Warnings: 18+ | explicit content ahead, MDNI. This is your final warning; you are responsible for your own media consumption. As always, I do not consent to have my work translated, posted, or published on any third-party app or website. My work is only found on Tumblr.
I miss when chronically ill meant disappearing for two weeks in elementary school and everyone thinking I died then coming back and still being on the honor roll.
pairing: avenger!bucky barnes x avengers fem!reader | word count: 2.2k
warnings: none, this is pure fluff
summary: Bucky’s name’s been cleared for almost a year now, and you can’t help but notice that his room is completely bare, aside from the bed and desk that came with it, and you—being you—decide that this simply won’t do.
dt: my sweet, sexy, beautiful friend @heldbybarnes 🩷 all our talk of whimsy inspired this very random idea
masterlist
“Where is your whimsy Bucky? Where are your trinkets?”
“My what?” Bucky blinks up at you from his spot on the bed.
“Your whimsy!”
“Doll, I don’t—”
“You’re tellin’ me you don’t have ONE trinket? This is unacceptable.”
It’s the first time you’d seen Bucky’s room—having come to lend him a book when you noticed there was not a single sign that the room was occupied, aside from the slightly crumpled sheets and the wrappers from his protein bars in the bin beside him. You stand in the doorway with your hands on your hips, entirely exasperated at the sight before you.
In the year he'd known you, Bucky had become used to your dramatics—exclaiming like someone had taken the thing you love most when your favourite cereal was finished or groaning loudly like your whole day was ruined at the training time being moved by thirty minutes.
“Bucky, you don’t even have a lamp— what do you—?” You sigh, moving further into the room. His bed is pushed into one corner of the room and your eyes catch on the single blanket laid out on the floor. The walls are completely bare, the shelves sit empty and the overhead light casts a harsh glow over the room, making it look less like a bedroom and more like a lab.
Bucky tenses—a tiny shift that no-one else would have noticed but you’d spent every day with Bucky since he arrived at the tower. You’d taken the time to learn him. To understand him in a way no-one else did.
You knew the distant look he’d get when he was stuck in a memory. You knew when he needed space and when he needed you to push back. You knew the permanent crease he held between his brows, and you especially knew the way it’d soften and turn into smile lines when you’d make him laugh.
Your voice softens then.
“You don’t have anything to make the place yours?”
“M’used to it doll.”
Your heart tugs painfully at that. The thought of him alone and cold in a room—a cell more like, with nothing but his memories for company.
You look at him then, eyes focused on his—the soft, uncertain look peeking out between his usual stares. You move closer to him, taking his hand in yours and he pulls away slightly. You know the hesitation doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it—crave it really. Just that his body is still learning touch. Still learning what’s safe. Still learning you.
“Just because you’re used to it, doesn’t mean you have to be.”
Bucky inhales sharply, looking anywhere but you, getting uncomfortable in that way he usually does when you read him too easily, when you say things others are too afraid to.
You don’t let it throw you—instead tugging on his hand gently, bringing his focus back to you.
“Let’s go shopping. There’s a few thrift stores close to here I like to go to that I think you might like.”
“Doll, I really don’t want to…” His voice trails off as he notices the look on your face—soft and half-pleading, and he sighs, running a hand down his face before brushing his hair back and standing with a grumble.
“Fine, let’s go, you can take me to ONE thrift store and we’re just goin’ to have a quick—”
Bucky’s still rambling on but you’ve stopped listening, already jumping up and down in excitement, tugging at his hand and squealing.
“—and we’re not stoppin’ for coffee either.”
~ 25 mins later ~
You walk into the thrift store you frequent on your days off, hot coffee in hand, giving Bucky a small smirk as you sip. He shakes his head in disbelief.
God, the effect you have on him.
Bucky takes it all in—the vastness of the store taking him by surprise.
The sides of the store are lined in bookshelves, carrying everything from children’s books, knitting patterns, vintage magazines, novels with the covers worn back, old records, cds, dvds, cassettes and board games.
There’s rows and rows of old tables, scattered with various items—a doll from the 1950s, jewellery stands filled with bangles, necklaces and bracelets, the soft light from the various lamps around the room glinting off the jewels.
Bucky turns to you, brow furrowed.
“M’not buying anything, you know that right?”
“That’s okay, we can just have a look.” You shrug, moving further into the store, trying your best to not scare him off now that he’d agreed to come.
Bucky gives a solemn nod, like it’s decided, already zoning out as he carelessly rustles through the items on the table closest to him. You dawdle along the clothes racks, eyeing out a jacket that looks about your size.
Of course, you’re not in full thrifting mode, still carefully keeping an eye on Bucky as he takes maybe three more steps into the store—arms crossed over his chest, feigning disinterest as something on the shelf clearly catches his eye.
He looks over at you, and you give him a small smile, nodding towards the shelves with encouragement. He softens ever so slightly, arms uncrossing and wandering into the store. You smile into your coffee when you see him pick up an elephant carved from wood and place it back down.
“Doll, come over here.” Bucky’s a few tables down from you, gesturing you over to him.
He’s holding a brooch in his hand—nothing too fancy—a small blue and green floral thing. You raise your eyebrows at him, questioning.
“This brooch— it um—” Bucky looks at you, eyes welling with tears as he tries hard to control his wavering voice.
“—it looks exactly like one my ma used to wear. Same design. Same colors— I—”
He turns it over in his hand, studying every detail. The tiny glass beads, the tarnished gold metal, the pin slightly bent out of shape at the back. You place your hand on his upper arm, smiling up at him.
“Get it.”
Bucky turns to you, startled—almost like he forgot you were there—lost in the memory of his mother’s hands gently working the brooch, pinning it to her dress on Sunday mornings.
He shakes his head as if to shake off the memory, placing the pin back down and wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve.
“What? No—I don’t— I don’t need it, I was just saying—” He’s already turning away when you squeeze his arm, bringing his attention to you.
“Bucky listen to me. It’s okay to want things. It’s okay to find meaning in small things. You’re allowed to want Bucky.”
The words hit him somewhere deeper than just this moment.
He nods slowly before picking the brooch back up, flipping it in his metal hand a few more times, thumb brushing over the top and hands it to you wordlessly.
You smile, placing it gently into your basket, careful not to break it and give him a solemn nod.
He returns it with a smile.
It’s easier after that.
He notices a few old records with names he recognises and tucks them away with a smile. An old record player, a copy of The Hobbit, vintage magazines, knitting patterns that reminded him of his mom.
He calls you over to him again when he finds a lego set of a working helicopter and your heart warms at the excitement in his voice.
You pick up a couple things for him too—fairy lights, a desk lamp, another lego set and a couple more records you think he might like.
Bucky’s flipping through a photo album when you approach him. You can’t help but smile when you see the photo he’s looking at. It’s in black and white — two teenagers eating ice-cream, the boy smiling at the girl and tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. It’s dated June 4th 1937.
“Do you think we would have been friends if we met back then?”
Bucky looks at you—really looks at you and you don’t fully understand the look in his eyes. But it’s the same one he gives you when you bring him coffee in the morning. Or the one he gives when you’re on a mission—loud bangs, debris flying and you turn to him before anyone else.
“I think—I think I’d be lucky to find you in any lifetime.”
Your heart skips a beat, face warming at his words and you have to bite down on your lip to stop your eyes from welling with tears.
“Me too Buck, me too.”
“Ready to go?” You swing your basket on your wrist, nodding your head in the direction of the checkout.
Bucky nods and follows, still looking back at the armchairs along the wall and you make a mental note to bring him back another time.
“What’s that book?”
“Oh I don’t know, some rom-com.”
You nod, tilting your head slightly, narrowing your eyes at the title.
The Love Hypothesis
Not something you thought he’d pick but you’re not about to question what he’s buying when he’s finally letting himself buy things.
He sighs before you get a chance to let a word out, opening the front cover of the book and showing you the small hand-written inscription.
Becca’s ♡
“Your sister?”
“I know it’s not hers but I—” He trails off, letting out a shaky breath.
“I know Buck.” You place your hand on his arm, warm and reassuring and he gives you a small smile before avoiding your eyes.
“Alright, let’s go pay for our stuff then.”
“You can just leave the bags there.” Bucky nods towards his desk, placing the record player and the burgers you’d picked up on the way on the table.
“Okay…orrr I could help you set everything up. We could have a movie night. Eat our burgers.” You suggest softly, not expecting the slow nod he gives.
You smile up at him, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of him setting up the record player on his desk, moving it side to side until he’s happy with the positioning.
The two of you move around the room in perfect tandem—Bucky setting the books and records on the shelves, you making a small display of the lego sets and placing the brooch carefully in front.
You turn to ask Bucky how he likes it and stop mid-breath, biting your lip and trying not to laugh at the 6 foot super soldier fumbling with fairy lights—swearing under his breath, one end of the wire tangled around his metal arm.
“Here, let me.” You giggle softly, reaching for the wire, untangling it from his arm.
“Something funny?”
“No,” you lie, voice entirely too amused, still holding back a laugh.
You pull on the end, draping it across the back of his bed when Bucky lets out a frustrated huff and this time you can’t help the laugh that escapes.
Bucky turns to you, glaring, but there’s no real bite to it, and soon he’s laughing too, running a hand down his face like the day had worn him out.
He glances over at you—cross-legged on his bed, grinning up at him, the glow from the fairy lights framing your face.
Bucky thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.
The air in the room grows thicker and you can almost hear your heartbeat outside of your chest—Bucky’s eyes boring into yours—so bright and blue and beautiful.
“Thank you for today doll, I’m—”
He pauses to look around the room, his heart so full it aches.
You care.
Not just about if he’s eaten or if he’s been keeping up with his medical checks and his therapy, not just about how he was on a mission or if he might be injured. But about him and whether or not he’s happy—if he feels at home.
Bucky hadn’t felt home in over 80 years, but here—with you smiling at him like there’s nowhere you’d rather be—he feels like maybe he could.
“Of course Buck.”
He’s still looking around the room in disbelief. It’s then you realise the reason he never put anything in his room. He didn’t believe he’d be staying here, that this would last, that he could have a home here—because when you’ve spent your life running, and all you’ve known is survival, how do you accept softness and stability without it feeling like a threat?
You stand slowly, taking his hand in yours and press your forehead to his gently. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed, taking a shaky breath.
“Doll, I don’t know if I’m—”
“S’okay Buck. Don’t need to be. M’not going anywhere.”
He gives you a soft look like he doesn’t fully believe it, but like he might start to soon.
You pull his arms around your waist, not breaking eye contact. His fingers flex against the small of your back, still unsure—almost like he’s expecting you to pull away. You wrap your arms gently around his shoulders, placing your head onto his shoulder. Softly but not hesitant—never hesitant. You feel his body shudder slightly, a subtle tense of muscles before he leans into it—into you.
And for the first time—in the softness of the fairy lights and the warmth of all the small things—Bucky Barnes lets himself be held.
taglist: @daydreamgoddess14 @matchaenthusiast1111 @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @skxawngg @heldbybarnes @epiphanyrogers @sassandscribbles @thisismysafeescape @mandoloriancookie @vmprektty @daddysbitchybaby @punkrockrr @buckysdecaflove @kileyking @singulartoast @love-stucky (if you'd like to be added, please leave a comment on this post)
Des: Jaxon catches his big sister with a boy one day and chaos ensues.
(Can be read as s standalone. Joe and reader are married with 4 kids, the two in the chat are Izzy/Isabelle (13, the oldest - pre marriage) and Jaxon (9 - second born)
TW: Language, rightfully overprotective dad Joe, annoying sibling, reader trying to keep the peace, misinformation, gross boys, lack of consent, self defense, happy ending!
JB Masterlist | More of this AU
A/N: Written in July 2025 - I was pleasantly surprised when i found this lol. I have no memory of writing it. Please don't let it flop😅 Not currently taking requests (because lets be honest it takes me forever to get to them), but my inbox is always open if you wanna chat about a fic you liked 🩷
Thanks for reading! Like, comment and reblog friends 🫶🏾
Des: Jaxon catches his big sister with a boy one day and chaos ensues.
(Can be read as s standalone. Joe and reader are married with 4 kids, the two in the chat are Izzy/Isabelle (13, the oldest - pre marriage) and Jaxon (9 - second born)
TW: Language, rightfully overprotective dad Joe, annoying sibling, reader trying to keep the peace, misinformation, gross boys, lack of consent, self defense, happy ending!
JB Masterlist | More of this AU
A/N: Written in July 2025 - I was pleasantly surprised when i found this lol. I have no memory of writing it. Please don't let it flop😅 Not currently taking requests (because lets be honest it takes me forever to get to them), but my inbox is always open if you wanna chat about a fic you liked 🩷
Thanks for reading! Like, comment and reblog friends 🫶🏾
ha ha ha ha… yall wanna know something funny😅 I went into my texting fics app to update the icons and found 1 and a half (2) Mini Gossip Girl fics dated a whole year ago… they’re finished too😬🫣
I genuinely forgot about them, like I don’t remember writing them at all😭
Sooooo yeah😂
Today: Mini Gossip BOY (dw it’s fucking hilarious)
This weekend: Mini Gossip Girl Presents: Izzy Versus The Mullet
I come and check out your blog every blue moon just to see if that Kehlani x reader fic you talked about is still in works? Perfectly fine if you’re not gonna do it! There’s just no Kehlani x reader fics anywhere and I’ve been looking forward to it lmao
Haiiii, I feel bad for teasing yall with that. After getting this ask I did genuinely come up with an idea for a fem!dancer x Kehlani fic (and maybe an assistant x Kehlani one). Neither have been written or even outlined yet (see previous post for reasoning).
I lowkey got really nervous about writing WLW, I’ve written some and kept them locked away in the past. So nerves plus burnout really messed with that execution.
I do intend to write those ideas tho, nothing fully leaves my brain until the pics are erased from my camera roll. Thanks for the ask, I kept looking at it to remind me of these ideas. I start summer classes in 2 weeks and once I have something to procrastinate, I’ll start writing lol😂
PROOF⬇️⬇️
I’m also mourning the fact that I won’t be seeing Lani this September 😭😭😭 (she/they chose the WORST ATL VENUE - okay it’s not the worst but 19k capacity for Atlanta is insane)
There are ideas, outlines, hella drafts, concepts and text fics that have a home in my mind or website.
Examples:
Supernatural-esque LSU fic - Ja’Marr and Justin are up to no good and want to prank their next opponents (without telling anyone) so they get help from one of their fairy peers who’s studying a darker form of magic that may or may not be allowed. All actions have consequences and their quarterback has to find a way to save them.
Theres also many unfinished fic ideas with this guy:
Jury’s still out on when any of those will be done.
I’m still crazy burnt out from school, work and life. I have zero motivation to actually write to post (there are some things I’m keeping to myself😌).
My brain is stuck between wanting to write all my new ideas, but wanting to finish the old ones first. Like FAFO, I wanted to finish and post the finale before anything else new.
But writing new shit and old shit is boring rn. Probably because my environment is not doing anything to help that, everything is cluttered and there’s no control. So yeah, that’s my half assed updated for yall😅
Now I’m gonna finish reading Heated Rivalry then make pancakes✌🏾
Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (p in v, fingering), light angst, fluff, humor, action, no use of y/n, semi-linear story telling, enemies to lovers
Summary: You've made a mistake. You've been reckless and fallen in love with Bucky. There's only one way to deal with this.
Make a list.
Author's Note: This is one of my favorites, I think. Thriving in the semi-linear story telling, feelings, and list making. Gotta love a good list. Enjoy!
Word Count: 11.9k
The pen in your hands feels more like a weapon. The last line of defense against the unthinkable.
The only thing holding your sanity, dignity, and life by a single thread, set to snap if you’re not careful.
Nobody will bother you in this coffee shop. Not even Bucky will look for you here. You’re in public. You’re somewhere obvious and simple, and that’s the whole point. Sam and Bucky will lose themselves down dark allies and in hidden corners of the city before they think to check an emotionally significant landmark in downtown Manhattan. They won’t believe you’d be that stupid, make it that easy for them. They’ll think that—because you’re dodging calls, because you were gone when Bucky woke up and you didn’t meet with Sam before lunch—you don’t want to be found.
And you don’t.
So they’re not going to find you.
There’s a lingering fear that a search team might be assembled, and the city may be barricaded in until you’re found, but you don’t think Sam will abuse his power like that.
Bucky might try to convince him to.
You’re about fifty percent sure Sam won’t cave.
It’s a bridge you’ll burn when you reach it. When they do—eventually—find you. When you—hopefully—have your answer, and you have to look Bucky in the eyes and keep finding a way to live with yourself.
If this goes as you hope, that will be quite easy. You’ll lie through your teeth and say you lost your phone—it’s right next to you, the SIM card removed and battery purposefully dead, but they never need to know that—and thought that Sam and Bucky would be able to find you if they needed you. They’ll look embarrassed and make a silent vow to each other that you’ll pretend not to see—swearing that they’ll never tell you how they almost called the coast guard in—and then everything will go back to normal.
If it goes the way you’re afraid of, that will be more complicated. You’re not entertaining that possibility with things like plans or strategies, because you simply won’t allow it to happen. This will work. You have the pen, the paper, and at least eight hours before Sam and Bucky grow a brain cell and figure out where you are.
Deep breath. The coffee in front of you is sweeter than you’d usually want it, almost sickly, but it can be a motivation. The coffee shop is crowded, and the tables are blue. You can smell the decorative roses on the windows. You can hear the music in your earbuds. The pen is heavy in your hands, but all that means is it’s real. And this is going to work.
List of Reasons to Hate Bucky-
You pause, and scratch out Bucky. It’s too intimate. You’re setting yourself up for failure.
List of Reasons to Hate James Barnes.
You have reason one locked and loaded. You’ve been rehearsing the whole list for a week—since the revelation that can’t be spoken of, because that will make it real—and you know half of your pre-planned reasons will drift into nothing as you go through the list, but at least you’ll have one.
It’s better than none of them.
You’re a little worried a hundred won’t do the job.
You have to try anyway.
1. He stares.
——————
You don’t know how you got here. Sitting across from Captain America, kicking your feet slightly and humming to yourself as he and his very angry looking sidekick glare at you.
It seems like a contest, trying to figure out who will break and speak first.
It won’t be you.
Captain America is out of his suit, and, logically, you know his wings won’t just spring out of his body. They’re mechanical, not biological. Part of you is still wondering—should you move suddenly and startle him—if he’ll squak and take off like a real bird.
He won’t, and you don’t think either of these men will find that as funny as you will. The Cap seems intently focused on trying to puff out his chest in his chair—like an odd sort of intimidation ritual or mating dance, done more on instinct than logic—and his sidekick is looking at you as if you’re the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen.
You’ve gotten that look before. It doesn’t shake you on his face any more than it does anyone else, but there is something… different. Most people will glare with that revolted look at what you’ve done, and for what expression, and it won’t sink deeper than your skin, because they don’t understand. They don’t know what the shadows and colder nights feel like, they don’t know how long you’ve been broken and alone, they don’t know that—whatever loathing for you has wormed its way into their heart—they don’t hate you. They hate what you’ve done, and they really don’t fucking understand.
This guy looks like he understands you perfectly, and it’s viler to him than anything in the world. Like he knows exactly who you are, like every marred and twisted organ is visible to his unwavering stare, and it’s the worst thing he’s even seen.
You’d laugh, if it didn’t cause an odd sting in your heart. Because you know who Bucky Barnes is. You know that any blood on your hands is mirrored on his, and if he really knows who you are, he’ll think better than to turn the violent glint behind his eyes into action.
Especially because you know he won’t hurt you. He can’t, but you don’t think he’ll even try. He’s cured. He’s free. He doesn’t hurt people anymore, and you’re technically a person.
You’re also starting to be incredibly certain that this is some sort of staring competition. There’s no other reason for the silence to be stretching on this pointlessly long. It’s a little amusing, how they seem to have started a game they’ll never win, but it doesn’t change what’s happening. You’re handcuffed to a chair in an unknown location, Captain America and the Ex-Winter Solider are trying to break you with only very angry expressions, and you could escape in a second but you’re bored, and you don’t care about winning, but you want them to lose.
And they do.
Because Captain America breaks first, and smile pulls at your lips that you don’t bother to hide.
“You know why you’re here?”
You shrug, keeping your voice bored and amused. “Should I?”
He blinks at that, looking over his shoulder at Barnes, and letting out a long breath as his companion just keeps glaring at you. “Buck-“
“Don’t say my name, dumbass-“
“She already knows who we are-“
“She hasn’t been in damn public for a decade, we don’t know what she knows-“
“Man, c’mon, Fisk has TVs.” Captain America rolls his eyes, and turns back to you. “You know who we are?”
“I don’t think so?” You look between them with your best, perfectly innocent and confused expression. “Should I?”
Barnes narrows his eyes, scanning over you with an unblinking fury that’s almost scary. Not quite, but almost.
“You know who we are.”
“I don’t think I do-“
Barnes scoffs. “Don’t lie-“
Captain America shakes his head, cutting Barnes off with a firm glare. “I dunno, man, you’re the one who said-“
“I know what I said, but- You’re really falling for that?” Barnes gestures to you with a scowl, and you give him a sweet smile in return. “She’s clearly lying, Sam-“
Sam rolls his eyes. “Who’s sayin’ names now, Bucky-“
You clear your throat, and they both look back to you with almost twin, venomous glowers.
“What.” Sam snaps, and you let out a long, dramatic sigh.
“Do I have to stay tied to the chair while you two fight? Or can I go home?”
“Home?” Barnes gives you a pointed look. “You gonna head right back to Fisk, doll?”
You don’t answer, just shrugging and letting your smile widen, even as the thought of willingly running home to fucking Fisk makes bile rise in your throat.
Barnes holds your gaze with a glare. You don’t think you’ve seen him blink once. It might be the main thing keeping you in this chair.
You want to see what they have to say, and you’d really like to see if Barnes can blink, or if it will make his circuits fry and heart go into an arrest.
You get the former first, when Sam runs a hand over his face, leans forward in his chair, and mutters your name. Your real name.
He knows your name. That’s interesting.
“Look, we-“ He glances at Barnes—still glaring at you—and lets out a long breath. “We know who you are.”
“Oh?” You look between them will well-practiced, faux innocence. “Do you?”
“Fisk’s pet.” Barnes grunts, and Sam sighs again. He seems to do that a lot.
“I- Coulda phrased it better, but yeah. You’re his hit… woman.” Sam’s voice drops as he continues, watching you carefully. “Look, we got an opportunity for you. Help us bring down Fisk, you get a full par-“
“Okay.”
Sam frowns. “I wasn’t done-“
“I don’t care.” You shrug. “I’m in. Can you let me out now?”
“Uh-“
“That’s it?” Barnes cuts Sam off with a snap, his tone full of a disgust that’s a little dramatic. “You’re just- You’re gonna flip like that? No questions, no loyalty? Out of fuckin’ self-preservation?”
You snort, not bothering to sit up as you hold his gaze. “Of course it’s out of self-preservation. Would you rather I hold my moral high-ground and keep working for the evil crime lord? Would that be better for you? Cause I can flip back, you just need to say the word and I’ll go tell Fisk that Captain America tried to cut a deal with me-“
“Hey, no.” Sam holds up his hand, letting out a long, slow breath as he glares at Barnes. “C’mon, man, you know we get one shot at this, stop antagonizing her-“
“She’s antagonizing me.” Barnes mutters, and you scoff.
“You’re not the one cuffed to a chair, dipshit-“
“You-“ Barnes’ jaw clenches, and his hands curl at his side. Maybe he’ll punch you. That feels like it’ll help, somehow. “Sam, this cannot be our only option. She,” he gestures to you, and you wink at him. It doesn’t help. “Is not the only person in the whole damn city that works for Fisk. We’ll find another-“
“I’m the only person he trusts that will flip.” You hum. “Everyone else in his inner circle believes in the cause, or something. They love him, worship the ground he walks on. I’m the Stockholm puppy, they’ll never assume I flipped, and they’ll tell me whatever I ask because they don’t think I’d have this,” you give a vague wave of your hand in Sam and Bucky’s direction. “In me. I’m not just your only option. I’m your best option.”
There’s a long silence as they stare at you— incredibly uncuffed from the chair—and before Barnes can lunge at you with what might have been snarl, Sam stands up, shoves him away, and they exchange low, angry words.
You settle for examining your nails as you wait, and Barnes’ glare pushes right under skin and sticks to it. You don’t know how you know, but there’s a very certain feeling that for the rest of your life you’re going to feel a buzzing, electric heat under your skin that’s entirely made of James Barnes, glaring at you.
You really don’t think he can blink.
But you’ll have plenty of time to find out, because when they return it’s with the news that they’ve come to an agreement—more likely Barnes lost an argument, but you don’t really care—that you’re in.
Barnes won’t stop staring at you. And you could leave, if you wanted.
But you’re interested in seeing how this plays out. And Barnes may be rearranging every nerve point and organ in your body with only his attention, but that isn’t nearly as important as getting away from Fisk.
So you stare right back.
——————
Reason two is a little harder. You’d had it lined up as well, but it hurts to even think.
You have to. If you’re going to get through this, you have to write down all the reason, even if you’d punch anyone else square in the jaw for saying them.
Bucky doesn’t deserve this. You need to pretend he does.
For your own sanity, you need to pretend he does.
2. He can be an asshole.
You don’t make it three second before something rattles in your body, and you add-
But so can you.
——————
“You know,” Barnes drawls behind you, and it’s amazing how bad he can be at shutting up. This is supposed to be a stealth mission. He hasn’t stop talking to you since Sam put you two on a team and then fucked off to go fly around the warehouse. “The spider kid’s told us all about you, doll-“
“Parker?” You hum, and Barnes blinks.
There it is.
“How’d you- No-“
“I know Spider-man’s Peter Parker.” You give Barnes an overly sweet smile, and you’ve been their double agent for a month of back-alley meetings and careful exchanges in noisy rooms, but it hasn’t seemed to stop getting under his skin. “I’ve known for like, five years.”
Barnes shakes his head, as if he doesn’t believe you. Like you just somehow guessed. “But Fisk doesn’t-“
“I didn’t tell Fisk.”
You turn back to the path ahead of you, and you can still feel Barnes’ glower.
“You think you’re fuckin’ smart, kid-“
“Yes, I do.” You throw him another smile over your shoulder, and his glare deepens. “What did Peter tell you about me?”
“That you’re kind of a bitch.” Barnes grunts, and you roll your eyes.
“He’s just still mad I gave him a concussion.” You mutter. “I didn’t mean to-“
“You didn’t mean to give him a fucking concussion-“
“I didn’t know how strong he’d be. It was new, I thought I’d just be breaking his nose-“
Barnes grabs your arm, yanking you back without warning and covering your mouth with a gloved hand, muffling your yelp.
“Be more careful.” He grunts in your ear. “Almost walked right into the open, you’ll get yourself shot.”
If you lean a little further back, your skin will touch his. Maybe he’d be stronger than Parker. Maybe you could hit hard enough to knock a new personality into him.
Because for the past week, Barnes has been a fucking dick. You understand not trusting you. It’s a reasonable conclusion to reach.
But he doesn’t listen. He shoots down all your intel and acts both like you’re a weak little child, and an atomic bomb set to go off any second. You’re neither. You want Fisk dead more than anyone, and you’re in complete control. If you weren’t, you would’ve killed him days ago, and never even fucking blinked.
It’s a testament to that control, that you shove yourself away from him without tapping into Parker’s strength. You could’ve sent him flying out the window, if you wanted. But you’re being diplomatic, and you’re trying to do the goddamn mission, so you don’t.
“Don’t grab me.” You snap, and Barnes scowls.
“I was helping you-“
“Did I ask you to?”
“No.” He narrows his eyes, taking a firm step forward until you’re almost nose to nose. “But if you die, Sam will yell at me. So be more damn careful.”
The staring contest lasts another minute before Sam’s voice crackles in both your ears, and you have to get back to work. By the time they’re fighting some of Fisk’s men—you’ve been, fucking stupidly, sidelined so as not to blow your cover—Barnes has called you incompetent in ten more ways. You’re too loud. Too smug for someone who’s not doing anything. You’re slowing them down, and he’s stuck babysitting you for your shitty intel—shitty intel that got them here, but he seems to be selectively ignoring that—and you’re too willing to kill people and run into fights with no powers.
He’s used that one a lot, after you’d convinced Fisk to give you a vacation and started to crash with Sam. Barnes has muttered countless times that he can’t believe you’re the woman everyone in New York is afraid of.
“Who says I have no powers,” you’d snapped after the third low comment, sprawled out on Sam’s couch and watching TV, and Barnes had rolled his eyes.
“Whenever you’re ready to prove you got some, doll, I’m ready.” He’d raised his brows in a silent challenge, holding your glare. “Until then, get off my couch.”
“It’s Sam’s couch. And I’m watching TV.”
“All you fucking do is watch TV, doll, can’t be good for you-“
“Aw,” you’d shot him another sickly-sweet smile. “The old man is worried about my screen time-“
“You’re hogging it.” He’d grunted, ignoring your teasing, and you’d flipped him off.
“Sam doesn’t have any good books, and I’m not allowed to have a phone. What the fuck else am I supposed to do?”
You’d won the argument. Barnes had circled back to you being a waste of space—and you were, but he didn’t know that—and not actually having any powers, so in your eyes, that meant you won.
Because you do have powers. You’ve been saving it for a good moment. Just to prove your point, you’ll use them in a way that blows his stupid fucking mind, and really makes him feel like a dumbass.
That moment comes when one of Fisk’s men is aiming a gun right at his back, he’s turning a little too slow, and Sam is all the way on the other side of the room.
You’re on the ceiling.
You drop down with the dramatic, fancy landing you’ve been practicing since you got skin-to-skin contact with Parker, and punch the grunt backward into the wall.
There’s a sickening crack sound from the impact, and it rattles over your ribs and skull. You memorize his face, and add it to your tally. Your graveyard. Another piece of you that will never get to be whole or clean.
When you turn back to Barnes, he’s staring at you, a look of borderline amusing confusion on his face.
“You-“ He glances up to the ceiling, and shakes his head. “You just fucking killed that guy.”
Your teeth almost snap in your mouth, and you feel a little bit of bile in your throat.
“Obviously.” You mutter, flexing your fist as you let Parker’s powers go dormant once more. “And it saved your life. You’re welcome.”
Barnes narrows his eyes. “I didn’t say thank you-“
“You should work on that, then.” You snap, storming past him as Sam wraps up the last grunt. “It’s rude.”
——————
Your coffee is finally finished, but it’s more bitter than normal on your tongue.
You think you might just miss Bucky, and it’s having a physical effect on your body.
You need to keep going.
3. He’s bad at using his words.
——————
You jump out of your seat when the book slams down in front of you.
“What the fuck-“
“Go read.” Barnes grunts, dropping down at your side. “My turn with the TV.”
You gape at him, not bothering to hide the slight amusement in your voice. “Your turn- Are you fucking five-“
“No. Read.”
“I-“
“Read.”
You scowl, and whack him on the arm with the book. “Stop interrupting me, Barnes-“
“Stop calling me Barnes,” he snaps your name in a mocking tone, catching your book before it can land on his arm once more, shoving it fully into your hands. “Go read.”
“I-“ You swallow, watching him wearily, hugging the book to your chest without thought. “What?”
His jaw ticks slightly. “Read-“
“No, why don’t you want me to call you Barnes.”
He’s silent for a long second, staring at the black TV screen with an unreadable expression.
“You call Sam his name.” He finally mutters, something bitter in his voice. “And the spider kid Peter. We’re supposed to be a fucking team. Use my name.”
You narrow your eyes. “You never thanked me for saving your life. Teammates thank each other.”
“That’s your thanks, genius.” He taps the book, still not fully looking at you. “Read it.”
He won that conversation. You don’t have a good response to that, so Bucky won. The asshole.
He buys you five more books in the next two weeks. One for every successful mission. And when you end up with a large gash on your leg, he half shoves you down onto the couch and kneels at your feet, patching it up without a word.
You don’t like the silence. It’s too heavy around your throat.
Only half a second later—like he can hear the stutter in your every breath—Bucky breaks it.
“You didn’t need to jump in front of me.”
“You were going to get shot, dummy.” You snap, crossing your arms and leaning back on the couch. “I did you a favor. Say thank you.”
He doesn’t. He won’t. But you know you’ll get another new book tomorrow, and that’s enough.
“Didn’t know you could get hurt.” He still won’t look up from your leg. “Thought I saw you get shot last week and walk it off.”
“I was ready for that.” You mutter, wincing as Bucky presses the rubbing alcohol to your leg. “This- fuck- I got caught off guard. Won’t happen again.”
He grunts, frowning at your leg. “You’re… selectively invulnerable.”
“If I chose right, yeah.”
That gets him to look at you. There’s the usual confusion clouding his eyes, along with… something else. Something deeper and vaster than the ocean, that’s almost jarring to see. Not frightening. Just different. Strange.
“What the fuck are you?”
His tone isn’t hateful. There’s a strange kind of light in it. Like awe.
Not awe.
But like it.
“I’m-“ You swallow, and you haven’t ever really explained it. Once Fisk made you, you just were. Once he figured out what you could do, it was all you did. Nobody asked. They never had to.
Bucky bows his head again, glaring at your leg as he speaks. “You don’t gotta tell me-“
“Shut up. I’m a mimic.”
He looks back up with raised brows, and you take a deep breath before you continue.
“Fisk created me. Partnered with some crazy scientists, saved me out of a home, and made me into his little pet hero. I can mimic anyone’s DNA, if I touch them skin to skin. It’s just- I only use it on superheroes. Otherwise it’s not really useful.”
Bucky glances down at his gloved hands with a small frown, then back to you. “You stick to the ceiling a lot.”
You nod, and shrug. “I’ve touched Parker, if that’s what you’re asking. That’s how I know who he is. I beat him in a fight, unmasked him, and he was-“ You swallow, a knot tightening and grinding in your stomach, and Bucky finishes for you.
“Just a kid.”
“Just a kid.” You echo. “Couldn’t kill him. Never want to kill any of them. But there’s-“
“Not a choice.” He mutters, and the strange thing in his eyes seems clearer. “Bite down on this.”
You blink at him. “Wha-“
Bucky shoves the glove from his flesh hand into your mouth, and starts the first stitch.
The next day, there’s a phone and a book waiting for you in the kitchen.
——————
It takes too long to come up with the next reason. You get lost in thoughts of how you’ve read that same book a dozen times, and you’d caught Bucky reading your annotations with adorable concentration only a few weeks ago.
He always spends more time reading your thoughts than the actual story.
And it had hit you then, too. You can’t think about that, because it’s making this impossible. You can’t think about how Bucky had fallen asleep reading your annotations and looked adorable, or how the phone he gave you is the same one on the table next you right now. How the case on it is the one you bought as he hung over your shoulder, muttering how phone cases were stupid.
You’d made him show you his phone, after he’d said that. The screen had been cracked and shattered, and it had taken a month to get him to buy another.
That can be a list point. You’re back on your game.
You almost write stubborn, but you substitute it for something stronger at the last second.
4. He can be controlling
You stare at it for a long moment, because something is off. Bucky can be controlling. He can man-handle you and order you around, his voice low and smooth and the intensity in his eyes a little dizzying-
“Shit.” You mutter under your breath. You messed up again.
Because you’re right.
But, fuck, it turns you on.
——————
“You need to stop fucking doing this,” Bucky mutters your name, his metal arm holding you in place as he pressed another round of rubbing alcohol over your gut. “One day you’re not gonna get lucky.”
You wince, but give him a weak smile. “I got shot, Buck, I wouldn’t call that lucky-“
“You got shot.” He hisses, scowling up at you. “Because you were fucking reckless.”
“I saved you-“
“That is not your job, kid-“
“Then stop almost getting shot!”
“I-“ Bucky lets out a slow breath from between his teeth, shaking his head slowly. “No. That’s my job. You’re not even supposed to be in the field-“
“But I am.” You snap. “And I’m not just going to let you get hurt-“
“You’re not letting me do anything.” He mutters, setting down the bottle as he moves back to the medkit. “You’re done in the field.”
You gape at him, the words too slow to sink it. Bucky said them too casually. He said them like they were his call to make.
“What the fuck are you talking about-“
“You’re not going out there again.” He grunts. His metal hand is still on your leg. “We’re almost done anyway. You’re best for intel.”
“Int-“ You cut yourself off with a scoff, glaring down at him. “You are not my boss, James-“
“No. I’m not.” His jaw ticks slightly. He still won’t meet your eyes. “But if I see you in the field again, I’m handcuffing you to your bed.”
He says that so easily, and a heat you have to ignore pools in your stomach.
“What the fuck are you talking about.” You hiss, leaning down to try and drag his attention fully to your glare. “I am not going to just sit at home-“
“Yeah.” He grunts, still not looking up. “You are.”
“I told you, you are not in charge of me-“
He snorts. “If I was in charge of you, doll, you’d be on full fucking lockdown.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean-“
“Don’t worry about it-“
“James Barnes. Fucking look at me.”
He tenses, and drag his eyes to yours as if the action pains him. “What.”
“I am going to keep working.” You hiss. “Because it’s my job. And if you’ve got a problem with that-“
He rolls his eyes. “Obviously I have a fucking problem with it. And I’m deadly serious,” he grunts your name, holding your gaze. “You try and go on another mission, you’re getting cuffed.”
“We’re so fucking close, you asshole, you don’t get to bench me now-“
“That exactly why I’m benching you-“
“Because we’re close? What, you worried I’m gonna flee the moment we wrap this up?”
If you were furious with Bucky, you’d be worried he was going to break his jaw. “No.”
“So it’s not because you don’t trust me?” You sneer, and he shoots you of a look practical shock.
“Of course I fucking trust you-“
“Then why Bucky?! You can’t just fucking bench me and not tell me why! This is my fight too, and if you think fucking handcuffs are going hold me-“
“I won’t cuff you if you listen-“
“I won’t listen if you don’t speak fucking clearly-“
“It’s- fuck- It’s because Fisk is going to know it’s you soon!” He roars, and you freeze. You’ve heard him yell before, but not like this. There’s something hot behind it. Something almost pained. “You know what he’ll do when he’s figures out where you went off to?! What you’ve been doing, that you’ve been working with Me and Sam?!”
“I-“
“I’m not gonna be the one they’re aiming at anymore, doll. And they’re gonna be shooting to kill. And what if I’m not fast enough?!” he squeezes your leg, his lips curling as his eyes dart down to the wound ripping open your stomach. “What if they’re shooting you, and you’re not ready, and I’m too fucking slow?!”
“Bucky-“
“I’ll fucking lose you.” He hisses, and you’re not even sure he knows what he’s saying. “I’m not fucking losing you. I only just goddamn got you, and you are not allowed to bail on me because you’re reckless and stupid.”
He finishes with a long, ragged breath, and you blink at him. Your skin is hot, mouth dry, and it’s as if you’ve been wandering in the desert for a million years.
You haven’t been, though.
But nobody’s ever looked at you like that before. With that fervorish awe, and unyielding fury like a tidal wave. Your hands feel clean. For the first time—maybe in years, maybe in your life—you don’t feel any small amounts of blood or grime under your fingernails. It’s that ocean, you think. The one trapped inside of Bucky, that’s slowly been flooding your senses over the past few months. A tide rising with every traded joke and shared book, every mission where he’d trusted you more and more, every story you’d told each other about the heavier, tainted parts of your shadows.
You move to touch his face without thinking, and his skin is soft. The stubble of his beard is almost grounding—a small, rough reminder that he’s changed since you met him, even if the only obvious part of that is the length of his beard—and he’s looking at you like he’s afraid. Parted lips and blown out eyes as his hand catches your against his face, holding it there as he stares at you with that same fucking awe.
“I’m not losing you.” He repeats the word like they’re a prayer. An oath. “I’m not fucking losing you.”
——————
You need to take a ten-minute break.
He hadn’t kissed you then. Fucking Sam had interrupted, because you’d been closer to the end than you thought you were.
Fisk had fallen the next week. He’d never know it was you until he was sitting in a cell, and you spoke to him through the bars.
That had been a… long and confusing day. Bucky had been waiting the entire time. He’d almost killed you the moment you walked out of the cell.
6. He’s bad at reading situations
——————
Your eyes sting.
You don’t know why you’d cried. Fisk had made your life hell. He’d ruined it, and you’d won, and you’d still cried for him.
“You were like a daughter to me,” he’d hummed your name, nothing but sheer fucking disappointment in his eyes. Like you’d failed him. Like he was more hurt for you than angred at your betrayal. “You know, I always loved you for exactly what you were. Nothing more, nothing less.”
You’d only swallowed, any sharp words dying in your throat as Fisk continued.
“Do you think the Winter Soldier will like the reminder? Of who he was before?” Fisk had shaken his head, and sighed as if he’d been mourning you. You’d almost thrown up on the tile floors. “No, not as you are. And you don’t change, my girl. You’re not meant for… soft things. You could’ve ruled the world and now… You’ll be nothing. Alone.”
You’d found the words to cut back, somehow, but you don’t remember them. You only remember the knot in your stomach and bile in your throat.
You hope you’d held the tears until you were hunched over the toilet. You’d only just managed the vomit.
And you hadn’t reacted, when Bucky had come up behind you. You want to think it was because you were off your game.
It was probably just because it was Bucky.
He’d held your hair from your face. He’d rubbed your back with the metal hand, and it had eased your breathing too fast. And when you’d finally sat up, he’d pulled you into his chest like you were something delicate.
Fisk’s words are too loud in your head. Your voice, when you finally speak, is too soft.
“This is the women’s room, Buck.” You mumble, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “Don’t think you’re supposed to be in here.”
“’S fine.” He shrugs, the movement shifting you slightly against him, settling you more comfortably in his hold. “You’re here. This is where I’ll be until someone moves me.”
You hum, pressing your face to his shoulder, as if you can’t fucking help it. “Miss me that much?”
He grunts, and you could swear you feel him nod. “Needed to talk to you.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a long pause, and when you lean back, he’s staring again.
You think he’s going to rip you apart. At least then, maybe, he’ll keep some of you in his pocket. A little bit, to always be held like this.
“Bucky-“
“Go on a date with me.”
——————
Number seven is easy. Number seven flows right off of six, because you’d said yes like you were only breathing—even as all the air in the world became too thin, and you almost passed out from the branding focus of Bucky’s gaze—and Bucky had grinned like he’d never seen the sun before, and now it was shining just for him.
It had been cute.
Too many parts of Bucky could be cute.
7. He can be unbelievably sweet at the worst possible times.
——————
You’re going to strangle him.
The date was perfect. Horribly perfect. Impossibly perfect. Fairy tale, romance movie, only-exists for valentine’s day propaganda perfect.
Bucky bought you flowers. A big bouquet of yellow roses, because he knows how much you both hate red. You went to a fancy restaurant, and walked in the park for five hours just holding hands like idiots, until he was spinning you around and swaying you in his arms, and you were giggling.
You don’t giggle. You didn’t even know you could make that sound.
But Bucky had guided you through a romantic, smooth dance—his body warm around yours, nothing to see you in the dark but his bright eyes and the slowly clouding night sky—and you’d giggled. He’d smelled like pine aftershave, a deep, slightly spicy cologne, and something earthier that was just Bucky, and you’d giggled.
You’d been vulnerable. In public, in the dark, in the open. But Bucky had been there, and there had been a secure feeling over your skin like the sky could split open with fire and hail, and you’d be alright. Bucky was there, so you’d always be alright.
And you’d giggled.
It was dangerous. It was dangerous when he’d kissed your cheek after handing you the flowers, standing in your doorway as if you didn’t fucking live together. It was dangerous when he held your car door open, and when he helped you into the seat at the restaurant. When he took your hand like touching you was the most natural thing in the world, and started to dance as if that had been what he’d been planning to do the whole time.
Given the small smirk on his lips when the first giggle had escaped you, it might have been.
But the most dangerous thing had been when it had started to rain, and he’d picked you up. Hauled you into his arms without a grunt and run you into an all-night coffee shop, keeping his body folded over yours as if you’d melt into a puddle if he didn’t shield you from the world.
You’d found a little table, ordered some drinks, and lost track of time.
He was so handsome, with messy, wet hair and eyes bluer than the rain could ever hope to be. He was warmer than the heater of the coffee shop.
You knew he’d taste better than the small scone he’d bought you, too.
And then again, like he could read your fucking mind, he’d shaken his head.
“We’re not doing that tonight,” he’d drawled your name, grinning at you from across the table, and you’d blinked at him.
“I-“
“We will.” He’d shrugged. “Trust me on that, I’ve- Shit- We will. But not tonight.”
You blinked at him, shaking your head slowly. “Bucky-“
“We’re not fucking, doll.”
And now you were here. About to kill him.
“I never said we were-“
“Didn’t have to.” He shoots you a wink, bumping your knee with his under the table. “Saw it all over your face, baby.”
“You-“ You swallow, and he can’t fucking do that. It’s not fair. He can’t say no sex tonight and then wink and call you baby. That’s not fair. “I- Why?”
Your words are almost a whine, and Bucky’s grin widens. It’s too adorable, too gleeful and affectionate, and his knuckles are brushing against your hand and he smells so good-
“I want that to be its own thing. This is our first date. We’re doing number two because this was fun and we,” he gestures between your bodies, watching you carefully. “Work. Not cause I fuck you until you can’t walk.”
He finishes with a shrug, and even though he’s still grinning—he knows exactly what those last words did you to, the asshole—there’s something firmer in his voice that tells you he’s being serious.
That’s annoying. And sweet. So fucking sweet.
So you let it go.
“Aw.” You give him a teasing smile, pressing your thighs together to relieve just a little bit of your need from his attention. “You think we work?”
“Yeah. I do.” He’s staring at you again. You might have started something you can’t finish. “Do you?”
You swallow, and lying feels pointless. You’re trapped. He’s handsome and amazing and he’s not going to fuck you, but he promised he would later, and you’re trapped.
“Yeah.” You whisper, and you don’t know when you started holding his hand again. You don’t really care to let go. “I do.”
——————
This isn’t working anymore.
All you can think about is how that might have been the moment. The one where something sparked and grew and razed through your body, reshaping your organs and tissue to all mold a little better for Bucky. He’d said I do like it was the easiest thing in the world. Less of an answer to a question and more of a statement.
There had been a finality to it. Like that was all he’d ever have to know again. You were all he’d ever have to know.
He’d made promises and kept them. You’d remained warm every time it had stormed, and through the following winter, and it was because that had been the moment and this strategy isn’t fucking working.
Bucky had told you later, and now that later is all you can think about. Bucky is all you can think about, and every single thing you cast to mar the picture of him in your head just makes it stronger. Makes every memory sharper, every thought of Bucky in your head more beautiful.
8. He’s perfect. It’s impossible.
——————
You don’t know exactly how you got here. There were flowers involved, and a dark theatre, and Bucky had whispered something low in your ear that made you gape at him in the dark, and then he’d kept his hand on your thigh the rest of the night, and the whole world had become unbearable hot.
It’s only a haze now. A big, warm haze that’s cooled by one metal hand on your hip as you burn and burn and burn, and Bucky hasn’t even done anything yet. But he’s been teasing you. Keeping you pinned cruelly under his body for what feels like hours, kissing and sucking over your neck and slotting his knee between your thighs, letting you grind against him and pull at his hair until you were whining for more, you need more-
“Think you can take more, baby?” He murmurs against your lips, and you don’t know if he’s doing the anticipating thing again, or just teasing you a little more. “You even know what you want?”
He uses your responding moan to push his tongue down your throat, kissing you heavy and long and deep.
And Bucky’s kissed you before. A lot. There had been one, world-making kiss that had grown into an addiction, becoming kisses in the corner of every room and against the wall of every hallway, into the cushions of the couch until Sam groaned and walked away—promising to never come over for movie night again—and right up to every edge, but never further.
Bucky seems to be under the impression that he needs to be a gentleman. That there needs to be a right moment to stop pulling away with heavy, shallow breaths, swollen lips, and flushed faces. That he needs written permission to go further.
You’d given him that permission this morning. You’d slid him a small paper over the counter, and when he’d read it, he’d raised his brows at you in amusement.
“This says fuck me.”
“Yep.” You’d hummed, holding his gaze as you’d taken a large bite of your banana.
It had been a warfare strategy. It had seemed to work then—his eyes had darkened, nostrils flaring and fist closing around the paper as he stared at you—but you know it’s worked now.
Because this kiss is different. It’s another, newer tidal wave that’s all thirst. Desire.
Need.
Bucky’s holding himself by a tether. You can feel it when you bite his lower lip, he groans down your throat, and his hips jerk forward.
“You’re- Shit-“ Bucky grunts as you suck a small, dark mark on his jaw. “You gotta be sure, doll, I can’t-“
“I’m sure.” You whisper, leaning back to hold his gaze. He looks almost nervous, and it makes your brow furrow slightly. “Buck, are you-“
He crashes his mouth back down to yours, his metal hand playing with the hem of your skirt.
“Don’t ask stupid questions.” He mutters, pulling back to scan over you once more. “I’m- If we’re doing this, I’ve gotta be- I need to-“
“I know.”
He blinks at you. “You do? How- Sam.”
You giggle slightly at Bucky’s violent glower—you’ve been doing that a frightening amount lately—and raise a hand to trace over his jaw.
He shakes his head, still watching you with that caution. “I- It doesn’t have to be, doll, I know that your past isn’t all sunshine and daises and bein’ in control either-“
“I- I’ve had to do most everything for myself. For survival.” You whisper, tracing your thumb over his cheek. “I’ve never had- I trust you. And with what Sam mentioned-“
“Gonna fuckin’ kill him-“
“I don’t think it’s as dramatic as you think.” You finish, ignoring Bucky’s muttered threat.
His jaw ticks slightly, his words suddenly so low you can barely hear them. “If it’s too much, you gotta tell me-“
“I can take it.”
Bucky sighs your name, and you shove his chest. Not hard. Enough to move him. Jolt him. Make him look at you with wide, shocked eyes.
“You-“
“I can take it, Buck.” You grin at him, raising your brows pointedly. “I’ve got you.”
His eyes widen as he understands—you’ve got him, his strength and durability mirrored in your body—and there’s a slight shift in the air. It’s hot. Everything is suddenly so hot under Bucky’s attention, expect for the cold, metal hand, trailing under your skirt and cupping you over right over your aching pussy.
“Fuck, you’re wet, doll.” The awe has creeped from Bucky’s eyes to his voice. You can only grind against his fingers teasing over your slit, and moan when a metal thumb starts to rub firm, rough circles over your clit. “And no panties on? All fuckin’ night, just waitin’ for me?”
“Yes,” you moan, our hips jolting when he pinches your clit lightly, a high whine leaving your throat. “Bucky-“
“That’s my name.” He mutters, resting those two fingers right against your pussy, his eyes never leaving yours. “If you’re already so wet, I wonder what’ll happen when I do this?”
With that last word, Bucky slams the metal fingers into your cunt, and starts to finger fuck you like it’s a mission. It’s so fast. Metal whirring in your ear as the pace becomes impossible and mind-numbing, hitting you so fucking deep, almost massaging and taunting at the sensitive spot, and it’s only just started but you’re already going to explode-
“Bucky-“ You moan out his name, trying to somehow meet every thrust of his fingers with your hips, but only managing to grind your clit against his wrist and sending your brain into a dizzying blur of pleasure. “God, I- Close, Bucky, so close-“
“Hold it.” He grunts, not letting up pace, and you almost whimper at the idea. “Need you to hold it for me, baby, can you do that?”
You can’t.
You nod anyway, because Bucky’s still here, still holding you and touching you and looking at you, so you have to try. For Bucky, you need to try.
“Good girl.” He mutters, and you clench around him with a squeak. “Oh, you like that? Like me talkin’, tellin’ you how good your doing-“
“Oh- Fuck-“ You gasp, your back arching off the bed as he somehow hits deeper. “Please, I- God-“
He hums, dropping his weight slightly to keep you pinned to the bed. “Say my name, doll.”
“Buck-“
“No.” His voice is slightly softer, and he leans down to hover his lips right over yours. “Other one.”
“I-“ You take shallow breathes, each one rounded with another moan as you search Bucky’s face for the answer, and his fingers never slow their movements. “Please-“
“C’mon, baby, you’ve got it-“
“James!” You half scream it, writhing under him in desperation for release, and start to repeat it like a prayer as his eyes shine in approval, and his cock twitches against your thigh. “James- James please, I- I need it- Need you-“
He swallows your words with another deep kiss, squeezing your hip with his free hand as he mutters against your lips.
“There you go, babydoll.” He smirks at your whimper, his eyes trained on yours as you give him another, pleading look and whisper of his name. “Cum for me.”
The sound that leaves you is undignified, needy and loud and made of slurred curses and shouts of James. But you can see the stars, and feel them bursting through your body, and it’s all just good.
When you come down, Bucky’s brushing your hair from your eyes, looking down at you with that same wide awe everywhere over his handsome features.
“Was that good?”
You hum, still panting heavily, and he raises his brows.
“More?”
You nod a little stupidly, and Bucky’s grin splits his face.
“Already so fucked out you can’t speak? Haven’t even pulled out my cock yet-“
You moan into his mouth at just the word. “Bucky, please-“
“Please what?” He pulls back entirely, and chuckles when you slam your hand into his chest with a glare.
“Hey-“
“You gotta tell me what you want, babydoll, and I’ll get it for you. But,” he raises his brows, catching your hand when you try to shove him once more and pinning it over your head. “I’m not a mind reader. Tell me.”
You think that’s a lie. You think he can read your mind, and he’s just being mean.
But God, it’s so fucking hot. His shirt is gone—you don’t know when that happened, but you’re not complaining—and he’s looking at you like you’re art, laid out for him to see and touch and have, so you’ll play along. If it will make him finally fuck you, you’ll do whatever he asks.
“I want your cock.” You whisper, holding his gaze. “Want you to fuck me, and I’m clean and on the pill, so I want you to cum inside of me, then leave it there. Wanna feel you tomorrow, James, please.”,
Bucky’s throat bobs slightly, his voice becomes barely a growl.
“Jesus Christ.”
He seems to be done talking after that.
Your hand stay pinned over your head as he rips off your shirt, then his own boxers. There’s a half-grumble of buying you another bra tomorrow, but it’s all you get before he’s ripping that off as well.
When he lines himself up at your entrance, he pauses, giving you one last chance to shove him away.
You tangle your hand in his hair and shove his lips to yours without hesitation, moaning his name into his mouth, and it’s enough.
Bucky slams himself into you with one thrust, diving his mouth to suck and lick at your nipples as you gasp, adjusting to the feeling of him inside of you.
It’s perfect. Big and thick and full, you feel so full, and you’re going to fly out of your skin if he keeps flicking his tongue over your nipple like, throbbing inside of you but not moving-
He can definitely read your mind. Before you can even moan a plea, Bucky starts to drill into you without warning, and any noise turn into more of those loud, desperate pleas.
It rough. Bed creaking and skin slapping, and he keeps tossing you around like no angle is deep enough, flipping you over to fuck you from behind so his balls are slapping against your clit and he’s kissing up your spine, before he’s hauling you up to his chest, wrapping his arm around your stomach to hold you still as he drills up into your cunt, and biting and marking along your throat and jaw. You throw your head back on his shoulder, and he captures your lips in a long, searing kiss, rolling a nipple between his fingers.
Then you’re back on your stomach, with his weight completely covering you and his grunts right in your ear, sending shivers up your spine.
He pauses only for a second there, thrusts slowing as he grabs at your hips, and before you can ask him if he’s okay, if it’s too much or—worse—not enough, you’re moving again.
Bucky rolls over, tossing you up onto his lap so you’re grinding down onto his cock, and this is it. You can see it in his hooded, satisfied expression as he watches you bounce above you, his flesh hand wrapping around your throat the metal moves to your clit, rubbing small, furious circles as he groans your name.
Your nails dig into his shoulders, your every word choked as he pounds up into your fluttering, aching pussy. “I- James-“
He grunts, pressing harder as his dick hits that deep, sensitive spot inside of you. “Come on, babydoll, gotta gimme one more-“
This orgasm washes over you like a wave. Deep, easy pleasure that makes everything glow, lingering in your body long after Bucky gives one last, jagged thrust up into your pussy, cumming with a roar of your name.
You both stare at each other for a long second as Bucky releases your throat, his fingers tracing over the marks left by his grip with a furrowed brow, and you smile at him.
His release is dripping down your thighs as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips.
It’s somehow not enough, and still more than you could ever ask for.
And your smile is a little cock drunk and there’s light bubble up your throat, but you don’t care.
So you giggle. Airy and blissful as Bucky rolls your bodies over so he’s on top once more, and you bury your face in his shoulder.
He rises over you on his forearm, raising his brows as you smile up at him. “Somethin’ funny?”
You nod, your giggles almost pathetic. You don’t really mind. “Told you I could take it.”
He sighs, but the grin on his face matches yours.
Wide. Stupid.
Happy.
“Yeah.” Bucky mutters, tracing slow fingers only your cheekbone, and the awe seems to be a permanent addition to his voice. “You did.”
——————
When you get back to your table with ice water, people are staring at you. Whispering.
It’s not in your head. You know the difference between paranoia and caution, and this is the latter.
You scan over for an easy target, and land on a skittish looking man with large arms and a gym bag. When you stop at his table, he looks like he’s going to pass out.
“What’s your name.” You keep your voice cool and even, and he swallows.
“Mike.”
“Awesome. Can I please have your phone, Mike?”
He nods, unlocks it before passing it to your hands, and you give him a sweet smile before you scan over his screen, and let out a long sigh.
Sam abused his power. You’ve been declared a missing enhanced. The city hasn’t been barricaded, but everyone in New York knows to be looking for you, and expect Captain America upon response.
You pass Mike his phone back with another grimacing smile, and stalk back to your table and notebook.
9. He can be really fucking dramatic.
——————
You don’t know how Bucky puts up with you. He’s clean. Neat. Does all his dishes and folds his laundry, vacuums the floors and straightens every picture when he fucks you a little too hard against the wall.
You’re… not.
Taking care of yourself has never been important. Never been allowed. Fisk had men who cleaned up after you, because your priority was walk around and be feared. Be the untouchable princess.
Untouchable princesses don’t clean up. Once, at the beginning, you’d tried to help the crew after a particularly messy job.
Fisk had been furious. You’d gotten blood on his favorite toy.
You’d stopped trying to clean up after that,
But Bucky never gets angry about it. He’ll wipe your face when you get sauce on your cheek, change your sheets—even though you haven’t slept in your own bed for months—every week, and do your laundry, all while never asking for anything in return.
This is another night where you don’t understand him. He made your favorite food, even though he had the long day. He’s not meeting your eyes again, but you’ve learned that he only does that when he cares. When there are things inside of him he can’t work out how to say, so he’ll keep his gaze averted like he’s trying to shield himself from being seen.
He isn’t aware he does that. You only know because you know him. Because he sits across from you like this every night, and wakes up next to you every single morning, and presses his brow to yours—keeping his eyes closed, but his hands on your face delicate—every single day. He’s with you all the time, even when he’s across the city, so you know him and you-
“Move in with me.”
You blink at him in the low light of your shitty dining room. It’s all plastic table and fold-out chairs, because neither of you are good at having nice things and keeping them.
He might be the nicest thing you’ve ever had.
You don’t understand what the fuck he’s talking about.
“What?”
“I- We should move in.” He pokes his plate, frowning at it like he can will it to understand, and explain to you properly. “Together. You and me.”
“Buck, we already live together-“
“In a shit apartment Sam found us.” He grumbles. “In two separate bedrooms. With plastic furniture and a dead plant.”
You sigh. “I told you I’m not good at plants when you got it. I wanted a cat, but-“
“Our lease doesn’t allow it.” Bucky shoots you a pointed look, leaning further over the table. “If we moved in together, I’d get you that cat. I’d get you whatever you wanted.”
“Bucky-“
“Fresh start.” He grunts your name, and you swallow. This is a little stronger than the awe gaze. This is borderline hope, and it’s so rare on his handsome face, and he has you folding for him in a second, but he keeps going anyway. “You and me. We’ll get a nicer couch without any blood on it, and eat off plates that aren’t paper, and- We can get the cat, or two cats- fuck, twenty cats-“
A small smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. “Twenty is a lot, darling-“
“Then one. One is good.” He has the solemn, focused gaze and tone he uses when he’s planning a mission. He’d stood up and crossed his arms. This is serious. “No more plants. I can- Sam will help me build all he furniture, I’ll get you a desktop, and I can have the smaller one, cause you always get annoyed when I break it-“
“It’s called a laptop.” You offer, keeping your voice softer than you’ve ever been capable of with anyone else. “And I don’t get annoyed-“
“Yes, you do. ’S fine, I deserve it-“
“No, you don’t-“
“That’s not the point, doll-“
“It’s important to me.” You snap, and that gets him to stop. “You’re important to me, and I don’t get annoyed. It’s not your fault your bags are always getting smashed-“
He scowls. “I’m the one who smashes them.”
“Because other people are fucking idiots, and you’re good at your job. You don’t deserve me being annoyed, and I’m not, because you’re-“ You swallow, words you don’t fully understand yet getting caught on the edge of your tongue. “You’re important to me, Buck. You’re a good man. You deserve good things.”
He blinks at you, and the hope is almost a tangible, touchable thing on his face. “Move in with me.”
“You already asked me that-“
“Please.” He mutters, and suddenly he’s on his knees before you, his arms around your waist as he stares up at you. “Wherever you want. It’ll be ours, and I’ll keep it clean if you make it beautiful.”
“Bucky-“
“You- fuck-“ He drops his brow to your lap, and you’re trying to tell him yes, but he seems to be trapped in his own head. All you can do is run your fingers through his hair and let him ride it out. “You make everything so beautiful, you just- You- Please. I’ll never ask ya’ for anything again. Move in with me.”
“Okay.”
He blinks up at you with wide eyes. “I- That’s it? Just like that?”
“Yeah.” You smile at him, and it’s hurting your cheeks, but it’s the best pain you’ve ever felt. “You gonna let me up now?”
He nods slowly, but pauses before he stands, and throws you over his shoulder without warning.
“Bucky-“
“C’mon,” He start to move towards his bedroom, ignoring your squirming. “You’re- Got plans for you, babydoll.”
“We have all night, you dramatic asshole-“
“You love it.” He mutters with a squeeze of your thigh, and you have to stop pounding on his back to moan. “And if it were up to me, we’d never stop doin’ this. Never gonna waste one fucking second with you. Ever.”
——————
He’ll be here soon. Someone will have had the balls to report where you were, Bucky will burst through the doors, and you’ll have to know that this didn’t work. That you probably drove him insane and beat your heart to sinew, only to come out of this knowing that you failed.
You have your answer, and it’s the one that’s terrifying. The floor could open into a trench, and the sky could catch fire, but that would be easier.
This is new. This is dangerous and frightening and new, and there’s nothing you can do about it, because you failed. There are no paths forward that you know how to follow, no corners of the world you can hide where you wouldn’t find yourself crawling back to Bucky.
And he’d meet you halfway, because he’d be looking for you, and then he’d pull you into his arms you’d be safe.
Safe and cared for and clean, and awfully, greatly in love.
10. You love him, and that’s not fair.
——————
He sleeps peacefully now. At your side, on the memory foam mattress you made him pick out, wrapped around you like he’s trying to pull you into his body. The sheets are tangled and smell a little like sweat and cum, but nobody seems to mind. Even Alpine has settled at the foot of the bed, on Bucky’s side, because she likes him better.
Of course she likes him better. You picked her because she has the exact same blue eyes as he does, and you feed her, but she likes him more because he’s Bucky.
And this suits him, far more than you think it could ever suit you.
Because this is what he would’ve been. If Bucky had never fallen off that train, he’d have simply been this.
Happy.
Peaceful in the soft, golden-white light of the morning, holding a perfect, faceless woman. She’d clean up after him, and make him food that didn’t taste like ash. He’d never have the nightmares that still sometimes rock him now, but he’d have worse nights—he’d still been a solider, still fought a war—and she’d only give him comfort. Never demand it in return, nights later when she woke up screaming.
And she’d have less opinions, and never make him worried because she kept getting shot, and she’d giggle all the time. Not just when he pried it out of her with dancing and fucking.
She would’ve been easy. She wouldn’t have made him read with her, and she would’ve let him get twenty cats.
You hate her more than anything.
But it would’ve been what Bucky deserves. Has always deserved.
The exact same one you don’t.
You never would’ve been here. Fisk found you in the dirt, and you hadn’t been a lovely, blooming beam of sunlight before he turned you into a weapon. Bucky had earned all his sneers and snarks and scowls.
You’re just like this.
And you somehow have him, in a way you can’t lose. Won’t lose. You’d do anything for Bucky, you’d kill and maim and scratch and scream and rip yourself to fucking pieces just for him, before stitching yourself back together with your heartstrings, because they’d still be beating in a sound like his name, because you-
No.
Oh no.
That can’t be right. You don’t- you’ve never had that. That’s too good.
You don’t deserve that.
You’ll break it.
——————
You wait outside for him. Bouncing on your feet as people shoot you odd looks in passing. You expect sirens. Being turned over and checked from every angle, because this had been a really stupid thing to do when you were you. A problem. An asset until you flipped. An enemy so easily, and an insufferable ally to have.
Bucky still puts up with you. But you think he knows you’d never flip on him. He trusts that the same instinct that made you run from Fisk is the one that will always send you back to him.
It’s been nine hours, and you miss him like you’re drowning. Like you can see the sun, right above the surface, but you can’t remember how to go up.
You can only drift, and wait for blaring red lights that will carry you home.
They never come. And when you feel a tap on your shoulder you don’t flinch, because you know that tap anywhere. The pressure and shape of the finger, the exact placement near the cartilage, always leaving a slight brand of his touch.
“What’re you doing, baby.” Bucky mutters, and you let out a long breath, turning to give him a weak smile.
He’s staring again.
You love it when he does that.
“Hi,” You whisper, and he drops his brow to yours for a long second, right before pulling you right into his chest without a second of hesitation.
You’d thought he’d be angrier. You’re a little sick of being wrong.
“Why-“ He takes a heavy breath, squeezing you a little tighter. “You wouldn’t pick up the phone.”
“I turned it off.” You mumble. You don’t think you can stand to lie to him like this. You’ve already done enough. “I- Can we go inside, please?”
Bucky leans back with a tight frown, scanning over you once more. “Did something-“
“I’m okay.” You duck your head back into his chest, and you understand why he never meets your eyes in moments like this. It’s far easier. “I promise. I just, this will be easier if we sit down, please.”
You can feel him tense against your body, but he guides you inside regardless. Right back to the table you’d been at before, even if he doesn’t know that.
People might be staring.
You don’t really care. You don’t have the energy for it. Everything has to go into this. Into telling him before it’s too late, and you either lose him or, worse, he stays. He keeps tolerating you, not knowing that you’d grow a forest on the moon if he asked—just to hide somewhere safe and quiet, together—and turn the sun into something portable for his back pocket, just so he’d never have to fear ice again.
Bucky says your name slowly, glancing around the shop. “Is this where we had our first-“
“Yeah.” You fumble with your bag, your hands already shaking slightly, and Bucky notices.
Of course he does.
Perfect fucking asshole.
“Are you sure you’re okay, cause I can make Sam call 911 again-“
“Don’t make Sam call 911.” The paper is crumpled, and ripped at the corners. It will have to do. “I’m okay. I- I’m going to be okay.”
That last one is mostly for yourself—no matter how fast Bucky leaves, no matter how much your heart screams, you’ll be okay—but he still hears it, and his frown deepens.
He grunts your name, leaning forward in his seat, and you shake your head.
“Just- take this.“ You slide the paper across the table, watching sleek, black fingers rest on the edge, but not tug it further. “Please.”
There’s a moment of hesitation, but he listens. You look up just in time to see him scanning over your words, and the lump in your throat might choke you.
At least it will be over quicker.
“What is-“ He cuts himself off, and you can’t look away. It’s worse than a car crash. It’s a missile, hurdled straight for your head as you’re rooted in place, bracing for the impact but knowing it will tear you apart all the same.
You know the moment he reaches the last point. His eyes widen, and flick up to you in disbelief.
He reads it three more times before he sets down the paper, and maybe the lump in your throat is your heart. Maybe it’s trying to beat out of your body and run in the gutters, before it can be broken and shattered and-
“You-“ Bucky places the paper flat on the table, and points to that like. “Is that- You mean it?”
You nod weakly, still starting at his finger on the paper—it might be one of the last part of him you get to see, and you’re trying to memorize it—and Bucky clears his throat.
“Can you look at me?”
It takes a second. Ragged, slow breaths and Bucky’s knee, bumping yours under the table.
But you do.
And he’s still so beautiful.
You can see the awe in his eyes. It shouldn’t be there. It doesn’t- not now-
“I love you, too.” He says, and it’s more powerful than the missile. It’s an atomic bomb. “You’re- It’s the only thing I’ve really known, since I got back. You’re the only thing I’ve known-“
The world is starting to sting and blur. Your heart is trying to claw out of your throat. “Bucky-“
He shakes his head, pushing on. “Listen to me, doll, for once in your damn life. I love you. No one but me talking, telling no one but you, I love you. I have been to fucking hell and back, I’d do it all again, every damn time, if there was even a chance it would get me here.”
“That’s- That doesn’t make any sense-“
“Course it does.” He shrugs. “I’m not the me that loves you if I don’t fall off that train and end up in the future.”
“It’s not the future-“
“It’s the future to me-“
“James, we are not having this argument again. It’s not-“
“Is to me.”
There’s that rare, small grin he saves only for you. This is cruel.
“You- I’m not worth hell.” You whisper, and you’re holding his hand. You don’t know when that happened. You’re not strong enough to pull away.
“Yeah, you are.”
“Bucky, I’m being-“
“I know you’re being serious, doll. So am I. And I know I’m,” he taps the paper, giving you a pointed look. “Bad at using my words-“
You swallow. “I’m sorry, I-“
"You’re not wrong.” He mutters, still all but trapping his gaze on yours. “But I got words for this, baby. I love you. Hell and back.”
“Bucky, you don’t-“
“What, love you?” He raises his brows. “You somehow miss that part of my shitty ass speech-“
“It wasn’t shitty-“
“Kinda shitty. Didn’t seem to get through to you.”
“I-“
“Just- Listen.” He leans forward, still holding your gaze. “Would you do it again?”
“Do-“
“Would you walk through your hell, Fisk and the scientist, Parker and that asshole with the horns that made you blind for a week, Sam and me and all the court trials, if you thought we’d end up back here, at this horrible fucking coffee shop, one more time?”
“Yes.”
It’s not a question. You’d do everything, every time, the exact same way, if it meant you’d maybe get Bucky one more time.
And that’s mirrored on his face. Smug, quiet satisfaction as he grins at you, and shrugs.
“There it is.”
You return his smile because it’s easy. You keep holding his hand because he’s not letting go, so you’ll never even bother to try.
You echo his words because he’s right. Maybe the only right thing in the whole universe, right across the table, touching you, and all yours.
“There it is.”
End Note: Love throwing in a bunch of tiny easter eggs for purely my own entertainment. Also love throwing a little plot relevant smut in there, as a treat.
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦
✦summary: you and Bucky hate each other, so it's not unusual for him to act cold around you. but this is differant. this is... feral. and you're starting to wonder what's wrong✦
✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, enemies to lovers, ragebating Bucky Barnes, emotional angst, everyone's bad at feelings, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (dry humping, manhandling, bucky's feral, emotional sex, dry orgasm, truly foul dirty talk, hyperspermia, pussy eating like crazy, fingering, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, bucky gets nasty, body worship, overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, mean!bucky, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick bucky, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 11.1k✦
✦Author's Note: i'm so normal about sex pollen✦
It doesn’t bother you. If you tell yourself enough, you’re really going to believe that it doesn’t bother you.
But he’s everywhere.
There isn’t a corner of the damn building without Bucky Barnes. You go to the kitchen and he’s there making a sandwich, watching you move around the counter like he thinks you’re going to bite him. In the gym he’s at the weights and the punching bags, and you try to ignore him but he grunts and moans and you think he’s doing it on purpose. the living area he takes over the TV and watches whatever he wants to catch up with the times. No matter how politely you ask him to switch to something else, he always tells you to just wait. Then you try, but he’s spread out on the couch until your knees have to bump, and your face gets all hot, and you have to stomp away before you start acting on all your stupid thoughts.
Because it’s not just Bucky’s eternal presence and stubbornness and smirking that burrows under your skin. It’s that you like it.
That when you’re next to him on the couch, all you can think about is that place where your body’s connect. He’s warm. Tall and warm. Your skin tingles at the contact point, and whenever he shifts it’s like you’re being shot up with a drug.
“You’re squirmy.” He grumbles, glaring at you in the dark. “No one ever teach you to sit still?”
You stick your tongue out. “No one ever teach you to mind your own business?”
“Hard to mind my business when you’re movin’ all the cushions, doll-“
“Then go sit somewhere else, robot man.”
Bucky’s jaw twitches. “I’m not a robot.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m not-“
“You act like one.” You snap, and Bucky closes his eyes. Like he’s fucking praying.
“I was here first.” He mutters. You don’t balk.
“Congratulations.”
You hold his glare, and Bucky lets out a heavy breath through his nose. He narrows his eyes, tongue flicking over his lips. His full lips. Pretty and chapped, but in the perfect, soft way-
Get a fucking grip.
“There’s a chair over there.” You point across the room, sinking back into the cushions. “Go sit in it, if I’m so squirmy.”
Bucky scowls, and opens his mouth, but whatever jab he’s got for you, you don’t want to hear it. You reach over and unpause the movie—probably another one of Sam’s this is what you gotta catch up on, Barnes suggestions, because there’s no way Bucky picked out the Goonies himself—and fix your glower on the TV screen. You hate this movie. You’re going to watch it all the way through, just to show Bucky that he doesn’t bother you.
You spread your own legs wide, too. If men are allowed to do it, so are you. Bucky grunts as your knee pushes over his thigh, and you smirk at the TV.
It has nothing to do with the thick muscle you can feel under his sweatpants, that you keep your legs like that for the rest of the night. Bucky’s fingers flex a few times, and brush over the inner curve of your knee and the top of your thigh, like he’s thinking about just shoving you away. At one point, you hear him grunt, and look over with mockingly raised brows.
“Everything okay?” You almost simper, and he grunts and nods.
That’s all you get. Bucky fixes his anger on the movie, you win this round, and you get to be close to him without thinking about it.
You’ll think about it later. In the comfort of your own bedroom, you’ll think about it and think about it and think about it all night. You’ll think about it until your wrist hurts. But Bucky doesn’t get to know that.
As far as he needs to be concerned, you never spare him a second thought. It’s all he spares you. And you’re not going to be the pathetic girl who falls for someone who only thinks of her as a buzzing gnat around his head. Who worships the ground of a man who would step on her like a flower into concrete, not because he was seeking to hurt, but just because he didn’t notice you were there at all.
Although Bucky does seem to notice where you are.
The farmer does like to keep track of pests in his crops.
“You skipped the mission briefing.” Bucky grunts in the morning, glaring at you over a cup of coffee.
Something soft in you swells like a prodded bruise. He noticed where you were.
You ignore it in favor of flipping him off.
“I was busy.”
“Too busy for your job?”
“It’s not my job-“
“Your name was on the roster.” Bucky slams the folder down on the table, and your lips twitch.
“Have you been carrying that around all day?”
“That doesn’t matter-“
“Yes, it really does-“
Bucky hisses your name. There’s a fury under his tone, that makes your mouth snap shut. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You need to be there, Steve was talkin’ about safety shit, and if you don’t know it you could get killed-“
“I know how mission briefing work, I’ve been here longer than you have-“
“Really? ‘Cause you don’t act like it-“
“I don’t act like it?” You snort. “Last I checked I’m ranked higher than you, Sargent.” You raise your chin, letting your lips curl. “Which is why I’m allowed to defer missions, and you’re not.”
“I’m skipping.” You shrug, grabbing an apple from the counter. “And if I’m skipping, I don’t need to be at the briefing. But thanks for checking on me, dad.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow. You expect him to snap something about experience and you not being responsible enough or needing to care more.
But instead his fists curl and uncurl at his side. His nostrils flare. He grabs the counter, his scowl burning right through you. You take a large bite of your apple, and his gaze darts down. Juice drips down your chin, and you wipe it off with light fingers. That only seems to make him angrier.
“Why’re you skipping.”
You shrug. You should say none of your business. But part of you is childish. A very big, loud part that wants him to react to something you know he isn’t actually going to care about.
“I have a date.”
“A what.” It’s not a full reaction. He’s mostly staring at you like he didn’t understand the word. Maybe they called it something different in the 40s.
“A date?” You roll your eyes, a little meaner than you mean to be. He always bring that out in you, though.
Bucky always brings everything out in you. It’s incredibly annoying.
“You know.” You push mockingly. “Where you go out with someone. And flirt like people, instead of robots.”
“Robots flirt.” Bucky grunts, and you snort.
“Yeah, but they don’t have sex-“
The counter cracks. It’s loud, echoing through the kitchen. You start and twitch, and Bucky blinks at his metal hand, like he’s just as surprised as you are. He looks back to you, shakes his head, and takes a large step back.
“What’s-“
“Steve’s callin’ me.” He mutters, and you blink.
“No, he’s not-“
“Have fun.” Bucky ignores you. His words sound pushed through his teeth. “On your human date.”
Then he’s gone.
And you’re left in the kitchen with your apple and a cracked counter, staring at where he’d vanished through the door. You don’t care about the date.
You just need to know what the fuck that was.
There’s a part of you that feels bad, for the man Natasha set you up with. She’d picked him out specifically because he had a vague resemblance to Bucky—because you’ve never told her your secret, but you didn’t need to, she’s Natasha—but it wasn’t enough.
He didn’t have the underlying accent, or the gleam in his eyes. You made a sharper edged joke, and he just laughed. He didn’t spar. He didn’t push your buttons in a way that made you light up. He just smiled at you all night—wrong smile, too—and then didn’t pay. Bucky would’ve paid.
You have no evidence of that. It’s just a feeling, that comes from how he still opens doors for you, even when you’re at each other’s throats. All polite and handsome and insufferable. You hate him.
And there’s not a single point during the night, where you’re not thinking about him.
“We should do this again.” The Date—you’ve forgotten his name, and it’s certainly not a good time to ask—says at the end of the night.
You’re shivering. Bucky would’ve offered you his jacket. He did once, on a mission in the Andes. You got all cold and he rolled his eyes and muttered that he told you to bring another layer, but still gave you his jacket all the same. This man is just grinning at you after not calling you a cab and saying he wanted to stand outside in the misty, chilly night. He said he wanted fresh air, and now your freezing, and he thinks he’s getting a second date.
At the very least, you feel a little less guilty about only thinking of Bucky and the mission the whole time. He deserved it.
“Sure.” You smile, because even with superstrength, it’s easier to tell a man yes and then vanish than it is to deny them to their face. “Have a good night.”
He tries to hug you. Your phone buzzes, and you duck away to check it.
The mission is over.
Two days early.
Your jaw tightens.
Most people would think that a job being done early is a good thing. That it means the team was just so focused and coordinated that they sped through every single step, and ended in a total victory. But you’ve been on this job too long. Early mission conclusions only ever happen for one reason.
Something went wrong, and they have to come back.
You rush back to the compound with barely a goodnight to the Date. It’s mostly because you forget, in the blur of worry. You’d skimmed the mission files before they left, just to make sure it wasn’t anything too dangerous. Bucky had been mad about you not going with them. Maybe he’d thought they’d need the hands, but it had just looked like a retrieval mission. Old Hydra facility with some data Tony wanted. Nothing too hard.
But they’re back early.
And if someone’s hurt, you could’ve stopped it. You could’ve been there, instead of on that stupid fucking date. Which also means that Bucky was right, and that’s incredibly annoying. He’s going to weild it over your head, and the mocking is going to turn you on more, and you’ll have earned it which isn’t going to help anything at all.
You get back to the compound, and it’s not in lockdown. There aren’t med staff flooding the grounds or emergency sirens blaring. You go right to the hanger, and find that it’s already been cleared out. The jet isn’t being quarantined.
Maybe they really did just… Finish early.
You’re heading back to your room when you slam right into them.
Steve and Bucky, standing in the middle of the hall, arguing in hushed voices.
“You need to go, Buck-“
“I’m fine-“
“No, you’re not. You can lie to the docs, don’t lie to me-“
“I ain’t lyin’, I’m fine-“
Your too lost in your own head, barely even hearing what they’re saying. You barrel straight into Bucky’s back.
He goes rigid. You stumble a little, and he grabs your upper arm.
His hand is hot.
Not sexy hot—although it’s also that—but literally, physically hot. Almost searing, against your shivering skin. You look up at him, and swallow.
He’s flushed. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and an exhausted shadow over his features. His eyes are so blown out they’re almost fully black. You blink at him, and his mouth falls open in a ragged pant.
“Hi.” You whisper.
His throat bobs. “You’re back.”
“I- I got the alert.” You glance over to Steve, who’s gone oddly pale. “Did the mission go okay? It was fine that I wasn’t there, right-“
“Yep!” Steve almost shouts, and you blink. “I mean- We were all good. Wish you were there, we all missed you, but- We were fine. Right, Buck?” Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulder. “We were all good.”
Bucky doesn’t look away from you for a single second. He grunts, and his grip tightens on your arm.
“Let go.” Steve mutters, and Bucky shoots him a glare.
He releases you like you burned him, then wipes his hand on his pants. You scowl. He was the one touching you.
“I was gonna.” He grumbles, and Steve sighs.
“I know, but-“ You get a weary look. Like Steve doesn’t want you to hear their conversation. “I think- You know what I think-“
“Steve-“ Bucky cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand over his face.
He still hasn’t looked away from you. Or moved that far out of your proximity.
“I’m fine.” He says, low and under his breath. You’re rooted to the ground under his gaze, unsure what you could even think of to say. “It’s- I’m fine.”
Steve’s lips press in a thin line. Bucky takes a large, jerking step back. Like he’s dragging himself away.
“How was your date?” He grunts.
“Bucky-“
“I’m just askin’ a question.” He snaps, still not sparing Steve a look.
The attention is getting to be too much. Bucky is looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, and it’s making your body almost buzz in anticipation. You want to jump on him and feel those hot hands all over your body. His nostrils flare like he can smell your arousal. If he can, you might jump off a bridge.
You hope he’d catch you, then fuck you until your can’t even walk.
Get a fucking grip.
“Bad.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. “He sucked.”
And that’s the kind of thing Bucky would usually mock you for. Skipping a mission just for a bad date.
But a low, rumbling growl falls from his chest. His tongue darts over his lips. He takes a half-step forward, and you lean in to the gravity of his stare.
“We have debriefing!” Steve shouts, grabbing the collar of Bucky’s suit. “Bye!”
Before you can even register it, Steve’s dragging Bucky down the hall. You swear you hear another feral noise, and a crash after they turn the corner.
Something had to have happened on the mission. You just have no fucking clue what.
Bucky’s only been acting stranger. You’d pretend it didn’t bother you, if you could get away from it for a single fucking second.
You walk through the compound, and he’s somehow more everywhere than he was before. Around every corner, in the library, on the grounds, even in the control room while you’re going through the mission files.
“What’re you doin’.” He grunts, and you sigh.
You’re not surprised he’s there. It’s the fifth time today that he’s snuck up on you.
“I’m going through the reports on the mission.” You drawl. “Don’t you have better things to do than follow me around?”
Bucky grunts. It seems to be a no. You roll your eyes and go back to poking through the system. It’s hard to pretend that you can’t feel his presence behind you. There’s heat almost rolling from his body, and thick, spicy and musky scent that’s filling the room. It’s making you a little dizzy. It’s all you can do, not to look back at him.
That would be dangerous. He probably still looks feverish and animalistic. You might moan.
You find the files for the mission, and try to open them. Big, read access denied, contact your handler for permission to these files flashes over your screen. Your mouth falls open, and you whip back to glare at Bucky before you can think about it.
Mistake. Just like you’d thought, big mistake.
He looks even worse and better than you thought. He’s wearing just a t-shirt and sweats, and they’re clinging to his sweaty body. His eyes are hooded and his lips are parted. His attention is so wholly fixed on you that it almost makes you fall out of your chair. You almost forget you’re annoyed with him. Every single nerve in your body is alight, and your fingers are itching to comb through his sweaty hair.
You somehow—just barely—fight it.
“Why can’t I access these files.”
Bucky leans over you, his nostrils flaring. If you reach up, you could trace the stubbled line of his jaw. It’s hard to maintain your glare.
“Barnes-“
“You weren’t on the mission.” He mutters. “Not your files to see.”
You scowl. “I can access the files of every other mission I was on-“
“Steve should change that.”
God, you wish he wasn’t so pretty. It would be easier to think about punching him.
“I know something happened out there.” You hiss, sitting up a little taller. “You can’t hide it from me. I’ll figure it out.”
Bucky chuckles. It’s a low, raspy sound that runs through your body, making you shiver.
“Sure, doll. Have fun with that.”
You shoot to your feet, and Bucky lurches back. Another one of those deep, rumbling growls rolls from his chest, and for a second you think he’s going to pounce on you.
And then you blink, and he’s gone. Leaving you with only that hazy smell, and desire rolling through your veins.
You wish that was the extent of it, but it’s barely the start. And it only gets worse.
Bucky doesn’t do his movie nights anymore, which means you get the TV all to yourself. You watch what you want, and try not to look at the spot next to you. Where your body feels like he’s supposed to be. You stretch out your legs, but they ache strangely without his touch. You get more restless without him. Around midnight, you shuffle to the kitchen, hoping one of those soothingherb thingys that Wanda says help with her nightmares will be there.
Instead, you find Bucky.
He’s drinking a glass of ice, with a little bit of water. He freezes when he sees you, and moves further behind the counter.
You sigh. You’re too tired to fight him.
“Can’t sleep?” You mumble.
He just nods.
You sigh, and walk over the cupboard.
“You want hot chocolate?”
A grunt. Better than silence. You make two mugs, one for you, one for Bucky.
And maybe it’s just that you’re really starting to worry, but you don’t bother pretending to hate him. Your fingers brush when you pass him his mug, and his body seizes like you shocked him, but you just offer a tiny smile.
His mouth falls open. He stares at you like he’s spent years only looking at the muddier reflection of stars in the water, and has finally thought just to tilt his head up. You let out a small, shaking breath. He’s still burning up. You can feel it from your place a foot away. But you don’t dare to push it.
Not when he’s looking at you like this. The way you’d always, secretly and shamefully, dreamed he would.
“I’m watching Star Wars.” You mumble. “You wanna…”
You trail off, and Bucky’s throat bobs.
He nods again. A new tendril of worry blooms, overlapping with the growing tangle of them in your gut. He might not be able to speak.
But he follows you to the living area, and takes his place on the couch. His knee pushes against yours. He’s breathing awfully shallow, but you’re a selfish coward that wants him close, so you don’t mention it.
You barely pay attention to the movie. All you can focus on is Bucky at your side. How he doesn’t even seem to be sparing the TV a glance. He’s not really touching you, save for that place where your thighs are always pushed together, but every time you shift he grabs your knee. You blink at him, and his throat just bobs. He still hasn’t said a word. You’re afraid that when he does, it will break this fragile illusion.
That he wants to be here.
Near you.
He passes out near the end of the movie. His head falls against your shoulder and his body goes limp, almost a blanket over yours. You don’t move, just staring at a lit up, black screen. He looks more peaceful than you’ve ever seen. His fever isn’t breaking, but it does seem to be easing. You run your fingers through his hair, and he makes a low sound like a purr.
Then he takes a deep inhale, right against the crook of your neck, and a different noise leaves him.
It’s almost a moan.
You swallow. Suddenly you need to move. You don’t know what’s going on with him, but this can’t be what he actually wants. To be asleep almost in your arms, purring and moaning. That’s not a part of him you get to have.
But when you try to move, his grip around you tightens.
You feel almost sick.
It takes almost an hour, to roll off the couch without him pulling you back. When you’re free, you still cover him in a blanket and press a hand to his brow. Just to check. You can’t really help it.
His fever is building again.
You wish he would just tell you what was wrong. Even if he thinks you hate him, he can’t think you wouldn’t care enough to help.
When you start to walk away, he moans again. You could swear it sounded a little like your name.
You force yourself to go to bed. You’re not sure if you want him to remember in the morning.
If anything, you just pray he gets better. It’s hard to hide your undying care for him, when he’s in pain. Impossible to ignore how much it bothers you, that he’s hurting. ‘
But it is Bucky.
And he’s never going to make anything that easy.
You walk out of your room in the morning, and he’s right there. Lingering in the hallway, staring at you with those blown-out eyes, working his jaw like he’s trying to bite his own tongue off.
“Hi.” You say lamely.
He stumbles back like you punched him. “You- You’re-“
“Bucky, are you-“
“’M fine.” He says it mostly to himself again. There’s sweat gathering on his brow and bags under his eyes.
You’re not going to tell him, but you’re getting worried. This is the third morning in a row you’ve found him here. The first night you asked if he’d slept there, and he’d scowled and stomped away.
But from the look of him, you don’t think he’s been sleeping at all.
“Do you need something?” You ask. You sound soft, but you can’t help it. The worse he looks, the more your heart tightens. “I can call Steve-“
“Don’t get Steve.” He steps back. The same jerked movement from the first night. It’s the only way he’s been moving around you, lately. “I’m fine.”
You give him a doubtful look. His tongue flicks over his lips. You take a step forward, and he takes another step back. Like you’ve got a polarity field around you. Like he can’t even stand to breathe the same air.
And yet he’s here. Outside your door, and breathing through his mouth like an animal.
“Bucky-“
“Don’t.” He shakes his head, stumbling another step back. “Just- Don’t.”
You swallow, and don’t give chase when he walks away. Jogs away. He yanks himself away, then runs like he thinks you’re going to catch him and drag him back. You won’t.
But you do go right to Steve.
“What happened on the mission.”
Steve flinches, gagging on his sandwich. You’re glaring down at him with your hands on your hips, and you think he knows his little charming smile isn’t going to work on you here. That doesn’t seem to stop him from trying anyway.
“Hey, um- Do you want a cookie-“
“Steven.” You hiss, and he swallows. “What happened.”
Steve winces, avoiding your gaze. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”’
“What do you mean you’re not supposed to tell me-“
“I mean I- I can.” He mutters. “But then Bucky will kill me. And I don’t want Bucky to kill me.”
You scowl. “Tough shit, because guess who’s going to kill you if you don’t tell me?”
Steve sighs. “Is it you?”
“Yep.”
He stares at his sandwich, like it’s somehow going to get him out of this situation. You wait for him to realize it won’t. You have plenty of time.
“I’m really not supposed to tell you-“
“I really don’t care.”
“Well- You will.” Steve looks up with a sad little puppy eyes.
You don’t have the same reservations about punching him in the face, that you have with Bucky. He’s basically asking for it right now.
“Steven, I swear to fucking God-“
“I can’t tell you.” He cuts you off with a shake of his head, and you scoff.
“No, you just won’t tell me-“
“That’s not- I can’t, okay? Please stop asking me to-“
“Why, because Bucky doesn’t want you to?” You leer. “Because last I checked, you’re the Captain. And if Bucky is your friend, you should be telling his teammates he’s in danger so they can help-“
“That’s the problem!” Steve shouts, and you blink. “You- Look, you’re going to want to help, and I can’t let you.”
“You can’t let me help?” You echo, and Steve winces.
“I know how it sounds-“
“Do you? Because what I’m fucking hearing that your best friend is in danger, and you won’t let me fucking help-“
“Why do you even want to help?” Steve fixes you with a pointed look. “All you ever do is complain about Bucky and how he’s annoying you. I would’ve thought you didn’t care.”
You narrow your eyes, and Steve raises his brows. You know what he’s doing. Smug fucking asshole.
“That won’t work on me.” You grunt, and he shrugs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Steve-“
“But,” he says causally. “If I did, I’d say that’s why I can’t tell you. And you know that.”
You hate it when he speaks in riddles. Like you’re just supposed to read between the lines when your brain is fogged with worry about Bucky.
“I- I don’t-“ You let out a slow breath, looking down to your shoes. Heat is flooding your cheeks. It’s annoying. “It’s not- I’m just- Please.”
Your voice cracks suddenly. You’ve been losing more sleep over this than you’re ever going to tell anyone. You almost feel ill with it—like the worry is an infection, knotting up your stomach and making your heart pick up—but that might just literal exhaustion. Something happened. No one will tell you what. It’s making you feel useless and hopeless and torn up to tiny, useless shreds.
“Bucky.” You say slowly. “Is- He’s not okay. I know he’s not okay.” You force yourself to meet Steve’s gaze. “Just- Lie to me and say he’s fine, and fix it, or tell me and let me help. But I- I can’t just-“
You don’t even know how to finish the sentence. There’s a burning feeling behind your eyes and a lump in your throat. You’re so worried. Worried this is something that’s going to kill him, and you’re going to lose him forever.
And there’s pity, in Steve’s gaze. It’s enough to make him break, his voice softening completely.
“Alright.” He murmurs. “But- You can’t tell him I told you.”
You nod quickly. “I’ll say I just got into the files, or- Something- Please.”
Steve sighs. “Okay. Okay.” He shakes his head. “It was on the mission. Bucky was distracted the whole time, and when we got jumped he wasn’t being controlled with his punches. He swag to hard on an Hydra agent. Knocked them back into some vials, and- Well they burst. All over both of them. We put the agent in containment, but he was displaying worse symptoms. Bucky- I think it’s the serum, or just… Bucky. But he’s been controlling it better.” Steve grimaces. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not still knocked up with stuff.”
You nod slowly. That’s not that bad.
But Steve didn’t want you to know for a reason.
“What are the symptoms?”
Steve won’t meet your gaze. “Fever. Nausea. Hormone flares. Um- Increased… libido.”
Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open. “What.”
“Hydra makes some weird stuff. Tony thinks this was, um- A breeding drug. We don’t know why they were developing it, but- There’s no other name.” Steve’s nose wrinkles. “The agent- His cell is disgusting.”
“But- Bucky-“
“I told you, he says he’s got it under control.” Steve shrugs, but doesn’t really sound like he’s convinced himself. “The agent has been, ah… begging for anyone. Bucky doesn’t have the same liberty with what will help. He says it’s going to pass, and he’ll be fine.”
“And will it?” You breathe. “Pass?”
Steve shrugs. “It did for the agent.”
“Before or after the mating?”
Steve’s silence is an answer. You swear under your breath.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me this, Steve? We- We need to get him to someone, this could fucking kill him-“
“I know that!” Steve snaps. “I know that just as well as you do! As he does! But- Jesus.” He shakes his head. “He won’t take anyone. He’ll only- Well- You know.”
“I know? I don’t fucking know, none of you have been telling me shit-“
Steve says your name plainly. You blink.
“What-“
“Nothing. Just- Why do you think he’s been lingering around you?”
You stare at him. He raises his brows, and you swallow.
“Steve-“
“I didn’t say anything-“
“Yes, you did-“
“Nope.”
You press your lips in a tight line. He can’t mean what you think he means. That would be to easy. Too good. “Bucky- He doesn’t- That’s not how he feels about me.”
Please don’t say it is. It’s not fair if you’re lying.
“Funny.” Steve shrugs. “He says the same thing about you.”
This is a bad idea.
Bucky hasn’t left his room in a day. You’d spent all of last night replaying your conversation with Steve, trying to pick it apart for a single reason he didn’t mean what you thought he did. What you hoped he did. What you’d always hoped for, only in the dead of night where no one would ever find out.
But it didn’t matter how you turned or picked at Steve’s words. There was only one conclusion. The beautiful, horrible one that you can’t even fully wrap your head around. It would mean you spent years hating him for no reason. Year thinking about kissing his stupid face, when you could’ve been actually kissing him. If Steve’s right, you’re going to kill Bucky.
After you fix this for him.
If Steve means what you think, you can fix this for him. He just has to let you.
Which is why this is a horrible idea. If Bucky turns you down, you’re going to have to quit your job and change your name and move to Indonesia.
But if he doesn’t turn you down…
You steel yourself and knock on Bucky’s door. It’s worth the risk, just for him. Always just for him.
“Fuck off, Stevie-“
“I’m not Steve!” You call, and for a second there’s no response.
Then there’s a muffled banging, and you almost fall forward when Bucky yanks the door open.
He looks even worse than before. And better. And hotter, and oh God, your knees are already weak.
His shirt is gone, and his broad, muscled chest is shining with sweat. His hair flops over his eyes, mussed up and soft looking. He’s breathing through his nose, even as his swollen mouth hangs open. His metal fist is curled against the door, making the wood crack under his fingers. Standing through his sweatpants is the long, proud outline of his cock.
You swallow, your mouth watering. Bucky says your name, and you can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a plea or a prayer.
“You shouldn’t be here-“
“Steve said you need me.”
You stare at each other. Bucky’s tongue flicks out, and you chew on your lower lip. This is it. If he turns you down, you’ll walk away and live. A new life, across the world. You’ve never been to Indonesia, but you hear they have good food and community, and you’re sure you’ll be able to fit right in over time, and if you don’t at least Bucky will never find you to make you relive this humiliation, because it’s been almost two full minutes and he hasn’t said anything, so you should probably pull out your phone and start researching Indonesian names-
“Steve shouldn’t have told you anything.” Bucky growls, and you swallow.
“I- I made him.”
He sighs. You could swear his dick twitches. “Of course you did.”
“I was worried about you-“
“You don’t have to be, doll. I’m-“
“If you say I’m fine, I’m going to fucking punch you.”
Bucky scowls. You scowl harder. You have a feeling neither of you are going to back down.
“You’re sick.” You say plainly, and Bucky lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.
“Maybe. But it’s not the kinda sick you can help with-“
“Steve says it’s the kind of sick only I can help with.”
He’s silent again. You risk a tiny step forward, and he takes one back, muttering your name. It’s a warning. A plea.
“Don’t do this.” He mutters, fists balled at his side. “Not outta pity, not for me-“
“It’s not pity.” You stop in his doorway, making your voice soft. “I want to help, Bucky. Let me help.”
He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, you- You just- You don’t feel like that for me-“
“You don’t feel like that for me.” You breathe, and Bucky’s body locks up.
“Who says?”
“You’re an ass to me-“
“You’re an ass to me.”
“I don’t mean to be.” You whisper. “I- I don’t- I’m not good at… You know.”
Bucky’s throat bobs. He still doesn’t move.
“Me neither.”
You nod. “But…”
“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah. I do.”
You take a deep breath. His whole room is filled with that musky, spicy smell. The heat is almost rolling off his body.
“Please ask me to help.” You don’t bother to hide the desperation in your voice. He needs to know that you mean it. “I- I want to, Bucky, I want you so bad-“
Bucky muffles your pleas, crashing forward and pressing his mouth over yours.
It’s not the soft, loving kiss of your fantasies. It’s rough and desperate, the kiss of a man finally letting his leash snap. He grabs your neck and scrunches his fingers in your hair, dragging a moan from the back of your throat. It turns into a hungry cry, when he pushes his tongue between your lips. Your knees wobble from the bruising force of it. You grab his shirt for balance, scrunching the fabric between your fingers.
Bucky grunts, pressing further over you. One arm drops to wrap around your waist, and the other slide up to cradle the back of your head. The touch his shockingly gentle, for the demanding way he’s almost eating your kisses. You’re standing nowhere near a wall, but he’s caged you all the same. There’s nothing to do but feel the way his cool, metal fingers dig into your hips, and the unrelenting heat of his mouth.
You kiss until your breathing is ragged. He tastes like mint and salt, and it’s a little addictive. Even after you’re light-headed and whimpering, Bucky sucks on your lower lip and takes just a little more. You whimper, gasping for air that he doesn’t seem to need. He tugs on your hair, forcing you to tip your neck back, and he plants open, hungry kisses over every place he can reach.
“You gotta be sure.” He murmurs against your skin. “Tell me you’re sure, doll, ‘cause- I don’t think I can go easy.”
And oh God, isn’t that lovey thought. Bucky not going easy. Combined with his tongue flicking over a pulse point, you almost fall over from the pure thought of it.
But he’s asking real permission. His hold on your hip is getting tighter, and his shoulders are squared and tense. He’s keeping himself from taking what he really wants, until you give him total permission.
You didn’t know you could want him more.
“I- Oh-“ Your eyes flutter, as he nips on sensitive skin under your jaw before kissing away the hurt. “I’m sure, Bucky, I- I don’t want you to go easy.”
For some reason, that only makes him more tense. He takes an uneven breath, pressing his brow against your head and almost pulling you off your feet as he hugs you tighter. You wait, slowly wrapping your arms around him and dragging your nails soothingly over the nape of his neck.
Bucky draws himself back, his expression unreadable as he scans over your face. You offer him a tiny, nervous smile, and he lets out a shaky laugh.
“You- You got no idea, do you?”
Your face falls to a pout. “I have a lot of ideas-“
“No, you don’t.” He drops his brow over yours. “You got no fuckin’ clue, what you do to me.”
And your brain stalls. It gets all gooey and soft, as you just blink up at him. You’re already on unsteady legs. You never thought he’d catch you if you fell, but with the way Bucky’s looking at you right now, you think he’d dive off a cliff to be at your side.
“Bucky…” You breathe, and he drops his forehead against yours. Your noses bump. His gaze darts between your lips and eyes, and you think you might be burning alive.
“You smell so good.” He mutters, before leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Taste better than I imagined.”
“You-“ You almost whimper, when he pulls away. “You imagined?”
He chuckles, kissing just your upper lip. You’re already putty under his hands, and you might turn to just a steam of desire if he doesn’t stop kissing you so softly.
“Didn’t you?”
You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch.
“Bet I imagined more.”
And you doubt that, but Bucky’s kissing you again before you can tell him that you imagined so much it scared you sometimes. The way you were sure that you’d never be able to recover, from an addiction to a drug you’d never even taken.
You’re certainly never going to recover now. Kissing Bucky is even better than you’d let yourself dream about. His lips are just as soft as you thought. Even with the way he’s holding himself back, his touch is possessive. He traces your sides like he’s trying to memorize them, and kisses you the same way.
“Got no idea what I’m gonna do to, either.” He rasps against your lips. “If you let me, doll… You shouldn’t- But-“ He groans, pushing his nose into your cheek, kissing over the slope of your jaw. “Fuck, I want you to.”
You want him to. You want to feel those sloppy, devout kisses everywhere, to get that infernal tongue between your legs. His cock is almost bursting through his sweats, protruding into your thigh. He’d be heavy on your tongue, and split you better than the toys that you’ve used in his place before. The ache in your core throbs from just the idea, and you can feel your heart trying to burst all out of your throat with confession of desire and adoration. But you’re not sure if he’s going to believe them.
“Tell me.” You whisper. “Tell me what you’ve dreamed about doing to me.”
Bucky pulls back, and you worry you’ve stepped on an invisible landmine. That you’re going to be shoved out of the room, the door slammed in your face instead of behind you, locking you out of the room you’ve longer to be in since you met him. Bucky stares at you. You open your mouth to apologize and take it back, but he loves to move faster than your lustdrunk mind can understand.
You squeal as he walks you backward, but not out of the room. He kicks his door shut as you pass it. It slams, right as Bucky pins you between against the wall. He kisses you before you can protest or ask questions, and keeps going until you’re squirming against him and unsure if you should pull him closer or push him away. His kisses wander your cheeks, over your nose and hairline and back down to your ear.
“I wanted you just like this.” He chokes out, and your swallow. He sounds wrecked, and you’re not even kissing anymore. “Wanted you everywhere. Would see you in a meetin’ and think about bending you over the table. You’d get under me on the training mats and I’d wanna get in a headlock between your legs. Bet you taste so good.”
He shudders, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His dick has shifted to push right near your core, and it’s almost too much pressure, while not being nearly enough.
“Would sit next to you on the plane and think about gettin’ on my knees.” He rasps, beard ticking against your skin. “Worshipping your pussy like it deserves. Makin’ you- Fuck- Call my name-“
Bucky moans, his hips jerking forward. A tiny moan escapes your lips, and Bucky almost whines and does it again. You don’t think he can help it.
“Wanted to stuff your pretty little lips with my cock.” He thrusts again, his whole weight almost collapses over your body. “You’d get all mouthy and I- I jerk off to the idea of puttin’ you over my knee or gettin’ you lying in my bed. I’d- I’d fuck you so nice, doll, I swear I’d be good, but- Fuuuck-“
He’s rutting between your thighs, and seems to forget the story he’s supposed to be telling you in favor of sucking on your neck. You whimper, pushing your hand between your bodies. Not to stop him—never to stop him—but to wrap your fingers around his cock through his sweats.
Bucky moans, his voice breaking with raw, starved relief. You try to pull him back to kiss him, but he just wraps closer around you. He’s almost shaking. You think he’s trying not to fuck your hand.
You can’t have that.
“It’s okay.” You drag your fingers over the line of his cock, and he whimpers against your neck. “I- I’ve thought about it too.”
Bucky slams forward, and you smile at the air.
“Wanted you to shove me down and fuck me stupid. Wanted to ride you until I passed out. I bought a dildo, baby, just to pretend it was you.”
You use your free hand to pet the back of his head, slowly sliding his sweats down to give yourself better access. Bucky’s thick and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don’t even come close to wrapping fully around, and whenever your nails graze his balls, he bucks forward with a strangled moan.
“Wasn’t as big.” You breathe, stroking his dick in long, tight motion. “You’re so big, Bucky, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”
He grunts, his teeth grazing your neck. “Gonna- Fuck-“
You squeeze him at the base, and he doubles over. He’s almost fully collapsed against you. You want to feel him come apart.
“Gonna make it fit.” He hisses in your ear, and you hum.
“How?”
“Open you up.” He mutters, words slurred like he’s drunk. “Get you all over me, doll- Wanna watch you cum over and over and- God-“
His dick is twitching, and you giggle. He’s working himself up.
“You think this is funny?” He rasps.
You smile, swiping your thumb over the weeping slit of his dick. “A little. You wanna make me cum but you won’t even touch me.”
He makes an annoyed sound, and tries to push off of you. You tug his cock a little harder, and he falls back over with a moan. You giggle again.
“You- You’re a fuckin’ brat-“
“I’m helping you, Barnes.” You whisper in his ear.
He chuckles, and the sound rolls through your body. “Helpin’ me would be sitting on my face- Fuck-“
Bucky’s whole body shakes, when you squeeze him one last time, and his control slip. You pet him through his orgasm, unsure if you want him to notice how you press your legs tighter to try and get more stains of his cum. He pants and groans against your skin, his lips latching back around that one bruise he seems to be obsessed with.
There’s so much cum. Bucky grinds into your fist, and it just keeps coming and coming and coming until your fingers are sticky and drenched. The idea of him doing that inside you is almost a little terrifying. You’ve never wanted anything more.
A choked sound like your name comes out, muffled against your skin. You smile, leaning back to try and meet his gaze.
Bucky seems to need a second. You hope you didn’t already wear him out.
“You okay?” You whisper, and he tenses.
Bucky pulls back, and your pulse picks up into a drum.
Whatever he’d been before, it had been tame compared to this. His jaw is clenched, his attention fixed on you like a predator. His chest heaves, his hands limp at his side. You swallow, feeling a lot smaller than you did a second ago.
You can’t stop yourself from looking down. It only makes things worse.
He’s bigger than he felt. His cum is dripping down his thigh, and it’s barely been a minute, but he’s already getting hard again. You drag your eyes up the expanse of his chest—all flushed skin and muscle—and realize he hasn’t stopped staring at you. You lick your lips. He mimics the movement.
“It won’t fit.” You says again, but your tone has lost all the teasing mockery of before.
And Bucky’s smirk is dangerous. A thrill rushes through you at the sight of it. You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted.
“Gonna make it fit.” He growls.
You yelp, as he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward. You don’t even slam into his chest before he’s lifting you off the ground with another mind numbing kiss. It’s a distraction. You know that. You don’t really care, though, returning it in a second.
Bucky carries you like you’re a doll, your knees bent like some princess and his warmer arm locked around your waist. He leans over, lowering you to the mattress with a shocking care. For a second you’re fully lost in him. The gentle motion of his lips over yours, the way his hands wander and map your body as he settles you into the mattress.
“So soft.” He mutters. “All that bite, doll, but I knew you’d be so fuckin’ soft for me.”
You’d like to protest, and say that you’re not soft. But Bucky’s kisses are making your head spin, and no single, clear word can make it out of the daze. All you manage is a high, long whine.
Bucky chuckles. His hand pushes under your shirt, almost tickling over your sides.
“You like that?” He tease, his knuckles tracing over the underside of your boobs. “You like bein’ my sweet girl?”
You are not sweet. You try to snap that, but it mostly just comes out a feral grumble. You don’t know how he’s the one with a sound mind right now. You’re not under a sex drug.
You’re just under Bucky. Where it’s very, very warm, and sticky, and nice. His cum is dripping over your clothed core and midriff. You shiver as it hits bare skin, and Bucky smirks against your lips.
“Say it and I give you more.” He rasps. “Say you like it.”
And it’s a game. You know that you like it. He does too. But he’s poking and teasing you, trying to get you spar with him. To get you to play.
So you glare at him when he leans back, spreading your legs wider at the same time. You keep your mouth stubbornly shut.
Bucky grins. He traces the curve of your hips with massive hands, his thumb angling to smear his cum over your navel.
“Look at you.” He mocks. “Beggin’ for me and then can’t even admit she likes it.”
You wrinkle your nose, turning up your chin. Bucky smacks your inner thigh, then rubs his metal palm right over your pussy. The sudden sting then harsh pleasure make your hips push off the bed with a cry. Bucky takes his hand away to splay it on your abdomen, shoving you back down.
“You like gettin’ tossed around, too?” He laughs, and heat floods right to your core. “I’ll toss you around, baby. Make you into a nice little cockslut for me, even let you put my in that pretty mouth.”
He grabs your jaw, and you part your lips in a second. Bucky groans, his cock getting impossibly harder.
“Already listen so well.” He mutters, teasing his two forefingers over your mouth. “Just can admit you fuckin’ love it, do you? Can’t be a good girl and tell the truth.”
You narrow your eyes in defiance, and pretend to bite down on his fingers. It’s not a real bite. Just teeth grazing knuckles. But Bucky understands what it means.
Permission to go further.
His eyes gleam. His cock is already leaking with pre-cum.
“Alright, babydoll.” He rubs your thighs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Have it your way.”
In a single second, Bucky rips off your clothing like it’s paper. You barely have time to feel the cold of the air before he’s grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach, and dragging your ass up in the air. You yelp, fisting your hands in the sheets, and try to twist and see where he is.
A dazed part of your brain that doesn’t remember his hands on your hips sees no one behind you, and almost freaks out.
Then the first stroke of Bucky’s tongue hits your pussy, and you collapse fully into the sheets.
“Oh my-“ Your eyes roll back, as he teases the very tip of his tongue around your clit before dragging it through your folds. “Oh my God-“
“Sensitive fuckin’ pussy.” Bucky muses, and you feel the stubble of his cheek pressing against you thigh. “Barely even touching it. Wonder if I-“
His thumb drags circles just around your clit, and you squeak. He kisses the curve of your ass, going a little fast. You whine trying to drag your own ass in circles to match his motions. You can’t see him. Can’t know if you’re doing well outside of his lips tracing your thigh, and the pleased hums against your skin.
Bucky jerks his thumb suddenly to the side, pushing directly over your clit. You scream, your knees sliding back. Bucky grabs them and pushes them back up, fully exposing your pussy to the air.
“Look at you.” His breath is warm, over that most sensitive spot. “Bet I don’t even need to fuckin’ prep you. You’re so wet, you’d just…”
He makes a deep, rumbling sound, and you almost sob as he drags his tongue right back between your puffed pussy lips. You clench around nothing, his stubbled scraping your clit. Bucky angles his face, letting his tongue flick over your clit. It goes back and forth and back and forth, toying with it before pressing flat. He sucks, hard like a lollipop, and you almost sob into the mattress.
“Sweet.” Bucky whispers, his metal arm wrapping around your legs. “So fuckin’ sweet.”
“Bu- Bucky-“
“Shhh.” He kisses right over your pussy. “Wanna taste, pretty girl. I gotta fuckin’-“ He moans, and the vibration shoots right up your spine. “Gotta taste-“
Bucky presses his face fully into your cunt, and the sound that leaves you almost isn’t human.
He’s good at this. So good at this. It’s a little unfair. Your mouth can’t do anything but hang uselessly open, as Bucky works his jaw against you. He eats you like he’s starved for it. Like he’s a man that wants to drown of an insatiable thirst.
Two hands hold you up in the air, as his tongue plunges ruthlessly in and out of your cunt. You keen, trying to push further back, and the warmer hand wraps up to your spine and shoves your stomach down. It’s a tighter fit like this. Bucky drags his tongue around, and it hits every sensitive area. His beard tickles and scratches, and cold fingers tease your skin.
You get more and more sensitive, with every flick and suck and groan. You’re so wet it’s almost drooling down your legs, mixing with the stains of cum he’d gathered from your midriff and smeared over your legs. The dual heat with his cold hand makes all your nerves stand on end. You pussy clenches again, and Bucky chuckles.
“That’s right.” He mutters, making out with your clit as you gasp for air into the bed. “That’s it, baby, you’re already lettin’ go, aren’t you.”
You whine, and Bucky nips at your ass.
“Aren’t you?”
“Ye- Yes.” You mumble. “’S good, Bucky- So good-“
“I know.” He grunts, pressing his cold, metal thumb down into your clit. “Fuck, baby, I know.”
You whimper, and Bucky starts up on your dripping pussy again. He’s lapping at it, pushing his tongue into your tight hole as he plays with your clit, and white lines your vision.
“I- I’m gonna- Fuck- Bucky-“ You scratch at the sheets. “I’m gonna- Oh God-“
He smacks your clit, spits onto your pussy, and resumes with double the effort. You cry his name, as your orgasm wracks your body. You can feel yourself seizing around him, twitching and writhing in his tight grip as your vision lines with white.
And Bucky doesn’t stop. You’re making a mess all over his face, and he’s rising up, but it’s just pushing you further into the mattress. You whimper, your cunt too sensitive, but he doesn’t even come up for air.
“Shit- Bucky- Oh- Ohhhhh-“
The ache quickly fades into pleasure again. Blinging pleasure that’s just on the wrong side of too much, but pleasure all the same. You squeal, and Bucky just moans against your cunt.
Then you hear it. The slam of his fist against his cock.
He’s jerking off while he eats you out. He’s fucking himself so hard you can hear it, hear the slap of skin, feel all his little moans and grunts right against your pussy, and the thought sends you right over the edge again.
Bucky moans louder, as you cum on his tongue. Just like before, it seems to make him more and more feral. You have a feeling what lucidity that let him tease you before is gone. He’s eating you out the same way he’s kissed you, with rough lips and a fervor that’s almost animalistic. You’re boneless and whimpering into the sheets, taking it over and over as Bucky just keeps working his mouth against your cunt, and fucking his hand.
Then, suddenly, he’s gone. You whine from the lose, trying to roll over and look at him, but he just shoves you back down with a growl. The sound of his hand is getting faster and faster, and a hot weight drops over your back. Bucky presses his face into your neck, and takes a deep breath. You whimper, and he groans. His hips must be rocking, with how the bed is shaking.
“Smells good.” He rasps. “Gonna- Fuck-“
Bucky snaps back up, and you feel him cum more than you even hear it. Hot ropes spurt over your ass and back, seeping down the back off your thighs and into your pussy. You moan at the sensation, pushing back on trembling hands. There’s always just more of it, until you’re so marked up with him you’re sure you’ll never be able to wash it off.
You don’t want to.
With how Bucky grabs your hips and spreads the stain over your skin, you don’t think he does either.
“Shit.” He breathes out, and you hum in agreement. “Gotta- Flip for me, c’mon-“
Bucky helps you roll over. His touches are gentle again, but the gleam in his eyes hasn’t faded. You blink at him, flat on your back with your legs spread. Bucky traces the lips of your cunt, then slowly pushes two fingers inside you. Fucking his cum back into your tight hole. You mewl, eyes fluttering. Your head tosses back, and Bucky smiles
“Good girl.” He coos.
You try not get all gooey and weak just from the praise. Bucky laughs, and you think you might’ve failed.
“Strangling my fingers, doll.” He teases, pulling them right out.
You whimper. You’re too wet and ready not to take something. It’s really not fair to make you wait.
“I know.” He kisses your brow, voice rough. “Trust me, I fuckin’ know. You just gotta tell me you like it, then-“ His cock drags between your folds, and you keen. “All yours.”
You blink at him, opening your mouth to comply.
But you’re at an advantage.
Bucky’s hard again. His body is wound so tight above you, and his every word is thick. Like it’s an effort to speak. He’s still trying to fight against the drug running through his veins.
You want him to give in.
So you close your mouth, and give him a defiant glare.
Bucky growls again, and there’s no more teasing.
His mouth pushes over yours, and it’s not a loving kiss. It’s rough and quick, stealing your breath in seconds and distracting you as Bucky grabs your knees and shoves them back. You try to chase his lips, when he pulls away, but he shoves you back down with a grunt.
“Wanna be a brat.” He grunts. “Gonna get fucked like a brat.”
You almost beam. Yes, please.
Bucky folds you under him, your knees pressed to your chest and your cum-stained pussy on full display. He doesn’t waste time, tapping the head of his cock against your clit before slamming right inside. You’re so soaked you take it with only a hitched breath, but that doesn’t mean your eyes don’t roll back.
He hits right against you pelvis, when he bottoms out. His heavy balls sit on your ass, and the stretch of him is just enough pain to heighten the pleasure. Bucky kisses all over your face as he lets you adjust, but your pussy is greedy. He’d prepared you too well. You’re more than ready within seconds.
“Bu- Bucky-“ You gaps out, and he growls against your neck. “Move.”
If he’d told you to wait, you wouldn’t have been surprised.
But the drug seems to have overtaken him again, and all you get is a noise like a snarl against your throat before Bucky draws almost all the way out, and slams back in.
The air is knocked clean from your lungs. This time, he hit right against your g-spot, and your whole body seizes up. Bucky makes a low, deep noise, and repeats the motion. Again, he drives right into that gooey spot deep inside of you. You clench around him, and he doubles over, rutting deep inside of you.
“The- There-“ You whimper, fingers scrambling in the sheets. “Fuck, baby, right there-“
Bucky grunts an agreement, and starts to fuck you into the mattress. The angle is so deep you’re worried he’s going to permanently rearrange your guts. Every slam of his cock into your makes you see heaven, and Bucky pants over your, his eyes locked onto yours as your face contorts with pleasure.
He’s not even fucking you like a brat. He’s fucking you like a doll. He grabs at your limbs and moves them below him like you’re just a sleeve for his dick, and he needs you into just the right spot. One hand fists in your hair, forcing your neck a little up so you can watching your arousal gleam on his cock every time he pulls out. He moans every time he pushes back in, and you watch your cunt swallow his dick whole. A wet, smacking sound filling the room as he drills into you. He bends you even further to kiss over your neck and breasts, his tongue dragging in rhythm with his dick.
You try to clench around him every time he bottoms out, but your head is sort of empty, and now you’re just a drooling pussy around his massive cock, moaning his name and happily milking every bit of pleasure.
“Oh- Oooooh-“ You mewl, smiling like a cockdrunk idiot at the air. “Buuuucky-“
His mouth presses back over yours, and the kiss is strangely soft. His fucking hasn’t slowed or relented, but there’s a care with how his lips move over yours that makes you feel worshipped.
That’s what he’d said he’d do. Worship you. And you can really feel it here.
Bucky draws back, and the hand that had been fisted in your hair moves to your jaw. He squeezes again. You open for him easily, and his lips twitch.
“Good girl.” He coos, even if the words are tighter than before.
He spits into your mouth. You swallow obediantly, and open again when he squeezes your cheeks. Bucky slams forward with a groan, looking like a man wrecked.
“You fuckin’ like it, don’t you-“
“Love it.” You gasp, unable to even think to deny him again. “Love you, Bucky- Oh- Oh my god-“
Bucky makes a ragged, choked sound, and cums almost without warning. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, as he pumps you full of his release. It feels like even more than before. Like you’re going to burst with how full you are, spurts of it still being forced out as Bucky fucks you through. You’ve never felt so totally claimed, with him all over every inch of your skin. He kisses you and you giggle, dazed and almost high on the feeling.
And he’s not even done.
The period of lucidity between orgasms gets shorter before it gets longer. Bucky’s ability to control himself almost vanishes all together. You get a kiss and broken mumble of your name before you’re being flipped back onto your stomach and fucked from behind. There will be handprints on your ass and thighs in the morning, and the sheets are stained with your drool from how Bucky railed you from behind.
You’re dragged into his lap right after, and he pushes his thumb into your mouth, then ruts up into your gaping cunt. You’re all moans and ditzy smiles by that point. When rolls you back onto your stomach and sits up on his knees, you just take it with moans and giggles and cries of delight.
He hasn’t just ruined you. He’s pulled you apart a million times over, until you’re just a puddle that sings his name.
You don’t even fully realize he’s done, when he kisses pulls out that last time. You whine, and clench around nothing, but expect to get filled right back up.
Then Bucky kisses you, and it’s slow. Savoring and sweet. Romantic. His voice is hoarse, but it’s lost the strained quality. He’s fully teasing again, smiling against your lips.
“So soft.” He coos, rubbing your thoroughly abused pussy with his warm hand.
You writhe, trying to get further and closer at the same time. Bucky chuckles, and kisses the corner of your mouth.
“Jesus, doll. You’d think you were the one that got sex drugged.”
You try to glare at him, but forget why the moment you see his pretty eyes, shining on yours.
They’re blue again.
“You’re back?” You breathe, and Bucky grins.
He ducks down, and presses another quick kiss over your lips.
“I’m back.”
You’re ordered not to move, while he cleans up. You don’t think you could if you tried. Your body is jelly, everything is sore in the best way, and your head is spinning with too many thoughts of what the fuck happened.
You told Bucky you love him. You told Bucky you love him. You’d never even fully admitted it in your head and he just fucked it right out of you. You said it fast, too fast, he thought you hated him four hours ago and now he must think you’re some kind of freak for just saying you love him.
He makes you drink water and go to the bathroom. Draws you a bath and brings you a snack and changes the sheets. You manage to find the strength to stand out of the tub and dry yourself off, wrapping the towel around your body before shuffling out in the center of his room.
God, he’s so handsome. All tan muscles and scars you want to trace with your tongue. Too bad you fucking blew it, and now you’re never going to get to touch him again-
Bucky turns, and smiles when he sees you. You swallow, bracing for the worst as he crosses the room.
He takes your face between his hands and kisses you. Deep and gentle and maybe he just forgot-
“Love you too.” He says against your lips. “Just- Uh- While we’re saying it.”
Oh.
Or that. That’s nice.
You throw everything you have into kissing him back, but end up tackling him down onto the bed with the sudden surge of strength. Bucky chokes out a laugh in surprise, wrestling you over onto your back with kiss and wandering hands. You giggle, trying to push back, and he nips at the tip of your nose.
Then he pauses, and pulls up with a small, worried frown.
“You’re stayin’ the night, right?”
You almost snort. There’s no getting rid of you now. You’re going to stay forever, and as long as he’ll allow after that.
“Yeah. I’m staying.”
✦End note: this was longer than my college thesis btw. and i. put more effort into it.✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
Computers are so scary what if I accidentally hit F12 in a steam game and it takes a screenshot. What if I press shift + F12 while in word and accidentally save my document 😖
If you had to learn what the F keys on your computer do through me reblogging this post, then I'm glad you did. Computer literacy is not a skill that gets taught anymore, and it is absolutely one that needs to be taught in order to be learned. Don't ever feel bad for not knowing something, but ☝️ don't ever stop learning learning about your environment, the tools you use, and especially the people around you
Hey @staff Can we please scroll by ads without them opening up every single time to download in our App Store, it’s incredibly annoying and making your app unusable.
The next three weeks blurred into a haze of stolen moments and building heat in Oak Ridge, Joe and Zinnia dancing around Tee's radar like pros. Zinnia started popping up random at the house—pulling her truck into the drive unannounced, floral dresses or cutoff shorts hugging her curves, that cowboy hat tipped back as she hugged Tee tight.
"Cousin, missed your ugly mug," she'd tease, ruffling his hair before heading to the kitchen where Lady reigned. They'd chop onions for greens, stir cornbread batter, Zinnia laughing as Lady swatted her hand for sneaking tastes.
"Girl, you stayin' for supper?" Lady'd ask, eyes twinkling knowing. Zinnia always did, plates piled high with fried chicken and mac, the family none the wiser to the fire simmering under her smiles at Joe across the table.
By Lady's good graces, it'd happen—"Zinnia, baby, run to the Piggly Wiggly for some ice and charcoal. Take one of them boys with you too." Zinnia'd grin, eyes locking on Joe. "Joe, you game?" He'd nod casual, grabbing keys like it was nothing, while Tee and Ja'Marr shot hoops out back oblivious.
They'd peel out, her hand on his thigh five minutes in, store bags forgotten in the bed as they veered to their ducked-off creek spot. Truck parked under pines, seats laid back, Zinnia climbing his lap fast, dress hiked, pussy soaking his shorts before he yanked them down.
"Quick, Cowboy—fuck me hard," she'd whisper, sinking on his dick, walls gripping tight as he thrust up, hands bruising her ass. Slaps echoing, her whimpers filling the cab—high and country-sweet, "Oh Joe, right there"—until he pumped cum deep, her clit grinding his base to shudder through her peak. Bags grabbed after, back before anyone blinked.
Some nights, Joe slipped away solo, Ubering the hour out to her cabin on the Sevier outskirts, black horse nickering in the pasture, chickens scratching at dusk. Door barely shut before he pinned her to the wall, stripping her tank and shorts, folding her legs over his shoulders to lick her pussy sloppy—tongue dragging her folds, sucking her clit till she bucked.
Then bed, couch, kitchen table—he flipped her every way, doggy with ass high, her back arched as he plowed deep, balls slapping wet. Missionary legs wide, dick spearing her g-spot relentless. Reverse cowgirl, her grinding back, tits bouncing as she moaned that whimpery Tennessee drawl, "Harder, cowboy, wreck this pussy." Joe soaked it up, his talk shifting cowboy-thick: "Fuck yes, darlin', you like daddy fuckin' you deep? This tight cunt milkin' my dick?" She'd gasp, loving it, nails raking his chest. "Goddamn, Cowboy, say it again”. She groans, “Ride this dick like you own it, sugar, squeeze daddy dry." Or, balls-deep pounding, "Take every inch, baby girl, daddy's breedin' that sweet hole." Her whimpers turned screams, cumming hard around him, pussy fluttering as he flooded her.
He took her on dates too, heart racing under the secrecy. First, a drive-in theater off the highway—old Western flick flickering, her head in his lap sucking his dick slow under a blanket, tongue piercing swirling the head till he nutted down her throat, her swallowing with a wink. Another night, bonfire at a hidden river bend, stars thick overhead; he roasted marshmallows, fed her bites between kisses, then bent her over a log, skirt flipped, fucking her ass-up while embers popped, her moans lost in the rush.
Picnic hit perfect mid-week—Joe packed a cooler in her truck bed: fried pickles, deviled eggs, cold beers, quilt from her cabin. He drove to a wildflower field off backroads, golden hour painting the grass. Spread out, Zinnia in a bikini top and daisy dukes, feeding him grapes, straddling for lazy kisses that turned hungry. "Picnic first, fuckin' after," she laughed, but ten minutes in, he had her on the quilt, shorts off, dick sliding into her slick heat missionary-style, wildflowers brushing her hair as he thrust slow-deep. "Love this view, darlin'—your pussy takin' me whole," he drawled, thumb on her clit, drawing those whimpers till she clenched, cum mixing on her thighs. They ate after, sticky and grinning, her head on his chest.
Joe pitched in on her farm too—mucking the pig pen, tossing hay to chickens and the cow, weeding her garden rows of tomatoes and okra. "You're a natural, Cowboy," she'd say, watching sweat sheen his abs. Then he wanted to learn horse riding.
Her black mare, Midnight, saddled in the corral; Joe mounted shaky first day, Zinnia coaching from below, hands on his thighs. "Heels down, lean forward—good boy." By week two, he trotted laps solo, her cheering, then rewarding with a stall fuck—bent over bales, dick hammering her from behind, her praising, “Fuck me Cowboy!”
Tee stayed clueless, slapping Joe's back at workouts. "Good lookin' out for the family, bro." Ja'Marr just smirked sometimes, but said zip.
Nights out sealed the cover. Tee dragged Joe and Ja'Marr to Rodeo Wranglers twice—dim bar thumping boot-stompers, Zinnia on stage in fringe skirt and boots, leading line dances, hips popping as she hollered calls. Sweat glistened her dark skin, tongue piercing flashing under lights; Joe nursed a beer, dick twitching watching her grind air, Tee hollering proud, clueless to stolen glances. They hit a real rodeo too—dusty arena outside town, bull riders bucking wild.
Zinnia performed halftime: mic in hand, singing twangy covers, dancing with backup girls, skirt twirling to cheers. Joe clapped loudest from the stands, Tee grinning beside, "That's my cousin—badass." Backstage quickie after in her trailer, Joe eating her pussy on the fold-out while crowds roared outside.
Apart, phones burned up filthy. Texts pinged nonstop:
Zinnia: Missin' that big dick stretchin' me. Pussy throbbin' thinkin' bout it.
Joe: Rub that clit for daddy. Send vid.
Zinnia: Vid: fingers plunging wet pussy, moaning his name.
Joe: Fuck, darlin'. Gonna fill you next time.
FaceTime worse—her in bed, tits out, spreading legs to cam her pierced tongue flicking her nipples. Joe stroked slow, then slapped his thick dick heavy on the screen—thwack-thwack—veins bulging, pre-cum dripping. "Hear that, darlin’? This for your mouth." She'd squeal excited, high-pitched country glee, "Oh fuck, Cowboy, slap it harder—wanna suck it!" Pussy clenching visible as she came, him nutting ropes across his abs, groaning her name. "Miss you already, darlin'."
Three weeks in, the pull deepened—no end in sight, just hotter secrets.
Dust swirled under neon lights at Rodeo Wranglers on bring-a-buddy night, the bar packed wall-to-wall with locals and their crew, boot-stomping to thumping country beats. Smoke hung thick from cigarettes and fog machines, cowboy hats bobbing as Zinnia owned the stage. Fringe skirt swishing mid-thigh, plaid crop top tied tight under her tits, cowboy boots kicking high—she led the line dance like a firecracker, hips popping sharp on the 'electric slide' twist, tongue piercing glinting when she hollered calls into the mic. "Y'all keep up now—left, right, slide!"
Sweat beaded her skin, crowd whooping as she dropped low, ass grinding the air teasing. Joe, Tee, and Ja'Marr claimed a high-top table near the bar, beers sweating in their hands. Joe couldn't peel his eyes off her, dick stirring under his jeans every time she spun, those stolen glances hitting like sparks. Tee clapped loud, proud as hell, "That's my blood—get it, Zin!" Ja'Marr grinned, sipping whiskey, "She light this place up every time."
Zinnia hopped off stage after the set, chest heaving, wiping brow with her forearm. "Break time, y'all—grab a drink!" Bar erupted cheers. She slipped out the side door for air, cool night breeze hitting her flushed skin, leaning against rough wood siding, scrolling her phone for Joe's latest text. "Watchin' you kill it. Your place after darlin'?" She smirked, thumbs flying back.
Heavy boots crunched gravel behind her. Big dude, mid-30s, flannel stretched over beer gut, trucker hat backward—stumbled up reeking of cheap bourbon.
"Hey, buckle bunny. Saw you dancin'. That ass callin' my name. Let's hit my truck, I'll show you a real ride." Zinnia straightened, polite smile fading. "Nah, sugar, I'm good. Just gettin' air. My guy is inside." He stepped closer, breath hot. "C'mon, don't play. Bitches like you love it rough." She backed up. "I said no. Walk off." His hand shot out, clamping her upper arm hard, yanking her toward the lot. "Quit whorin' around—"
The door flew open. Joe, Tee, Ja'Marr spilling out, spotting the tug. Tee's eyes flashed. "Aye! Let go of my cousin, bruh!" He charged forward, fists balled. Joe right behind, shoving the guy's shoulder hard. "Aye, man, let my girl go!" Zinnia twisted, tears pricking from the grip bruise blooming. "Joe! Stop, baby!" she shouts. The dude released her, staggering, slurring mad. Joe got inches from his face, chest puffed.
"Nah, cus, who are you to be puttin' hands on her?" he snarls, eyes dark. "Joey! You proved your point," Zinnia pleaded, rubbing her arm, voice shaky. The dunk laughed ugly. "Man, her ass easy! Tryna see what my buddies talkin' bout'." Ja'Marr wrinkled nose, disgusted. "Bro, get the fuck outta here before you get yo ass kicked." Joe spun back to Zinnia, cupping her jaw gentle, thumb swiping a tear. "You okay, darlin'?" She nodded, wiping her cheeks. "Yeah, baby. I was just worried bout' you, I ain't want you in no trouble." He chuckled low, kissing her forehead quick. "I'm fine, baby."
Tee froze mid-step, puzzle pieces slamming. My girl. Baby. Darlin'. That look. Jaw clenched, he wheeled on Joe. "Aye, man! I know you ain't fuckin' my cousin!" Zinnia hissed sharp, "Shit." They re caught. Tee steamed, veins popping neck. "Cuz, relax—it ain't nothin' serious for you to be worked up over now!" she jumped in, hand on his arm. Tee ignored her, inches from Joe's nose. "I told you and Ja'Marr she was off limits, and you go and fuck her anyway?!"
Joe fired back, not backing up an inch. "Aye, bro, back up! Last I checked, Zinnia grown and so am I. We can do whatever we want." Voices rose over bar hum leaking out. Zinnia wedged between, facing Joe first. "This shit ends TODAY!" Tee bellowed in her ear. She whipped to him. "Tee, I'm sorry, but that ain't happenin'! I like him." she says.
"Yes it is—you are my responsibility! I'm not lettin' my boy fuck on you 'cause it's convenient!" Tee hissed low, eyes boring. Joe pushed past her shoulder. “That ain't even how it's goin' down, bro! I actually like her! We do more than fuck!"
"Whatever. I know you, and I said no!" Tee snapped. Zinnia met his glare steady. "You can't decide that for me." Tee scanned them, breathing heavy. "So y'all not gon' stop?" Tee barks. Joe locked eyes firm. "No! We love and respect you, but you gotta butt outta this. We gown bro." Joe sys trying to reason with him. Tee nodded slow, cold. "Aight. Bet." He stormed inside, shoulder-checking the door. Ja'Marr clapped Joe's back. "He's drunk—he'll cool off by tomorrow." Zinnia sighed deep, leaning into Joe. "Well, that blew up."
The bar wound down late, tension thick but ignored. They piled into Zinnia's truck—Tee silent shotgun, Joe and Ja'Marr squeezed back, her driving to her cabin. Chickens quiet in coops, Midnight whinnying soft from pasture under moonlight. Pig pen silent, garden dewy. Inside, wood floors creaked, fire crackling in stone hearth Joe stoked quick. Zinnia hovered in the kitchen, Joe sidling up, hand low on her back. "You good?" he murmured. She nodded, pecking his jaw. "Yeah, Cowboy. Just glad we ain't gotta hide anyore."
Tee and Ja'Marr took air mattresses in the living room, snoring synced up by 2 a.m. Joe slipped to Zinnia's room quiet, door clicking shut. She waited in a tank and panties, sheets tangled. "C'mere, Cowboy," she whispered, pulling him down.
Their mouths crashed hungry, his hands roaming her tits, pinching her hard nipples through the thin fabric. She yanked his shirt off, nails dragging down his abs. "I need you inside me— be quiet though." He shoves his jeans down, his dick thick and hard sprangs free. She spread her legs wide, pussy slick already, guiding him in slow. He thrusts deep, burying balls-deep, her walls clenching tight. "Fuck, sugar—milkin' me so good," he growled low, that country drawl he picked up thick, hips rolling steady.
She bit her lip stifling whimpers, that high Tennessee keen leaking soft. "Yes, Cowboy—fuck me deep." Missionary turned into her riding him reverse, ass grinding down, taking every inch while he slapped cheeks light, thumbs spreading her. Tension from the night fueled it raw—he flipped her doggy, plowing relentless, hand over her mouth muffling moans as she bucked back.
"Take it all, baby girl—daddy's cummin' soon." She shuddered first, pussy spasming, juices soaking sheets. He followed, pumping thick ropes deep inside, groaning buried in her neck. Collapsed tangled, breaths syncing, his fingers tracing the blooming bruise on her arm. Outside, crickets chirped oblivious, secrets stacking higher.
Sunlight filtered through dew-kissed pines surrounding Zinnia's cabin, chickens clucking lazy in the coop as Midnight nickered from the pasture. Coffee brewed strong on the stove, mixing with bacon sizzle from the cast-iron skillet Zinnia manned in her short sundress—floral print hugging her curves, hem skimming thighs, cowboy boots scuffed from farm work, bandanna tying back her thick hair in a messy ponytail.
Joe leaned against the counter nearby, arm slung casual around her waist, thumb tracing her hipbone under fabric. Tee and Ja'Marr sprawled at the kitchen table, nursing mugs, air thick with last night's hangover and unresolved beef. A knock rattled the door sharp—Lady bustled in without waiting, face set in determination.
"Mornin', y'all. What's this I'm hearing about y'all fighting? Tee, boy, I done told you Zinnia grown. If she wants to be wth Joe so be it." she started, pulling up a chair, eyes flicking between Joe and Zinnia. Tee shrugged, sipping black. "Mama Tee, me and Zinnia aren't just—" Joe is cut off by Tee, "I told them off limits! I don't care that you my boy, family is off limits, PERIOD!"
Joe straightened, jaw tight. "We grown, Tee. This isn't your call." Zinnia plated eggs, voice soft. "Here baby, listen Cuz, we respect you, but this, us? It's real. Joe makes me happy."
Ja'Marr nodded slow. "Just give it time, bro. You know Joe won't hurt he." Lady sighed, patting Tee's hand. "Family don't dictate hearts. Y'all talk it out civil—"
Gravel crunched outside, heavy engine rumbling to a stop. Black SUV gleamed under morning light, dust settling. "Who's here?" Zinnia asked, fork pausing mid-air, stomach twisting sudden. Tee smirked faint, leaning back. "Oh, I called in some reinforcements." Her face drained color, fork clattering to the plate. "No..."
They piled out quick—Zinnia trailing last, boots thudding porch steps, group clustering on the patchy lawn. The doors slammed. Lawrence unfolded first, tall and gaunt in starched button-down, Bible tucked under arm like a weapon. Deanna followed, severe bun, cross necklace glinting, lips pursed thin. Zinnia froze mid-step, breath hitching sharp. Scar under her nose itched, burned phantom—like her septum being ripped all over again, memories flooding: screams, belts, locked prayer closets. Knees locked, world tilting.
"Well, well, well. Look who has arisen from the grave," Lawrence drawled slow, eyes raking her head to boots. "You know when Tamaurice called, I thought he was lyin'. Thought you were long gone, dead in some ditch, your harlot ways catchin' up. But seein' how you livin'? You'll be ready for the devil to take soon enough." Lady whipped to Tee, horrified wide eyes. "Tamaurice Higgins, what you done?" Ja'Marr shifted uneasy, face paling queasy. Joe zeroed on Zinnia, stepping close instinctive, hand hovering her back.
Deanna sneered, gaze crawling Zinnia's dress clinging from cabin heat, boots muddy. "Still wearin' them little ole clothes. Showin' ya body to every Tom, Dick, and Joe." She glanced sharp at Joe, lip curling. Zinnia trembled visible now, arms wrapping midriff tight, breaths shallow. "Girl, I told you premarital sex was of the devil and you goin' straight to hell. Guess I was right—you ran away from us and lost your mind! Bein' the white man's whore. Leviticus 19:29—'Do not profane your daughter by making her a prostitute, lest the land fall into prostitution.' How did we ever end up with a harlot for a daughter?"
Zinnia shook harder, teeth chattering silent. Words jammed throat, eyes darting unfocused—porch blurring, trees spinning. Blinked rapid, lashes wet. Legs rooted, small girl trapped again in Cocke County hell. Joe shot Tee glare venom. "Dude, get rid of them!" he hissed low, urgent. Lady surged forward arms out. "Alright, y'all gotta go. That's enough! Lawrence, don't be the man our father was to us!"
"Nope, just talkin' to our bastard child," Lawrence spat, raising his hand sharp—testing, commanding. Zinnia flinched violent, whimper high-pitched escaping, ducking instinctive. "Y'all gotta go, man!" Joe barked, angry heat rising, planting firm in front of her, shoulders squared broad. Lady tugged Zinnia's sleeve gentle. "Zinnia, come in the house, baby." She wouldn't budge, catatonic, lips moving faint. "Our Father, who art in heaven... hallowed be thy name..."
Deanna scoffed cold. "The devil knows the word still, that's shockin'. Matthew 4:6—Satan himself quoted Scripture to tempt. Ain't savin' you now." Lawrence loomed closer. "Now you need to leave this here life alone and come on back home. We gon' fix you up proper. Startin' with going back to church." Tee stepped up reluctant, regret cracking voice. "Ima need for y'all to go—callin' y'all was a mistake! Zinni baby, I'm sorry."
Zinnia muttered on, prayer tumbling broken, tears carving tracks down her cheeks. "Thy kingdom come... thy will be done... " Lawrence bellowed final. "That's alright. We know where she is now. We will go, but this won't be the last you hear from us. You hear me, girl!" She flinched again, body jerking, eyes wide, voice automatic. "Yes, sir." she cries out. SUV doors thunked shut, tires spinning gravel away furious.
Air released collective—shoulders sagging, breaths whooshing. Silence crushed heavy. Zinnia broke. Hard.
The gravel dust from the SUV still hung faint in the air, chickens scattering nervous back to the coop as the group's breaths evened out ragged. Zinnia stood rooted on the patchy lawn, sundress fluttering light in the breeze, cowboy boots sunk slight in soft earth. Her dark skin glistened with cold sweat, bandanna slipping loose from her ponytail, thick curls tumbling wild. Tears carved hot paths down her cheeks, breaths coming in hitched gasps. 'I... I can't stay here no more,' she spiraled, voice cracking thin, eyes darting frantic to the driveway like shadows lurked. 'They know where I am. They can pop up whenever—pull up anytime, drag me back. I ain't safe. This place... my home... ruined.' Hands clutched her arms tight, nails digging crescents into flesh, body rocking subtle like a storm-tossed sapling.
Joe wrapped arms around her quick, pulling her solid against his chest, one hand cradling her head, fingers threading gentle through her hair. 'Shh, baby, I got you. Ain't nobody takin' you nowhere. We handle this.' His voice rumbled low, steady anchor, chin resting atop her crown as she buried face in his shirt, sobs muffled fierce.
Lady whirled on Tee, face twisted fury, finger jabbing his chest sharp. 'That's your cousin! Blood! You promised to protect her—from them monsters—and you called 'em straight to her door? Tamaurice Higgins, I can't believe you! After all they done—rippin' her piercing, lockin' her in closets, beatin' Jesus into her skull? You handed her to wolves!'
Zinnia twisted slow in Joe's hold, lifting head to lock eyes on Tee. Betrayal burned raw in her gaze—pupils wide, lashes clumped wet. Tee deflated, shoulders slumping heavy, gut twisting knife-sharp. All he saw was that wide-eyed girl from Cocke County, barreling into his arms after her father’s rages, hiding under his bed during her mother’s prayer marathons. Her safe harbor, now cracked wide. Regret choked him silent a beat. She felt exposed, unsafe—castle walls crumbled by kin.
Joe guided her gentle toward the cabin steps, arm firm around her waist, boots scuffing dirt. “C'mon, darlin', inside. Away from this.” The door creaked open, screen slapping shut behind them.
Tee stepped forward desperate, hands out placating. “Zinnia! Wait—my intentions was for them to talk sense into you, get you back on track... away from all this mess with Joe, the bar life. I—“ Words trailed feeble, hanging limp. Petty undercurrent rang clear—he'd dialed spiteful, grip slipping out of control. He knew it rang hollow.
Ten minutes ticked heavy inside, murmurs filtering faint through walls. Joe emerged sole, door clicking shut firm behind. Face etched grim, eyes shadowed deep. Lady clutched her hands. “Is she okay, Joey?”
“Yeah. she crashed hard, she’s sleepin' now,” Joe muttered, rubbing his neck.
Tee hung head low, voice small. “I ain't think it would be that bad. I swear.”
Ja'Marr exploded, stepping up chest puffed, finger thrusting Tee’s way. “You don't think, my nigga! From the stuff you told us that they did to her? I would've never called 'em! Especially 'cause you salty 'bout Joe wantin' to be with her! They slept together behind your back—whoopty fuckin' do! Maybe 'cause they knew your extra ass would go too far! As we can fucking see!”
Joe leaned on the porch rail, arms crossed tight, jaw clenched like steel. Words jammed in his throat—nothin' to spit at Tee. Holding Zinnia through that breakdown wrecked him: her flinch at raised hands, prayer muttering, body shaking violently. It fucked his head up, rage simmering.
Lady tugged Tee's sleeve sharp, eyes soft on Joe. “We gon' go, baby. Stay with her, please. I'm so sorry—for all this.”
“I got her, Mama,” Joe murmured, voice gravel-warm.
He dapped Ja'Marr up solid, palms clapping firm, nod shared silent. Then eyes pinned Tee, flat unreadable. Tee swallowed thick. “She gon' hate me forever for this shit.”
Joe nodded slow, unflinching. “Yeah. She might.”
Tee rubbed jaw stubble, noddin' defeated. “I'll give her all the space she needs. She can cut me off, block me—I won't bother her. And I'll try talkin' to her parents, get 'em to leave her alone.”
“We heading to the sheriff's department tomorrow for a restraining order. But thanks,” Joe said even, tone clipped.
Tee exhaled ragged. “Tell her I'm so sorry, Joe. From my soul. I knew it was bad but I didn’t think it was that bad. God I feel like such a shit cousin.”
“I will.” Joe pushed off rail. “Take care of her. I'll see you whenever you come back to the house.” Tee says.
“Gimme 'bout a week, to get her head right.” Joe added, glancin' at the cabin door.
Tee nodded final, group turnin' slow toward cars parked crooked. Engines growled alive, tires crunchin' gravel away, leaving farm hushed under noon sun.
Joe slipped inside, bolting the doors deadbolt heavy—chain rattled securely, windows checked and latched tight. House locked down like a fortress. He padded quietly to her room, door whispering-shut. Zinnia curled in fetal position under her quilt, breaths even but shallow, face streaked with dried tears. He toed his boots off quietly, slid under the covers carefully, and pulled her back flush to his chest. Arms draped over her waist, legs tangling with hers. He held her close, his heartbeat steady against her spine. Lips brushed her temple soft, humming low to her favorite song, Tanner Adell's 'Do Angels Drink Whiskey'—melody drifting gentle, notes weaving comfort through the ache.
Zinnia stirred subtle in his arms, body shifting instinctively closer, nestling her back flush against his chest, thick curls tickling his chin. Quilt tugged higher over them both, her hand finding his draped across her waist, fingers interlacing loose. Half awake now, eyelids fluttering heavy, she picked up his hum soft, voice threading airy through the dim room—lyrics spilling whisper-rough from parted lips.
"Do angels drink whiskey when my tears start to shine? Do they pour a round when I'm down? Wonderin' how in hell I get by. Do angels get tipsy when they can't bear to watch me cry?
If angels drink whiskey, then my angels are drunk all the time.." She sang low, melody weaving with his tune, breath warm against the pillow. Chickens clucked faintly outside the window.
Joe tightened his hold slightly, lips brushing her temple again. "I know we haven’t made things official, darlin'. But I want you to know... I love you." His words hung sincere, gravel voice cracking just a touch, thumb stroking circles slow on her knuckles.
She twisted her neck slow, peering up through lashes clumped from earlier tears, dark eyes wide and searching his face in the low light. No man ever dropped those words on her—Lawrence's fists and Deanna's prayers drowned any softness long ago. But here, raw and real, it bloomed warm in her chest, mirroring fiercely. "I love you too," she whispered back, voice feather-soft.
He grinned wide, pulling her tighter like she'd slip away. His forehead pressed to hers for only a beat, breaths mingling close. "I can take you away from here," he murmured, hand sliding up to cup her cheek gentle. "Pack up the animals. Get us a ranch outside Cincinnati. You'll be closer to me, season after season. Far from those lunatics, no popping up unannounced. Safe. A fresh start."
She bit her bottom lip in thought, gaze drifting to the shadowed ceiling beams, thumb tracing his wrist vein. Farm life creaked settling around them—pig snorts distant from the pen, Midnight trotting around. "This is my home, Joe. I built it from scratch after runnin' away. I’ve got no skills for no Cincinnati—flippin' burgers? Cleanin' offices? What I know 'bout city life?"
"How 'bout we figure it out later?" he asked soft, nose nudging hers playfully, easing the weight.
She nodded slowly, body melting back into his frame. "Yeah... later." They cuddled closer, her head tucking under his chin, his chin resting atop her crown. Breaths synced up, hum fading to silence, sleep pulling them under. Wrapped safe in each other, the world locked out beyond the bolted door.
