Screw work.” He placed his hands on the counter caging you in, all but growling his next words at you. “Do. You. Want. Me?”

He was so much in your personal space it made your head spin and your knickers damp. All you wanted was to gravitate into him and be soaked up by every cell of his body. You wanted to badly to give into the pull. But.

But did he actually mean what he said? You needed to know. Because this was Bucky. With a herculean effort you leaned back ever so slightly so you could see his face. He looked… serious, sincere, unwavering. Stern even. You gulped. 

“Yes.” It was barely a whisper, but it was all you could manage.

It was enough.

He stared at you for a moment. The hint of a smile ghosted over his lips, but only for a second. Then his gaze dipped to your mouth.

“Normally,” he started, his voice low, “I would court you, sweetheart. I would bring you flowers, take you to dinner, dancing, walks in the park. But like I said, after a year of traipsing around it, I’m all out of patience.”

He leaned in closer and your heart beat tripped up. “So I’m going to kiss you now, sweetheart. Properly. And then I’m going to make you moan my name for real. Tell me now if you don’t want this and I’ll go.”

You blinked, shook your head. Words failed you. Afraid that he might misunderstand the shaking of your head, your hands grabbed the front of his shirt, the goddamn tight shirt that accentuated everything so deliciously, fisting the fabric and pulling him to you.

A sound of approval made its way up his throat and he closed the distance, his breath puffing against your skin as he muttered: “Open those lips for me.”

You did.

In your experience, first kisses were lips to lips first, testing out. An introduction to the sensation if you will. Then one party coaxes the other’s mouth open and tongues explore.

Not with Bucky.

Several things happened all at once:

1) his tongue dove into your mouth straight away, sliding against yours in the most sinful way;

2) his metal hand fisted in your hair at the back of your head, the other pulled up the hem of your shirt, pushing it up the side of your ribcage, before cupping your breast, thumb stroking over your nipple. It pebbled instantly;

3) he kicked your feet apart and rolled his hips into yours.

This was not just a kiss. It was a full on assault of your senses.

His chest rumbled under your fingers. A sound that instantly ruined your knickers. You shivered in his arms, trying to process what was happening, trying to take in the feel, the scent, the taste of him.

But you needed to know something. You pushed at his chest.

He broke the kiss to look at you.

“You like me?” you asked breathlessly.

His pupils were so blown his eyes looked black. “So fucking much.”

You gulped, processing it for a moment. “You brought flowers, so I’ll consider myself courted.”

He huffed out a breath. “Nah, sweetheart. I’ll show you what I mean. Later.”

With that, he pulled your head back to give him access to your throat. Then his lips were on your skin, kissing, sucking, licking. His hips were grinding into yours, his fingers kneading your breast, his vibranium hand sliding down your spine, cupping your ass.

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you.

He stopped kissing, eyes burning into yours. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”

You pulled him back onto your mouth, all inhibitions and reservations gone. This was too good, you needed more. All of him. And he was offering.

Your hands ran up and under his leather jacket, he shrugged it off, it landed with a heavy thud on the floor.

His hands grasped your ass, swiftly lifting you up onto the counter and cupping your face in his hands, tilting your head to allow for a deeper kiss. His teeth clashed on yours. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him closer to your aching centre, your head dropping back, banging onto the kitchen cabinet.

“Please,” you breathed.

Bucky lifted you up, carrying you to the bedroom, lips not leaving yours. The mattress hit your back, Bucky landing on top of you, his weight delicious between your legs, applying pressure in just the right place.

Impatiently you tugged on his top and he pulled it up and over his head in one swift movement. Your lips latched onto the exposed skin, kissing and sucking on it.

“Later,” he mumbled, before he pulled your shirt up. He was too impatient for the thin fabric and it ripped apart.

His lips feasted on your breasts.

“I’ll buy you another,” he promised between mouthfuls.

You didn’t care, couldn’t think, only felt. His hands and lips on your body as he kissed his way down your belly and to your aching centre. Your knickers fell victim to his strength, too.

And then his face was between your legs. He ran his tongue flat over your slit up to your clit, groaning against your skin. The vibration alone nearly sent you over the edge and he’d barely touched you. And then he started sucking and lapping, like a starved man. His vibranium hand felt cold against your skin as he held you open.

Your fingers were in his hair, silky soft, it turned out. When he inserted two long fingers into you and curled them you tugged a little too hard on his hair. He cursed against your clit and resumed his ministrations at a maddening rhythm. As if he’d done this to you a thousand times before.

The coil inside you was wound so tight, you thought you were going to lose your mind.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he breathed, not letting up with the speed. “Need you nice and wet so you can take all of me. Need to be completely buried inside you.”

No sooner had he spoken the words than the coil snapped and your orgasm rolled through you, making you throw your head back and chant his name over and over.

His lips and fingers helped you ride out your high, his vibranium arm holding you in place and when you were able to open your eyes again to look down at him, pride and satisfaction shone in his eyes, before his fingers picked up speed again.

“Give me another one.”

You weren’t ready. You didn’t think you’d be able to so quickly after the first one, wanted to push him away, but his mouth on your clit had you pull his head closer instead and your eyes fluttered shut at his ministrations. His fingers rubbed against the spongy spot inside that made your toes curl. You came undone on his tongue so fast you were almost shocked by the orgasm. Your legs were trembling and he softly kissed the inside of your thighs, whilst supporting them with his hands.

How could he coax two orgasms out of you so quickly? Even during TFT you needed recharge time. But not with him.

Your humble experience of sex with men usually entailed smug smirks if they managed to get you off. Not Bucky though. His eyes were blown, dark with desire as he moved up to kiss you deeply, as if you were the first water that touched his lips in days. As if he’d just witnessed the best thing ever.

He broke the kiss to feast on your breasts, teasing your nipples, his mouth sucking, licking, teeth nipping, lips soothing, intent on leaving marks. When his lips found yours again, you wrapped your legs around him. You noticed he was still wearing his jeans.

Your toes hooked into his waistband, pushing down.

“Off,” you requested heatedly.

He complied and opened the button and zipper, your feet helping him drag the trousers and boxers down to his knees. He moved to take them off, but your legs squeezed around him. His cock lay heavy and hard against your stomach, precum leaking from its purple tip.

“Last chance, sweetheart,” he murmured. “If you don’t want this, say it now.”

You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “I want you, Bucky.”

He leaned down to capture your lips in a slow, sensual kiss.

His hand came down to grab his cock and he rubbed the tip through your soaked folds.

“Fuck. This all for me?” he cursed.

His hips rocked forward and then he filled you. Your breath hitched and he drank it in. Inch by inch he filled you, stretching you to your limit, making you both moan. He stilled for a moment, giving you time to adjust. He looked down at you, lips puffy, cheeks flushed, hair messy.

“Is this okay? Are you ready for me?” His voice sounded raspy and tense, like he held himself back. For you.

It melted you and fuelled the desire in you. At a loss for words, you nodded and clenched your core to show him.

He swore, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them, raw desire burnt in them.

And then started moving, his hips rolling into you, rocking you up to a height you had never been to. He maintained eye contact, memorising each gasp, shiver or moan he drew from you. It was so intimate, too intimate, you wanted to look away, but he stilled, his hand cupping your face.

“Don’t,” he said throatily. “Please don’t hide. I know this makes you feel exposed, vulnerable. Please let me see you, all of you.” His hips slowly started to pick up the pace. “Please trust me. Like I trust you. With my body, heart and mind.”

Your heart ached at his words. You weren’t ready for this, weren’t sure you’d ever be. Not after all the times you’d been let down, hurt. But this was Bucky. The man you’d been in love with for longer than you could think. You gulped down the lump in your throat. Time to take a leap.

Your hand wrapped around his that was still cupping your face. Your fingers intertwined and you let yourself fall into his eyes. 

Bucky noticed the change in you and adjusted his hips slightly, hitting a different spot. It made you see stars, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. His hand let go of yours, trailing down your side, over your hip to your thigh and between your joined bodies, to find your clit. His fingers rubbed it with just the right pressure.

“Don’t – don’t stop,” you begged, “so close.”

“Where?” he rasped.

“Inside, inside,” you mewled.

He kissed you deeply, before fixing his eyes on yours again. His fingers worked faster, his hips desperate and sloppier, he studied every single one of your reactions, memorising them.

“I got you, flower,” he whispered hotly.

And then you fell over the edge into the abyss, moaning his name, fighting hard to keep your eyes open. It was his undoing and he grabbed your thigh, opening you more for him, so he could be deeper. He rutted into you hard and deep, you could feel his balls slap against your ass, the squelching noise of the wetness of your cunt as he buried himself inside you once, twice, thrice, before his back arched and he shot hot ropes of cum against your cervix with a feral growl.

You were both breathing hard as you came down from your high. Hands caressing, touching. His lips found yours in a long, languid kiss.

“Cheater,” you whispered as he peeled away a strand of hair that was plastered against your cheek from the sweat you had worked up.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

“Mmh, you broke eye contact when you came.”

His eyes were warm, full of something you didn’t dare name. “Guess I’ll have to work on that.”

If he was here for the whole duration of TFT? Boy would he get a chance to work on it.

*****

Bucky woke up, your breath on his chest tickling him. Your limbs were tangled in each other, the bed was a mess, the air heavy with the smell of sex. He looked down at you. Your hair stuck out in every direction, your lips were puffy, your body littered in love bites and marks of his fingers, where he got a little carried away and grabbed you too hard. He had made sure to make up for every single bruise.

In a moment, he’d get up and run you a bath, because he knew you’d be aching and sore from the last three days of unadulterated, uninhibited sex. He was also steeling himself for the awkwardness that, knowing you, undoubtedly would follow, though he hoped he was wrong on that one. He hoped he’d made his intentions and feelings clear.

After the first few rounds he had asked if you had any sexual fantasies. He was so glad he did, because it turned out you had a fair few. And he did his best to fulfill each and every single one of them.

Bucky had dutifully pinned you up against the wall of the bedroom, the cold tiles of the shower and the front door. He bent you over the kitchen counter, the back of the couch and the bathroom sink. He had you ride him on the bed, the couch and the rug in the living room. He ate you out on the kitchen table, the couch, the bed and in the shower. He watched as your lips and hands wrapped around his dick and you sucked him off in the bed, the shower, the kitchen.

He found out you really liked sex in the kitchen. It explained your reactions at work. Really liked being taken in the kitchen from behind. Something about him standing behind you, breathing hot kisses on your neck, whilst one hand cupped a breast and the other dipped into your wet folds whilst his cock hammered into you had you screaming his name.

The food you’d bought in preparation remained mostly untouched. You attempted to cook twice and burnt both meals, because well, you liked kitchen sex and seeing you swaying your hips was irresistibly sexy. His cock agreed and he had to have you right then. Take out seemed more reasonable. You blew him when he ordered the first time – you told him it was his fault because he just looked too sexy when he ordered – and as revenge he made you order food the next day when he was balls deep inside you.

At least the serum had one indisputable benefit: stamina. Bucky kept up with your demand and then some. The three nights and days passed in a blur and seemed to last for an eternity at the same time.

But today was day +1 after the end of TFT. Carefully, Bucky slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom to start running a bath. As he was contemplating which bath foam to add, arms circled around his midsection and he felt your naked breasts press against his back. His cock twitched.

“Morning.” His voice was rough from sleep, turning around to kiss you. “How are you, my love?”

You stood on the tip of your toes, arms around his neck, pulling him in.

“Sore,” you admitted.

He hummed, letting his hands glide over the skin of your side. Goosebumps erupted and you shivered in his arms. When you opened your eyes they were dark.

But he needed to take care of you now.

“I figured you’d be achy, so I drew you a bath.”

He helped you in and followed when you tugged him in behind you. You settled between his legs and he reached for the soap and your washcloth, working up a lather. “Let me wash you, sweetheart.”

And he did. His movements were certain and gentle, his method thorough. After he washed and massaged your tense muscles, he washed your hair, first shampoo, then conditioner. Then and only then did he wash himself. His cock was rock hard, because that was just what happened when he touched you, but he tried to hide it from you. 

However, you had different ideas. You turned and straddled him in the tub, rubbing yourself slowly against his erection, letting him feel your dripping heat, kissing him deeply.

“Sweetheart,” he broke the kiss. “Is this a good idea? You’re sore.”

“Mmh, don’t care. Need you.”

Your hot mouth was back on his and he wanted to give into the pull, but this was important.

“Hang on, let me ask you something first.”

Drawing small circles on his chest you looked up at him. “What is it?”

Bucky wasn’t one for poetry. So he let the words come out as they wanted. “The last three days have been incredible. I just need you to know that this wasn’t a fling for me. Do you understand that?”

You nodded, slowly.

“You’ve loved me from afar,” he pressed on. “Can you love me from up close? Where it is real, reciprocated and, I guarantee you, sometimes uncomfortable and difficult? Can you be mine?”

It was a question that hit you in the gut, he could tell, but he needed to know. And you needed to know all of it.

“Because sweetheart, I love you. So damn much.”

Your eyes showed surprise. “You… do?”

He cupped your face with both of his hands. “I do. And I’ll be honest, I’ll struggle with deserving you now and again. Just like you probably think you don’t deserve me. Am I right? Is this why you never made a move?”

He watched you swallow, tears shimmering in your eyes. He waited, patiently, until you found the words.

“I just… you’re so out of my league, Bucky. You’re you and I’m… me. What if… the team teases you and you’ll look at me with their eyes and you’ll realise that… that…” Your voice faded to a whisper.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” His thumbs ran softly over your cheeks. “I love you, you love me. That’s really all that matters, yeah? The team won’t tease me, not in the way you think. We’re grown ups. I’m a man, not a boy. I know what I want. I want you to be my woman. And I’m fairly sure you want me, too. So, I’m asking you again. Can you love me from up close, be mine?”

Tears were spilling over now and he gently wiped them with the pads of his thumbs. You nodded. “Yes. I was always yours, Bucky.”

The kiss you shared was slow and tender. When you separated, he smiled at the happiness on your face.

“I love you, Bucky,” you said, voice thick with emotion. “I love you and I want you. I need you.”

His fingers threaded through your hair.

“I need you need you.” You wrapped your hand around his cock for emphasis.

His lips fell open.

Oh.

“I haven’t told you about my fantasy of having sex in the bathtub yet, have I?”

Bucky groaned as you guided him to your hot entrance. He’d created a monster and he loved it. Later, he’d make sure to disappear every single one of your vibrators. You would never need them again. He’d make sure of that.

~fin~

[xxeatualivexx]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 ☆ 𝐁.𝐁

Pairing: Perv!MobBoss!Bucky x Librarian!Reader

Summary: A new bookshop had opened on the quiet block, and a certain mafia leader was interested in the sweet little owner.

Word count: 9.01k

Genre: Mafia. Smut. Romance.

Warnings: Pervy Bucky. Like I mean this man is so horny for the reader it's crazy. Really shameless flirting and a lot of flustered most likely cringe moments but it's fine… I promise. Mention of criminal activity. Bucky is a classy criminal, what can I say, hehe. Swearing. Tension. Inappropriate thoughts. Strangers to Lovers?? Domestic play. These two already act like an old married couple, confirmed. Making out, oral(f). Fingering. Edging. Dirty talk. Unprotected sex. Slight sir kink.

Note: what tf was I on, I do not know. Ahh enjoy.

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“I’m just saying why can’t you get one of the field boys to do it. You got a meeting in thirty, and I don’t see how explaining to them you were ‘out for an errand’ will solve your tardiness.” The driver scoffed yet again as he took the next right towards the new shop that had just opened a few weeks ago in town. A little book shop. There hadn’t been a proper book shop in this part of the city in years, and Bucky was immediately interested in it.

“Like I said, I want to see this place for myself. I don’t need one of those knuckleheads barging in like they own the place. And none of those bozos will ever say a word. I could be a day late, and they’ll all pretend they were just early.” Bucky rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his whiskey. He felt tired just thinking about that meeting. The one he’s been putting off for months. “Stop here.”

Sam sighed in defeat before taking a spot on the busy road. No one seemed to bat an eye as a black Chevy Suburban rolled up, but then again, most people on this side of town knew exactly who the car belonged to. “Meet me back here in twenty. Go grab us a coffee or something.”

“Wait but, Sir. You can't just—” Bucky slammed the door to the car. “Leave…”

The little bell on the top of the door rang cutely as Bucky entered the quiet establishment. There was barely anyone in here, if not no one at all. Perfect. He thought, given he wanted to be able to meet you in peace. And there you were, casually placing books in their rightful places on the shelves. You are wearing a cute sundress with an apron over it. There’s a little sun pattern all over the fabric, making it match with the pastel yellow ribbon in your hair. You were the most beautiful thing Bucky had ever laid eyes on. And the first time he noticed you were in the cafe, a few shops down. You bought a hot chocolate and a blueberry muffin. He still remembers the smile on your face when you took that first sip, getting a little foam moustache as a result.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss your sweet face then and there. So naturally, he looked you up. Finding out you had opened up this vintage-urban store. You had moved from outta town, but no one knew from where. Your family and history was all a mystery. Even to him and his best detectives. You were a no one. And that made you even more interesting. “Come on..just..g-go.”

You were on your tip toes trying to reach the top shelf to put a book back but you being forgetful, left the stool in the back closet and you had decided it was too much of an effort to go back and get it now. So jumping was what you resorted to. You looked like a little bunny in Bucky’s eyes. A sweet little rabbit that’s breast bounced perfectly with every hop. The scrunch in your nose and little tongue poking made him wonder what your face would look like when you were fucked just right.

His feet moved swiftly until he was flush behind up. You felt his broad chest before you heard him as he softly grabbed the book from your delicate fingers and placed it where it needed to be on the shelf. But what ultimately caught your attention was his smooth voice. “Looked like you needed some help, doll.”

Oh right then and there you felt your life was about to change very dramatically and oh, how it did excite you. “T-thanks.”

“Anytime.” His deep voice spilled in your ears like butter, and his cologne danced around you making the outside world cease to exist. He was walking sex on legs, something out of a dark romance novel and you knew exactly who he was. “So, have you got any book suggestions?”

Your smile grew when he asked the question but Bucky was cringing inside. That was really the best he could do. He’s been watching you for weeks and that was all he could mutter up. You on the other hand, chirped, plodding off deeper into the store. Bucky followed as he watched you scanning the shelves, your fingers tracing the spines of multiple books as you passed them, your mouth quivering out the titles of each one. “Ah, here we go!” You grabbed a black book off the shelf. It had a red misty design all around it with bold white lettering in the centre. It looks magical, like you. “This is one of my favourites. But be warned, it’s a lot of info dumping at the start. But the ending is worth it.”

“Thanks doll. What is it about?” Bucky’s sly smile makes your heart shake, your fingers grazing his as you hand him the book. Your throat became dry, unable to think of the right words to describe the novel…”Oh it's fantasy…”

You snapped out of your brain as you saw the man in front of you scanning the blurb on the back, his smile growing into a sinister smirk as he read some of the words, Romantic, erudite and suspenseful. You put your jittering hands in the pockets of your apron as you tried your best not to blush. “Y-yeah.. yes. I... It's really good. It’s got witches and vampires, all sorts of creatures.”

Your little ramble caused Bucky to smile ear to ear. The way your face slowly lit up the more you spoke about it, the dramatic movements of your hands as you used them to further express your emotion. He had come to the conclusion you were the cutest thing on the planet. And he would do anything to protect that. “Well I’ll definitely give it a read, Sunshine.”

Your cheeks deepened the shade of pink upon hearing the cute nickname that slipped from the tall man. You felt like your legs were slowly turning to jelly at the thought. Not only was he hot as all fuck, but he was in fact a reader, like you. “T-Tell me what you think when you finish it.”

“I shall.” His remark was quick, the smirk making your heart race. When was he this close to you? Was he always this close to the point you can smell his cologne mixing with the whiskey on his breath. You gulped, watching his eyes scan from your eyes to your lips, before wetting his own by swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. “I needed to speak with you about…something, as well.”

His deep authorial voice rattled in your mind, suddenly shaking you from your fantasy, making you remind yourself who exactly was standing in front of you. You nodded with a small ‘of course’ before walking towards the front counter. Bucky followed you as he spoke, “I’m assuming you know who I am…” his throat felt dry at his own words.

“Everybody knows who you are, Mr Barnes.” Your words seemed flattened, almost worried. In truth you were scared. The murmurs that circled when you first entered the city was not something you took lightly. The cruelness people spoke off. The ruthless man known as the white wolf. Mr James Bucky Barnes. Too young to be a mafia lord, yet here he stood, powerful, feared and wealthy. “I suppose you were here originally for business then...”

Bucky watched as you took out the logs of the shop, no longer making eye contact with him. Of course you knew who he was, why was he so stupid in thinking he could pretend for one single moment to be somebody else. To be a normal guy that could sway the sweet sunflower that owns the bookshop. A fantasy, he thought, one that won't come true. “I protect these shops on this street. And I was wondering if you would be interested in getting into the same…agreement.” he bit his tongue, trying his best to be professional.

“And what do I have to do to get this sort of treatment…” Your hands were shaking more than you’d like them too, not wishing to look into his cold eyes. But yet his eyes weren't cold, in fact they were swimming in conflict. He didn’t need anything from you, just like the other shops. No, he protected people that needed it and in return he asked for their favour. Nothing more nothing less. But he didn’t want a favour from you. No he just wanted…

“A smile.” Bucky said sternly.

“W-what?” You finally looked up at him to see a soft smirk on his shaded pink features and then he replied again..

“I want you to smile.”

-

You couldn’t help but yearn for Bucky every time you opened your shop. Waiting for him to walk in through those doors like he did almost two weeks ago now. You still remember the butterflies in your tummy as he said his goodbye…

“Like that.” Your smile grew bigger as he stepped closer to the counter. “It suits you so much.” He picked up your hand gently before placing the softest kiss on your knuckles. You swore your heart stopped at that moment. “I’ll be seeing you, Sunshine.”

And with that he left, leaving your blood rushing to your ears and a hefty tip on your counter.

“Hey, so do I sort the biographies by title or by author.” The young worker you so reluctantly hired comes rushing in from the store room, his shirt on the wrong way and his laces barely tied… his aunt had practically begged you to give him work since he was almost twenty-three and still without job experience. And now you can see why no one wanted to hire the poor thing. He wasn’t the brightest.

“Uh yeah. By author and make sure they are put in the end row by the nonfiction section, please.” You pinched the bridge of your nose as you watched him stumble away to the back of the shop, his laces making him side step.

And then you heard a crash. Followed by a quick, “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” You felt like you needed to ask.

The young boy rounded the shelf, looking back at you with a face as bright of a pink as the poor flowers he was holding. He had broken another vase... perfect.

“Just put it in the back.” You scratched your chin sighing as he repeated over and over ‘I’m sorry’ while cleaning up, what you’d counted as the fourth vase filled with flowers. You shook your head, looking back at the receipt logbook again, going over all the money you’d have made since opening. It was surprising, to say the least, the amount of people that have purchased or borrowed books in such little time made you giddy. You felt a sense of accomplishment at the idea people were reading. The sound of the doorbell chimed, shifting your attention to a possible new customer. “Hello, how can I help…”

“Hey Sunshine.” Bucky’s face beamed with happiness upon seeing you. His casual wear clothes catch you off guard. He almost looked normal and not like some big bad mob boss who could get away with your murder. “I’ve read your book.”

“B-Bucky.” You perked, closing the logs before quickly rounding the front desk until you were almost inches from him. Close enough to smell his gorgeous cologne. “That didn’t take you long…”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, reminding himself he had spent hours reading the book when he should have been working. But who was going to yell at him for it anyway? No, he needed to finish the book quickly so he could have something to talk about. “No, I fell in love with it on page one. And besides, the quicker I read it. The quicker I could come back here and ask you for another.”

Your face blushed as he took a step closer. You gulp at the proximity, practically feeling his body heat. His on hand leaning on the counter behind you, closing the distance. "D-do you have any in mind..."

Bucky watched your eyes flutter close for a moment, taking in his aura. He couldn't help but smirk at how much he affected you. Infecting your perfect little innocent act, because from what he read in that novel, he knew you weren’t the sunshine he depicted you as, no, there was a dark streak inside you, and he wanted desperately to draw it out. "I was curious if you got something more Smutty. Hmm."

"Smutty!?" You gasp, opening your eyes to gaze into Bucky deep ones, his pupils blown out, almost consuming all the ocean shade in his eyes. His smile only grew, placing his other hand on the other side of your body, now trapping you between his large body and the counter.

"Oh, I know you've got ideas, Sunshine. That book wasn't as innocent as you remember, hm." The tilt in his head made you dizzy. His face inches from yours. If you wanted, you would only need to move an inch to close the gap. To finally feel those lips you'd been dreaming about for the past couple of weeks.

"I could give you some suggestions..." You whispered your breath, mixing with his. Bucky bit his bottom lip, inching closer and closer until his lips graze yours and just enough to—

"I think I lost the log book again in the...." The young boy, frozen, almost dropping some of the books that he held tightly in his hand. Bucky sighs, reluctantly pulling away slowly. You looked down at your feet, feeling like your heart was going to jump right out of your chest. "S-sorry."

"It's okay, Peter. Uh..Just.. Did you leave it on the desk in the back again?" You answered the poor boys' question, making his face light up with cringe. He muttered to himself before scurrying off towards the back room. You look back at the man still caging you against the counter, but his gaze was elsewhere. On the young boy, in fact. Bucky couldn’t explain it, but he swears he knew the kid. He's seen him somewhere. His face is so familiar…yet not. "Are you okay?"

Your little murmur caught the mob boss's attention, turning his gaze to you once again. He cleared his throat before standing up straight, almost making himself bigger than normal. His stare still flickered to where the back room was. His gut told him something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. "Yeah, don't worry about me, Sunshine." He finally looked back at you, gifting you one of his award winning smiles, "I'm good."

"Well. I should be getting back to work." You felt a slight twinge of embarrassment circle in your tummy. Getting caught in the arms of a man like Bucky but being caught almost kissing him. That was a scandal and a half. Argh, you can practically hear all the old bettys in the street gossiping already. You go to turn away from him, but his hand grips your upper arm, swinging you into his chest. His free hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"Let me take you out." He smirked.

"A date?" You questioned.

"Yes. I like you, Sunshine. If that wasn't obvious enough." He could see your ears start to turn pink as you tried to look everywhere else. Your heartbeat was ringing in your ears, feeling an overwhelming sense of every emotion under the sun. He leaned closer until his lips grazed your ear, whispering, "Think about it. I'll come back Friday afternoon before you close, and you can tell me your answer."

He lightly kissed your cheek before letting you go, walking out, without another thought. You just stood there, shocked, thrilled and absolutely terrified.

"You can't go."

"What?" You knitted your brow as you turned to Peter standing in one of the aisles. He jumped, changing his expression from a plan and cold expression to one of bewilderment.

"Uh, what I mean is you shouldn't…go. He's not a good man." You can see his grip on the books tighten as he grits his teeth. Your expression stayed the same as you turned your back to him, opening the logbook to where you were before.

"I know who he is." Your words were cold, blunt, almost shocking the young man. He was taken aback, to say the least, but then again, he expected your response. In fact, he hoped for it.

-

Through the following days, you found yourself staring at the clock, waiting, begging for the day to end. You wished desperately for it to be Friday every time you woke up. It was finally Thursday when your craving died a little. An old lady had come in to return a few books, and she had said a fine looking man had asked her to give you a piece of paper. A letter. To say your heart nearly jumped through your throat would have been an understatement. "Hey, Peter. I need to do some paperwork, watch the store."

"You've never let me work the regis—." You didn't even let the poor boy finish his statement as you sped off towards the back room. Your shaky fingers locked the door as quickly as possible before you practically jumped into the swivel chair. ‘Open it’ you told yourself ‘it has to be from Bucky’. Your smile only grew bigger at the voice singing in your head. You open the paper and see it's written in the most beautiful hand writing you've ever seen. It read;

To my Sunshine,

Even though our interactions have been brief, I have to confess that crossing paths in your bookshop was not the first time I've noticed your beautiful presence. I first saw you in the cafe, three shops down. The way you were lost in your book while sipping on your hot chocolate made me want to dive into your mind and see it’s wonders. Curious what could be lying within… You’ve been on my mind ever since. I have found I am unable to sleep at night without the thought of you. Call me old-fashioned with this letter, but I needed to get this off my chest without blabbering like a fool in front of you. I can't wait for our date tomorrow that I know you’ll say yes to. But until then. A gift…

You look at the bottom of the page and note there is a phone number. If the confession of love wasn't enough, him giving you his number was certainly going to kill you. You had already planned to say yes to his date but now an idea sparked in your mind. In truth, you have found feelings towards Bucky, like you had been made for one another. No amount of time, whether little or long it was, you know your feeling would stay the same. So you wanted to take the reins for once, even if deep down you knew you wouldn't be able to hold them for long.

Sunshine// I got your letter. I want you here out the front by 6 pm, wear something casual.

You left no room for argument as you shut your phone off and held your head high. Peter’s expression of unpleasantness couldn’t… wouldn’t, stop you from the growing butterflies in your gut. You were finally going to be happy, and Bucky was the one going to give it to you.

-

You swore it wasn’t this cold yesterday afternoon, the keys almost sticking to your ice cold fingers. You checked the locks to the doors one final time before letting out a sigh of relief and nerves, ready to call it a night. “Well hello, Sunshine.”

You turned with a smile, seeing the man of the hour. He was wearing a less-fancy dress suit. No tie, or cuff links. You couldn't help but giggle. “I said casual wear James…”

“What do you mean, love? This is casual.” He chuckled, taking two large steps to you, closing the gap. His hand snuck around your waist, squeezing the flesh on your hips. “So where are we off to, tonight?”

“A surprise. So you’ll just have to trust me.” You giggle, your palm resting on his chest. You could feel his heart racing a million miles, yet he looked so composed. But then again in his field of ‘work’ he needed to show almost no signs of emotion.

“I’d trust you with my life.” Bucky had never used those words so lightly, but it was the truth. He couldn't explain it but he could easily lay his life down for you. You could crush it if you wished and he wouldn't say a thing. You blushed at his confession, reaching on your tiptoes you kiss the rugged man's cheek, before pulling away towards the street.

“I loved your letter by the way.” And with that you turned to start walking, letting Bucky trail after you like a love sick puppy.

“Just this way…” Bucky followed you curiously as you weaved through the streets. There were no restaurants or diners around in this area he knew of and given he owned half the city he should be aware of almost everything. So where on earth were you taking him? You turned your head over your shoulders spotting the confusion on his face, you couldn't help but giggle at his wide boba-like eyes. You outstretched your hand, waiting for him to take it. Bucky swore he felt his heart stop when he locked his fingers with yours. Bucky has never put this much trust in a person before and yet he has found himself being led by you through the front door of an apartment complex and up three flights of stairs before coming to a stop at a door that read 117. “I..”

All the words you had prepared to say had suddenly flown out the window as you slotted the key into the lock. Bucky's smirk grew as he watched your brain scramble, finding enjoyment in watching you squirm. “And here I thought you had an innocent date planned. But my cheeky little sunshine just wanted me all to herself, hmm?”

“N-no!!” you whipped your head to his direction, leaning against the door with blush riddled on your cheeks. “I-i just wanted to make you a home cooked meal. I-i prefer cooking over going out.” You dipped your head to the ground feeling a little ashamed of your introvertedness. Bringing such a dangerous man home wasn't exactly the thought that crossed your brain when you thought of this evening. In truth you were only thinking about treating him to your cooking, something you took pride in. “I’m not very good with other people.”

He brought his hand to your chin, lifting your face up so he could look at you in the eyes. There was no judgement in his soft gaze, heck even his killer smirk was now only a small simple smile. “As long as I'm with you, we could be doing anything, besides…” He leaned down to give the side of your face a kiss before whispering, “I’m not one for crowds either.”

You gulped, nodding slightly as you turned back to open the door. Bucky's gaze shifted from yours as soon as he heard the creek of the wood, finally getting a peek inside the little place you call home. Your place was riddled with a vintage, cottage-like aesthetic. It was like Bucky had stumbled into a fairies hut that was hidden away in an enchanted forest. The smell of your salt lamp was strong but not as strong as the calming lavender. He felt like the air around him was giving him the warmest hug. Everything was soft, cute, and dainty… just like you. You lead him deeper into the apartment, letting him take the lead once you get to an archway. It led into the lounge room he found, spotting the emerald couch and various bookshelves encasing a tv cabinet. “Uh..I… make yourself at home, I just got to put away some things and I'll start to prepare dinner.”

You scurried off before he had the chance to protest, not that he would have that is. He was almost scared to take a seat, his black on black attire completely stuck out to the surroundings. Slicked back hair, expensive accessories, shoes worth more than most of your furniture… He was so out of place. Taking a seat he felt himself sink into the cushions. He was being bombarded by plushies falling onto him as he shifted to get comfortable. Everything smelled like you, sweet, sugary, a hint of freshly baked goods and old books. He couldn’t help himself, leaning down, he brought his face to a blanket you use regularly when lounging on the couch. He took a deep inhale. ‘God help me’ he'd think to himself as his fingers tangled in the soft fabric, feeling his hips twitch at the thought of your scent round him. Paint him as a pervert, he didn't care, all he cared about in this moment was the feeling of you. Craving, begging to see if he could have you as more.

A loud clunk caught his attention, making him snap out of the haze clogging his mind. He’s never sat up quicker, swiftly moving towards the kitchen to only find you with a pot on the ground and the lid firmly in your hand as if you were using it as a shield. “Whoops…” was all you could mutter, feeling like your nerves had been shot from the loud noise. Bucky scooped up the pot, trying to see if you were okay only to see your face completely red. The same red as the tomatoes on the counter. “I can't stop my hands shaking,”

You tried to laugh it off lightly at how nervous you were with such a man like Bucky being in your house. You were starting to regret bringing him here and wishing you just sucked it up and took him to a restaurant instead. Bucky's free hand placed itself on your upper arm, gently rubbing up and down on your soft skin before giving the flesh a squeeze. He hadn't even realised you were dressed in something different, another sundress, but this one was black with lace accents on the hems. the ribbon holding up your hair matched it accordingly. “Hey It's okay. Just take a deep breath, baby.”

Him calling you all these pet names weren't helping but you obeyed him as best as you could nonetheless. “I just feel a little silly bringing you here. You know since we barely know one another and I don't want you to get the wrong impression…”

“And what kind of impression would you be giving me, hmm?” He didn't mean to come off as teasing but his deep tone caused him to always sound alluring.

“I..uh. That I wanted to just get you to my place to sleep with you. Cause that's not the reason i just really dont l-like—” you stopped rambling as soon as your eyes met Bucky's. His dark blown out gaze causes your words to get caught in your throat. Bucky had put the pot down a while ago, his spine straight as he stepped closer. You instinctively took a step back and then another before your hips made contact with the counter. Bucky placed a foot on either side of yours and his hands on the marble behind you. You were caged.

"And what if that was the reason? Would it be so bad?" It was like his voice got deeper, more sultry as he took a deep grumbling breath, taking in the scent of your perfume and shampoo.

"I j-just don't want to ruin anything we could have." You whispered, your eyes fluttering close. But Bucky simply stared holes into your flesh, like he could see straight to your soul. This cute little thing in front of him wants more than a hookup? Wants to actually get to know him? He doesn't know if he had just won the jackpot, or this was, in fact, a cruel dream he hadn't woken up to yet.

"Trust me, darling. Nothing you can do will ruin anything between us..." he leaned down to your ear, "Even if it's sex."

You choked when you heard him groan that unruly word. Your hand clapping over your mouth to hide your gasp. Never in your life have you been put into a situation quite sultry as this one. The men you’ve dated were only stereotypical, self-centered or mama’s boys. Worse if they were all three. But Bucky was different. He is no gentleman but yet, if you asked for the moon he would do anything to give it to you. He is not a nice man but if someone were to hurt the old lady that runs the little shoe shop down the street he would not be afraid to kill the fucker who did her wrong. He is not a lover but he’d be damned if he didn't get down on one knee right now and begged for your hand. Bucky was different and that's why you had quickly fallen for the man even if those around you did not approve. “W-what if I were to ask for more tonight. Not just dinner…”

Bucky's heart stopped, he was sure of it. His body moving closer his lips inches from your own, “I would give anything your pretty little heart desires… all you gotta say is, please.”

You opened your eyes to see his dark ones locked on you. Moving your hand slowly, you snaked them gently around his neck, feeling his soft locks tangle between your fingers. “Please…” His lips locked onto yours, stealing the yelp from your throat. His hands that were gripping firmly on the counter now tugged at your hips, bringing you flushed against him. You could feel his body heat pool where you needed him most. You’ve never been kissed like this before. The softness with pure desperation lingering. It was as if your nerves exploded with little fireworks across your spine as you shiver under him. “B-bu-B.” He was quick to swallow your cries, using his leg to spread your thighs more so he could easily slip between them.

“If we keep going, we won't be having dinner.” Bucky groaned against your tongue, pulling away with a tug on your bottom lip. He could hear a slight ring in his blushed ears, feeling his whole body shaking, craving to keep going. But he needed you to take the lead. Tell him what you wanted… for now.

“My bedroom is the first door on the left.” Your smile seemed to be contagious, as Bucky couldn't help but give you a cheeky little smirk in return. He wasted no time in taking a hold of your lips again, but this time he took a step back, letting you both shuffle ungracefully towards the hallway. You huffed as you almost tripped, giving up with the kiss. You grabbed a hold of his hand that was still tightly against your hip, intertwining your fingers with his. You both stood there for a moment. Nothing but battered breath and racing heart beats could be heard. It was like the world had ceased to exist around this very moment. His hazy gaze travelled from where you were both connected, up your soft arms, until he reached your lips. They were swollen, puffy and pink. Beautiful… Bucky thought. Everything about you was simply breathtaking.

You gave him a soft smile, one he has never seen ever pointed in his direction, and with your hands tightly interlocked, you led him slowly down the hall. A shy grin decorated your features. Something that Bucky's dark stare didn't linger from, as if he needed to map out every curve and twist to keep it perfectly accurate in his mind for years to come. From the intense gaze, you look away and towards your bedroom.

As soon as you opened the door, Bucky was met with the sweetest scent. It was so much stronger than the one that painted your apartment. Strawberries, vanilla, and brown sugar. The room wasn't much different from the rest of your place. It was neat, tidy. But there were blankets and plushies galore on your bed. Like a little nest to keep you safe from the outside world. The bedding was a forest green that matched the similar greens on your desk that sat in the corner. You, of course, had a bookshelf in here too, filled with a number of different kinds of novels. Bucky reminded himself to bring up the one you recommended to him when you first met.

"Cute..." Was all he spoke, making your red face become even more hotter. You turned back to him, seeing his gaze glued to you, eyeing you with a devilish smirk. "...Just like you.”

Bucky lowered himself to place his lips on yours in another heated kiss. His hands wandering lower and lower, making your own fly to grab his shoulders. He backs you up slowly, step by step. Your hazy mind was too focused on the deepening kiss to notice any movement. It wasn't until you were suddenly startled by the edge of the bed hitting your thighs that you pulled away from the man in front of you. Bucky didn't hesitate to push you back gently. The little yelp that escaped your throat would have sounded pathetic if in a different scenario, but Bucky couldn't help but groan in response to the sound. Before you could protest anything, Bucky quickly stifled any noise as he followed you to capture your lips once more in a fierce kiss.

Teeth clashed against each other, and tongues danced like there was no tomorrow. It was like Bucky couldn't get enough of you. He needed to taste you in every way possible. The whimper that slipped from him as his mouth ventures lower to your jaw, biting and lapping at your skin. Then the same is done to your neck, your collarbone, all the way to the part of your breasts that were exposed above your sundress. You gasp, tipping your head back onto the plushies behind you while your hands loosen from the fabric on his shoulders.

Bucky suddenly stopped, his dark gaze looking up at your flushed expression. You're as red as the hottest sun with glossed over eyes, and God is it a delicious look on you.

"Such a pretty little thing." He groans, his voice all but a hushed whisper, slowly snaking his hands to your knees, playing with the lacy hem of your dress. "May I, Sunshine?" You nodded while biting your lip, a little too enthusiastically, shifting a little side to side. You tried to ease some of the ache between your legs.

“Use your words, Doll,” He grins, his touch unmoving.

“Please Bucky,” you finally squeak out. He shifts his body lower until he is snuggly between your legs. The sight of him looking at you through his lashes while his tongue coats a thin layer of spit on his lips was enough to make you soaked. You shiver as his large hands run from your knee, up your thigh, under your dress before returning back to your knee, tantalisingly. As if marvelling at what was before him. What you were gifting him. He does it again, this time letting his finger tips linger a little bit longer on your inner thigh before pulling away completely, leaving a thrilling chill to run down your spin. “I need you…”

His ghosting hand places itself back on the soft parts of your thighs, squeezing as he heard those three words slip from your pretty mouth. “You need me, Sunshine? Need me to take the ache away? Tell me what you need, sweet thing.”

“I want you to…taste me…” You felt shy whispering such filth but Bucky on the other hand, simply raised an eyebrow at your daring comment. It was something so daring it brought a smile to his older features. His little sunshine wasn’t innocent and he was slowly drawing the darkness out. His thumbs hooked on the edge of the dress hesitating before pulling the fabric up, agonisingly slow.

“Hmm, I knew my girl had a sinful side.” He spoke with a lightly chuckle escaping his reddened lips from him biting them in anticipation. My girl…those words played in your head on loop, like your new favourite song. My girl. Argh you would never get over him saying that.

He hikes your dress up higher to reveal your cute purple panties with a deep wet patch on them. You’re soaked right through. It was like he couldn't help himself, taking his pointer finger he pressed firmly on the patch watching the fabric stick to your core. He couldn't help but groan, “All this talk and here you are…dripping.”

Bucky dragged your underwear down your thighs. The cool air that crept from your bedroom window immediately hitting the warmth of your core below. His fingers snatch the fabric clean off your legs, flicking them off to the side of the bed somewhere before his lustful gaze finally sets on the prize he had been yearning for ever since he first met you.

He swipes his thumb over your aching cunt, collecting some slick with his finger. It sent a jolt through you, your thighs twitching without your control. He coated his fingers more, watching your juices were spilling down his digits onto his knuckles. He does it once more for good measure, this time rubbing over your clit to earn himself a delicious whine from you. You grip at the bedsheets, widening your legs further for him unconsciously as he continues to play and rub at your clit just right. "Fuck...James."

"That's it Sunshine, feeling good?" He chuckled watching you flinch as he pressed harshly on your clit. He snaked closer before his face was inches from your soaking pussy. He blew onto your wet lips, causing a gasp to leave you, but the gasp quickly turned into a high-pitched whine as you suddenly felt the warmth of his mouth upon you. He begins to lap up your pussy all the while still harshly circling your clit, moans escaping your parted lips. The noises turned into something desperate when the thumb was replaced by his firm tongue, pressing down and licking at your swollen bud, again and again. Bucky groaned against you, bucking his hips into the mattress at a stuttering pace. You took notice of his whine, feeling another one while he ground his hips just right against the sheets.

"Please, Buc..Bucky, t-that. I..ah."

You've never had any man pay this much attention to you before, let alone find enjoyment in eating you out. You can feel yourself becoming absolutely soaked just under the sensation of his mouth. Your legs quiver and shake, unable to control your movements as you feel yourself tip closer to the edge.

You try to take a deep breath. Feeling yourself already so close has made you feel slightly embarrassed. But as he sunk his long finger inside of your cunt, all the nerves seemingly washed away. Another one slid in easily and "Nh-ah JAMES!" He curls them upwards, right to the spot that sends a spark of electricity crackling through your core.

He begins a steady rhythm along with his tongue continuously lapping your clit like he was a starved man taking his fill of a goddesses nectar and you're unable to control the noises and pants that fall from your throat. You grip one hand into the sheets as the other flies to grab the back of your thigh. lifting your leg up further to give him more access. You need more. You craved more. You've never felt this good before, and your being was demanding to be selfish… just this once.

He added a third finger as if he knew you needed something more. It made your head slam into the pillow behind you, turning to almost shout into the soft cushioning, muffling yourself for your poor neighbours. He works up a good rhythm, finding what buttons to push, succeeding in getting to know what your body wants. Groans from him and other lustfulled sniffles fill the room, as your thighs clamp down around the mob boss's head, keeping him where he is.

He could barely breathe as your hips buck against his soaked face. But he couldn't care less. In fact, he would be happy if he died like this. In between the legs of his best girl, his pretty little sunshine. You felt like you were about to explode but the euphoria didn't last long as Bucky used his free hand that had been holding onto your outer thigh to pull your legs apart, holding them in place so he could sit up slightly. "You close, baby? Do you need to cum?"

"Yes!" You answered in a choked whine needing to feel his mouth on you once again.

"Yes, what sunshine?" Normally, he would be one for punishment, and given you kept breaking rules, he was most certainly craving to punish you. But he decided to let it slide this one time. He has more than enough time to mould you and shape you into his perfect little baby later. But for now, he'll see what type of filth he can draw from you.

"Yes, please, Sir." Your glossed eyes finally opened for the first time in what felt like years, your tears clouding most of your vision but you could still see the darkness in Bucky's gaze and how his chin was dripping with slick. Your slick.

He drove his fingers deeper, his knuckles brushing your walls as he slammed his digits in a calculated thrusts. Harsh, slow, and powerful. You become louder, needier, and you can’t get your breathing under control. You’re teetering right on the edge. Ready. Right there and then...

He stops.

His glistening face had the cheekiest, wet grin across it like he felt proud of edging you. “Say that again, Sunshine. Who am I?”

“S..Sir..oh nagh.” He picked back up, but at an even faster pace, bringing you to the edge in mere milliseconds. But just as you were about to burst you felt his fingers pop right out of your aching hole. “Ahng.. pleasee.”

You whined, staring at him with welting tears, shocked, and panting louding. Your heart beating in your ears with flush brilliant red cheeks. You lick your lips as you run your hand over your mouth before raking it through your slightly dishevelled hair. Your eyes grew narrow as you stared at the man between your shaking legs. He holds your thighs apart so you can’t clamp them shut to try and stop the intense tingling between, causing you to huff in frustration.

“Don’t mean to ruin the fun now, princess,” he inquired as he stood up off the bed, towering over your weak looking frame. The moon light that was pooling in the room caused his shadow to engulf you, covering your body in his darkness. He looked powerful. He looked dangerous. Like the man everyone warned you about. The feared mafia leader of New York. He pulls you by your ankles, yanking you until you were sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand gripped the back of your neck gently bringing your face to his so he could kiss you. But you kept your hand over your mouth, your other hand coming to place on his chest, holding him firmly in face with a hidden smirk.

“You are a cruel man.” You gestured to him not letting you finish, but in truth, the word cruel hung in the air like thick tension. Cruel. A word he was sadly used to. But not in this kind of way. It almost delighted him. You felt your heart jump as he raised his brow, coming closer so that he’s only a hair’s breath away from the back of your hand. His dark eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail.

“Hmm why? You tasted so sweet,” He bit his lip, “I wanted you to have a taste…” He mimics what you asked prior. You swallowed thickly with wide eyes nodding shyly. Slowly, you moved your hand away as he paused for a moment, just to see your flustered face once more. “Cute…”

He dives in, kissing you, lapping at your lips. His teeth nibbling, and his teeth clashing against yours. You could taste the muskiness of yourself on his tongue, the sweetness that lingered. You deepen the kiss, allowing his hand on the back of your neck to hold it still in place, giving up any power to give him everything of your being. Your hands shift to his shirt, catching the hem between your finger tips before tugging at the fabric. He seemed to get the gist as he pulled away for only a mere couple of seconds to pull his shirt off, snatching your lips against his once more.

Your fingers trace his body with your sight, feeling all the bumps of scar tissue and muscle. More proof of his status, of who he truly was. But yet you still couldn’t pull yourself away. You’re not sure if you ever will. “James..” You huffed against his lips, “Buck I..”

He pulls away, letting his nose rub against yours while his eyes stay tightly sealed, taking in the moment like he was never going to be able to get it again. “What is it, my Sunshine?”

“I need you… please.” You voice was barely above a whisper, only you and him being able to ever hear your little plea. His smile. His addicting smile made the butterflies in your tummy swoon. His hand that was firmly on your neck slid down until it found the zipper to your dress, playing with the metal between his digits.

“Can you stand?” He gently asked, waiting for you to nod a small ‘yes’. He helped you stand, the backs of your thighs still tightly against the edge of the bed, as if the position was helping you stand. He finally pulled away, letting your eyes wander down his toned, damaged chest. He had tattoos up his right arm while his left was completely metal. A dark almost purple metal with golden accents. You heard rumours about how he had a missing limb but this was far from what you imagined.

You licked your swollen lips unconsciously as you gawked at him. Bucky on the other hand couldn't help but grin sinisterly at your reaction, delicately grabbing the zipper on your dress, he unzipped it until the straps of your dress loosened and fell from your shoulders.

The fabric pooled at your chest, your arms tightly holding it in place. “I…”

“Are you okay, love?” Your eyes snapped to his deep chocolate ones when he called you ‘love’, feeling your nerves crackling like fireworks. He tilted his head to the slide marginally, his smirk fading to a simple smile but his eyes never dimming their darkness. His hands gripped tightly onto his belt, unlooping it before throwing it somewhere in the room. He had made you watch his every move as he unzipped his slack unhurriedly. He could see the darkness begin to cloud your colourful eyes, your pupils growing large as the fabric fell to the floor, leaving him in his boxers. “Your turn.”

His voice somehow got deeper. His fingers gliding along your goosebumped skin. You took a deep inhale through your nose before letting your dress drop, pooling at your ankles. "Fuck..."

"Bucky..." You don't even know why you called his name, but he was immediately on you, his one hand resting on your bare hip while the other effortlessly unhooked your bra in one quick snap, watching your plump breast spring free. He almost bent you in half when he brought his face to your tits, taking a deep breath, smelling your perfume on your sweaty skin. His tongue licked along the valley, groaning as he latched his mouth to your left nipple. "Fuck James, nargh."

Your hands tangled in his hair as you fell back, dragging him with you as you fall onthe bed with an 'oof'. He used his strong arms to throw your body upwards until your head hit the pillows, not leaving your breasts alone. He painted every part of skin he could with beautiful purple marks. Neading your chest, tugging on your nipples and wetting every surface. He could lay here and suck your tits for hours if you let him. But he knew you needed more. He needed more. To feel what it's like to be inside you.

"Such perfect tits. A pretty body. Everything about you is perfect Sunshine. Hmm. My perfect baby." His praise made you whimper, a tear creeping out the corner of your eyes. You've never had someone say such kind things to you, praised you the way Bucky has been. For a cruel man, he was the kindest person you've ever met.

"J-James, please. I need you i-inside me." You whispered, tugging his head up by his hair so his lips were inches from your own. He gave you a small peck before sitting up slightly so he could pull his cock out of his boxers, letting smack against his abdomen. You wrapped your legs around his waist, in the process so he could slide the tip of his cock along your folds eagerly.

“Whatever my girl wants, she’ll get.” He sunk inside your soaked cunt inch by inch, bit by bit, at a snail pace until he bottomed you out completely. He shivered at the feeling of your warm walls clenching tightly around him. His eyes squeezing shut and face burring in your neck. He could feel the coil in his gut already tug. He was going to cum any second and he felt embarrassed how quick you’ve made him feel. As if he had just died and gone to heaven. “Fuck sunshine, you feel so nice. Your pussy is sucking me in ngah.”

“Bucky please move.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, grinding upwards onto his public bone, feeling the friction ease the ache only just. It was like a switch went off when Bucky heard your little plea, snapping his hips into yours at such a pace, it caused the air to be snatched out of your lungs. If you weren't being fucked by the inch of your life you would of felt sorry towards your neighbours as a string of cries, swears and pet names bounced off the thin walls of your bedroom. Bucky drug his nails in the soft flesh of your waist and back, surely creating deep indents that you’d be flaunting for days to come.

You’ve never felt such a connection to another person before let alone a man. You were brought up with the idea that love didn’t exist. That it was only a dream that settled in the books you’ve read. But the way Bucky made you feel, the way he made you want to feel. It was like you were in those books you’ve read.. “Bu-Bucky I—”

“It's okay baby. Let go. I wanna feel you cum around my cock, fuccknagh..” He sat up just slightly grabbing both of your wrists so he could hold them above your head, lacing his fingers harshly around your appendages. Bending one of your legs over his shoulder, he then jackhammered into you at a speed that was just what you needed, feeling his waist grind against your clit, giving you the right amount of simulation to let go. “That’s it, Sunshine.”

Your foggy eyes, riddled with tears, stared up at Bucky's, never leaving his gaze. He watched every detail your face made as you came crashing down from your high. The way you brows cross, you mouth hung only ajar and the saliva that dripped down your chin. You were the hottest thing he had ever laid eyes on, he was certain. “Fuck, Sunshine, can I come inside you. Can I fill this pretty pussy up?”

His eyes began to flutter closed as he felt a rush of need spill down his spine. You whimpered out a daring ‘yes please’ making him bust his load deep inside you, coating your walls before some of his cum started to leak out around his cock that stilled in you. Clouds danced around you, the softness of air tickling your sweaty flesh. Every nerve in your body was on an all time high and it was all thanks to the dangerous man above you. Bucky had let go of your wrist, kissing each one tendly, while you simply lazily watched him, basking in the moment, never wanting it to end.

—

© DrDawnBreaker. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

[xxeatualivexx]

Tender Surprises

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (biker!au)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: language, Brock Rumlow gets a well deserved punch in the face

Summary: On Bucky’s birthday, your son has a very important question to ask him. And it may just be the greatest gift anyone has ever given him.

Feedback is always welcomed and encouraged! (:

Bucky collapsed on the couch next to you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to his side. You leaned up, giving him a light peck on the cheek before resting your head on his chest. It had been quite the day for both of you.

Today was Bucky’s thirty-sixth birthday. You and your son, Tyler, had planned the whole day out for him to celebrate. It started with an early morning breakfast in bed; Tyler claimed he made most of it, but he couldn’t work a toaster to save his life. Once breakfast finished, you packed up the car and headed to the beach. Bucky had told you weeks in advance that he didn’t want to do anything too crazy for his birthday, so you agreed a family beach trip would be perfect. And it was.

You spent most of the time lounging in a beach chair with a book, while Tyler kept Bucky busy working on “the biggest hole in the universe.” Even if Bucky denied it, you knew he was just as excited to see how deep they could dig together.

Keep reading

[xxeatualivexx]

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

[xxeatualivexx]

Oml pls never stop writing perv! Bucky 😩

hey ... um ... got carried away. passenger princessing in the car and i'm so BORED

minors dni

so i imagine bucky being so pervy he doesn't even realize he is. like when you stumble in, the only sound is the tv playing some nature documentary bucky's not really watching.

you kick off your heels with twin thuds, sighing dramatically as you walk towards the couch.

he's slumped there, wearing red checkered pajamas and a thin white t-shirt that clings to his chest and shoulders. his metal arm rests on the back cushions, the other holding a half-empty mug of something that smells faintly herbal. his eyes track you as you approach him.

"oh my god, bucky," you start, flopping down heavily onto the cushion next to him. the movement makes the neckline of your silky top slip dangerously low.

you don't seem to notice, already launching into your story. "you would not believe the night. first, sarah was late, like, forty minutes late, because her cat apparently had a hostage situation with her favourite scarf? and then the uber smelled like old cheese, but the driver was super nice and i felt bad, and—"

his gaze flicks up to your face, listening. nods once. "mmhm."

"—and then," you continue, leaning forward slightly to emphasize your point, resting your elbow on the back of the couch near his shoulder. the movement pulls the thin fabric of your top tighter across your breasts.

his eyes drop. linger. snap back up to your eyes as you keep talking, animated, waving your free hand. "—we finally get to the bar, right? and it's packed, like fuckin' sardines, and the music is so loud my teeth were fucking vibrating—"

he nods again, swallowing. "sounds rough." his eyes drift down again, tracing the curve revealed by the neckline. the soft swell. his grip tightens minutely on the mug handle.

so soft. wanna put my mouth there. right there.

"—and this mark guy shows up," you groan, rolling your eyes, completely oblivious to the way his pupils have dilated. "you remember mark? from sarah's pottery class? total space cadet. spilled his entire drink down emily's brand new dress. it was carnage, bucky. absolute carnage." you lean back slightly, running a hand through your hair, causing the neckline to gape again.

his breath hitches almost imperceptibly.

fuck. wanna push that fabric down. see all of it. taste it.

"yeah?" he lifts the mug to his lips, just for something to do, to hide the lower half of his face.

his eyes remain fixed, not on your eyes anymore, but lower. fixed on the distracting shift of fabric with every breath you take, every gesture.

could just reach out. right now. thumb under that strap. pull it down slow. see how they jump.

"and then," you sigh, finally seeming to wind down, slumping further back into the cushions. "we just gave up and got pizza. greasiest pizza known to man. i feel like i'm coated in it." you laugh, tired. "sorry, i'm rambling. just... needed to vent. you're a good listener, buck, you know?"

his eyes snap back up to yours, guilt quickly masked by the usual expression.

"s'okay," he says. he sets the mug down carefully on the coffee table, the ceramic clicking softly.

good listener? nah. just distracted. so fucking distracted by you. by those tits bouncing while you talked. wanna see 'em bounce while you ride me.

"you're quiet tonight," you observe, tilting your head, studying him. "everything okay?"

everything okay? no. hard as fuck under these sweats just watching you talk. wanna flip you over the back of this couch right now. hike up that little skirt you're wearin'. bury my face between your legs. taste the night on you. hear you stop talkin' for once, just moan.

"just tired," he lies smoothly, trying to subtly adjust himself in the loose pjs. "long day."

"aww, poor bucky," you coo, reaching out and patting his knee. the casual touch makes his heart and dick jump.

their hand. on my thigh. so close. so fucking close to where i need it.

"well, thanks for letting me dump all that on you." you yawn, stretching your arms above your head.

his jaw clenches.

over the couch. now. bend you right over the arm. pull those panties aside. sink into that tight cunt. make you scream my name instead of mark's.

"anytime," the word scrapes out. his eyes are glued to your chest again as you lower your arms.

he can't help it. the image is burned into his mind: you bent over, clutching the couch cushions, him driving into you from behind, your top pushed up, those beautiful tits free and swaying with every thrust. fuck. coffee table. lay you right down on it. spread you out. feast.

you stand up, swaying slightly. "right. well, i'm gonna crash. my bed is calling my name." you offer him a sleepy smile. "night, bucky."

he forces himself to look up at your face, meeting your eyes with immense effort. "night," he echoes. he watches you walk towards your room, the gentle sway of your hips in that skirt, the way your back curves. the door shuts behind you.

he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. leans his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. his hand drifts down to tent the front of his pajamas, pressing against the aching hardness there.

the feel of your soft skin, the imagined taste, the sound of your voice replaced by the sounds he wishes he could pull from you... it's overwhelming.

"fuck," he breathes into the quiet room.

he closes his eyes, the images flashing behind his lids: you on the couch, on the table, against the wall. mine. wanna make you mine. make you forget how to talk about anything but how good i make you feel.

he grips himself through the fabric, palming his cock through his pants. "good talk, sweetheart," he mutters darkly to the empty room. "real good fuckin' talk."

[xxeatualivexx]

I NEEEED a condescending beefy Bucky like imagining him just sitting back smirking at you bouncing up and down on his huge cock whilst he just puts his hands behind his head…

I NEED AIR RAHHHH

(tumblr deleted my response to this bruh)

this would be SO hot. I desperately need this man to be condescending and a little mean to me…

“need some help there, little girl, hmm?” he taunts at you, watching you above him. you’re a mess, head thrown back, lost in the sensations. he’s watching the sight where you’re connected, how you’re dripping all over him

“yeah, think you need me to do it for you,” he says, retracting his hands from under his head and gripping your hips. and then he’s fuckin grinding his hips up into you, yanking you down onto him and forcing the last few inches into you

and it’s so much, you’re already a brainless mess. it’s overwhelms you, overstimulates you, and your eyes roll back in your head.

and he fuckin loves it.

[xxeatualivexx]

It could all be so simple

Pairing College Hockey!Bucky x Volleyball player!Reader

Synopsis He’s the campus hockey throb with a bruised heart and a bad habit of falling too fast. You’re the volleyball captain who speaks in metaphors and doesn’t take any of his charm.

You were the one person he couldn’t win over. He was the one person you didn’t want to need.

Word Count 12.9K

Themes + Warnings SLOW BURN , angst with happy ending , MISCOMMUNICATION , mutual pinning , reader uses metaphors as a self-defense (OKAYY AMAYA PAPAYA) , Suppressed feelings / self-sabotage , LOYALTY VS LOVE , SPORTS AU , COLLEGE AU , (i made you have a nose ring sorry not sorry)

— It could all be so simple Metaphor Girl and the Boy Who Waited

The gym is hot.

Sweat clings to the back of your neck, your braid heavy down your spine, the flyaways at your temple damp and curling. Your legs are burning from the constant dives and shifts, but your focus is razor-sharp. You don’t notice the crowd, don’t care about the cheers. You’re locked in — libero mode activated.

You’ve been everywhere this game. Scrappy saves, last-minute digs, screaming plays across the court. Your team is up by three, and the opposing team is cracking. You feel it in your bones — you’ve got this.

The whistle blows. Match point.

Game: won. Focus: sharp.

But as your teammates cheer and rush together into a tangled hug at mid-court, your eyes wander — just for a second.

And that’s when you see him.

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. #17 on the hockey team. Campus problem. Walking sin. Steve’s best friend. Wanda’s forever headache.

He’s sitting high up in the bleachers, next to Steve, with that lazy smirk on his face and his arms spread out on the seat behind him like he owns the whole damn gym.

His eyes?

Locked. On. You.

You swear you see his jaw clench a little when you tug your jersey down, the fabric clinging to your sweat-slicked skin. His eyes trace your legs, the way your spandex hug you like a second skin.

And then he grins.

You look away.

Locker room is chaos.

Your team is loud, hyped, joking around. Jordyn — your setter, co-captain, and unfortunately part of Bucky’s past — is playfully yelling about “someone better take me out for saving your asses!” and you roll your eyes as you untie your shoes.

You pretend you don’t hear her mention that Bucky’s in the crowd.

You pretend it doesn’t twist something in your gut.

You take longer than necessary changing — cooling off, resetting your brain. You know how this works. He’s flirted with half your team. He’s been with Jordyn. You’ve seen his track record.

You’re not interested.

You won’t be.

You shoulder your duffel and push through the gym doors into the humid night air — and of course, because the universe hates you…

He’s waiting.

Leaning casually against the wall outside the gym, hoodie pushed up to his elbows, that goddamn smirk still on his face like it was carved there by sin itself.

“Hell of a game,” he says.

You don’t stop walking.

“Thanks,” you mutter, eyes straight ahead.

He falls into step next to you like he was invited. “You’re fast. Like freakishly fast. Thought you were gonna break something with that last dive.”

You glance at him once. “Is this your strategy? Compliment a girl until she trips and falls into your bed?”

He grins wider. “You think it’s working?”

You stop walking. Turn to him, one brow raised, voice cool.

“Don’t even start with me, Barnes. I know your whole routine. You flirt, you charm, you hook up, and then you disappear. That might work on other girls — hell, it worked on Jordyn — but it’s not gonna work on me.”

He doesn’t blink. “Didn’t realize I had a reputation.”

You give him a tight, unimpressed smile. “Oh, you do. And I’m not interested in adding to it.”

Then, just like that, you turn and walk off toward the parking lot, keys in hand, braid swinging behind you.

You don’t see the way he watches you go — not just interested, but intrigued.

He’s used to girls melting at the first wink. The first smile.

But you?

You burned him down to ash and didn’t even look back.

And damn it if that didn’t just make him want you more.

The locker room smells like sweat and cheap body spray, the usual post-game chaos still buzzing in the air. You’ve got one knee up on the bench, tying off your braid with a fresh hair tie, trying to ignore the squeals and victory chants echoing around you.

Jordyn’s bouncing on her toes in front of her locker, towel around her neck, cheeks still flushed from the win. She catches your eye in the mirror.

“So,” she says, dragging the word out like it’s dripping with secrets, “Guess who asked about you?”

You don’t look up.

“Let me guess,” you mutter. “Coach wants me to run more conditioning.”

“Close,” Jordyn grins. “Bucky Barnes.”

You freeze.

Just for a second.

Long enough for her to catch it.

“Don’t start,” you say, voice cool, tucking your phone into your duffel like it suddenly became the most important object in the world.

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t like that. He was just asking what your name was. Said something about you being ‘insanely fast’ and having a ‘cute nose ring.’” She does finger quotes. You resist the urge to throw your water bottle at her.

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” she shrugs, flopping down on the bench beside you. “And also, not blind. The boy was staring.”

“And you think that’s a good thing?”

“I mean… it’s Bucky Barnes. Most girls would kill to have him look at them the way he looked at you tonight.”

You zip your bag, sharper than necessary. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

Across the room, Nat lets out a little hmm like she’s been eavesdropping — because of course she has.

“Just saying,” she calls from her locker, “if Barnes is circling, maybe it's because he’s looking for something different. You’ve seen the kind of girls he usually goes for. You’re not that.”

“Thanks?”

“It was a compliment, babe.”

You roll your eyes.

But your stomach twists a little anyway.

FLASHBACK – ONE MONTH AGO

The first time you saw Bucky Barnes in his element, it was from the stands of a hockey game you didn’t even want to attend. Nat dragged you, citing “roommate bonding” and “Steve’s hot in pads, you’ll survive.”

He was all ego and speed, hair sweaty under his helmet, grinning like the ice was his stage.

And after the win? He was a nightmare of charm — shirtless, cocky. Jordyn had barely introduced herself before she was giggling against the wall, his mouth pressed to her neck, his hands not subtle in the slightest.

You left early.

Didn’t even say goodbye.

The next morning? Jordyn had shrugged it off. “It was fun.”

You didn’t judge her.

But you did start avoiding hockey players like they were contagious.

Especially him.

Back in the locker room, you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“Tell Bucky,” you say as you pass Jordyn, “if he asks again — I’m not interested.”

Jordyn smirks. “He’ll just hear that as a challenge.”

You glance back, eyes sharp. “Then he’s not as smart as he thinks.”

Jordyn’s still going.

Still talking about Bucky.

And you’ve been nodding politely, giving her little hums of “oh” and “uh-huh,” trying to pretend it’s not making your skin itch.

“I’m just saying,” she says with a giggle, “he was totally staring again. Like full-on eye-fucking. I think he actually asked Steve about you. He’s definitely interested.”

You drop your water bottle into your bag a little too hard.

“Jordyn.”

She blinks. “What?”

You take a breath. Try to be gentle. Really, you do.

“I love you. I love you off the court and on the court. As my setter. As my friend.”

Your voice tightens.

“But please, for the love of God, stop talking about me like I’m some… bird food. Some worm or fish or shiny lure for that man to circle around and swoop in for — just to fly off once he’s done. Like I’m bait.”

Jordyn blinks. “I… didn’t mean it like—”

“No, I know. I know,” you rush out, hands up. “But I’m not some goddamn… I’m not a car wash, either!”

Nat snorts across the room. You whirl around. “Don’t laugh, I’m serious!”

“I’m not a car wash that he just parks his stupid ass in for five minutes, gets what he wants, and then disappears for weeks until he needs another quick rinse!”

There’s silence.

So you keep going.

Because of course you do.

“I’m not a worm, or a fish, or a fucking car wash — I’m a whole-ass meal, okay? I’m a person. With thoughts. And boundaries. And dignity.”

You pause. Then wince.

“…but you get what I mean.”

Nat’s trying very, very hard not to laugh. Jordyn just stares at you like you’ve grown three heads.

You groan into your hands.

“God, I’m so tired. I haven’t eaten. That made so much more sense in my head.”

Jordyn finally cracks a smile. “So… you’re not into him, then?”

You whip around. “JORDYN.”

Across Campus – That Night

Bucky’s got a Gatorade in hand and an elbow propped on Steve’s shoulder as they leave the gym.

“You ever seen a girl move like that?” he asks, almost to himself.

Steve raises a brow. “You mean Y/N?”

“Yeah. Y/N.” Bucky says it like he’s testing the sound of it. “She’s good. Like… scary good.”

“She’s also like Pietro’s sister,” Steve adds casually.

“I know.”

“And she’s roommates with Nat.”

“Also aware.”

Steve pauses. “You’re not gonna try anything, right?”

Bucky doesn’t answer.

Which is, of course, an answer.

Bucky just sips his Gatorade, eyes flicking up toward the volleyball court windows.

Where you had been.

Where you always are.

It’s one of those house parties that smells like sweat, cheap tequila, and someone’s citrus body spray that’s doing way too much. The kitchen’s too crowded, the living room’s pulsing with bass, and there’s a stack of half-collapsed red cups in the sink like a modern art tragedy.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

You told Nat you’d show up for twenty minutes max, grab her from whatever dark corner she was pressed against Steve in, and go home.

But then the music hit just right. And you looked good. Really good.

You didn’t do it for anyone. But damn if you don’t feel good.

Which is exactly when you hear:

“Didn’t expect you here.”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

But you do anyway. Slowly. Like this is a movie and the director told you, "Make it count."

He’s standing there with a drink in hand, jeans low on his hips, plain black t-shirt doing all kinds of damage. He looks calm, collected — but his eyes? They're giving him away. They sweep over you, just a second too long, before he catches himself and meets your gaze like he’s not spiraling.

“Or to look like that,” he adds, trying to smile.

You tilt your head.

“You mean human? Out of spandex? Shocking, I know.”

He huffs a laugh. “You know what I meant.”

You take another sip of your drink. “Do I?”

“You look good.”

You raise a brow. “Thanks. I put this on all by myself.”

His smile falters.

Touché.

The party keeps moving.

People are dancing. Laughing. Drunk off their asses. You drift through the crowd, making your rounds, and you feel him watching you more than once — that hot stare on the back of your neck.

Eventually, it happens.

A song hits.

The kind that makes the whole room sway, the bass thick in your ribs. Someone grabs your hand, pulls you into the center. You laugh. Dance. Your hips move with muscle memory and mischief, and—

You feel him behind you.

Not touching.

Just close.

The air shifts. The bass crawls up your spine. You look over your shoulder and meet his eyes.

He’s trying to play it cool. But his jaw’s tight, his hands twitch like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you.

“One dance,” you say, your voice low. “No hands.”

“Scout’s honor,” he murmurs.

So you dance.

Not even touching — not really. Just bodies moving near each other, orbiting with tension so thick it hums.

Your arm brushes his once.

Your hair catches against his chest.

He doesn’t touch you.

But it feels like a crime scene anyway.

After maybe thirty seconds, you step back. Breathless. But in control.

“That’s it,” you say. “I don’t do encores.”

“You’re killing me,” he says, and he means it.

You flash him a grin. “That’s the goal.”

Then you walk away.

And leave him standing there like a man who just got handed a single fry after asking for the combo meal.

Outside – Later

You lean against the porch railing, letting the air hit your skin, still warm from the crowd. Nat slides up next to you, sipping something pink.

“Bucky Barnes looks like he’s going through five stages of grief inside,” she says without looking.

You don’t respond right away.

Just sigh.

“I’m ten toes deep in being unavailable,” you say. “Don’t start with me.”

“Didn’t say a word.”

She smirks.

And inside, through the haze of flashing lights and too-loud music, you catch Bucky’s eyes through the window.

Still watching.

Still wanting.

And he hasn't even touched you.

Bucky’s POV

The music’s too loud. The girl in front of him is laughing at something he didn’t say, her hands on his waist, swaying a little too deliberately against him.

Her perfume’s strong — something fruity. Sugary. Manufactured.

It doesn’t smell like you.

She leans back into him, one hand sliding up his arm, nails trailing like she’s trying to drag attention out of him with her fingertips.

He gives her a half-smile.

A polite one.

One he’s used a thousand times.

“You wanna go somewhere quieter?” she asks, lips brushing his ear.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are over her shoulder, scanning the crowd, searching for something he knows damn well he shouldn’t be looking for.

But he can’t help it.

You’re not on the dance floor anymore.

Dancing with him just long enough to ruin his night.

You knew what you were doing. You dropped one taste of that fire and walked away like he was nothing but smoke.

Now?

Now you’re gone.

And suddenly everyone else feels like a distraction he doesn’t want.

The girl presses a kiss to his jaw. He doesn’t stop her — doesn’t encourage her either.

He catches a flash of movement out the window.

Outside.

White sneakers.

That goddamn nose ring catching the porch light.

You.

Leaning against the railing with Nat beside you, head tilted back like the sky told you a secret. Laughing at something, eyes squinted in that crinkle-eyed way that makes his chest do something weird and unfamiliar.

Something warm.

Something dangerous.

Then — he sees them.

Pietro. Wanda.

He knows the Maximoffs aren’t your blood siblings. But the way you are with them? Might as well be.

Wanda’s got her arm linked in yours now. Pietro's walking up from the lawn, brushing something off his shirt like he fought a bush for fun. Typical.

But when Pietro turns — when he sees Bucky staring through the window?

His whole face shifts.

He slows.

Looks straight at him.

Tilts his head.

And says one word.

No sound.

Just mouth.

“No.”

Like a warning.

Like a dare.

Like the kind of family that doesn’t need blood to make a threat land.

Bucky swears his drink goes warm in his hand.

The girl in front of him is still moving, still saying something, still laughing.

He doesn’t hear a word of it.

His eyes are glued to you.

You — leaning your head against Pietro’s shoulder now, Wanda nudging your side, the three of you tangled up in the kind of comfort Bucky hasn’t felt in years.

You don’t even look at him.

Don’t even acknowledge him.

It shouldn’t get under his skin.

But it does.

Because Bucky’s danced with a lot of girls.

Hell, he’s had half the volleyball team wrapped around his fingers at one point or another — and he knows it.

But you?

You dance with him once and don’t even flinch when you walk away.

You don’t ask for attention.

You don’t fall for the act.

You’re not a game he knows how to win.

And now? Now, Bucky Barnes is spiraling. Over a girl who’s not his. Not yet. Not tonight.

–

The gym smells like sweat and rubber and frustration. Your ankle throbs.

You’re gripping the bleachers with one hand, trying not to cry from the dull, cruel pain creeping up your leg.

Practice had been going fine — more than fine — until you went up to save a brutal spike and landed just wrong. A sharp twist. A shock up your calf. And suddenly your world narrowed to the ache in your joint and the panic in your chest.

You can’t be injured. Not now. Not mid-season. Not when the team needs you.

You’d tried to walk it off. You’re stubborn like that.

But Nat was waiting out front — surprise matcha run — and the second she saw you limping, she was on FaceTime with Steve.

You were too annoyed to notice she’d mentioned your name.

Too annoyed to know who Steve was with.

The doors bang open fifteen minutes later, and suddenly Steve Rogers is crouching beside you, his brow creased, his voice low.

“Looks like a mild sprain. You need ice, compression, elevation. I’ve got a wrap in my truck.”

You nod, trying to breathe through the discomfort.

And then you hear his voice.

“I’ll get it. Be right back.”

Your head jerks up.

Bucky Barnes. Baseball cap. Grey hoodie. Rings on his fingers. That stupid silver chain he knows gets attention.

You blink.

“Why are you here?”

“Was with Steve. Nat didn’t know.” He shrugs. “Calm down, I’m not here to flirt.”

You blink again.

And then, just like that, he’s gone, jogging across the parking lot.

You stare after him, dumbfounded.

He didn’t wink. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t even look smug.

When he comes back, he doesn’t say much. Just kneels in front of you, careful and quiet, and wraps your ankle with practiced hands.

“Did this a lot for Yelena back in the day,” he mutters. “Soccer injuries.”

You hum in acknowledgment, studying him.

He’s gentle. Precise.

His touch is warm, but not lingering.

There’s a soft furrow between his brows — concentration, not charm.

And suddenly, there’s this weird twist in your chest, one that’s not your ankle. Something you don’t want to name.

He’s not who you thought he was.

You sit in stunned silence, ankle elevated, staring at the guy you’ve painted as a smooth-talking himbo menace for months — and now?

Now he looks like a guy who’d carry someone off a battlefield, not just out of a bar.

It would almost be… endearing.

If he didn't immediately open his mouth again.

“You know, if you wanted me on my knees in front of you, doll, you could’ve just asked.”

You freeze.

The whiplash hits so hard you nearly bite your tongue.

The warmth in your chest extinguishes instantly.

“Wow,” you say, deadpan. “You made it twenty whole minutes before saying something profoundly stupid. A new record.”

“I was joking—”

“So was I, when I told Nat you might actually be capable of growth.”

He stares at you.

You don’t even look at him as you grab your water bottle.

“Thanks for the wrap,” you mutter. “You can go now.”

“Doll—”

“Seriously. Go.”

You can hear the silence he leaves behind when he stands.

But you don’t look back.

You don’t need to see the flash of bruised pride in his eyes — the ego chipped, the confusion blooming.

You’re pissed. Not because of the flirt.

But because he was doing so well.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, you’re already scowling.

Nat throws her phone onto the futon like it personally offended her. Wanda’s legs are tucked under her as she sips a tea that smells like judgment.

“Steve said Bucky’s all messed up,” Nat announces, like it’s gossip you should care about.

You say nothing as you limp past them, tossing your gym bag to the side like it owes you money.

Nat doesn’t give up. She plucks the ice pack from the mini freezer, under three frozen Trader Joe’s dumpling bags, and hurls it at you without looking.

You catch it, barely. Slap it against your ankle like it insulted your ancestors.

“Good,” you say flatly. “He deserves to spiral.”

Wanda, ever the composed twin, tilts her head. Her tone is gentle. Disarming. A warning disguised as concern.

“Didn’t you say he was sweet today?”

You glare at the ceiling like it holds the answers.

“He was.” Beat. “Then he talked.”

Nat snorts. “Tragic.”

You throw yourself onto your bed, ankle elevated on a pillow, the sting of your wrapped joint dulling beneath the ice and residual rage.

“He had me thinking—” You cut yourself off. Clench your jaw. Try again.

“I thought maybe I was wrong about him. Just for a second. Like—he was calm. He didn’t hit on me. He helped. He actually… looked like he gave a shit.”

Wanda glances up from her book. “He probably did.”

You huff a laugh. It sounds hollow.

“And then he goes full Bucky Barnes™ in the last five seconds like it was a timed challenge.”

Nat flops next to you on the bed, arms crossed. “What’d he say?”

“Something about being on his knees for me.” You pause. “Which, fine. Accurate. But not the time.”

Wanda tries to cover her smile. Nat does not.

“God,” you mutter, pressing the ice down harder. “Do you know how jarring it is to be helped like an actual human being and then immediately reduced to a setup for a horny punchline?”

Nat shrugs. “To be fair, I think that’s the only language Bucky speaks. Dirty setup, dumb grin, accidental trauma.”

You groan into your pillow.

“He’s lucky I didn’t twist the other ankle kicking him in the throat.”

Wanda: “You sound mad.”

“I am mad! Because for two full seconds, I thought maybe I’d misjudged him. Like maybe he was just misunderstood and secretly soft and emotionally literate and—ugh.” “And then bam — ‘if you wanted me on my knees, doll, just say so.’”

Wanda: “So the problem wasn’t the help, it was the hope.”

You go dead silent.

And that shuts the room up.

Because you didn’t mean to admit that. But now it’s out there.

Nat leans her head against yours and sighs.

“You’re so emotionally evolved it’s gross.”

“Thanks,” you whisper. “I try.”

Meanwhile — Steve’s Truck

Bucky’s chewing the skin off his thumb knuckle like it’s penance. Steve’s driving like he’s a dad picking his kid up from detention.

“She’s different,” Bucky mutters.

Steve makes a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl. “Yeah. No shit.”

“I wrapped her ankle. Helped her out. Didn’t even flirt. Not until the end.”

Steve doesn’t even look at him.

“You really said that line?”

“What?” Bucky shrugs, a little defensive. “It was a joke. She smirks at me like that and expects me not to say anything?”

Steve finally turns. Side-eyes him so hard Bucky physically leans back.

“You had her,” Steve says, low. “Had her. She looked at you like maybe… maybe she saw something real. And then you had to go full Bucky-mode.”

“It was muscle memory!”

Steve slams the heel of his hand on the wheel.

“Your muscle memory needs therapy.”

Bucky doesn’t answer.

He’s too busy replaying the look on your face.

That shift — the soft surprise when he wrapped your ankle like he knew what he was doing. The way your eyes lingered on his hands. The way your voice almost dropped when you thanked him.

Then? Gone.

The ice in your stare when he slipped back into the version of himself he thought you expected.

You didn’t laugh.

You shut down.

That stung more than it should’ve.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Bucky mutters.

“Doesn’t matter how you meant it,” Steve says. “Matters how she heard it.”

Bucky leans his head against the window and groans.

“I’m so bad at this.”

Steve chuckles under his breath.

“Yeah. But maybe that’s the first thing you’ve said tonight that sounded real.”

Event: “Athletes for a Cause”

A campus-wide charity fundraiser co-hosted by the university's hockey and volleyball programs. There’s t-shirts, team games, water balloon tosses, merch booths, food trucks — and you? You’re in hell.

Because you’d planned to coast under the radar, help run a merch tent, make a few sarcastic comments, take photos with Wanda and Nat, and — most importantly — stay glued to Pietro, who’s usually your emotional buffer and partner-in-chaos.

But then your coach made a last-minute switch.

“You’re paired with Barnes,” she says, handing you a clipboard like a death sentence.

“What?” you say, deadpan. “No. No, no, no. I call veto.”

“No vetoes,” she replies, clearly over your shit. “I need someone who’ll keep him in check.”

You gape. “Why is that my job?”

“Because you terrify him.”

She walks off.

He’s dragging a cooler full of whipped cream pies while you aggressively arrange tablecloths like they owe you rent.

Neither of you speak at first. You look unbothered. You are absolutely bothered.

Bucky watches you tape down the table’s corner like you’re preparing for war.

“You always this hostile or is it just me?” he asks finally.

You don't even look up.

“Only when I’m being punished by God.”

He smiles, but it falters when you don’t laugh.

A kid pies Steve in the face two booths over and you do laugh.

“See?” Bucky says softly. “That. That laugh. That’s the one I wanted to hear.”

Your head whips toward him.

“Don’t,” you say. Voice low. Tired.

He blinks. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t say stuff like that. Like you’re entitled to pieces of me.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. Not angry — just focused.

“I’m not,” he says. “I just… I notice things. That’s all.”

“Try un-noticing.”

You both get roped into running the dunk tank. One of the hockey players volunteers to sit in the chair. Wanda joins the line to dunk him. Nat’s filming on her phone. Amber and Pietro are laughing in the background.

You watch it all like you’re underwater. Detached.

Then Bucky leans in, his voice quieter than before.

“You really don’t think I can change, do you?”

You turn to him slowly.

“I think you’re used to being adored for very little effort. I think you say the right thing when it’s easy, and the wrong thing when it counts. And I think you like the idea of me — not me.”

The words cut even as you say them. Because part of you wants to be wrong.

Bucky looks down. Rubs the back of his neck.

“You might be the first person who’s ever told me that.”

You shrug.

“You’re welcome.”

Later — Clean-Up Crew

You’re stacking chairs. He’s folding tables. It’s quiet again.

Then, suddenly:

“You said I see the idea of you,” Bucky mutters, voice low. “But I don’t think that’s true. I see you.”

You freeze.

“And what do you see?”

He looks at you. Really looks.

“Someone who doesn’t let people in easy. Who protects her people like it’s religion. Who makes metaphors about car washes and birds because she’s too proud to say she’s scared of getting hurt.”

Your heart does a violent, stupid lurch.

But you don’t let it show.

“Still not gonna fall for you, Barnes.”

He smiles. Small. Honest.

“Didn’t say you would.”

Beat.

“Just hoping you’d stop hating me.”

You stare at him.

Still silent.

Then you walk away.

Pietro finds you later.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“He get to you?”

“No,” you lie. “Just needed some air.”

But your hands are shaking.

And you still feel the way he looked at you.

Like you weren’t a challenge.

Like you were a person.

The fundraiser’s over. Your back hurts. Your throat’s dry. Your hands are sticky with whatever juice someone spilled on you during clean-up.

You're standing just outside the gym, pulling your hoodie over your head when you hear:

“Wait.”

You turn. Bucky’s jogging up. Not cocky — cautious.

“What now?” you sigh, exhausted.

“Can I—” He pauses. Swallows. “Can I walk you to your dorm?”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“I don’t want to bother you. Just… make sure you get back safe.”

You pause. Your dorm is off-campus. Quiet street. Not far, but still a walk. He could be trying something. You know that. You’ve heard everything. The hookups. The game. The patterns.

But he’s looking at you like he’s trying not to be seen as a threat. Like he wants the version of you that calls herself a whole-ass meal and means it.

“Fine,” you mutter. “Whatever.”

It’s silent at first. You cross the quad. Your sneakers crunching leaves. His hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket.

“You were really good today,” he says eventually.

You snort. “I stacked boxes and yelled at three freshmen.”

“Exactly.”

You fight a smile. Barely.

He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t even try. He’s just… there.

When you reach the edge of the quieter streets — that stretch between campus and the upperclassman dorms — he finally says:

“You asked me earlier why I flirt. Why I say the wrong thing.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. And?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s easier than being seen.”

You glance over.

“You mean seeing others,” you correct.

But he shakes his head.

“No. Being seen. For real. Because once someone sees you — they get to decide. If you’re worth it.”

You blink.

“That’s deep for someone who once called me spicy because I rolled my eyes.”

He laughs. Quiet. “That was before I realized your eye rolls might be the only affection I ever earn.”

“That’s tragic.”

“Yeah.”

You’re two blocks from your building now. And something in you cracks — not open, but sideways. Just enough for the truth to slip through.

“You asked me why I don’t trust you,” you say. “It’s because I’ve heard the stories. You flirt. You sleep around. You ghost. You don’t stay. And I don’t want to be another chapter in your book that ends with you bragging.”

You stop walking.

“I’m not scared of being hurt. I’m scared of being disposable.”

Bucky’s frozen. Like you hit him with a stun grenade.

“I wouldn’t—” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Don’t make promises you’re not ready to keep. You asked what you could do?”

Beat.

“You can keep showing up. Without an angle. Without a punchline. Without needing something in return.”

He nods. Swallows hard. His voice, when he finally speaks, is hoarse.

“Then I will.”

You nod once. Turn toward your dorm steps.

“Good. We’ll see.”

“Can I—?”

“No,” you say over your shoulder. “You can’t come in.”

He lifts his hands. “Didn’t ask.”

“Didn’t have to. Your face did.”

You unlock the door, and just before you slip inside, you glance back.

He’s still standing there. Watching. Not leaving yet. Like he's waiting to be sure you’re safe.

You close the door gently.

Wanda’s on the couch with her laptop. She looks up when she sees your face.

“So…” she says, “Did you kill him?”

You don’t answer right away.

You drop your bag, sit on the edge of the couch, and pull your knees up to your chest.

“No,” you say eventually. “But I think he saw me. And I think I hated how much I wanted to be seen.”

Wanda nods.

“That’s how it starts.”

The first time, it’s after practice. A brown paper bag with “From Nat :)” scribbled on it shows up in the locker room cubby you always toss your jacket into. Inside? One of those protein granola bars you eat when you’re too tired to function. Your favorite flavor.

You squint at the handwriting. It’s not Nat’s.

But you say nothing. You toss the bag into your backpack and walk out like your heartbeat isn’t already louder than your footsteps.

Then it happens again.

He shows up at a game. Stays the whole time. Doesn’t talk to anyone. Just leans against the railing in the upper bleachers, hoodie over his head, watching.

You don’t look. Not once. But you know he’s there.

Your teammates giggle. Jordyn nudges your shoulder.

“Don’t even start,” you mumble, tugging on your knee pads.

But the flush on your neck? It betrays you.

Practice ran late. You’re still in your spandex and volleyball crewneck, hair frizzy from sweat, braid messier than usual. You’re just here to grab Pietro — his skate bag’s a black blob in your periphery.

It’s freezing inside. Your legs scream at the cold.

You text Pietro to hurry. He texts back “coming” with nine different emojis.

You roll your eyes and glance around the empty rink entrance, rubbing your arms to stay warm.

“Hey.”

The voice is soft. Familiar. You already know who it is before you turn.

Bucky stands a few feet away, a hockey stick balanced in one hand, his helmet tucked under the other arm. He looks… normal. Not cocky. Not smug. Just him. Hoodie pulled over his beanie, skates undone, cheeks still flushed from the ice.

You give him a quick nod. “Hey.”

He clears his throat. “Saw the game last week. You were… insane.”

You shrug. “It’s kind of the job.”

He smiles a little. Doesn’t push it.

“You always that fast on the floor?”

You blink. “Only when people are watching and I’m trying to impress.”

His smile turns into a real one then — a little stunned, like he didn’t expect you to give him that. But before he can say anything else—

“Oh wow,” Pietro’s voice cuts in, layered with dramatic timing, “what a shocking coincidence.”

You shoot your fake-brother a glare as he slides next to you in sweatpants and damp curls, eyeing Bucky with suspicion that’s so obvious it might as well be blinking in neon.

“Barnes,” Pietro says flatly.

“Maximoff,” Bucky returns, matching the tone but with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

You sigh. “Okay, enough testosterone. I want a smoothie and my legs hurt.”

You turn to Bucky. “See you.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “See you.”

And for the first time, you realize you kind of want to.

The wind is sharp, but you’re used to it. You and Pietro walk side-by-side down the sloped sidewalk into town, his skate bag over one shoulder.

“Okay,” Pietro says, finally. “Spill.”

You side-eye him. “Spill what.”

“Don’t do that. I know that face. That’s your I’m-spiraling-quietly-and-refusing-to-tell-anyone face.”

You groan.

“It’s not a thing.”

“It’s a thing. I just watched a man who’s made out with half the campus talk to you like he was worried you’d vanish into thin air.”

You sigh, long and dramatic. “I like him. Okay? I do.”

Pietro grins.

“You don’t say.”

“But I also know better. And that’s the problem.”

He snorts. “You always know better. That’s your thing.”

You both stop at the cafe door. You pull it open, and the bell overhead jingles. The smell of espresso and teen regret hits instantly.

As you order, Pietro slaps his card down before you can protest.

You raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t even want a smoothie.”

“I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

He grins as you both sit on the curb outside with your drinks, sipping quietly.

Then, without looking at you:

“If he hurts you,” Pietro says, voice even, “I’m not responsible for the brother I’ll be after that.”

You glance over.

He doesn’t say it dramatically. No big brother posturing. No teasing. Just truth.

And it hits something in you.

You rest your head on his shoulder, smoothie in hand.

“He’s trying.”

“Good,” Pietro mutters. “He better.”

Practice ends later than usual — the gym lights buzz, the hardwood sticky under your shoes as you untie them, lingering just long enough to stall walking out.

Jordyn’s hovering. She’s twisting her water bottle in her hands like it holds answers.

“Hey,” she says, soft.

You look up, knowing immediately. You’ve known her long enough to read the cracks before the words come out.

“Can we talk?”

You nod. Of course you do.

You’re captains. You’re friends. You’re tethered.

The hallway outside the locker room smells like cheap soap and hard work. You lean against the wall. Jordyn doesn’t sit, doesn’t look at you at first. Just stares at the floor.

“I’ve been thinking about him again.”

Your stomach drops. A clean, sharp lurch.

“Bucky.”

The name comes out like a confession. Like she hates even saying it.

“I think I still have feelings for him.”

And there it is.

The sentence that slices you in half. Because she’s looking at you like she trusts you with it — like it’s sacred.

You swallow, hard.

She keeps going.

“I don’t know. I thought it was nothing. But he’s been around again and I—” “—I guess I never stopped thinking about him.”

You say nothing at first. You can’t. You’re too busy pretending your heart isn’t clawing at your ribs.

“We never really talked after that night,” she says. “I thought it meant more, but it didn’t. Or maybe it did and he just didn’t say anything. Either way... I guess it’s not over for me.”

She finally looks at you. Eyes big. Honest. Hopeful.

“You think I should talk to him?”

And you nod. Even though it guts you. Even though everything in you is begging to scream no.

But you nod.

“If it’s what you want… then talk to him.”

Your voice is steady, too steady.

She smiles. Smiles. Like you just gave her permission to breathe again.

You want to vomit.

“Would you come with me? To the next hockey game?”

You hesitate for a second too long.

“To support him,” she adds quickly. “And… me. I just don’t want to go alone.”

You force a smile. It's soft. Real enough to pass.

“Yeah. Of course.”

And with that, she hugs you — her chin tucked on your shoulder like she doesn’t feel the way your body stiffens.

“You’re the best,” she says.

You almost laugh. Because you feel like the worst.

Everyone’s gone. Even the lights are starting to dim.

You sit on the bench, your hands pressed to your thighs, still in your practice gear, still sweating — but not from drills.

“We’re a team first,” you whisper to yourself.

That’s the rule. That’s the promise.

You’re her teammate. Her captain. Her friend.

And if there’s one thing you’ve always been good at — it’s doing the right thing.

Even when it feels so damn wrong.

Your dorm is dim, lights low, the room unusually quiet except for the soft hum of Wanda’s music playing from her phone.

You’re curled up in bed in the hoodie Pietro lent you last week, sleeves too long, the material swallowing your hands. Wanda’s at your desk, fingers brushing through your still-damp hair. Pietro’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall, long legs stretched out, chewing on a Twizzler with a furrowed brow that’s way too protective for someone who isn’t your actual brother.

“Okay,” Wanda says gently. “What happened?”

You try to talk.

Nothing comes out.

Not at first.

You stare up at the ceiling, blinking fast, lips pressed tight, trying to keep it together. But it hurts. It aches in this slow, echoing way. And once you start, you can’t stop.

“I like him.”

Your voice cracks on it. Like the confession is too heavy to carry.

Wanda pauses.

Pietro shifts.

“Like… like him?” Wanda asks carefully. “Or like like him?”

You laugh, bitter and soft.

“Like I saw him in a hallway and forgot how to speak.” “Like I’ve been building walls made of steel and metaphors and I still can’t keep him out of my head.” “Like I keep pretending I don’t see him — but I do. Every time. Always.”

You rub your hands over your face, trying to force the words to make sense.

“I didn’t mean to like him. I didn’t want to.”

Pietro’s chewing has stopped.

You glance at him. He’s watching you closely now. More brother than boy.

“You fell,” he says, simple. Quiet.

“I fell. And it feels like the ground was pulled out from under me the moment Jordyn said his name like it still belonged to her.”

Wanda’s hand finds yours.

“You’re allowed to feel this,” she says.

“But I can’t do anything about it,” you whisper. “She’s my teammate. My setter. We’re a system. If that falls apart—”

“Then the team falls apart,” Pietro finishes.

You glance at him again.

He shrugs. “I get it.”

And then…

He scoots closer to the bed. Looks up at you with that big brother expression he saves for only you.

“But you don’t have to destroy you just to keep the system running. You know that, right?”

“If he’s worth even half of what I think he might be… he wouldn’t want you to.”

Your voice is barely a whisper:

“What if he’s not?”

Pietro just sighs. Leaning his head back against the wall.

“Then I stop being nice, and I stop being your fake brother. I go full older-sibling-mode and ruin his life. You know the drill.”

You laugh. You sniffle.

Wanda passes you a tissue.

“He better be worth it,” she says softly.

And all you can do is nod. Because you don’t know yet.

But the worst part?

You hope he is.

The air in the hockey arena is thick with sweat, victory, and adrenaline. The boys win

You clap when Bucky scores. Once. A polite, stiff, “I’m a captain supporting school athletics” kind of clap. You don’t even glance toward the rink after. Not once.

Jordyn beside you is buzzing with energy, cheeks flushed, voice bright.

“God, did you see that move? He’s actually insane.”

You hum. Neutral.

“I think I’m gonna go find him. Say congrats.”

You nod. “Yeah, go.”

Your voice is too even. Too clean. Like you’re begging your chest not to cave in.

You stay seated for a beat, watching the arena clear out — students, parents, staff — and then finally stand. You make your way out the side tunnel, the one that leads around the locker rooms. Not toward anyone.

Just… away.

You need air.

The hallway is empty when you first turn the corner. Quiet. Until it isn’t.

Two familiar voices echo off the concrete walls — low, casual, unguarded.

Steve. And Bucky.

Your body goes still like it’s muscle memory to brace around his name.

You don’t mean to stop. You don’t mean to listen.

But then you hear your own name.

“She’s different, man. I can’t explain it.” “You don’t have to,” Steve says. “I saw the way you looked at her.” A beat. Then: “Jordyn’s still sweet on me. I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”

Your heart twists.

Jordyn. Sweet on him.

You.

Just another road he never meant to turn down.

You press your back against the cool concrete wall. Eyes closed. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You walk away before you hear the rest. Before you can.

Your legs carry you to the women’s bathroom two halls down, the tile freezing under your soles.

You grip the sink. Stare at yourself in the mirror.

Your braid is loose. Your lips are dry. Your lashes are wet — when did that happen?

You’re shaking. Not out of anger. Not even heartbreak. Embarrassment.

“You’re not even together,” you mutter. “He’s not yours.”

But you hate how much it feels like he is. How deep it’s buried. How real it became — without permission.

You splash cold water on your face. Try to even your breath. You know what you’re going to do:

Smile. Walk Jordyn to the car. Go home.

Captain. Teammate. Friend.

That’s what you do.

That’s what you always do.

You exit the bathroom. Turn the corner—

—and stop.

Your heart slams into your ribs.

Down the hallway, just past the benches, you see them.

Jordyn. Bucky. His hands on her hips.

Her laughter is soft. His grin is lopsided. They’re close. Too close.

It’s a pose you’ve seen before — a scene recycled. You’ve seen him do this with three different girls on your team. You just never thought you’d see it again after all this. After you.

You force your voice to work.

“Still need a ride home?”

It cuts through the hallway like a blade.

They break apart like static snapping. Jordyn turns first — startled, cheeks pink.

Bucky’s eyes find you.

They widen. He looks like he just got punched in the chest.

“Oh,” Jordyn stammers. “Um. No. Bucky’s gonna take me.”

You nod once. Your smile is polite. Light. Hollow.

“Cool. See you Monday.”

You walk away.

And you don’t look back.

But if you had… You would’ve seen him still staring after you. Mouth parted. Fingers twitching at his sides like he’d messed up everything again without knowing how.

The second your door closes, you fall apart.

You don’t even bother with the light. You just toss your bag down, kick off your sneakers with one sharp motion, and collapse onto your bed, hoodie still zipped, keys still in your hand.

Wanda’s sitting cross-legged at your desk, watching a muted K-drama on her laptop.

She turns instantly.

“Hey—”

She stops when she sees your face.

“Oh.”

You don’t say anything. You can’t. You climb under the covers like it’ll protect you. Bury your face in your pillow and let the pain settle in your chest like static. Dull and relentless.

Wanda doesn’t press. She just sits beside you on the edge of the bed, hand resting between your shoulder blades. Gentle. Quiet. Warm.

“You wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head.

Your voice is muffled.

“No.”

You feel her nod. The room is still for a moment.

“Pietro’s on his way. You want me to stall him?”

Another nod.

You can’t let him see you like this.

Not when you swore it wouldn’t happen. Not when you promised yourself you’d never feel this much for someone like him. Not when the one time you do — it feels like you lost something you never even had.

Outside the room, you hear Nat’s voice. She’s on the other side of the door. Unsure if she should come in.

“You okay?”

No answer.

You’re still in bed. Still fully dressed. Still pretending you don’t care.

Inside, you’re screaming.

Outside, you’re silent.

Because the truth is cruel, and loud, and echoing:

He’s not yours. He never was. And somehow, it still hurts like hell.

(Bucky’s POV)

The post-game locker room is loud — all adrenaline and sweat and boys shouting about wings.

But Bucky can’t hear any of it.

He’s sitting on the bench, hair wet from the quick shower, hoodie half-zipped, fingers tapping his knee. His eyes are on the tiled floor, but his mind is somewhere else.

Steve sits beside him, toweling his hair.

“You okay?”

Bucky lets out a breath through his nose. Shakes his head.

“She said no.” “And now she won’t even look at me.”

Steve snorts.

“She’s emotionally mature. You said it yourself.”

“Yeah, well. Emotional maturity sucks when it’s aimed at me.”

Steve laughs. Then softens.

“You’re not used to this. A girl saying no. Not because she doesn’t like you — but because she does. And she doesn’t trust you yet.”

“Yeah, thanks. Feels awesome.”

Steve claps him on the back.

“You’re doing better, Buck. She sees it. She just… needs more.”

Bucky nods, quiet.

Then — he glances at the bouquet of crushed receipts in his hoodie pocket. The doodled notebook pages with your favorite drinks and flower types, half-written apologies, and metaphors that don’t hold up when you say them out loud.

He was gonna ask Wanda for help. Or Nat. Or both.

But Jordyn had found him first.

“You still like her, huh?” Jordyn’s voice is soft, a little sad.

They’re standing by the benches near the side tunnel. Students have mostly cleared out.

Bucky nods.

“Yeah. A lot more than I meant to.”

Jordyn sighs. She looks at him for a beat too long.

“I don’t blame you,” she says, folding her arms. “She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.”

“I know that now.”

“Took you long enough.”

Bucky laughs — small, but real.

And Jordyn smiles too, kind of bittersweet.

“You know,” she says, “I used to think you were just a flirt. A pretty face. No real depth.” “You and her both.”

She shrugs.

“But… you’re trying. She sees it.”

She reaches out — not romantically, not dramatically — just gently, places her hands on his hips to center herself as she adjusts the strap on her bag.

It’s seconds. Literally.

“What kind of flowers is she into?”

He blinks.

“You’ll help me?”

“I’ll help you,” Jordyn says. “If you promise not to mess this up.”

“I don’t plan on it.”

And she says something that makes him laugh — something about how you lick your lips when you’re focused and how he’s going to combust one day in a gymnasium because of it.

He’s mid-laugh when he hears it.

“Still need a ride home?”

Your voice. Behind him.

His body jerks ��� like someone yanked him back with a hook to the ribs.

He turns.

You’re standing there. Cool. Composed. Smile razor-sharp and completely unreadable.

But your eyes — your eyes are heartbreak and fury in a cocktail that guts him on sight.

Jordyn stammers something about him giving her a ride — it’s not a lie, just not the full truth — and then you're gone.

Gone.

Gone before he can say a single word.

Later That Night — Bucky, Alone

He’s outside Steve’s dorm now. Hoodie up. Hands in his pockets.

“I was laughing,” he mutters aloud, pacing. “She saw me laughing.”

The concrete under his sneakers feels too solid. Too loud.

“It wasn’t— she didn’t even—”

His voice dies in his throat.

Because it doesn’t matter what actually happened if you won’t even look at him long enough to let him explain.

He sits down on the steps.

Pulls out his phone.

Drafts a text. Deletes it. Tries again.

Hey. Can we talk?

Deletes it again.

He’s not going to fix this with a text.

He’s going to show up. And tell you everything. And hope to hell you still see something worth staying for after.

Because you saw him laughing — and you thought it was at you. You saw hands on hips — and you thought it meant something.

You saw everything. But what you didn’t see…

Was that he was trying.

That he chose you. Every single time.

And now?

Now you think he didn’t.

And it’s killing him.

It starts with a knock.

Not loud. Not soft. Just… steady.

You’re still in bed, hoodie on, the light from your desk lamp casting long shadows across the wall. Wanda’s gone. Nat’s at practice. Pietro — Pietro had come by with food and stayed long enough to check your pulse and scowl at your silence.

You hear his voice now. Low. Sharp. At the door.

Then —

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

You sit up. Back straight. Heart rattling. You know who it is.

“I know,” Bucky says, voice muffled but softer. “But I brought something for her. Can you just… give it to her?”

There’s a pause.

Then Pietro again, quieter this time. Still sharp.

“You know I should punch you for what she looked like last night.”

Bucky says nothing.

Then, finally — just barely above a whisper:

“Yeah. I know.”

Your breath catches. You stare at the door, fists clenched around your blanket.

Silence.

Then Pietro — sighing, pissed, but a little… moved.

“Fine. Give it.”

Door shuts. Footsteps. Another knock.

Your door opens.

“Don’t kill me,” Pietro mutters, dropping the flowers on your desk. “But I let him give you this.”

You look up. You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Because the flowers — they’re ridiculous. A little uneven. Bright yellow and soft white, little sprigs of something green poking out like he panicked and added whatever he could find at the flower shop.

But the wrapping? It’s folded and taped with slow hands. Intention. There’s a note tucked beneath the ribbon. You don’t open it.

Not yet.

The gym’s cold under your feet. Empty. You stayed late to avoid seeing anyone.

And yet.

You feel him before you hear him.

“Hey.”

You look up. Bucky’s standing near the bleachers, hands in his pockets, hair pushed back, hoodie tugged halfway over his ears like he’s nervous.

You exhale hard.

“Seriously?”

“I just—”

“You don’t get to do this.”

He steps closer.

“Do what?”

“Show up. Pretend you care. Keep acting like you want me when you’re out there with her.”

You don’t mean to yell — but it rips out of you like it’s been boiling beneath your ribs for days. Weeks. Months.

Bucky freezes. His face twists like he’s been slapped.

“That’s not what happened.”

You laugh. Bitter.

“I saw it.”

“You saw what you wanted to see.”

Your jaw tightens.

“I saw her with your hands on her. Laughing. Standing there like—like every girl on our team before.”

“Because I asked her for help.”

“Bullshit.”

“No—listen to me.” His voice breaks, sharp and raw. “I asked her to help me pick flowers for you.”

Silence.

You blink. He steps forward.

“You think I don’t want you?” His voice trembles with disbelief. “You think I’m still playing?”

You open your mouth — but nothing comes out.

“She was teasing me. Said I was gonna combust watching you play, licking your lips like that when you’re focused.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing.

“I laughed. And then you walked in. And you looked at me like I was everything you swore you’d never fall for.”

You stare. Speechless.

“I didn’t even touch her like that. She put her hands on me. For a second.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Because you were already walking away!”

The air between you crackles.

Hot. Furious. Devastated.

You shake your head, trying to breathe.

“I let myself feel something. And you—” You swallow hard. Voice shaking. “You were supposed to be different.”

“I am.”

“Then why does it hurt so fucking much?”

And then — The air shifts.

His hand brushes yours. Not to hold. Just to remind you he’s there.

You look at him.

You could kiss him. You could slap him.

You do neither.

You step back. Eyes wet. Heart splitting.

“I can’t do this, Bucky.”

He doesn’t chase you this time.

He just stands there.

Watching you walk away. Again. With the flowers he picked in your dorm and his heart in your hands — even if you don’t know it yet.

The gym smells like chalk and sweat. You’re still lacing your shoes when Jordyn walks up to you.

Awkward. Nervous. She twists her fingers in the hem of her hoodie.

“Hey.”

You look up. You already know something’s coming. You nod once, giving her room.

She fidgets.

“I need to tell you something,” she says. “About Bucky.”

You freeze.

She sees it. She breathes.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just… listen.”

So you do.

And she tells you everything.

How he told her you’re the one he wants. How he laughed because he was nervous, talking about the way you play like it’s magic and the way you lick your lips when you're focused and how it’s killing him. How she was the one who reached out. How he asked her for help — with flowers, a letter, a way to finally do it right.

“And I thought I liked him,” she admits, eyes wide. “But I think I just liked the idea of someone like him liking me.”

A pause.

“You like him. Actually like him.”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

She gives you a sad smile.

“I’m sorry.”

And somehow, that little sentence? It lifts ten bricks off your chest. Because she’s right. And you’ve been lying to yourself for too long.

You’ve been running on adrenaline since warm-up. Every spike, every dig, every block — it’s like your body knows what your heart is finally catching up to.

You’re not running anymore.

Not from him. Not from yourself.

You feel everything.

And when the game ends and the buzzer sounds, you don’t even wait. You grab your jacket, sling your bag over your shoulder, still in your spandex and jersey, hair in a messy braid, your shoes squeaking as you sprint.

Because his game isn’t over yet.

The cold air hits your skin like a slap, but you don’t stop. You rush into the stands, heart hammering, eyes scanning the ice —

And there he is.

Bucky. #17 Skating slower than usual. Shoulders tight. Off.

Until — he hears you.

“LET’S GO, 17!” you scream from the bleachers, cupping your hands around your mouth.

And it’s like something clicks in him.

His head whips around — he sees you.

And holy hell.

He smiles.

A goal isn’t even scored in that moment, but it might as well have been. Because something bigger just happened.

You showed up.

You’re standing just outside the locker room when the door swings open and he walks out, hair damp, pads peeled off under his hoodie, still catching his breath.

His eyes lock on you like he’s never seen anything so real.

“You came.”

You nod. “You weren’t at mine.”

He steps closer. Slowly. Like he doesn’t want to scare you.

“Don’t run this time.”

You blink.

“Don’t run,” he says again. “Just… be real with me.”

And something cracks again. Not like last time. This one is different.

This one is safe.

“I’m terrified,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I’ve been metaphor and armor and barbed wire since I met you.”

“I know that too.”

“And it’s not because I didn’t want you,” you say, voice catching. “It’s because I did. And that scared the hell out of me.”

A beat.

“Sometimes I feel like…” you trail off, voice warbled. “I’m not the book anyone should be reading. Too many chapters people skim. Too many pages people skip.”

He exhales, walking closer. Hands in his hoodie, like he’s holding back everything in him from pulling you in.

“Then let me be the one who reads every damn word.”

You blink fast. Your hands tremble.

“I want to know your margins,” he says. “Your footnotes. The scribbles in ink no one else notices.”

Your chest aches. He’s not saying it like a line. He’s saying it like a vow.

“You’re not too much. You’re just enough. You’re everything I didn’t know I’d fall this hard for.”

A pause.

And then, quietly:

“I’ve been fighting to get close to you. Not to win you — just to understand you.”

You swallow thick.

“What if I still break?”

He shrugs, eyes soft.

“Then we rebuild.”

“And what if I’m hard to love?”

“Then I’ll love you harder.”

It’s not perfect. It’s messy. But he’s here.

You step forward. Closer. And when your fingers graze his hoodie — he lets you lead.

You bury your face into his chest. And he wraps you in his arms like he’s been waiting forever.

The wall is down. The fear is there. But so is he.

And this time?

You don’t run.

You notice him before anyone else does.

He’s not standing by the door like last time. Not waiting till the second half or slipping in late with a coffee and a smirk. He’s already seated. Hoodie on, sleeves rolled up, forearms braced against his thighs, head slightly tilted—eyes on you.

Just you.

And he stays like that.

Through warmups. Through drills. Through your rotations. No teasing. No sly grin. Not even the usual Bucky Barnes bullshit line about how the spandex is “unfair to everyone else’s heart rate.” He just… watches. Intently. Quietly. Like the game could fall apart if he looked away from you for even a second.

And that’s what makes it worse. Because you feel it. Every glance. Every unspoken word passed through a twenty-foot distance. You pretend not to notice, but your serve hits harder. Your dives are sharper. You bark out calls with extra command, like if you don’t control this, you might lose control of everything else.

Then, during a rotation break, as you sit on the bench gulping water with your braid falling apart, you glance up.

He’s still watching. And then—he waves.

Just a little flick of fingers. Like a dope.

Your lips twitch. Again. Dammit, Barnes.

After practice, the gym air feels too thick. You walk out with your hoodie in hand, hair wild, legs sore, already prepared to pretend like you didn’t see him all practice—except… he’s waiting. Leaning casually against the wall just outside the exit, hands in his pockets, eyes already meeting yours.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“Is it okay if I walk with you?”

You hesitate—not because you don’t want to say yes, but because part of you is still expecting to wake up from this. From him. From you. From all of it.

But the second passes. And then:

“Yeah.”

You fall into step beside him. And this time, it’s quiet. Not the awkward kind, not stuffed with words neither of you mean. Just silence. Space. Peace.

He doesn’t fill it. Doesn’t try to. Just kicks a pebble with the toe of his sneaker and matches your pace. You don’t touch. You don’t ask. You just walk. Like it’s something you’ve always done.

And maybe it is.

“What happens now?” you ask softly, not looking at him.

“Now?” he echoes. “Now we see what it’s like to just… be.”

You breathe. Deeper than you’ve let yourself all day. And you keep walking.

It’s not a date. Not officially. But he shows up that night anyway, hoodie still on, a paper bag of takeout in one hand and a folded menu in the other. You raise a brow.

“There were three sauces. I didn’t know which one you liked,” he says quickly. “So I brought them all. And shrimp tempura. You mentioned it once. That night after midterms when you nearly cried over your chemistry grade.”

“You weren’t even there.”

“No. But I heard. And I remembered.”

Your heart does that stupid thing where it flips sideways and forgets how to beat properly. You don’t say anything. Just open the door.

Inside, you eat on the floor. Both of you backs pressed against the side of your bed, mismatched socks, quiet music humming in the background. He taps the container with a grin every time you reach for the tempura.

You laugh more than you mean to.

And when you lean your head back and sigh, he doesn’t press his hand to your thigh or scoot closer. He doesn’t use the moment to make a move.

He just watches you. Like he’s trying to learn your edges.

“This doesn’t feel like what I thought it would,” you murmur.

“Bad?” he asks gently.

“Terrifying,” you admit. “But not bad.”

He nods. Like he understands. Because he does.

He walks you back to your door that night. The halls are quiet. The lights are low. And there’s something humming in the air between you both. Not fire. Not danger.

Warmth.

He stands in front of you, thumb hooked in his pocket, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes like he’s working up the nerve to do something he’s been thinking about for weeks.

“So…” he starts, a small grin forming, “how’d I do?”

You smirk. “Didn’t annoy me.”

He chuckles. Shifts his weight. His voice dips slightly.

“Can I kiss you?”

You freeze—not out of fear, but out of knowing. Because this is real. This isn’t flirtation. This isn’t games. This is someone asking to be let in.

You swallow, throat tight.

“Only if you mean it.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“I do.”

His hand comes up, gently brushing your cheek, and then he’s kissing you—softly, slowly, like you’re the first page of a book he’s finally ready to read. Like he’s afraid to tear it, afraid to rush it.

And you let him.

Because for once, you’re not scared of what happens when you let someone close.

When he pulls back, your lips are swollen, your breath uneven, your chest full of something you don’t have words for.

He doesn’t step away.

He leans forward, smirks—just a little.

“You’re blushing.”

You groan. “Shut up.”

“No, really. Didn’t think the girl who threatened me with a Gatorade bottle would blush.”

You shove his shoulder, but there’s no heat in it.

“Bucky.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

This time, the kiss is different. It’s not cautious. It’s fierce. Your hands tangle in his hair. His arms wrap around your waist like you’re gravity. You pull him down. He presses in closer. Your lips move with urgency, with need, with everything you’ve been holding back for too damn long.

It’s not perfect. It’s a little messy. But it’s real.

“So that first date?”

You roll your eyes. “You are impossible.”

He grins. “I’m interested.”

And this time, instead of answering with words— You just kiss him again.

Yes to the date. to him.

to letting yourself be seen.

Even if you’re still a little scared.

Even if it still hurts sometimes to be soft.

maybe soft isn’t weakness.

Maybe it’s strength you didn’t know you had.

(You've got mail!) I ACTUALLY CUT SOOOO MUCH OF THIS OUT BECAUSE IT DIDNT FIT. LIKE SOOOO MUCH OF IT WAS CUT OUT. AND THIS WAS HALF INSPIRED BY THIS ONE SERENA AND KORDELL EDIT OFF TIKTOK, OTHER HALF IS AMAYA PAPAYA.

Tag List (For Mr. James Buchanan Barnes is open)

@bbsbrina @herejustforbuckybarnes @barnesandbouquets @winchestert101 @totallyanxiousart @lovinqbella @starstruckfirecat @beestarsuck @peanutbutt3rcup @piatosniathenie

[xxeatualivexx]

⁀✶the shame of it all | bucky barnes x reader

title: the shame of it all

pairing: thunderbolts!bucky x reader (who's involved in fights but can be read as part / not part of any teams)

warnings: swearing, very brief and non-explicit mention of sex, bucky barnes feels guilty as hell, mention of past fight, smallest mention of bucky sometimes not eating when he's hungry, this stupid man and his stupid lips

summary: the void's shame rooms got to everyone who had been forced into them, but your boyfriend seems to be taking it particularly hard. which you'd expect, given his past, but what you don't quite understand is why he seems to be acting off with you.

wc: 2,992

a/n: hello! i'm thinking of making a taglist if anyone's interested? trying to force myself to actually write more bc my god i've been neglecting it this year

masterlist

your hands continue to tremble, even when you clench them into fists so tight that your nails pierce skin. despite the fact that these small wounds are currently the least intense ones on your body, it's as if your entire being centres in on them. eyes fluttering closed, you inhale a slow but deep breath and allow your entire world to shrink down to this one little feeling.

"you ready to finally get out of here?"

the sound of bucky's voice manages to pierce any semblance of concentration you were grasping at. light assaults your eyes as you open them, blinking a few times to adjust. he's standing above where you're perched on the edge of a sidewalk, a deep furrow between his brow. a far away look casts over his gaze, but from the way he blinks you can tell he's fighting to stay present.

you muster up a small smile. "yeah."

even though it's silent when you get back to the apartment, you aren't experiencing much quiet. your ears still buzz, ringing with the aftermath of the last few days. every moment since you'd entered the incinerator had been loud. followed by the getaway, the sentry, val, the void. the streets had been utter chaos, even after the darkness was gone; people shouting, vomiting, crying.

it's going to take some time for your ears to shake off the sound of it all. more time still to evade the shrieks of your past that you faced in the void.

your legs travel to the couch without much input from your brain, sinking right into the soft cushions. you inhale deeply, like this is the first time you've been able to catch your breath. and, really, it is. because even though the demons in your head are lingering more strongly than they have in a while, you're home.

you glance over at bucky, lingering by the door. his expression prompts a frown to tug at your lips; he glances around the place like it's not a refuge for him at all, but like he's about to be attacked.

"james?" you say quietly.

it gets him to look in your direction, just like you knew it would. you only ever use that name in tender moments, when it really matters.

running a hand down his face, he makes his way over to the couch. but when he remains standing, you sit up slightly. the tension has seized your muscles again, gut churning the anxiety that had only slightly begun to lessen.

"you okay?"

"yeah," he says, and like he can't stop them, his eyes glance over to the kitchen counter. "yeah, i'm okay. are you?"

it doesn't take a genius to figure out he's lying. so, as a kind of offering, you give him your own truth. "i don't know."

his gaze stays still this time, but you notice he's not looking at you. he hasn't looked at you.

then he sits. it's not relaxed, like you had been moments ago, but does mirror your current posture: feet touching the ground, back not leaning against anything, shoulders drawn. ready to be thrown back into action. unwilling to let himself breathe.

you shift a little closer, and he doesn't flinch, but there's a slight look that passes over his eyes and makes you freeze.

"bucky. talk to me."

"about anything in particular?"

you huff out a breath, sending a small piece of hair brushing across your face. it's not uncommon for him to try and avoid the more difficult conversations. really, you would've been more surprised if he'd just started spouting out his feelings. "smartass. i meant about what's bothering you."

he raises an eyebrow. "take your pick."

"alright, i pick whichever is bothering you the most." he goes to open his mouth, but you cut him off. "and so help me god, if you say something about the - about the weather, or being hungry, or -"

"i'm not hungry," he mutters.

"i will kill you."

bucky knows that you can be scary. he's seen you face countless criminals, stare down alien beings, and he's witnessed what happens when someone eats the last of your favourite snack without asking. hell, he's fought more battles and evil than he can count, but being on the receiving end of your genuine glares makes his stomach twist.

he's accustomed to it. which means he's aware that now you're not angry or even irritated. you're just concerned.

"what, we haven't had enough life-threatening events over the last few days?" he asks weakly.

"james."

he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

you're on your feet immediately, making a beeline for the cupboard where the medicine is kept. any time bucky makes that face, it means a headache is forming, one that will turn into a migraine if he doesn't help himself. but he never does, so you do.

you grab some advil, then fill a glass with water and head back to the couch. bucky looks a little surprised, both over the fact that you'd noticed - even though you always do - and that you didn't leave the couch to walk off after the unhelpful round of questioning.

"i'm not above tying you down and forcing you."

his lips tick, like he's programmed to make the joke but can't quite convince himself to. "i'm fine."

"please?"

it's the genuine plea that lilts your tone that gets him to take it. he still doesn't look at you, but he does offer a murmured thanks and swallows without further complaint.

he places the half-empty glass on the table, eyes flickering once again to the kitchen counter. the action has your brain whirring; he's not looking towards any doors or windows, like someone or something might burst in. he's not looking at the fridge, like he sometimes does when he's hungry but refuses to admit it. and he's not even looking at the drawer where he'd insisted the knives be kept at the top.

it's just the shiny, white marble counter top, smooth and bare except for where it dips into the sink. where you've prepared food, washed dishes, and... done other things.

before you even get the chance to ask, bucky's getting up. "thanks for the... i think i'm just gonna take a shower and head to bed."

"oh." you nod slightly, more of an unconscious action than actually thinking it's a good idea, which your dry tone only further proves. "yeah. sure."

he nods back, more firmly like he's trying to assure both of you, and then he's gone.

as the sound of water echoes throughout the apartment a few moments later, you go to your room. it's not unusual for bucky to withdraw a little after something intense. but he hasn't looked you in the eye since the fight, hasn't even put the usual effort into his stupid quips. and he's been making progress, the past few times telling you that he just needs some space, some breathing room. that he doesn't want to talk yet, but he'll come to you when he's ready. you respect it every time, and he'd always held up.

so why is this time different?

-

you're not asleep, but not quite present either when the other side of the bed dips with bucky's weight. you'd changed while he was showering, but tonight the pyjamas you're wearing are your own. it's hard to even remember the last time you fell asleep without wearing something of his. but the long time he spent in the shower had allowed for many loud thoughts to swarm your head.

maybe you'd done something to him, said something. maybe the shame room had reminded him of his past and made him realise that you weren't the way forward to healing. maybe he held so much resentment for something you'd done in the past that that had been one of the shame rooms.

you're on your newest thought of maybe he's been sick of you for a while, and the stress of the past few days has amplified that, when he turns off the lamp and fully settles down. but he doesn't move closer to you, doesn't even murmur a goodnight. the doubts in your mind roar, and not even pressing your head harder into the pillow help to stifle them.

it's a testament to the few days you've had that you actually manage to nod off. not very quickly, but eventually your breaths even out, and not even the insecurity manages to wire your brain. but it's not a very deep sleep, and it doesn't last long, because a short time later, bucky is sitting up so fast it's like he's been electrocuted.

you toss onto your other side, now facing him as he breathes heavily. it's not the first nightmare either of you have had, not by a long shot, but bucky still uses his typical moves:

"sorry," he whispers, hand combing his hair away from his face, swallowing hard to try and even out his breathing. "didn't mean to wake you."

but then he angles his body away from you, which hasn't happened in months. and you can't take it anymore.

you sit up, legs crossed as you face him straight-on. "what are you doing?"

he seems momentarily surprised, eyes briefly flickering over to you. "what?"

"look, i get it, okay? it's been a rough few days, and the void, bob, whatever, brought up old memories, which must be a lot to deal with. and i'm sorry if i'm... pushing too much, or being overbearing, but i just need you to talk to me. even if it's to tell me to shut the hell up, or that you don't want to see me for a few days, or - or that i should go sleep on the couch. just don't shut me out. please."

for a moment, he's purely frozen. you could convince yourself he's been replaced with a statue in the last few seconds. not even squinting can you make out the rise and fall of his chest.

then he hisses, "fuck."

you blink, not quite sure what to make of that. is it a half attempt at a fuck off? not that he's ever spoken to you like that before, but the doubts from earlier latched on tight and refuse to be shaken.

he still doesn't look at you, but he does turn in your direction. "i'm - god, i'm sorry."

like your throat isn't quite prepared to chisel anything into words, the noise that comes out of your mouth is just that - a noise. part happy he's speaking, mostly confused.

the heels of both his hands press into his eyes. "i don't know what i'm doing."

your brain finally manages to catch up - albeit barely. "what do you mean?"

"i thought i could... god, i don't know what i thought."

you scoot a little closer to him, encouraged when he doesn't move away like earlier. he tenses slightly when you place your hand on his knee, but he relaxes after a second.

"hey, i'm glad you're trying here, but i have no idea what you're talking about."

he shakes his head, staring at your hand on him. "the shame rooms," he forces out.

your thumb rubs gently against the plaid of his pyjama pants. "no one can blame you for coming out of them a little..."

"no," he insists, "they weren't... they weren't what you'd think. i mean, i did see hydra, i -" he cuts himself off, clenching his jaw. "but there was something else."

"do you wanna talk about it?"

through the dark, you can just see the way his eyes squeeze shut. like whatever the something else is, it's waiting in his head to haunt him with each blink. you're just about to tell him that it's okay, you can work this out some other way, when he finally speaks.

"do you remember... when i first got the job with val?"

your thumb freezes from the confusion. "uh... yeah?"

"it was around when we'd first moved in here together. we knew it'd be hard to figure out. but then..." he sighs, preparing himself to continue. "one of those nights i worked late. i was so late back on our anniversary that we didn't have time to do anything, and you'd made dinner after i missed our reservations, but even that went cold, and i left the flowers i got you at the office, and i -"

"bucky -"

" - i - i mean, we had that fight, and i couldn't even make it up to you that night because i was so tired and, well, you made me sleep on the couch anyway - which was fair, i'm not -"

"buck -"

" - not complaining about that or anything, but -"

your hand flies to his shoulder. "james."

his rambling finally comes to an abrupt halt. "what?" he asks, slightly breathless.

"breathe," you say softly. "you're gonna pass out."

he huffs out a slightly impatient breath but does as you say.

your heart feels like it's been weighted down with the entire sky. that was why he'd been looking at the kitchen counter so much. it was where you'd had the fight, where you'd been waiting with the cold dinner as he finally came through the door. but that hadn't even occurred to you. for you, it'd been a bad night that led to plenty of ice cream and stupid movies to make yourself feel better. but for bucky...

"that was one of your shame rooms?"

he nods, fists clenching. "i think about it all the time. but i'd forgotten just how..."

your hand moves from his shoulder to cup his face, turning it in your direction. "baby, we talked it out. you know i'm not mad about that anymore, right?"

he leans into your touch like he can't help it, but it's not the same amount as usual, and you think he might be trying to punish himself. "you should be. i was gone the next day too, and then i had that two-week mission a few days later -"

"well," you say lightly, "i did tell you to go to hell, and then your mission was by that volcano, so..."

a small noise comes out of him, a laugh that didn't quite get permission. "paired with the most vicious look i've ever seen."

your lips twitch slightly, thumb trailing along his cheek. "but i moved past it. you know why?" without even giving him a chance to answer, you continue, "because you figured out how to balance everything. the first few weeks were bound to be rough. yeah, maybe you could've handled it a little better, and maybe i could've thrown in a few less go to hells... but we got the hang of it eventually."

"i know," he sighs, leaning properly into your palm now. "i just... you were so disappointed that day. i can't get that look on your face out of my head."

you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek, heart fluttering when you hear his breath hitch. "we could have a do-over."

"what do you mean?"

"of our anniversary. people thought we were together long before we actually were, so really we could pick any date."

"isn't that kind of... cheating?"

"it's our relationship, we can make whatever rules we want."

"i guess you're right."

you notice that he's biting his lip, which usually means he's thinking hard. with a swipe of your thumb, you free it from his teeth. "what's that head of yours saying?"

"that i'm still sorry."

"i know," you say, hearing the guilt still in his voice. "but seriously. water under the bridge. i mean, god, you try so hard these days, even when you're exhausted. remember my birthday? when you were at the office for ten hours, then had interviews, and you still somehow managed to make me a cake and decorate the place?"

without even seeing him, you can tell some pink dusts his cheeks. "that was nothing..."

"it was everything."

he's silent for a moment, then he hums. he turns his head to kiss your palm, then the inside of your wrist, right over your pulse. "you were saying about the do-over... how about that day you first shouted that you loved me?"

"shut up," you scoff, but the amusement is impossible to wipe off your face. "you said we could ignore that!"

"we did." he's smiling a little now, hand going to your waist to pull you closer. "we somehow didn't get together for another four months."

you roll your eyes, but your heart feels lighter than it has in weeks. "whatever. we don't even know when i did that, so it looks like we can't use it. how horrible..."

"november sixteenth," he says without missing a beat, punctuating it by pressing a kiss to your temple.

a surprised laugh bubbles up from your throat. "there's no way you actually remembered."

"of course i did. it's not every day the woman you're pining for tells you to go to hell one second, then that she's hopelessly in love with you the next."

you just about manage to scowl. "i never said hopelessly."

"ah. guess that was what i was thinking." then he moves in a flash, looming over you as you rest on your back. "hopelessly, sickeningly, stupidly..." with each word, he presses a kiss to your face: forehead, cheek, nose.

your hands run through his hair as you laugh slightly from the feeling of his lips all over your face. "you're ridiculous."

"yes - ridiculously, that's another one."

this time you snort. he presses his forehead to yours, and there's a moment of comfortable silence as you both take solace in knowing you have one another.

"so you're really not even a little bit mad?" he asks.

you smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and your voice is teasing, but you also know that you mean it with every part of your heart. "only madly in love."

[xxeatualivexx]

I just keep thinking about how dom Bucky would react when the reader decides the best and most subtle way to brat him is just to wear water proof mascara.

anon. i love you so much. the dynamic and the ways this could play out are just too exquisite, there's a chance i might expand it into a full fic. ugh. poor bucky. poor you. anyway, drop your fave waterproof mascaras down below, because i could really use a wish rn fr (content warnings: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, marking kink, dom/sub undertones, big mean bucky, praise kink, then light degradation, teasing, piv sex)

You only wanted to rattle him... a smidge.

That’s what you tell yourself when you’re dragging a makeup wipe across your cheekbone in the bathroom mirror, hours before the real fight begins. When you pull back and see nothing but smudge-proof, bulletproof lashes, Yelena really hadn’t been kidding. You wanted to test a theory. Stir the pot. Shake the delicate snow globe of Bucky’s control issues just enough to watch him flinch.

And he doesn’t, not at first.

No, Bucky plays it cool when he picks you up from the gala. Presses a kiss to your temple like he’s proud of you, says something about how you “clean up real nice” like it’s a throwaway compliment instead of the quiet worship that it actually is. But you catch the pause.

The way his eyes drag a beat too long on your face. The way his hand tightens just slightly around your hip when he sees the way the lashes frame your eyes, thick and glinting and so meticulously intact.

Because the last time he looked at you like that, half-lidded and bracing for the sound you make when you break, your mascara was not waterproof.

It streaked in perfect black arcs down your cheeks. Tangled in the sweat-slick curve of your nose. He’d tilt your chin up, thumb it away, watch it ruin you down to the core, all smudges and slack-jawed surrender, and say some nasty, filthy shit like "there she is. My pretty little mess. Can’t keep your eyes dry for me, huh?"

So you don’t whimper this time. At least, not when he drags you back to your shared apartment like his leash is invisible and hooked straight behind your teeth. Not when you grin too wide, too deviously as he pushes you up against the wooden door like a man starved.

You make it easy for him, on purpose, of course. Offer yourself up to him in satin and silk. Spread out for him like he’s your final act of worship, say yes to every hand placement and every ruined seam, but you hold.

You hold. Up until the moment that grasp breaks.

When you blink up at him, gorgeous and bone dry, and watch the cracks form in real time.

His mouth falters. His rhythm stutters. His hand, the metal one, the one that usually doesn’t tremble, does.

“…What the fuck,” he mutters, barely audible, like it’s half to himself. His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing under your eye, searching.

You blink again, slow and angelic and relishing in his quiet devastation.

He sits back a little, still inside you, chest rising and falling like he’s been lied to. “You wore waterproof mascara?” His voice is stunned. Offended. A touch insulted but also impressed.

You tilt your head, faux-innocent. “What, this old thing?”

His eyes darken. You feel it like a thunderclap. That shift in his rhythm, control pulled tighter like the reins on some horse.

“You wore waterproof mascara.” He repeats it slower this time, like he's savoring the betrayal, tasting it in front of o fhis teeth.

“You didn’t notice?” you whisper, biting your lip, and you know exactly what you’re doing.

He laughs, actually laughs, low and incredulous and dangerous. “You think this is funny?”

“I think Yelena was right,” you say sweetly. The lashes don’t so much as flutter. “This stuff really doesn’t budge.”

And there it is, the shift. The way his entire demeanor goes fucking ice cold. Gone is the praise, the pet names, the indulgence. In their place: silence. Precision. Hands on either side of your head like a man appraising a piece of faulty machinery. Fingers readjusting themselves slowly, barely controlled, tapping against your head like he's checking for logic there.

“Oh,” he murmurs, voice like sandpaper dragged over a live wire. You try your best to hide the way goosebumps rose under your skin, stifle the grin that threatens to show. “I’m gonna take my time now. Since apparently you’re not in any rush to cry for me.”

[xxeatualivexx]

minors dni

missing perv!bucky hours :/ literally him waking u up like this

the thick, leaking tip of his cock nudges against your soaked entrance, smearing precum over your folds. 
“fuck... just like that,” he groans out. he pushes in just the swollen, aching head of his cock inside.

you gasp, your greedy cunt clenching around that shallow, teasing and painful stretch, sucking him in.

he moans, grinding the tip in circles against your pussy. “yeah... squeezin’ me so good, sweet girl. fuck, your pussy’s suckin’ just the tip like it’s starvin’ for it.”

his hand snakes down, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, keeping the thick crown buried inside your fluttering hole, as he starts to stroke himself.


“b-bucky—” you whimper, arching.


“shhh, jus’ take the tip. jus’ this.” his hips jerk erratically, fucking you with nothing but that shallow penetration, the ridge of his cockhead catching your rim.

“feel how fuckin’ hot your cunt is? milkin’ my fuckin’ crown... gonna cum right here... in this tight little hole... gonna paint your walls—” you feel his balls draw up, slapping your ass.

“gonna flood you... pump my load right where you need it—right where you feel it burnin’ for me—”
a guttural groan comes from his throat as he moves inside you.

he cums in heavy spurts, flooding your clenching entrance, coating his tip as he keeps stroking, milking every thick rope deep where he’s barely seated.

“fuck, fuck—yes...” he shudders, hips grinding the tip impossibly deeper as ropes of cum spill into your pussy.

his hand works his shaft faster, smearing his release around your stretched, sticky rim, mixing it with you. “take it, you slut... take all of it... feel it poolin’ right there? my cum sittin’ in your pretty cunt... fuck, so much... drippin’ out already...”

he collapses over you, his cockhead still plugged inside, still spilling the last thick drops.


“mine. jus’ the tip... an’ my cum sittin’ right where it belongs. markin’ your pussy.” his thumb swipes through the mess leaking from your stretched hole, shoving it back inside.

“keep it in there. till it soaks all the way up.”

[xxeatualivexx]

Terrified you’ll bite the hand that needs you – and right now I need you

pairing: ex!bucky barnes x f!reader cw: angst, argument, mutual pining (“but we can’t”), codependency + commitment issues, toxic relationship dynamics, smut (mdni, 18+), p in v, creampie, crying, bucky king of consent barnes, emotional sex, these two really need to talk and they need to do it while they’re not having sex wc: 2.7k now playing: crying during sex – Ethel Cain

The rain mingled with your tears as you stood opposite Bucky. It was embarrassing – really. Your mascara was running across your cheeks while your chest heaved, struggling to give your lungs the oxygen it needed.

“Baby, please, just go home,” he pleaded, “You know we can’t get back together.”

Oh, you did know. It shattered your heart every time you thought about how toxic you two were, but the idea of letting go hurt even more. 

You had broken up a little over a month ago, after a terrible fight that had involved you throwing a picture frame at the wall behind him and Bucky punching the exact same wall so hard the building shook. 

Keeping your distance was hard – it crumbled you. It felt like you were losing your mind, unable to eat or sleep more than a few hours per night. You found no rest without him next to you, without his arms tightly wrapped around you.

Four weeks, or to be more precise 29 days, you had managed to go without him. Then Sam had called you out of the blue to ask you where Bucky was and you realized that he hadn’t told anyone. To you, that was your chance, your one chance to get him back. 

Your plan had been to be all collected and rational. That had gone out the door the second he stepped out of his apartment building before you could even ring the doorbell. He hadn’t been surprised to see you, so he must have caught sight of you when you had walked up. 

He had already started protesting, attempting to usher you home. Which led to this.

“Why?” You sobbed out. “Why can’t I stay here?”

He rubbed his jaw, eyes half lidded with desperation and worry.  “You… you just can’t. Go home, please. You’re gonna get sick out here.”

“I don’t wanna go home.” You started to sound like a petulant child, seconds away from throwing a temper tantrum. Your lower lip wobbled and he saw it. His fingers twitched, like he had to hold himself back from reaching out. For a second, you could almost feel the memory of his fingers, resting at your chin, thumb swiping over your skin. Then the spell broke.

“I mean it, sweetheart, go home.”

His voice wasn’t cold but definite. Absolute. It was his no-nonsense-voice, the one he used to use to tell you off when you were awake past midnight, working too long or drinking too much. The words snapped you right back into the presence as anger boiled in you.

“Fuck you, Bucky, you don’t get to tell me anything,” you snarled, covering the hurt with rage. “You’re not my fucking boss.”

The vein on his temple twitched ever so slightly. Composure – something he had worked so hard on to regain after years of chaos and torture – and you made him lose it with just a few words. You saw how his chest stretched under his black fitted shirt, the way the ribs expanded as he took a deep breath. His eyes darkened as he took a step toward you but you didn’t back down. 

“Go. Home,” he growled, clearly still holding himself back. 

You mirrored him, advancing forward as well until you shared the same oxygen. “No.”

Neither one of you backed down, staring, calculating, assessing the other. Silence stretched – not even the drumming of the rain registering anymore as you held eye contact. But then your gaze dipped just for a second – a traitorous, long stretching second as you caught a glimpse of these perfect pink lips, plump and warm, wet with raindrops and his hot breath. 

He saw it, and something changed in his eyes. Anger turned to hunger. Irritation became cockiness. And his discipline, his collectedness – it crumbled. You watched it break down, slow at first, then picking up speed, like an avalanche. 

And then his own eyes dropped down. They raked over your face, inching across every stretch of skin, your nose, your mouth, your jaw. Then lower. Your chest was heaving with emotion and Bucky – the goddamn idiot – smirked as his stare stuck to the hem of your shirt. 

“Goddamnit,” he muttered. And then he pulled you in by your hips. His hands raked across the fabric separating you two, dipping below it as he pushed himself against you as if he was trying to merge the two of you into one being.

His lips were as soft as you remembered, and you felt his heartbeat – or maybe your own.

A soft moan tumbled from your lips as his tongue met yours, heated, demanding and relentless.

His hands lingered on your waist, under your shirt, kneading you like he wanted to shape you into whatever worked for him. His thumbs drew circles across your hips, then ghosted across your stomach while his mouth moved against yours feverishly. 

He pulled away for a second, not able to keep himself from making some snarky remark. 

“You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

It didn’t come out the way he planned – not cocky, not teasing. It sounded wrecked, broken, genuine.

Then his lips were on yours again and he manhandled you against his front door. One hand let go of your waist and instead cradled the back of your head to protect you from the impact as he shoved you against the wood, his hips following yours. You were sandwiched between him, feeling every part of him, heated, begging for you.

His other hand came free as well and fumbled with the door knob, missing it a few times as he didn’t look up once, just kept kissing you like nothing else mattered. Then the door finally gave in and you stumbled into his apartment building. He caught you, stabilized you by your hips, then almost brought you to fall again as he ushered you up the stairs at neck breaking speed. 

The door to his apartment unit was open, like he had left in a daze, forgetting to close it behind him. He guided you through it, a hand on the small of your back, then kicked it shut the second he slipped in after you.  You turned to face him, to speak but he swallowed every word burning on your tongue with another kiss. 

He shushed you softly while he buried his tongue down your throat, his hands wandering over your curves, squeezing, palming, massaging. He pulled his shirt off, dropped it carelessly on the floor of the entryway and pushed you further into his apartment. You would have found the way to his room blindfolded, two legs broken and gagged, that’s how often you had spent the night here. 

The smell of the bedsheets hit your senses like a slap across your face. Bucky was everywhere. Leather, rain, pine and whatever made him your Bucky – it buried itself in your nose as he pressed you into the comforter, already pulling at your shirt. 

The scent was so overwhelming that you clutched at the fabric of your top and pulled away from Bucky to look at him. He stopped immediately and caught your eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked and sat back on his heels. 

What wasn’t wrong? What were you doing? You came here to talk and now he was half naked and you weren’t from far from joining him.

“I…,” you stammered, “I-“

He watched you with an almost pained expression and you knew. You knew that he knew. 

“I know,” he mumbled, “I swear I know. But I don’t have the answer you want.”

“Do you love me?” The words came out before you could stop yourself.

“You know I do,” he replied. He didn’t look away, his blue eyes burying themselves into yours. 

“Then why?”

“Because I hate how much I love you.”

The words hurt. The way he emphasized it, no questioning tone behind it, just clear and utter acceptance.

“That is all I can give you,” he whispered, “That and… this.” He took your hand and rested it against his bare chest, allowing you to feel the pounding of his heart. “I want you. I love you. But I can’t be with you. Not how you want me to. I can only give you this – if that’s what you want.”

He grabbed your chin and kept you from looking away. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. You shook your head, neither of you knew what it meant.  But if this was all what you were going to get, you would take it.

You sniffled softly and grabbed the hem of your shirt, then pulled it over your head. His gaze didn’t drop immediately, he kept his focus on your face. 

“Is that what you want?” He asked, not touching, not looking yet.

You nodded.

“That’s not gonna do, baby. Use your words. You say it, or you don’t mean it.”

“I want it,” you rasped. There was a big, ugly obstruction in your throat, and it hurt to swallow. It hurt to breathe. 

Bucky cradled your face between his hands. You felt the callouses, the roughness of his skin, contrasting with your soft cheeks. 

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Clothes littered the room, tossed around like an afterthought – if that.  His lips were on yours again, his bare skin pressed against yours.

Because I hate how much I love you.

One of his hands dipped between the two of you and hiked your thigh up as he slotted himself between your legs. 

Because I hate how much I love you.

He looked at you as he pushed the tip of his cock in. You sucked in a shaky breath, fingers digging into his shoulder as he slowly filled you up. A dark groan built in his chest but a contrastingly soft kiss landed on the inside your knee as he inched forward. The stretch burned so good it had your eyes rolling back, the fullness overwhelming, fighting off the loneliness you had felt without him.

Because I hate how much I love you.

He muffled his moan by pressing his mouth into the crook of your neck as he buried himself to the hilt in your tight, warm wetness.  “Fuck,” he murmured, “You feel so good. Always feel so damn good.”

Because I hate how much I love you.

Your fingers travelled from the base of his neck to his hair, raking through the brown curls softly, keeping him pressed against your skin while he slowly pulled his hips back. He couldn’t see the first tear that slid down your cheek.

Because I hate how much I love you.

Nothing hurt – nothing physical at least. In fact, every thrust, every glide of his fingers made you see stars, made you want more, made you clench around him tighter to keep him there. When his fingers danced over your clit, you arched into his touch, a pleading gasp of his name spilling from your lips.

Because I hate how much I love you.

He looked at you as you called out his name – and froze.  The sight of tears, the redness in your eyes, it was too much. Every single muscle went taut with restriction, with holding back. “Doll, what’s wrong?” He mumbled frantically, a hand hovering next to your cheek like he wanted to cup it, wanted to brush away the tears but didn’t dare to.

Because I hate how much I love you.

“Nothin’.” The word came out like a whimper and he sucked in a sharp breath.  “Please don’t lie, baby. Am I hurting you? Are you in pain?”

Because I hate how much I love you.

“No,” you mumbled and shook your head. “I’m just… I… I want this, believe me, I do.”

Because I hate how much I love you.

“But?” He asked quietly, still sheathed in your heat.

Because I hate how much I love you.

“What you said… earlier… it hurt my feelings.” That was probably the most honest, raw sentence he ever heard from you. No matter how many fights, how much pleading, how often you had begged him, you had never said something this true and from your heart to him. And it him like a ton of bricks.  “You hate how much you love me,” You echoed his words.

His hand finally came to rest on your cheek, swiping away the tears.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, “That… that came out wrong. What I meant is that I hate myself for how much I love you. And for how I’m not… not able to fix this for us.”

He pulled back slightly, but you shook your head and wrapped your free leg around him.  His eyebrows scrunched up and he looked at you.  “Don’t you wanna stop?”

You shook your head. “No, please, I… Keep going.”

He looked at you doubtfully. 

“I don’t wanna keep going if you’re crying. It’s not right.”

“I want you to. I… I need you to. Please.”

A few seconds passed as he weighed his options. His eyes never left you, assessing, gaging and evaluating. “Are you sure?” 

You nodded again and pulled him close. 

“Please.”

This time, he kept looking at you as he pulled back slightly and then pushed back in. Not one change in your expression went unnoticed by him, like he had to make sure there was not an ounce of doubt. And there wasn’t.

Yes, this wasn’t ideal. But if this was the only way to have him, you would take it.

He started to pull little moans from you again, soft breathy sounds that grew louder with every thrust. His fingers returned to your bundle of nerves, dragging across it, smearing your wetness that was seeping out of you over your button while his hips met yours again and again. 

“Don’t stop, please,” you whispered breathlessly, pulling him in closer and closer. His hand gripped your thigh like he was trying to anchor himself.

“Never,” he replied quietly. It sounded like a vow.

His thrusts became more frantic, more needy. “God-fucking-dammit, you feel so good. So warm and- oh fuck- god.” He buried himself deeper with every roll of his hips, hitting that one spot within you. By now you were sure you were molded to the exact shape of his cock, your walls shaped to every vein and indent of his. You clenched around him and he groaned heavenly.

No matter how much he talked you through it, how much he controlled the speed and strength of his thrusts, how cockdrunk you got on him – he always fell victim to the feel of you.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he growled and sped up even more, seeking to ground himself in that control. He drew tighter, faster circles on your clit, speeding up and applying more pressure. But his hips stuttered and his fingers faltered when you tightened around him again. 

“Doll, god- you’re gonna kill me,” he whimpered and a victorious grin grew on your face. “I’m tryna make you feel good here and you’re- oh, fuck,” he complained, cut off by your squeezing again. 

It was like a game, who could make the other cum first. You chased his orgasm more than your own, clamping down on him like a vice but he was the supersoldier. In the end, he won, bringing you over the edge, but followed you right over. Liquid heat pooled from your core as your legs spasmed and you threw your head back against the pillow as the warmth of pleasure overwhelmed you. His name fell from your lips while he buried himself to the hilt and spilled deep within in you, twitching and pulsing hot.

Neither one of you moved for a long time. He stayed in you until he went soft, and then some. Breaking the connection, facing each other was out of the question. His head rested on your breasts, his bare cheek squished into your soft flesh. Your fingers wandered through his hair, soothing to both him and you. 

“I swear,” he murmured after a while, “I’ll die in your arms and I won’t complain.”

❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆

[xxeatualivexx]

You Were What They Couldn't Take

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: emotional trauma, memory wiping, brainwashing, PTSD, past captivity, hurt/comfort, soft ending.

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The last time you saw him, he was kissing your fingertips on the steps of your mother’s brownstone, his thumb brushing the tiny diamond he’d saved three paychecks for. You had laughed through your tears, heart hammering behind your ribs as the train's whistle echoed in the distance. He looked like everything you had ever wanted: polished boots, pressed uniform, soft boyish grin full of bravado and promise.

“I’m coming back to you,” he said, voice low, forehead pressed against yours. “You and me—we’re gonna have a life. Just hang on for me.”

You kissed him like you already knew it would be the last.

And when the letters stopped coming, when the reports of missing soldiers were read out in monotone voices on the radio, you didn’t cry. Not at first.

Not until someone returned his dog tags.

Not until someone said “train accident” and “no body recovered” and “we’re sorry.”

You buried a ring in the back of your drawer and called it closure. But some part of you—some tiny, unkillable corner—refused to let go of his voice. His eyes. The way he had once looked at you like you were something holy.

That part would save you in the years to come.

Because as it turned out, Bucky Barnes wasn’t dead.

Not really.

Not yet.

They told him to forget. Every time he remembered something he wasn’t supposed to, they dragged him into that sterile white room and stripped it from him.

But he held onto you like a reflex. Like instinct.

Sometimes your face would come back in the middle of a mission—a flicker in a mirror, the shape of a woman’s silhouette in a doorway, the whisper of a laugh that wasn’t yours but was close enough to punch the air from his lungs.

And each time, he panicked.

Because he knew what came next.

“Don’t take her,” he’d beg, strapped to that chair, heart thundering beneath the weight of everything he didn’t understand. “Please… she was mine.”

No one ever answered.

They just flipped the switch.

Pain bloomed white-hot behind his eyes, and your name dissolved on his tongue like ash.

Until the next time. And the next. And the next.

You didn’t know your name for a long time.

They called you Subject Echo.

You were one of the failed experiments—or so they said. One of the serum trials that shouldn’t have worked, but did.

The pain came first. Then the silence.

Then the dreams.

Always the dreams.

He came to you in broken flashes: a man with storm-colored eyes, a crooked smile, arms that held you like you were fragile. You didn’t know who he was. Not at first. Not until you heard him say your name.

Y/N.

That’s what he called you.

And suddenly, that was the only thing that felt true.

The rest of you had been fractured, burned, rewritten—but the sound of his voice? That lived in your bones.

You clawed your way out of that underground lab with nothing but a memory.

A name.

Bucky.

You whispered it like a spell, over and over again, while the world changed and HYDRA crumbled and the stories of ghosts and metal-armed monsters filled the airwaves.

You followed those stories.

Not because you believed in monsters.

But because you believed in him.

You found the safehouse by memory.

The codes were still the same.

It sat quiet, forgotten near the sea, crumbling at the edges but hidden well enough. You patched what you could, lived on canned food and hope. And every night, you checked the perimeter. Every night, you dreamed of him standing in that doorway.

Sometimes, you thought it would break you.

But then the door opened.

You heard it—hard and fast and unmistakable. Metal against metal. Rain-soaked boots on concrete.

You barely turned before you saw him—taller now, broader, hair longer than you remembered, soaked and curling around his face. A deep scar ran from his temple down to his jaw. He was bleeding, shaking, eyes blown wide like he didn’t know where he was or why.

But he saw you.

And everything in him stopped.

Like his lungs had forgotten how to breathe.

“Y/N?” he rasped, voice hoarse and disbelieving.

Your knees buckled.

You would’ve hit the ground if he hadn’t caught you.

The arm around you was cold, unyielding metal—but his hand on your face was warm. Familiar.

Your hands found his jacket, curled tight.

“Bucky,” you whispered, heart splintering. “Is it you? Is it really—?”

He nodded, fast, like he didn’t trust his voice.

“I thought you were dead,” you choked. “I thought you were gone.”

“I was,” he said, forehead resting against yours. “They killed me, and they brought me back wrong. But you—” his voice cracked, “—you were the only thing they couldn’t erase. I remembered you. I always remembered you.”

Tears ran hot down your face.

His thumb wiped them away.

“I begged them,” he whispered. “Every time they wiped me. I begged them not to take you.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Like your heart was trying to leap out of your chest.

You had waited years for this. Survived hell for this.

And still, it hurt.

He didn’t sleep that first night.

Neither did you.

He sat on the floor, back to the wall, legs stretched out, staring at nothing. You curled up on the cot, blanket pulled over your shoulders like it could protect you from the weight of the past.

“I’m not who I used to be,” he said eventually. “I’ve done things you can’t forgive.”

You sat up.

“I didn’t survive all this just to forgive you,” you said. “I survived to find you.”

He turned to look at you, something broken behind his eyes.

“You should’ve run,” he said.

“I did,” you replied. “Straight to you.”

His throat worked as he tried to swallow the words clawing up.

You moved slowly, crossing the room, lowering yourself into his lap like it was still second nature.

And when he wrapped both arms around you—one flesh, one metal—you felt it.

That he was still in there.

Still yours.

The nightmares were bad.

He woke up screaming sometimes, shaking and soaked in sweat, eyes wild like he was back in the chair, back on the slab, being rewritten from the inside out.

You learned how to hold him without asking questions.

Sometimes he talked.

Most times, he didn’t.

But every now and then, he’d curl into you like a wounded child and say your name like a prayer.

“I thought I lost you,” he’d whisper. “Every time. Every damn time.”

“You didn’t,” you always answered. “I found you. We found each other.”

But sometimes, when he looked in the mirror too long, you worried he didn’t believe it.

Didn’t believe he deserved it.

So you started saying it more.

You mattered.

You’re still him.

You’re still mine.

He never said thank you.

He just looked at you like you’d hung the moon.

You told Steve first.

Bucky stood silent at your side, jaw clenched like he was waiting for rejection.

But Steve just stared.

And then his face cracked—something between awe and heartbreak.

He stepped forward and pulled you both into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

“You’re home,” he said. “Both of you. Finally.”

You wore the ring on a chain for a long time.

The same one he’d given you on the steps that day.

The gold had dulled over the decades, but the stone still caught the light the same way. You used to touch it when the world felt too loud, thumb rubbing over the curve of the band like it could tether you to something real.

One morning, he came to you in the kitchen, quiet and serious, holding out his hand.

He slid the ring off the chain and back onto your finger.

“I made a promise,” he said softly. “And I still mean it.”

You looked up at him through tears.

“So do I.”

It wasn’t perfect.

There were days when he didn’t speak. Days when the weight of what he’d done, what he’d been turned into, crushed him like a tide.

You stayed through all of it.

Not because it was easy.

But because you remembered the boy who kissed you like you were something worth coming back to.

Because somewhere inside the man with trembling hands and a haunted stare was the same soul who had once promised you a life.

And he was still trying to give it to you.

Every single day.

“I loved you before they broke me,” he told you one night, lying beside you in the half-dark.

“And I’ll love you long after I heal.”

You brushed his hair back from his face, heart full to the brim.

“They’ll never touch us again,” you whispered.

His eyes glistened.

“I won’t let them.”

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t out of desperation.

It was homecoming.

It was beginning again.