Author's Note: I have no words.
Enjoy the feels and the love everyone ❤️❤️
Word Count: 1.362 words.
Bucky wasn't about to let his wife suffer like this again... So he made sure to get her to safety until Rollins had been dealt with... So they drove to a secure location that only members of the Barnes Mob knew about it. A penthouse at the suburbs of the city. Away from the chaos and the terror. So they drove towars it.. and moments later they walked through the doors. which shut behind them with a soft click — nothing dramatic, nothing loud. Just a quiet, final sound that felt like a barrier between them and the world outside. Odette stood still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the warm lighting. The space was beautiful, modern, but lived‑in. She could tell Bucky had been here before, probably on nights he didn’t want anyone to see him unravel.
Tonight, he wasn’t unraveling. He was holding her together.
“Come here,” he murmured.
She didn’t hesitate. She walked straight into his arms, and he wrapped himself around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other splayed across her back. He held her like she was something fragile but precious — not because she was weak, but because she mattered.
Her cheek pressed against his chest, and she felt his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Real.
“Let’s get you settled,” he whispered into her hair.
He guided her to the couch, his hand never leaving her back. She sank into the cushions, pulling her knees up slightly, hugging herself. Bucky crouched in front of her, brushing his thumb along her cheek.
“You’re safe,” he said softly. “You’re safe here.”
She nodded, but her eyes were still glassy, unfocused.
Bucky stood and moved to the kitchen. She listened to the quiet sounds — the kettle turning on, the soft clink of a mug, the gentle rustle of tea packets. It was domestic, ordinary, grounding. Something Rollins could never touch.
When he returned, he handed her a steaming mug. “Chamomile. Honey. Vanilla. The one you like.”
Odette wrapped both hands around it, letting the warmth seep into her palms. “Thank you…”
Bucky sat beside her, close enough that their thighs touched. “Drink,” he murmured.
She took a sip. The warmth slid down her throat, easing the tightness in her chest.
He watched her carefully. “You’re still shaking.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I can’t stop thinking about the nursery. The music box. The socks…”
His jaw tightened, but his voice stayed gentle. “I know. I’m thinking about it too.”
Odette set the mug down and leaned into him. He wrapped an arm around her instantly, pulling her against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, grounding.
For a long moment, they stayed like that — breathing together, letting the silence settle around them like a blanket.
Then Bucky pressed a soft kiss to her temple. Slow. Warm. Reassuring.
Odette closed her eyes.
Another kiss followed, this time on her forehead. His lips lingered there, gentle and steady, as if he could quiet her thoughts just by staying close.
“You’re safe,” he murmured. “You’re safe with me.”
She turned slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes were tired, but soft — the storm from earlier replaced by something tender.
“You’re scared,” she whispered.
He didn’t deny it. He didn’t pretend. He just nodded once. “Terrified.”
“For me?” she asked.
“For you,” he said. “For the baby. For everything I almost lost once.”
Odette’s breath caught. She reached up and touched his cheek, her thumb brushing the faint stubble. “We’re okay right now.”
He covered her hand with his own, pressing it firmly against his chest. “Feel that? That’s you calming me down.”
She smiled faintly — the first real smile since the nursery.
Bucky leaned in and kissed her. Slow. Sweet. The kind of kiss that melted fear instead of igniting anything else.
His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek as he kissed her again, longer this time, breathing her in like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.
When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers. Their noses brushed lightly.
“Let me take care of you tonight,” he whispered. “Let me help you breathe again.”
She nodded, and he kissed her once more — soft, lingering — before pulling her into his arms again, tucking her against his chest.
They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other, the city lights glowing softly around them. Odette felt her heartbeat steadying. Bucky felt his fear easing.
Eventually, he stood and offered her his hand. “Come on. Bed.”
She took it.
The bedroom was warm, dimly lit, the sheets cool and crisp. Bucky pulled the blankets back and helped her lie down, then slipped in beside her. She curled into him instantly, her head resting on his chest.
He kissed the top of her head. Then her hairline. Then her temple.
Soft, sleepy kisses meant only to soothe.
“Talk to me,” she whispered.
He exhaled slowly. “I keep imagining holding them. Our baby. Their tiny hands. Their laugh. I want them to have everything I didn’t.”
Odette’s eyes softened. “They will. Because they’ll have you.”
He kissed her again — slow, tender, grateful.
She brushed her fingers over his heart. “What scares you the most?”
He swallowed hard. “Losing you. Losing them. Losing the family I never thought I’d have.”
Odette kissed his chest, right over his heart. “You won’t.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her impossibly close. “Sleep,” he whispered. “I’m staying right here.”
Her fingers curled into his shirt. “Don’t let go.”
“Never.” She responded. But she didn’t fall asleep immediately. Not tonight.
She shifted slightly, her hand drifting instinctively to her belly. Bucky followed the movement with his eyes.
He hesitated for a moment — not out of fear, but out of awe — before gently placing his hand over hers. His palm rested against the gentle curve of her stomach, warm and steady.
Odette’s breath caught. “Bucky…”
He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I…?”
She nodded, guiding his hand a little lower, letting him feel the soft rise beneath her skin. At that, Bucky’s expression melted completely.
He brushed his thumb in slow circles over her belly, reverent and careful. “Hey, little one…” he whispered, leaning closer. “It’s your dad.”
Odette felt her heart swell as Bucky continued, voice soft and warm. “I know you can’t hear me yet. Not really. But I’m going to talk to you anyway.” He kissed her belly — a gentle, lingering kiss that made Odette’s eyes sting with emotion.
“You scared your mom today,” he murmured softly. “And me. But she’s strong. So strong. You’re going to be just like her.” Odette brushed her fingers through his hair, her throat tight.
He kissed her belly again, slower this time. “I’m going to keep you safe. Both of you. I swear it.”
He rested his cheek against her stomach for a moment, breathing her in, grounding himself in the reality of her and the baby. Odette whispered, “Bucky… come back up here.”
He slid back up, settling beside her again. She cupped his face, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone. He leaned into her touch, eyes half‑closed.
She kissed him — soft, slow, lingering. He kissed her back — gentle, warm, steady.Their lips met again and again, each kiss a little longer, a little deeper, but still tender. Still safe. Still full of love rather than urgency. Bucky’s hand stayed on her belly, thumb stroking lightly as he kissed her. Odette’s fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer, but not in desperation — in comfort.
When they finally paused, foreheads touching, breaths mingling, Bucky whispered, “I love you. More than anything.”
Odette smiled, brushing her nose against his. “I know.”
He kissed her again — slow, sweet, sleepy — then pulled her fully into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. His hand stayed on her belly, warm and protective.
Odette drifted toward sleep, wrapped in his embrace. Bucky stayed awake a little longer, brushing soft kisses along her hairline, whispering quiet promises to her and the baby.
Only when her breathing settled into a peaceful rhythm did he close his eyes. And the penthouse, for the first time in days, felt like home.
@world-of-aus. Happy reading and enjoy the feels . Hope this cheers you up a little.❤️❤️❤️❤️
Forced bisexuality and forced feminization...the readers partner is Bucky and they are making bucky...suck off Steve and also get fucked by Steve while calling him a girl and calling his dick a clit 😄
In Close Quarters
$ log - war leaves everyone hollow. so to cope with the loneliness and constant danger, you establish a private amorous dynamic with sgt. barnes that pushed past every military boundary.
$ warn --nsfw --dubcon(light) --mean!amab!reader --dom!vers!reader --sub!vers!bucky --sub!bot!steve --voyeuristic!steve --feminisation(heavy) --degradation(heavy) --dry-humping --frottage --teasing --anal --sideways-doggy --humiliation --asphyxiation --exhibitionism --fingersucking --blowjob --handjob --no-aftercare --prep(light) --rough --begging --praise --titles(Sir)
$ wc -w 5.6k
$ cd masterlist / bucky-barnes
$ echo “I missed out stucky fucking bc I'm greedy and only I wanted to fuck buck.” > authors-note.txt
note = not enemies to lovers, but like you just tease/mock him heavily and he’s lowk into that, thus starts going for you. steve’s just a curiously-perverted watcher, don’t mind him. not stucky x reader either — you're kinda js fucking around with both of them.
A foul slurry of gun oil, stale tobacco, and sour sweat clogged the air, thick with the jittery, violent tension of men left to rot with their own thoughts. Outside, European wind shrieked against the corrugated metal, but the real violence was the silence trapped inside — heavy, suffocating, and waiting to break.
You leaned against the footlocker, cleaning your Colt with slow, deliberate strokes. Across the cramped space, Bucky was hunched over his rifle, but he wasn't shooting straight. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed every time you shifted your weight.
"You're gonna wear that barrel down to nothing if you keep fussing with it like that, dollface."
Bucky didn't even look up, but you saw the muscle jump in his jaw. "Stow it," he muttered, though there was no real heat in it — just that rough, familiar edge they all used when the tension got too thick to breathe. "Some of us actually like keeping our gear in working order."
"Is that right?" You tossed the cleaning rag aside, letting your gaze drag slow and deliberate over the line of his spine. "Or you just need something to do with those restless hands of yours?"
A low chuckle came from the corner bunk. Steve was propped up on one elbow, dark circles under his eyes, but that knowing glint was present. "Leave him be. We've all got enough on our minds without you stirrin' the pot."
"Ain't stirrin' nothing, Cap'. Just making sure my pal here ain't gettin' too wound up."
You let your grin sharpen, watching Bucky finally snap his head up. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide in the dim lamplight. He looked like he wanted to throw a punch or something worse — something that would make the whole damn squad uncomfortable if they weren't already half mad from the front lines.
"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Bucky growled, tossing his cleaning rag onto his cot with unnecessary force. "Always gotta push buttons."
"Maybe I like the sound they make when they click," you drawled, your voice dropping an octave. "Or maybe I just like seeing how far you'll bend before you break."
Steve let out a soft huff of amusement, settling back against his pillow. "Well, try not to break him before dawn. We got a long day of marching ahead of us."
"Yeah, well, maybe if someone didn't spend all evening playing mind games, we'd all get some shut eye," Bucky shot back, but his voice lacked conviction. He turned away, busying himself with his boots, but you noticed the way his fingers trembled slightly as he grabbed the laces.
You caught Steve's eye across the room. The Captain didn't say anything more, but he didn't look away either. He just watched you with that quiet, steady patience of his, like he was waiting to see exactly how much trouble you were going to stir up before the sun came up.
You settled back against your cot, a slow smirk spreading across your face. The war could wait until morning. Right now, the real fun was just getting started.
The supply depot was a godforsaken maze of rotting wooden crates and rusted ammunition tins, lit only by the weak, flickering beam of a single lantern somewhere down the corridor. The air was cold enough to bite, smelling of damp earth and cordite.
"Keep it tight, fellas," Steve whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant rumble of artillery. "We grab what we need and we get back to the perimeter before the patrol passes."
"Yeah, yeah, Cap. We got it," Bucky muttered, though his breathing sounded heavier than usual.
You led the way, navigating the messy stacked crates, your boots scuffing against the concrete floor. You could feel Bucky right behind you, his presence like heat against your back.
"Over here," you murmured, spotting a crate of medical supplies tucked into a narrow alcove between two towering stacks of ammunition. "Rogers, check the east corridor. Barnes and I will handle this section."
Steve gave a single, sharp nod, his silhouette disappearing into the shadows. "Don't take all night. We're on a clock."
The moment Steve was out of sight, you grabbed Bucky by the collar of his jacket and hauled him into the cramped alcove. The space was so tight you could feel every inch of him. The darkness was absolute, save for the faint glow filtering through the cracks in the crates.
"What the hell are you — " Bucky started to protest, but you shoved him hard against the rough wood of the crates, cutting off his air.
"Shush, Buck. Unless you want the Captain hearin' exactly what you're fixin' to do," you hissed against his ear. Your voice was a low growl, rough as gravel. Bucky froze, his breath coming in quick, shallow pants.
In the near total darkness, you could feel the heat rolling off him. "You're crazy," he whispered, but he didn't push you away. Instead, his hands came up to grip your forearms, fingers digging into your sleeves. "We're supposed to be on duty."
"Consider this... reconnaissance," you murmured. You pressed closer, forcing him to take the full weight of your body. You guided one of his hips forward until it met yours. "Besides, you've been wound tighter than a spring coiled snake.”
You could feel it — the hard ridge of his cock straining against the rough wool of his trousers, pressing right against your thigh.
"Jesus," Bucky breathed, a sound halfway between a curse and a whimper. "You're gonna get us court martialed."
"Then quit shakin' like a leaf and take it like a soldier," you growled. You hooked your leg behind his, forcing him to spread his stance, grinding your cock against his cock through layers of uniform. The friction was maddening, a slow and torturous burn. Bucky threw his head back with a dull thud against the crates, gritting his teeth against the heat of it.
"Mmmph — " A strangled noise escaped him as you pressed harder, your hips finding a rhythm that made his knees buckle. You caught him, pinning him harder against the wood, your palm slamming over his mouth to stifle the moan before it could carry across the depot.
Sensory overload built with every drag of skin — an agonising, deliberate heat that set every nerve ending on edge. Bucky trembled underneath you, rattled not by fear, but by the urge to snap. His hips bucked in erratic, helpless hitches, chasing raw friction and full contact, even as his eyes kept darting toward the corridor where Steve’s footsteps paced.
"That's it, Buck," you cooed, your voice dripping with a condescending sweetness that felt like velvet over gravel. You leaned in close, your lips brushing his earlobe. "Such a good little soldier, takin' this like a champ. Just keepin' quiet for the Captain, ain'tcha?"
You felt him shudder at the words. There was something in that patronising tone — the way you spoke to him like he was something precious and pathetic all at once — that seemed to short-circuit his brain entirely.
His grip on your arms loosened, his fingers instead sliding down to clutch at your hips, pulling you closer, seeking the friction. "That's it, good boy. Just a little more pressure."
The rough material of your trousers was unforgiving, grinding against each other with every deliberate roll of your hips. Bucky's breath was coming in hot, wet gasps against your neck, his body betraying him as he arched into the contact. "You're — you're awful," he managed to choke out, though his hips were betraying his words by bucking upward, chasing the contact.
"Awful, am I?" You let out a dark chuckle, feeling the way his cock throbbed against your thigh through the fabric. "Or maybe you're just finally gettin' what you need. Ain't it better than pretendin' you don't want this every time I walk past your bunk?"
"Shut up," he hissed, but it sounded more like a plea. His eyes were squeezed shut, his forehead pressed against your shoulder.
You leaned back just enough to glance down at him, watching the way Bucky had completely come undone. He wasn't even trying to fight it anymore; he was rutting against your thigh like a starved mutt, his hips moving in desperate, uncoordinated jerks. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, muffled whines vibrating against your skin as he fought to keep his voice from carrying.
"Look at you," you murmured, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. "All worked up over a little friction — like a real stray."
But as you spoke, something caught your eye.
Moonlight filtered through the grimy crack of a window panel just beyond the crates, cutting across a sudden shift in the dark. You kept your face still, unwilling to shatter the fragile spell, but your eyes tracked him in your periphery anyway.
Steve stood stock-still in the gloom, his broad silhouette stark against the faint illumination spilling into the depot. Even without looking directly at him, you could feel the sheer, suffocating weight of his unblinking stare pressing into the space between you, heavy and inescapable.
Though, it wasn't shock or disapproval; it was something far more dangerous. You could practically feel the heat of his curiosity, the recognition of what was happening, and that deep seated, starving lust that made his breathing go shallow. He wasn't turning away. He was watching.
A slow, vicious smirk spread across your face, this was fucking perfect.
"Don't you stop now, Buck," you growled, refocusing your attention on the desperate man in your arms. "We're almost there."
You reached down, one hand sliding around his hip to grip the rough fabric of his trousers, guiding his hips into a more controlled, punishing rhythm. You weren't just letting him rut anymore; you were taking charge of his orgasm, forcing him to find the exact pace that would make him shatter.
"That's it, keep that rhythm. Harder, you pathetic little thing," you commanded, your voice a low vibration against his ear. The friction was building to a fever pitch, your coarse fatigues working like sandpaper against the sensitive cock straining beneath his belt. Bucky was past the point of coherent thought, his entire body rigid as he chased the release you were dictating with every cruel tug on his hips.
"Almost there, give it to me," you hissed, your thumb digging into the bone of his hip to anchor him. "Show me how desperate a fella you really are."
With one final grind, Bucky stiffened completely. A strangled, muffled cry died against your neck as his body jutted, his hips stuttering in a series of helpless spasms. You could feel the heat of his orgasm spreading through his trousers as he cums hard, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he shuddered with exhaustion.
You held him there for a moment longer, savouring the way his pulse hammered against your skin like a trapped bird. Then, slowly, you pulled away, leaving him panting and limp against the crates.
Bucky's breathing was ragged, his eyes unfocused and glazed as he tried to regain some semblance of military bearing. "Jesus Christ," he wheezed, wiping sweat from his brow with a shaking hand. "You're gonna be the death of me."
"Nah, Buck," you drawled, adjusting your belt with casual indifference while your eyes flickered one last time toward that grimy window crack. "I'm just the one keepin' you alive."
You could still feel Steve's presence like a physical weight on the back of your neck. The Captain hadn't moved. He was still there, a silent witness to Bucky's humiliation and your shameless dominance. You knew that look — he wasn't going to report this. He was going to carry it with him, a private shame and a private hunger that would fester until the next time you three were alone.
Time slowed to a crawl after the supply run, heavy and thick with unspent tension. Every shared corridor with Bucky became a quiet dare, his eyes throwing down a challenge without a single word spoken. With Steve, it was different — a silent, heavy understanding passing between you, cementing the secret that now lived in the space between all three of you.
A breaking point came on a Thursday afternoon.
The barracks were empty except for the two of you, the afternoon sun cutting harsh, dusty slats through the window blinds. It started over something stupid a misplaced canteen, a careless remark about Bucky's aim but the real fuel was the hunger that had been rotting in your guts since the depot.
"You're gettin' sloppy, Barnes," you drawled, tossing the canteen onto his cot with enough force to make it bounce. "Maybe you spent too much time playin' nursemaid at the depot instead of focusin' on your drills."
Bucky snapped. He was off his bunk before you could blink, his face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and raw fury. "Say that again, you smug bastard, and I'll knock that grin clean off your face."
"Try it, dollface," you challenged, your grin sharpening, as he lunged.
Violence had been coiling in the room for months, and when it finally snapped, skill was the first thing tossed aside. You crashed together onto the splintered floorboards, a heavy, chaotic wreck of limbs, coarse wool, and brutal, bruising shoves. On the surface, it looked like standard barracks roughhousing — the desperate, mindless thrashing soldiers used to bleed off excess static — but this had teeth. Every impact was aimed to leave a mark, every grip tight enough to grind bone, raw desperation masquerading as a brawl.
Every punch thrown was too close to a caress, every shove carrying the desperate weight of something far more intimate than anger. You rolled beneath him, your boots scraping against the floorboards as you fought for leverage. Bucky was strong, stronger than most, but you had the advantage of knowing exactly how to read his tells.
"What's the matter, Buck?" you grunted as you twisted his arm behind his back, pinning his chest against the floor. "All that tough talk and you're already pinned?"
"Shove it," he wheezed, struggling against your grip, his face pressed hard against the wood. "You ain't won shit yet."
The struggle escalated, a tangle of cursing and straining muscle, until you found your opening.
In one fluid motion, you shifted your weight, rolling him over and reversing positions. Before he could recover, you hauled him up into a tight chokehold from behind, your forearm pressed hard against his throat. Bucky thrashed beneath you, his boots kicking uselessly against the floorboards as he fought for air, but you held firm, your weight grinding him down into the wood.
"Easy now, Buck. Don't wanna pass out before the real fun starts," you whispered, your voice a low, dangerous purr against his ear.
"Let... go..." he managed to choke out, but even as he said it, his body wasn't fighting to escape it was fighting to connect. The aggression had twisted into something else entirely, something raw and undeniable.
You didn't let him up. Instead, you yanked him back up into that same position — keeping your arm locked around his throat from behind, while his back was plastered to your chest. Bucky let out a strangled noise as your forearm pressed against his windpipe, forcing his head back against your shoulder. He was helpless, pinned between the hard floorboards and your crushing weight.
"Look at you," you drawled, your lips grazing his temple as you watched him struggle for breath. "All that tough Brooklyn talk, reduced to a whimper. You're not much of a soldier right now, are you, Buck? More like a pretty little thing beggin' for attention."
"Fuck... you..." he gasped, but the protest was weak, broken by the pressure on his throat. You didn't give him a second to recover. Reaching around with your free hand, you forced two fingers past his clenched teeth, stretching his mouth open.
Bucky let out a muffled noise of protest that quickly dissolved into something wetter, something more desperate as you began to lazily work your fingers inside, exploring his mouth while your other arm kept him pinned and gasping.
"That's it, open up for me, sweetheart," you cooed, the condescension thick enough to choke on. "Since you're bein' such a good little girl today — might as well learn how to take it proper."
"Mmmph!" Bucky's eyes rolled back, his hips bucking involuntarily against yours. The humiliation of it being treated like some delicate dame while your forearm crushed his windpipe was clearly doing something to him. His resistance was crumbling, replaced by a shameful, eager compliance.
"See? Ain't you just the sweetest little thing when you're properly put in your place? All that muscle and bravado, and here you are, droolin' over my fingers like some starved little kitten."
You increased the pressure on his throat just enough to make his vision swim, watching with cruel satisfaction as his eyes glazed over. The combination of the chokehold and your fingers stretching his mouth open had him completely undone. He wasn't Bucky Barnes, the sergeant, anymore he was just something soft and pliant beneath you, something to be used and broken.
"That's it, take it all, princess," you hissed, your voice dropping to a rough murmur. "Just open wide and take what's coming to you."
You kept him exactly where he was pinned between your body and the floor, his back pressed hard against your chest. You maintained that punishing chokehold, your forearm locked around his throat to keep his head tilted back at an angle that made him vulnerable, helpless, and utterly exposed.
"Don't you go rollin' away from me now, princess," you growled against his ear. "We ain't done playin'."
While your left arm kept him gasping and pinned, your right hand slid down, past the waistband of his trousers. You found the damp heat to his hole, your fingers slick and invasive as you began to prod at his hole. Bucky let out a broken, high pitched whimper that was pure humiliation, his hips bucking weakly against your thighs.
"Shh, shh. Easy now," you cooed, your voice dripping with sweet sympathy. "Such a sensitive little thing. You're shakin' like a leaf in a hurricane."
You reached for yourself then, freeing your cock from your trousers. It was already hard as iron, throbbing with the need to claim him. You didn't plunge in, not yet anyways. Instead, you began to stroke yourself slowly, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the quiet barracks. Then, with agonising deliberation, you brought the swollen tip to his entrance, teasing the rim, circling the sensitive flesh without actually breaking through.
Bucky let out a sound that was half sob, half moan, his body arching helplessly against your chest. "Please — " he choked out, his voice cracking. "Please, just — "
"Just what, sweetheart?" you interrupted, your voice a cruel whisper. You pressed the tip harder against him, smearing your pre cum over his hole, making the friction more torturous.
"Please — fuck me — please," Bucky sobbed, his dignity long gone, replaced by a desperate, animalistic need to be filled. His hips jerked backward instinctively, trying to fuck himself on you, but your grip on his throat kept him off balance, making every movement clumsy and pathetic.
"Oh, we can't have that yet," you purred, grinding the head of your cock against his entrance in slow, maddening circles. "Not until you admit what you really are. You don't want a soldier in there, do you? You want to be used like the little slut you're actin' like."
"I — I don't — " His protest died as you pressed harder, the blunt force of you stretching the tip against his entrance, making him whimper as his body involuntarily clenched around the intrusion.
"That's not what I heard, princess. Try again. Say it like you mean it."
"Please," he gasped, his voice breaking as he surrendered completely to the humiliation. "Please fuck my pretty pussy — please — I need it so bad."
"There we go," you crooned, your teeth grazing his earlobe. "Such a good little slut. Now let's see if you can take it."
Without another word of warning, you drove forward, burying your cock deep inside him in one smooth, punishing thrust. Bucky let out a strangled scream that was cut short by your forearm tightening around his throat, forcing the sound to die in his lungs as his entire body convulsed around your cock. The tightness was incredible, his walls clenching around you like they were trying to swallow you whole.
You growled at the squeezing sensation of his asshole clamping down onto your cock. “Fuck, buddy, you're so tight — looks like I gotta’ carve myself into ya’."
You began to move, each thrust deliberate and punishing, driving your cock deep into his heat while your forearm maintained that steady, suffocating pressure against his windpipe. Bucky was a mess of incoherent sounds half strangled gasps, wet whimpers, and desperate keening as his body bucked against yours in a futile attempt to meet every lunge. The humiliation of his position, pinned like prey with his back to your chest while you claimed him like a whore, seemed to fuel his arousal even further.
"That's it, take it all, you pretty little thing," you grunted, your hips slamming against his ass with a wet, rhythmic slap that echoed off the bare barracks walls. "Show me how well you can take a real cock."
You didn't give him an inch of mercy. Every time his lungs burned for air, you tightened your forearm around his throat just enough to send sparks dancing across his vision — plunging his brain into that hazy, oxygen starved state where thought dissolves into pure, animal sensation. He wasn't thinking about the war, or his duty, or even his own name; he was just a creature of nerve endings and desperate need, his mind going completely blank under your control.
"That's it, lose it all, princess," you growled, your hips driving forward with brutal precision. "Don't think. You don't need to think when you're bein' used like this. Just feel."
With every deep, punishing thrust, you angled your cock to slam directly against his prostate. Each impact sent a shockwave through his entire body, making his legs shake uncontrollably and his hips buck in involuntary spasms that made his whole body convulse. His eyes were rolled so far back they were almost white, his pupils blown wide as he slipped further into that beautiful, mindless fog you were forcing on him. He was completely dumbed down now, reduced to nothing but wet noises and involuntary shudders.
"Look at you, completely gone," you purred, your breath hot against his sweat slicked skin. "Just a mindless little hole for me to fuck."
While you maintained that relentless, prostate crushing rhythm, your free hand reached around to his front. You found his cock, already leaking and hypersensitive, and began to thumb the swollen tip with rough, deliberate strokes. You treated it like a clit, thumbing the sensitive tip with rough, deliberate strokes that made him whimper like a broken toy. "Fuck, Buck, you got no idea how bad I needed this. Haven't seen a real dame in months, and here you are, pretendin' to be my own personal little pussy."
The degradation seemed to act like fuel, his body responding to the insult with even more desperate clenching. Every time you slammed home, hitting that sweet spot that made his brain short circuit, you could feel his entire identity slipping away. He wasn't a soldier; he was just this soft, needy thing beneath you, reduced to nothing but wet sounds and involuntary shudders.
"Jus’ take it, sweetheart," you grunted, your hips working with increasing ferocity. "You're doin' so good for me."
His mind was gone, melted away by the oxygen deprivation and the relentless, rhythmic assault on his insides. Every time you hammered against him, his entire body would seize, his spine arching as he surrendered to the mindless pleasure of being broken.
"That's it, give up, princess," you snarled, your pace becoming frantic, almost violent. "Give up that stupid soldier brain and just be my pretty little pussy. Just take it."
The friction was building to a breaking point, the wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of his tight, slick walls filling the space between your labored breaths. You could feel him approaching the edge, his body trembling with the effort of holding back the inevitable. His cock jerked spasmodically in your grip as you continued to thumb his tip like you were milking him dry.
"Come for me, Buck! Show me how good of a slut you are! Let it out, you filthy little thing!"
The command shattered whatever fragile restraint he had left. Bucky's entire body locked up as you delivered three final, devastatingly deep thrusts, each one grinding your cock mercilessly against his prostate. His hips bucked upward in a desperate attempt to meet you, his back arching so violently it looked like his spine might snap.
A raw, broken keen tore from his throat a sound stripped of all humanity as he came hard, his cock spurting thick ropes of cum across your hand while his insides clenched around you in rhythmic, milking spasms.
"That's it, fuck, yes," you growled, feeling your own climax building like a dam about to burst. "Cum for me, princess. Let that pretty little pussy soak it all up."
The orgasm hit you like a freight train. You let out a guttural roar as you buried yourself to the hilt one last time, your hips locking against his as you unleashed everything inside him. You felt the hot, pulsing torrent of your cum flooding his insides, filling up that pretty little pussy you'd been ravaging. Bucky's body gave one final, pathetic convulsion before going completely limp beneath you, his head lolling forward as he gasped for air in shallow, broken wheezes.
"Fuck me..." he whimpered weakly, the words barely audible, his mind completely shattered by the onslaught. "So good... thank you..."
Aww, how polite of him.
You let out a long, satisfied exhale, slowly withdrawing your cock from his spent, twitching walls. The wet sound of your exit seemed deafening in the sudden silence of the barracks. You kept your arm around his throat for a moment longer, not to choke him, but just to feel the frantic flutter of his pulse beneath your skin — a reminder of how thoroughly you'd claimed him.
"There we go," you purred, wiping your hand on your trousers. "All cleaned up."
You pulled away completely, leaving him sprawled on the floorboards like a discarded doll. His chest still heaved with shallow, desperate breaths, and his eyes remained unfocused, staring at nothing as the last echoes of pleasure and humiliation washed over his shattered mind. He looked completely undone — dazed, drooling slightly at the corner of his mouth, and utterly broken.
"Look at you," you said, reaching down to pat his flushed cheek with mock affection. "Not so tough now, are you, princess? Just a needy little slut who can't even remember her own damn name."
Bucky didn't even flinch at the insult. He just let out a soft, broken whimper, his body still twitching from the aftershocks of the climax you'd forced out of him. You let out a low, mocking chuckle at the broken sound he made, watching the way his pupils remained blown wide, staring blankly at the ceiling as if he couldn't even process the air entering his lungs. He was completely spent, his mind reduced to static by the combination of the chokehold and the relentless assault on his insides.
"That's it, just stay there and think about what a good little slut you were today," you drawled, standing up and adjusting your uniform with casual, predatory grace. You looked down at him one last time on the barracks floor.
"You better try to pull yourself together soon, princess," you said, your voice dripping with venomous amusement. "Our buddy Stevie is doing his rounds tonight. And if he finds you looking this wrecked, he'll have to clean you up squeaky."
The mere mention of Steve made his eyes flutter weakly, a flash of genuine panic crossing his dazed features before the exhaustion dragged him back down into the fog. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too raw, his body too boneless to even attempt a proper protest.
"That's right. Better get used to it," you smirked, reaching down to give his shoulder one final, condescending pat the kind you'd give a well trained dog. "Might even enjoy having him fuss over you."
Without waiting for any response you knew wouldn't come, you turned on your heel. The leather of your boots creaked against the floorboards as you walked toward the door, leaving him alone in the dim, dusty light of the barracks. Behind you, the only sound was the ragged, broken rhythm of his breathing and the faint, wet sounds of his body trying to recover from what you'd just done to him.
You lean back against the rough wooden desk, arms crossed over your chest, watching with a cocky, satisfied smirk as Bucky works on Steve. The scene is so delicious, you might lose yourself before the night even begins.
Steve’s standing tall, his hands braced on the table as he looks down with a hungry gaze, while Bucky’s on his knees, his face buried between Steve's thighs, taking him in with desperate, practiced strokes.
"Look at you two," you purr, your voice dripping with prideful condescension. "My two favorite soldiers, playing nice. Bucky, you're doing such a good job for your Captain — swallowing every drop, attaboy."
Bucky's muffled moans vibrate against Steve's cock as he works harder, his tongue swirling around the swollen head with desperate precision. The Cap’s knuckles are white where he grips the edge of the desk, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as Bucky's mouth creates a perfect, wet vacuum.
"That's it, Rogers," you coo, stepping closer to run a hand through Steve's hair while keeping your eyes locked on Bucky's struggling throat. "Show him how much you need that pretty little mouth. Let him taste how badly you want him."
Steve's breath comes in ragged gasps as he nears his limit. "Fuck, Sir, he's — "
"He's doing exactly what he was made for," you interrupt, your voice hardening with command. "Don't hold back — show him how much you appreciate his service."
Oh wow did he appreciate it all alright. Soon enough, Steve's hips buck forward in the tell-tale signal of his orgasm approaching. Throwing his head back, matted golden locks splaying onto the surface, he meekly mewls at you, "Gah, m’close, Sir, m’gonna cum —"
You gleam at the sight of the stronghold soldier trembling all due to a simple blowjob, adorable. Nodding your head, you give the silent green light.
His body tenses as he releases himself down Bucky's throat, who doesn't flinch. In fact he doubles down, his throat working convulsively as he swallows every thick, hot rope of cum, making sure not a single drop goes to waste.
Your eyebrows raise momentarily at the sight. Huh, he’s sure skilled in that. Another thing added to your crude notes — experiment blowjobs with Barnes, seemed quite efficient in doing so.
"Good boy, Steve. Good obedient soldier," you praise, tilting his chin up while you watch Bucky drain him clean.
He looks up at you through wet lashes, his mouth glistening and messy, looking every bit the satisfied little whore you trained him to be. Oh screw this, you’re so trying this flexing-throat skill of his right this instance, Steve can just linger around and watch like during the supply run.
Before Bucky can even wipe the orgasm’s residue from his lips, you yank his head back by his hair, forcing him to look up at you with those dazed, desperate eyes. "Don't you dare think you're done, princess. You've served your Captain, now you serve me."
The war never softens. The nights stay impossibly long, heavy with the distant thrum of artillery and the hollow silence of men who have seen too much. Every mission is a grueling, bloody affair that leaves you scraped raw — carrying the weight of every life taken, every atrocity witnessed. Outside these barracks, the world is cold, unforgiving, and utterly indifferent.
But stepping across this threshold changes the rules.
Coming back from a week in the trenches, caked in dried mud and old blood, turns the smallest comforts into salvation. You drag yourself inside — shoulders aching, mind numb from the fade of adrenaline — and sink into the singular relief of knowing exactly what is waiting for you in the dark.
You walk into the barracks, and there he is Bucky, already sprawled on your cot, trying his damned best not to look too eager, though the way his pupils dilate when you enter tells a completely different story.
$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @hisokamywaifu @froggibus @axtira @rosemint-tea @sheriff-bodecker @mathcat345
C's corner: So this request was originally supposed to be a short, silly little fic about the Thunderbolts sticking magnets all over Bucky’s arm. Naturally, I took that idea, shook it violently, and somehow turned it into a five or six chapter series. 😂 Because apparently one chapter of magnet-related nonsense wasn’t enough. Now every chapter is going to revolve around the team finding increasingly ridiculous ways to convince Bucky to voluntarily remove his arm so they can strike again. Thank you so much for this request because I’m having way too much fun with it already. Poor Bucky is about to spend several chapters being suspicious, annoyed, flirted with, and aggressively decorated. As he deserves. 🫶🏽
WARNINGS: chaotic Thunderbolts behavior, relentless teasing, mild language, weaponized magnets, flour-related sabotage, Bucky being aggressively decorated, mutual pining, suggestive flirting, and an alarming lack of respect for unattended vibranium.
WC: 4K+
SUMMARY: When Bucky leaves his vibranium arm unattended, the Thunderbolts turn it into their newest source of entertainment. What begins as one harmless magnet quickly becomes an elaborate team competition involving ridiculous distractions, wrong guesses, and far too much flirting between you and one increasingly suspicious super soldier.
Bucky Barnes has made several questionable decisions during his lifetime.
He's jumped out of airplanes without parachutes. He's fought aliens with nothing but a rifle and a deeply concerning amount of confidence. He once trusted Sam Wilson to choose a restaurant without checking the reviews first.
But putting his vibranium arm in the dishwasher? That might be the worst one yet. In Bucky's defense, the arm needs cleaning.
Missions get messy, the tiny seams collect dirt, and someone, probably Alexei, spilled maple syrup directly into the elbow joint during breakfast.
Alexei maintains that the syrup attacked him first.
Bucky removes the arm, places it carefully on the top rack, and starts the dishwasher while the rest of you pretend not to stare.
It isn't unusual anymore.
The first time Bucky detached his arm in the kitchen, Bob screamed. John instinctively reached for a gun. Alexei asked if he could borrow it.
Now, nobody pays much attention. Or, at least, that's what Bucky thinks.
He leaves the kitchen to shower while the machine runs.
The moment his footsteps disappear down the hall, Yelena slowly turns toward you.
You slowly turn toward her.
Ava looks up from her coffee.
John lowers the newspaper he hasn't actually been reading.
Bob blinks.
Alexei's eyes widen with the delighted horror of a man watching civilization collapse in real time.
Yelena whispers, "He has left it unsupervised."
The dishwasher hums innocently.
You glance toward the hallway. "That feels legally significant."
"It is abandoned property," Alexei declares.
"It's not abandoned," Ava says.
"He walked away."
"He lives here."
Alexei shrugs. "Details."
John folds the newspaper and sets it on the counter. "What exactly are we discussing?"
You point toward the refrigerator.
More specifically, toward the collection of magnets covering its stainless-steel doors.
The tower's magnet collection has grown without anyone admitting responsibility. There are souvenir magnets from missions, tacky slogans, animals wearing sunglasses, miniature landmarks, several letters from an alphabet set, and one shaped like a glittery cowboy boot.
John follows your gaze.
His mouth twitches.
"No," Ava says immediately.
John stands. "I didn't say anything."
"You made the face."
"What face?"
"The one you make before doing something that ends with Valentina sending a legal memo."
Yelena is already opening the dishwasher.
Steam rolls out dramatically.
Bucky's arm lies on the top rack, clean, polished, and completely defenseless.
You place a hand over your heart. "Beautiful."
"Majestic," Alexei agrees.
"Guys," Bob says nervously. "Are we sure we should touch it?"
"No," Yelena says.
She reaches for the refrigerator anyway.
Three minutes later, Bucky's arm is resting on the counter beneath an arrangement of magnets that looks like a souvenir shop exploded across it.
A smiling sun sits on the shoulder.
A glittery cactus clings to the forearm.
Someone has spelled HOT DOG using mismatched alphabet letters.
Alexei adds the cowboy boot.
John moves it two inches to the left.
"Composition," he explains when you look at him.
Ava puts a tiny magnet shaped like a knife on the wrist.
Bob, after several minutes of moral conflict, adds a smiling cloud.
You place a red heart directly in the center of Bucky's palm.
Then all six of you retreat to different parts of the kitchen and pretend to be engaged in completely normal activities.
Yelena starts peeling an orange.
Ava stares at her phone.
John picks up the newspaper upside down.
Bob opens an empty cabinet and peers inside.
Alexei whistles with all the subtlety of an air-raid siren.
You lean against the counter, biting the inside of your cheek.
Bucky enters wearing sweatpants and a black T-shirt, his hair damp from the shower.
He makes it three steps into the kitchen before stopping.
His gaze lands on the arm.
The room falls silent apart from Alexei's continued whistling.
Bucky looks at the magnets. Then at all of you. Then back at the magnets. "What," he says slowly, "the hell is this?"
You gesture toward the arm. "You left it unsupervised."
"It was in the dishwasher."
"Exactly."
"In my home."
"Location doesn't cancel negligence."
Bucky stares at you.
You stare back with an expression of perfect innocence.
His eyes narrow.
It's annoyingly attractive.
"You did this," he says.
You gasp. "That's a serious accusation."
"You're smiling."
"I smile all the time."
"Not like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're about to get tackled."
Your stomach gives an embarrassing little swoop.
John clears his throat loudly. "For the record, Barnes, this appears to have been a group effort."
Bucky looks at the upside-down newspaper.
"Walker."
"Yeah?"
"You're holding that wrong."
John glances down. "Experimental reading technique."
Bucky exhales through his nose.
He removes the magnets one by one, placing them in a pile on the counter.
When he reaches the red heart in his palm, he pauses. His gaze flicks toward you.
You suddenly become very interested in the ceiling.
Bucky peels the heart away and drops it with the others. "This stops now," he announces.
Yelena takes a bite of her orange. "Of course."
"I mean it."
"We hear you."
"No more magnets."
"Crystal clear."
Bucky looks around the kitchen.
Every face is solemn. Even Alexei has stopped whistling.
Bucky attaches the arm, tests his fingers, and leaves the room.
The moment he disappears, Yelena turns to you.
"Tonight, we establish rules."
By dinner, the Thunderbolts have formed the International Committee for the Decorative Enhancement of James Buchanan Barnes.
Bucky doesn't agree to the name.
He also doesn't agree to the meeting, which is being conducted around the dining table while he tries to eat his pasta.
You sit at the head of the table with a notepad.
"Rule one," you announce. "Magnets may only be placed when the arm has been voluntarily detached."
"No," Bucky says.
Yelena raises her hand. "Clarification. What if arm is dramatically removed during combat?"
"It isn't."
"Hypothetically."
"No."
You write beneath the first rule. "Combat-related exceptions require committee approval."
Bucky drops his fork against his plate.
"There is no committee."
John raises his hand.
You point at him. "The chair recognizes Captain Walker."
Bucky's glare moves to John.
John wisely keeps his eyes on you. "I propose a limit of one magnet per person, per round. Otherwise Alexei's going to cover the whole arm before anyone else gets a turn."
"This is discrimination," Alexei says.
"You used eleven magnets this morning."
"I have large ideas."
"Seconded," Ava says.
You write it down.
Bucky leans back in his chair, looking genuinely betrayed by society.
"None of you are putting anything else on my arm."
Bob raises his hand tentatively. "How does Bucky get rid of the magnet?"
Everyone goes quiet.
You tap the pen against your chin. "He has to correctly guess who placed it."
Bucky looks around the table.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"And when I guess correctly?"
"The magnet comes off."
Bucky nods slowly, clearly convinced he can identify each of you within seconds.
"And if he guesses incorrectly?" Yelena asks.
Your smile widens.
Bucky's narrows.
"If Bucky guesses wrong, he has to keep the magnet on his arm for the rest of the day."
John immediately sits forward. "No removing it. No covering it. No pretending it fell off during training."
"What if it actually falls off?" Bob asks.
"It gets put back on," Ava says.
"Same location?"
"Same location."
Alexei raises both hands. "Can we add more magnets after incorrect guess?"
"No," you and John say together.
Alexei lowers his hands. "This committee fears innovation."
Bucky looks from one face to another.
"So you put a magnet on my arm, I guess who did it, and if I'm wrong, I have to walk around with it all day?"
"Correct."
"That's ridiculous."
"It creates stakes," John says.
"It creates consequences," Yelena adds.
"It creates visual joy," Alexei says.
Bucky turns toward you. "You understand this is my arm, right?"
You reach across the table and pat the metal hand resting beside his plate.
"Yes. Our canvas."
His fingers close around yours before you can pull away.
The movement is quick, warm despite the vibranium, and far too gentle for the glare he's giving you.
Your breath catches.
Bucky's thumb sweeps once over your knuckles.
"If I wake up with something glued to this," he says quietly, "I'm holding you personally responsible."
You recover enough to smile. "Threatening me with personal attention isn't the deterrent you think it is."
John chokes on his water.
Ava looks toward the ceiling.
Bob whispers, "Wow."
Bucky's stare sharpens, but there's a faint flush rising along his neck.
He releases your hand and pushes his chair back. "You're all insane."
"Noted," you say, writing it down.
"That wasn't another rule."
"It is now."
Bucky grabs his plate and stalks toward the kitchen. "This stops tonight."
"Of course," Yelena says.
"I mean it."
"We can tell."
"No magnets."
"Perfectly clear."
Bucky disappears into the kitchen, muttering something under his breath about transferring towers.
The moment he's out of earshot, everyone leans toward the center of the table.
"Who goes first?" you whisper.
"Me," Alexei says immediately.
"No," John says. "You have no restraint."
"I have tremendous restraint."
"You put eleven magnets on him this morning."
"I could have used twelve."
Yelena points her fork at Ava. "She should go first. Bucky will never suspect her."
Ava looks around the table. "Why wouldn't he suspect me?"
"You have very calm face."
"I always have this face."
"Exactly."
Bob raises his hand. "Shouldn't we draw names or something?"
You tear several small pieces from your notepad.
"Fine. Everyone writes their name down. We draw for the order."
John takes one of the slips. "Are we including Sam?"
"He doesn't know about it yet," Ava says.
Yelena smiles. "He will."
Alexei scribbles his name in enormous letters, folds the paper once, and drops it into the empty breadbasket.
Bob folds his into a tiny square.
John folds his with crisp military precision.
Yelena doesn't fold hers at all.
Ava watches everyone with open suspicion before adding her name.
You toss yours in last and shake the basket. "Moment of truth."
You reach inside and pull out the first slip.
Everyone leans closer.
You unfold it.
"Ava."
Ava closes her eyes.
Alexei slaps the table in celebration. "Yes! The quiet assassin begins!"
From the kitchen, Bucky shouts, "I can still hear you!"
The entire table goes silent.
A beat passes.
Then Yelena whispers, "Tomorrow morning."
Bucky's exasperated groan carries through the wall.
You write Ava's name at the top of the official rotation.
The game has begun.
A week passes.
Seven full days without a single magnet.
No one mentions the committee. The rotation chart disappears from the refrigerator. Alexei stops carrying magnets in his pockets, or at least stops letting them fall out whenever he sits down. Yelena doesn't make any suspicious comments about "decorative opportunities."
Even you behave.
By the fourth day, Bucky starts watching all of you with the narrowed eyes of a man who knows peace is usually followed by property damage.
By the seventh, he decides the idea has finally died.
It's a ridiculous team game. The Thunderbolts possess the collective attention span of a puppy inside a fireworks factory. Of course everyone forgot.
That afternoon, he finds you in the kitchen making a cake.
Or trying to make a cake.
There's flour on the counter, flour on the floor, and somehow flour on the cabinet behind you. A bowl sits beneath the mixer, filled with something that resembles wet cement.
Bucky stops in the doorway. "What happened?"
You look up from the recipe on your phone. "I'm baking."
"I can see that."
"It's a cake."
"Can't see that."
You point the wooden spoon at him. "I'm still in the early stages."
"It looks like you fought the flour and lost."
"The flour cheated."
Bucky moves closer, surveying the kitchen with growing concern. "Why're you making a cake?"
"Bob said he wanted one."
From the common room, Bob calls, "I said cake sounded good!"
"You see?" you say. "A direct request."
"That's not what direct means."
Bucky reaches around you to examine the batter. His metal hand settles on the counter beside the bowl while he leans over it.
You glance toward the hallway.
Ava is waiting just out of sight.
Bucky doesn't notice.
He dips the wooden spoon into the bowl and lifts it. The batter clings to it in a dense, stubborn lump.
"This isn't cake batter."
"It's rustic."
"It's resisting gravity."
"It has character."
"It has structural integrity."
You snatch the spoon from him. "You came in here to criticize me, or are you going to help?"
"I came in here for coffee."
"Congratulations. You've been promoted."
Bucky sighs, but he washes his flesh hand and moves beside you.
You hand him the bag of flour. "Half a cup."
"You already put flour in."
"It needs more."
"How much did the recipe say?"
You quietly turn your phone facedown.
Bucky stares at you. "You're not following a recipe."
"I'm following my heart."
"Your heart's making concrete."
"Half a cup, Barnes."
He mutters something about ordering dessert like civilized people, but reaches into the cabinet for a measuring cup.
You watch him scoop flour from the bag. Then you look toward the hallway again.
Ava's face appears around the corner for half a second.
You give her the smallest nod.
Bucky turns back toward the bowl.
You reach for the sugar at the exact same moment, swinging your elbow directly into the measuring cup.
Flour erupts between you.
A white cloud explodes over the counter, the bowl, your shirt, and most importantly, Bucky's metal arm.
You gasp with enough force to qualify for community theater. "Oh my God!"
Bucky stands perfectly still. Flour coats him from his shoulder to his fingertips. There's even a white streak across his cheek.
You clamp both hands over your mouth.
His eyes close. "Tell me," he says slowly, "that wasn't on purpose."
"It wasn't on purpose."
His eyes open.
You widen yours.
Bucky looks at the flour covering his arm, then at the nearly empty measuring cup in his hand. "You hit me."
"It was an accident."
"You swung your elbow at me."
"I was reaching for the sugar."
"The sugar's on the other side of the counter."
"I got turned around."
"You've been standing in the same spot for twenty minutes."
"I panicked."
"Before anything happened?"
"I'm intuitive."
Bucky stares at you for another long moment.
You give him your most apologetic smile.
It's the same smile you use whenever you've done something that may require repairs, stitches, or intervention from human resources.
His eyes narrow.
You grab a dish towel and begin wiping at the vibranium.
"Here, let me clean it."
"You're making it worse."
"I'm helping."
"You're pushing flour into the seams."
"I'm emotionally helping."
Bucky catches your wrist before you can scrub more flour into his elbow joint. "I'll clean it."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"I feel terrible."
"No, you don't."
"I feel a little terrible."
"You're smiling."
"I smile when I'm nervous."
"You smiled when Alexei broke the training simulator."
"That was different. The robot called him an outdated Soviet appliance."
Bucky shakes his head and reaches up to detach the arm. The vibranium releases with a soft mechanical sound.
Your pulse leaps.
There it is. Voluntarily detached. Exactly according to the rules.
Bucky carries the flour-covered arm to the sink.
"I'm going to rinse this before it turns into paste."
"Great idea."
He looks over his shoulder at you.
You're standing very still beside the mixing bowl. Far too still.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Bucky looks toward the hallway. It's empty. He looks back at you. "You're acting weird."
"I spilled flour on a ninety-year-old assassin. I'm processing."
"I'm a hundred and nine."
"That doesn't make it better."
Bucky rinses the arm beneath the faucet while you pretend to rescue the batter.
Once the flour is gone, he sets the arm on a clean towel beside the sink.
Then he notices the flour streaking across his shirt. "Great."
"You can use the bathroom downstairs," you say immediately. "There're towels in the cabinet."
His suspicion returns. "Why're you trying to get rid of me?"
"I'm not."
"You just gave me directions to a bathroom I've used for six months."
"You seem disoriented."
"I'm standing in my own kitchen."
"Without an arm. That has to affect your balance."
Bucky studies you.
You smile.
He points at you with his flesh hand. "Don't touch it."
You lift both hands. "Wouldn't dream of it."
"Don't let anyone else touch it."
"Who would do that?"
His stare turns flat.
You press your lips together.
Bucky leaves the kitchen, still watching you until the wall blocks his view.
You wait.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then Ava slips through the wall beside the refrigerator.
You jump even though you knew she was coming. "Jesus!"
Ava looks unimpressed. "Keep your voice down."
"You came through the wall."
"You told me to."
"I didn't tell you to emerge directly from the drywall like a ghost."
"We have maybe thirty seconds." She pulls a magnet from her pocket.
It's blue and orange, with bold block letters printed across the front.
GO BEARS!
You stare at it. "A sports magnet?"
"It's perfect."
"You don't watch football."
"Exactly."
Ava moves toward the sink.
Bucky's arm lies peacefully on the towel, unaware that it's about to become the centerpiece of an extremely stupid conspiracy.
She presses the magnet against the outer forearm.
It clicks into place.
You lean closer. "It's crooked."
Ava adjusts it.
"Now it's too low."
She moves it again.
"A little left."
Ava turns her head slowly. "Do you want to do this?"
"No. It's your turn."
"Then stop art-directing the crime."
Footsteps sound in the hall.
Ava's eyes widen.
"Go," you whisper.
She steps backward and disappears through the wall just as Bucky enters the kitchen.
He's changed into a clean shirt, though there's still flour dusting his hair.
You're standing beside the mixing bowl, stirring with exaggerated concentration.
Bucky looks at you. Then at his arm. Then back at you. "What did you do?"
You gasp. "Nothing."
"That was too fast."
"What was?"
"Your answer."
"I'm offended you'd accuse me after I've already apologized for assaulting you with flour."
"You didn't apologize."
"I expressed regret."
"You said you felt a little terrible."
"That's huge for me."
Bucky approaches the sink. His gaze lands on the magnet.
He stops.
You bite the inside of your cheek.
He picks up the arm.
GO BEARS! beams cheerfully up at him.
Bucky closes his eyes. "No."
You lean against the counter. "Something wrong?"
"You've got to be kidding me."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The magnets."
"What magnets?"
Bucky holds up the arm.
You squint at it. "Huh."
"'Huh'?"
"That's strange."
"You spilled flour on me."
"Accidentally."
"You made me take the arm off."
"I didn't make you do anything."
"You sent me out of the room."
"You had flour in your shirt."
"And while I was gone, you put this on it."
You glance at the magnet again. "Go Bears," you read. "Interesting."
Bucky points the arm at you. "It was you."
Your heart jumps. Not because he caught you. Because he didn't.
You slowly smile. "Is that your official guess?"
Bucky hesitates.
The rules come rushing back to him.
If he guesses correctly, the magnet comes off.
If he guesses wrong, it stays on his arm for the rest of the day.
His eyes sweep over you.
You've still got flour on your nose. You're standing beside the abandoned cake batter. Nobody else is visible.
Everything points directly at you.
Which is exactly why Ava picked the magnet.
Bucky's jaw tightens. "Yes," he says. "Official guess. You did it."
You press your lips together, savoring the moment.
Then you make a loud buzzer noise. "Wrong."
Bucky's expression goes blank.
From inside the wall, there's a muffled thump.
You cough to cover it.
Bucky's eyes shift toward the sound.
Ava emerges through the wall with her arms crossed. "It was me."
Bucky looks at her.
Then at the magnet.
Then at you.
"You spilled the flour to distract me."
You place a hand over your chest. "Ava acted alone."
"You hit my arm with half a cup of flour."
"Unrelated baking incident."
"You told me where the towels were."
"Hospitality."
"You stood there directing her."
Ava glances at you. "He heard that?"
"I have enhanced hearing," Bucky says.
You turn toward Ava. "We may need to revisit our whispering protocols."
Bucky exhales slowly through his nose. Then he attaches the arm. The cheerful GO BEARS! magnet sits proudly against the dark vibranium.
You grin. "Looks good."
"I hate all of you."
Ava walks past him and picks up her coffee from the counter. "You guessed wrong."
"I'm aware."
"So it stays until midnight."
"I remember the rule."
"No covering it," you add.
Bucky looks down at the sleeve of his clean shirt.
Then at you.
You point at him warningly. "Don't even think about it."
"This is my shirt."
"And that's a regulation violation waiting to happen."
"There are no regulations."
"There's a written charter."
"You wrote it on the back of a takeout menu."
"It's legally binding."
Bob wanders into the kitchen. He spots the magnet. His entire face lights up. "Ava did it?"
Ava takes a sip of coffee. "He guessed her."
Bob looks at you.
Then at Bucky.
Then back at the magnet. "Oh, no."
Bucky's eyes narrow. "Why do you sound happy?"
"I don't."
"You're smiling."
"I smile when I'm nervous."
Bucky slowly turns his head toward you.
You shrug. "It's catching."
John enters next, takes one look at Bucky's arm, and doubles over laughing.
Alexei hears him from the common room and comes running.
Yelena follows at a calm walk, already holding her phone.
Within thirty seconds, Bucky is surrounded.
"Go Bears!" John shouts.
"You don't even like the Bears," Bucky snaps.
"Today I do."
Alexei places both hands on Bucky's shoulders. "You look magnificent. Strong. Athletic. Midwestern."
"I'm from Brooklyn."
"Today, you are from Chicago."
Yelena takes a picture.
Bucky turns toward her. "Delete that."
"No."
"Yelena."
"It is for official committee records."
"There is no committee."
You step beside him and brush the remaining flour from his hair.
Bucky looks down at you, exasperation written into every line of his face. But he doesn't move away.
Your fingers linger near his temple. "You really thought we forgot?"
"I hoped."
"That was your first mistake."
"No," he says. "My first mistake was walking into this kitchen."
You smile sweetly. "Your first mistake was leaving your arm unsupervised."
Bucky leans closer, lowering his voice until the rest of the kitchen seems to blur around the edges. "You understand I'm getting you back for this."
Warmth slips through your chest. "Is that a threat?"
His metal hand comes down against the counter beside you, close enough that the vibranium brushes the fabric near your hip, trapping you between him and the counter without actually trapping you at all.
Your heart leaps anyway.
Bucky's eyes flick briefly toward your mouth. "A promise."
Behind you, John makes an exaggerated gagging noise.
The moment shatters.
Bucky doesn't look away from you.
He only lifts his metal hand from the counter and raises his middle finger toward the team.
Unfortunately, that puts the GO BEARS! magnet on full display.
The entire room erupts into laughter.
Bucky closes his eyes, looking like a man reconsidering every decision that led him here.
Tags/Warnings: dad's best friend!bucky, emotional smut, minor argument, ex-boyfriend is an asshole, oral (fem receiving), p in v, pet names, age gap (not super mentioned in the fic but implied), bucky is a little bit obsessed with reader, college!reader, bucky drops the L word
Summary:
Bucky Barnes was too old to be into his best friend’s daughter, but that never stopped him from hating every single boyfriend you’d ever brought home. In fact, hate was an understatement. He loathed them. When your boyfriend abandons you on the side of the road, Bucky finally shows you exactly why he hates your boyfriends so much.
Bucky Barnes was too old to be into his best friend’s daughter, but that never stopped him from hating every single boyfriend you’d ever brought home. In fact, hate was an understatement. He loathed them. Your dad couldn’t even fathom the vitriol Bucky seemed to harbor for every man interested in looking your direction, but he didn’t complain. Bucky kept shitty men away from his daughter. Why would he have a problem with that?
The unfortunate side effect of Bucky’s hatred was that boyfriends didn’t tend to stick around very long. And you weren’t going to admit this, but he always ended up being right about them. They were shitty men, but you wanted attention as much as the next girl, and that was hard to find sometimes.
All of this information played in the back of your mind as you watched the taillights of your boyfriend’s car speed out of the parking lot you had just been abandoned in. It was after midnight, and the area wasn’t necessarily a safe one. You weren’t even supposed to be in this fucking parking lot, and now you had no way of getting home unless you wanted to walk or call Bucky, which was out of the question.
Bucky would narc on your whereabouts as soon as he could, and you were not losing the rest of your summer because of a stupid boy. Though, it would be nice to see Bucky again. He’d been hanging around less and less since you’d come home from college, and it was beginning to feel personal. Maybe you could convince him to keep your secret for you. Either way, you needed a way out of this sketchy parking lot.
“Shit.” You murmured, rolling your eyes and stomping with a dramatic, over-the-top huff. Bucky would’ve laughed and called you a kid for doing it, but it felt right given the circumstances. This entire situation felt so embarrassing, and you hated to tell him he was right. You called him, nonetheless.
He picked up before the second ring could finish.
“Hey, doll. You okay?”
His voice, raspy with sleep, sent goosebumps skittering down your spine. Doll. You tried not to blush into the phone.
“Hi Buck,” you murmured, “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“It’s fine, doll. Where are you? I thought you were at the library with Brad. Chad? What was his name again?”
You snickered. He knew very well your now ex-boyfriend's name but couldn’t bring himself to say it. It didn’t matter now anyways.
“Yeah, about that,” you sighed. “We didn’t exactly go to the library. We got into a fight. I don’t know where he went, but he left.”
“Doll, where are you?”
His voice was much more alert now. You could hear him shuffling around in the background, probably looking for clothes to put on.
“I’m fine,” you reminded him, biting your lip. “I just need a ride home.”
“Tell me where you are, right now,” he demanded through gritted teeth, and because you were so good at listening to him, you did exactly that.
When Bucky pulled into the parking lot, he looked less angry than you were expecting. Worry painted his features, a stark contrast from the usual laid-back expression on his face. Worry faded into relief when he made eye contact with you. He was out of the car wrapping his arms around you faster than you could blink.
Your attention snagged on the grey sweatpants he was wearing, unable to keep your eyes from drifting down his tall figure.
“I’m gonna kill that guy,” Bucky mumbled into your hair, squeezing you against his chest. “He just left? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Buck. Thanks for picking me up.”
“Of course, Doll. Let’s get you home, okay?”
Bucky didn’t take you home. He took you to his home, which was much more preferable than trying to sneak into your dad’s house so late at night. The drive home had been quiet, likely due to the late hour, but also because Bucky was stewing in the driver’s seat. The longer he thought about your boyfriend abandoning you basically on the side of the road, the more upset he got.
What confused you the most was that his anger seemed to be directed mostly at you. It was as though having you safe and sound in his car made him more furious about the entire situation. He’d barely looked at you since getting in the car, and it was driving you insane.
When he pulled into his driveway, neither of you moved to get out of the car. He put the car in park, huffed, and then finally looked at you. He didn’t say anything, which made it all the more awkward for you.
When you couldn’t take it anymore, you said, “I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
He scoffed.
“How many times did I tell you he would hurt you?”
It was your turn to scoff.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you said.
You were lying through your teeth. It became his business as soon as you asked him for a ride so late at night, but you were too chicken to admit that out loud. His eyebrows shot into his hairline before he barked a laugh.
“None of my business? Doll, everything you do is my business. How many times have you come running to me when a boy hurts you? It’s Bucky’s job to pick up the pieces, but never to make you feel good, right? Is that it?”
“Oh, please,” you said, ignoring the spark of pleasure that shot through your body when he mentioned making you feel good. Claustrophobia overwhelmed you in the car. Being so close to Bucky’s handsome face and alluring scent launched your hormones into a frenzy every time you took a breath. He was everywhere and you couldn’t think straight. You shot out of the car, slamming the door behind you as you stomped away.
Bucky was right behind you, calling after you in a way that made your knees wobble. He gently closed his car door, sighing when he realized you were waiting for him by his front door.
“You’re right,” you mumbled, ignoring his searching stare as he unlocked the door and waved you forward. “It’s not fair to you, but you don’t have to say it like that.”
“Someone ought to,” he snapped. “Look at me.”
You turned away, purposely avoiding his gaze.
“Doll, look at me.”
He stepped in front of you, gently cradling your chin.
He whispered, “Look at me, please,” and because you were so good at listening to him, you did.
“Beautiful.”
He said it so quietly that you weren’t sure he meant for you to hear it. You froze under his watchful gaze, which flicked down to your lips and back up again.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” He breathed, caressing your cheek with his thumb.
You swallowed, nodding slowly. You wanted to stay a lot longer than one night.
“This is a bad idea,” he murmured, glancing at your lips again. “I can’t want this.”
Suddenly, he was halfway across the room, fists clenched at his side. The sudden absence of warmth sent a shiver through you. He was so hot and cold that it was getting hard to keep up.
“Buck-,” you started, but he was moving again, and then his lips were on yours.
He groaned into the kiss, a desperate noise that mirrored your own desire for him. His arms wrapped around your waist, ferociously tugging you against his chest. You moaned into his mouth as swiped his tongue over yours.
“I’ve wanted to do this-,” he said, before kissing you again, unable to keep away now that he tasted the forbidden fruit, “-the entire summer.”
You could tell that he meant it. He kissed you like he meant it.
“I know I should feel bad,” he said, lifting you so that you could wrap your legs around his waist, “but I don’t. This feels fucking amazing, doll.”
“Bucky,” you moaned, whimpering when he attached his lips to your neck, nibbling at a spot that sent heat directly to your core.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, breathing into the crook of your neck. “Tell me you want me too,” he begged, nearly whining.
You were glad he was holding you up because you would’ve fallen to your knees at the sound of his whine. He gripped your waist tightly, waiting for your answer. You pressed your lips against his, wondering why it took him so long to finally admit that there was something between the two of you.
“I want you, Bucky,” you murmured against his lips, “I’m all yours.”
He smirked. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said before slamming his lips against yours.
His bed was soft. You’d imagined lying in it a million times; underneath him, atop him, on all fours – but you’d never thought about how soft it would be. You’d removed your shirt halfway to his bedroom, throwing it in a random direction because you had to feel his skin against yours. He’d thrown you on the bed, tugging your pants down your legs in one smooth motion, and now he was standing at the end of the bed, watching you squirm beneath his gaze. His fingers lightly grazed your ankle, tickling.
“What is it?” You asked, crossing your arms over your exposed breasts.
“Don’t do that,” he chided, clicking his tongue. “Don’t hide. I want to see all of you.”
You slowly uncrossed your arms, exposing yourself to him. He sucked in a breath, slowly lowering his gaze from your face to your body.
“Can I touch you? Taste you? Fuck you?” He asked finally, and you nearly moaned at the rasp in his voice.
“Yes,” you moaned, “please.”
He didn’t waste any time, dropping his face to your core and swiping his tongue through your folds. You nearly bucked off the bed, but he held you down, groaning against you.
“Oh, fuck, Bucky,” you moaned, arching your back. “Don’t stop.”
His tongue was a glorious feeling against your skin, sucking and nibbling at your sensitive core. You’d never felt this good while getting head from anyone else, and you doubted you ever would again. He wound you up tighter and tighter until heat pounded in your core and you couldn’t remember which direction was up.
“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long, doll,” he murmured between licks, kissing your mound as you quivered beneath him.
“Please, Bucky,” you whined, heart pounding.
“Please what, baby?” He asked, tilting his head. He was teasing you, and you were putty in his hands.
“Please touch me. Please. I’m so close,” you mewled, squeezing your eyes closed. A desperate tear escaped as he teased you mercilessly.
“Since you asked so nicely, baby,” he said, finally swirling his tongue around your clit.
You exploded beneath him, gasping at the pleasure as it radiated through you. Wave after wave of your orgasm crested, relieving the pressure that had been building since the very first moment you’d seen Bucky in the parking lot earlier. You squirmed beneath him, grasping at the sheets before you finally wound your fingers in his hair, tugging.
“There you go, doll,” he murmured, coaxing you down from your high, running his fingers around your thighs in a soothing motion. “You’re so pretty when you come.”
You heaved, heart thundering in your chest. His cheek rested against your thigh, watching you come back to yourself. Slickness coated his chin, and you nearly came from the sight of him alone. His eyes, usually an icy blue, were dark oceans of desire, waiting patiently for a sign that you were ready for him.
“Fuck, Bucky,” you panted, “I should’ve called you a long time ago. That was insane.”
His eyes briefly darkened - the only indication that he was still upset with you for being so blind to his feelings – before he blinked it away, smirking.
“I’m not done with you just yet, doll,” he murmured, slowly inching his way up your exhausted body.
He trailed up your stomach, lightly pressing his lips to your soft skin and relishing the feeling with each kiss. When he made his way to your sternum, he paused, nuzzling his head to your chest.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he whispered, breath fanning across your exposed nipples, hardening them almost painfully. He hovered there for a moment, waiting for your consent again. “I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you.”
You hazily blinked, trying and failing to focus on his words when his mouth was so close to your breasts.
“Can I have you, doll?” He asked, a ghost of a whisper. “Will you let me have this part of you? Will it be enough to satiate the need I have for you?”
You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you or to himself, but you didn’t care. Heat was coiling in your gut once again. His words alone were enough to elicit a whine from your throat.
“Will you still look at me in the morning the way you’re looking at me now?” He asked, squeezing the flesh beneath his fingertips. “One night will never be enough, but I won’t complain if it means you’ll have me tonight.”
You whimpered, unable to voice the desire you felt for him. He was everything you’d ever wanted and more.
“You’re mine,” he murmured, licking his lips. “All mine, tonight.”
“Always, Buck,” you gasped, arching your back so that his lips were even closer to your chest. “I’m yours, always.”
A genuine smile crossed his face, so sweet and obvious in its joy that his next movement sent a shock through your entire system. His tongue flattened against your breast, drawing a tantalizing line from your nipple to your collar bone before he kissed your throat. The sudden contact from his warm mouth sent you over the edge for a second time, clawing at his back for more, more more.
Grunting, he slid into you mid-orgasm, eliciting a moan from deep in your chest. You’d never felt so full before, and you loved it. You arched your back, begging him to move. No more waiting or teasing. You needed him everywhere, and he was more than happy to oblige.
“Shit, baby,” he cooed, warm breath heating your neck, “you feel so good.”
His need for you was visceral and endless. He pounded into you with such passion that your body couldn’t do anything except hold on and enjoy the ride. He teased, and nipped, and laughed into your skin as your bodies came together, an act of vulnerability you had never experienced with anyone before.
Not to mention how much he talked during it. He sang praises against the column of your throat, calling you the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, claiming he didn’t deserve the attention you were giving him, wishing he could stay this close to you forever. His words were overwhelming and incredibly seductive, breathing life into you as he sent you crashing over the edge, a showcase of pure greed for your pleasure.
He kissed you like he’d never get to kiss you again, begging another and another and another off of you, worshipping the softness of your lips and the heat in your gaze. He couldn’t get enough, holding you against him so tightly when he came that you could feel it in your bones.
“Breathe, baby,” he cooed, peppering your cheeks with kisses as your mind reeled with pleasure. “My pretty, pretty girl.”
You didn’t think you’d ever come down from your high, but eventually you blinked and could see the ceiling again. Tears sprung from behind your eyes, another emotional release that you didn’t quite understand.
“That was so good,” you exclaimed, more tears escaping down your cheeks. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see you, Bucky.”
Bucky wiped the tears away, kissing the streaks they left behind.
“I’m not mad, doll,” he said simply, shaking his head.
“I’m an idiot,” you sniffled, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not an idiot,” he scoffed, and though he was smiling, you could tell he was serious. “Don’t worry about it, pretty girl. Just stay with me tonight, and we’ll figure everything else out tomorrow, okay?”
“Everything else?” You questioned, blinking away the last of the tears you’d shed.
He smirked, unable to hide his glee when he said, “I don’t know how I’m going to look your dad in the face after what we just did together. How do I tell him I’m in love with his daughter? He’s going to kill me.”
It was your turn to giggle as Bucky flopped onto his back, running his hand over his face in a pitiful manner. He hadn’t even realized what he’d said, which sent a shock of butterflies through your body. You decided to keep that little secret to yourself, enjoying the playfulness in his gaze.
“I think that’s a problem for tomorrow,” you commented, stifling another laugh.
“Too true,” he joked, shaking his head, “I’m way too old to be up this late.”
He gently tugged on your arm, pulling you toward him so that you were straddling his waist. He cradled your hips, running his fingertips along the skin he’d worshipped earlier.
“I have some bad news about that,” you murmured, leaning forward to kiss the crease that formed between his eyebrows. “I’m starving.”
He grinned, nipping at the skin beneath your collarbone.
“I have some bad news about that,” he repeated, smirking. A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes as he said, “I’m starving too,” and kissed you so sensually that heat sparked deep in your core again.
He grasped your hips tightly, grinding your sensitive mound against his already hard member.
“Oh,” you tutted, smirking, “I guess we can put off breakfast for a little longer.”
“You’re sure?” He questioned, arching an eyebrow at you.
“Oh, yes,” you assured him.
Bucky Barnes was too old to be into his best friend’s daughter, but that never stopped him from hating every single boyfriend you’d ever brought home. Every single boyfriend besides one – he sort of loved the last one for sending you in his direction, but he’d never admit that out loud.
D A D D Y ' S B E S T F R I E N D
[Bucky Barnes × F!Reader | Daddy’s Best Friend AU | Part 2/3]
❇ Official Pairing: Bucky Barnes × F!Reader
❇ Synopsis: Your dad must never find out that his best friend can’t take his eyes off you every time he walks by. Bucky Barnes still calls you “kid,” even though you’re twenty-five. But that night, the word won’t come out of his mouth. He looks at you as if he wants to tear you apart and put you back together, and you’re not sure you want him to stop anymore.
❇ Main Tropes: Daddy’s best friend · Huge age gap · “kid” (irony) · First time / loss of virginity · Breeding kink · Belly obsession · Sperm play · Possessive language · Guilt · Mutual desire · Gentle aftercare following intense sex · Forbidden relationship · Secret
⚠ This story contains highly explicit mature content (age gap, father’s best friend, MDNI, explicit scenes, forbidden relationship, guilt, first time, oral sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, belly obsession, gentle aftercare, plot-driven erotica) intended strictly for an adult audience (18+ / MDNI). Reader discretion is heavily advised.
I stumbled upon this, but I believe, if I'm not mistaken, that I was inspired by someone who, in turn, had been inspired by another person's request. If, by some miracle, this rings a bell for you, please let me know so I can cite my sources.
❇ Warnings & Tags: Bucky calls the reader “kid” (even though she's 25) · Gentle but naughty Bucky · Slightly spoiled Reader · Use of nicknames ("honey," "sweetheart," "baby") · No use of "yes/no" · Anxiety · Hurt/comfort
✧ Bucky's masterlist
Navigation: ← Previous Part | Next Part →
Join a Taglist: Leave a comment or send an ask to be added to my oneshots | series | all writing
❇❇❇
You climb the stairs as if each step weighed a ton.
Your legs are still shaking from what just happened in the kitchen. Your heart is pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears. Bucky’s promise still echoes in your head.
Those words keep playing on repeat, and your panties are completely soaked. You feel your juices running down your thigh with every step.
You finally make it to your bedroom and close the door behind you without turning on the light. The room is lit only by the moonlight filtering through the curtains. You lean back against the wood for a moment, eyes closed, trying to catch your breath. It’s not working. Your body is on fire. Your breasts feel heavy, and your rock-hard nipples rub against your tank top.
“Damn…” you murmur in a hoarse voice.
You take a few steps toward your bed and sit on the edge. Your hands tremble as you run them over your thighs. You slowly pull your shorts up, then slide your fingers under the waistband of your panties. As soon as you touch your pussy, you let out a muffled moan. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been. Your clitoris is swollen, extremely sensitive. You trace slow, small circles and close your eyes.
In your mind, it’s Bucky touching you.
You see his dark eyes again as he pinned you against the countertop. You see his huge hand gripping your throat. You remember his deep voice when he told you he was going to lick you until you screamed his name. Your fingers speed up. You slide two fingers between your wet lips and begin to push them in gently.
“James…” you whisper into the silence of the bedroom.
You fall back onto the mattress, legs spread wide. Your shorts and panties are pulled down to your knees. You thrust your fingers deeper, imagining that it’s his tongue devouring you. You remember how he rubbed his erection against you in the kitchen—huge, hard, almost menacing. You want that cock. You want it so badly it hurts.
“I need you… shit… I need you to fuck me… ”
Your words grow increasingly raw. You add a third finger and moan louder. The wet sound of your pussy fills the room. You lift your hips to finger yourself better, imagining Bucky on his knees between your legs, his powerful hands spreading your thighs as he sucks your clit like an animal.
You turn your head and bite the pillow to stifle a louder moan.You pull your fingers out for a moment and rub your swollen clitoris with the palm of your hand, using quick, firm strokes. Your back arches. You gasp.
“James… Damn it, James…”
You talk to yourself, your voice hoarse, almost pleading. You push your fingers inside again, this time more roughly. You imagine his beard rubbing against the inside of your thighs, his tongue penetrating you, his groans against your soaking wet pussy. You imagine his thick fingers taking his place, fucking you while he sucks your clit mercilessly.Your breasts jiggle with every hip thrust. You slide your free hand under your tank top and pinch your right nipple hard. The pain mixes with the pleasure. You moan his name over and over, louder and louder, unable to control yourself.
“Yes… just like that… eat me here… I’m yours… ”
You feel yourself about to come. Your stomach contracts violently. Your toes curl. You speed up the movement of your fingers, curling them to touch that precise spot that drives you wild. The image of Bucky looking you straight in the eyes while he devours you sends you over the edge.
Just before you come, you hold your breath.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway suddenly freezes you in place.
You remain motionless, your fingers still deeply buried in your throbbing pussy, your heart ready to explode. The footsteps stop in front of your door. You don’t move. You don’t even dare to breathe.
The footsteps resume and fade away toward Steve’s room. It was probably just him going to the bathroom.You close your eyes, feeling relieved and even more turned on. Your body is covered in sweat. Your pussy is dripping onto your sheets. You slowly pull your fingers out and bring them to your mouth. You suck on them, imagining they’re Bucky’s cock after he made you come.
“I’m going completely crazy…” you whisper, your voice trembling.
Your bedroom door opens without a sound. Bucky walks in and closes it behind him with a slow motion. He doesn’t say anything right away. He just stands there, in the dim light, watching you. You’re lying on your back, legs spread apart, your fingers still buried in your soaking wet pussy, your tank top pulled up over your breasts. Your breathing is ragged. You pull your fingers out suddenly, as if caught in the act.
“Damn… you couldn’t wait, could you?” he growls in a low, hoarse voice.
He crosses the room in three strides. His eyes are almost black. He grabs your ankles and yanks you roughly to the edge of the bed. Your back slides across the sheets. You let out a little cry of surprise. Bucky drops to his knees between your spread legs as if he were starving.
“I told you I was going to eat your until you cried. I stood at the kitchen door for ten minutes trying not to come up here. You won.”
He rips off your shorts and panties in one sharp motion. The fabric tears a little. He spreads your thighs so wide that your hips crack. His large hand presses down on your stomach to keep you pinned to the mattress. Without any foreplay, he plunges his mouth onto your pussy.
The first lick is intense. He runs his entire broad, warm tongue from your opening all the way to your swollen clit. You arch your back so hard you almost lift yourself off the bed. Bucky growls against your flesh, and the sound vibrates straight into your belly.
“Damn, you’re soaking wet. You’ve soaked your sheets thinking about me, you dirty little girl. ”
He closes his lips around your clit and sucks hard. Really hard. The sound is obscene, wet, almost embarrassing. You bring your hand to your mouth to stifle your moan. Steve is right next door. You can still hear his footsteps in the hallway from a few minutes ago. Bucky doesn’t give a damn. He sucks on your clit as if he wants to rip it off, his tongue swirling around it mercilessly.
You clench the sheets in your fists. Your thighs are already trembling.
“…Shit… my dad’s going to hear us…”
He barely lifts his head. His beard rubs against the sensitive inside of your thighs. His lips glisten with your juices.
“Then you’d better shut the hell up. Because I’m not going to stop until you’ve come at least three times on my tongue.”
He dives back in. This time he thrusts two thick fingers inside you all at once. He curves them immediately and attacks that precise spot that makes you see stars. His mouth never leaves your clit. He alternates between violent sucking and broad, flat licks that cover your entire pussy. The sound of his fingers fucking you is loud, wet, and steady.
You bite your forearm to keep from screaming. Your stomach is already clenching. He can tell you’re about to come, so he picks up the pace.
“That’s it. Come. Come on my fucking tongue like the little slut you are.”
The orgasm hits you like a truck. Your walls clamp down on his fingers so tightly that he groans. You come in silence, your mouth wide open, your eyes rolled back. Your juices drip down his chin and onto the edge of the bed. Bucky doesn’t slow down. He keeps licking you throughout your orgasm, sucking up every drop.
“One. ”
He pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his tongue. He pushes it deep inside you, swirling it around inside your throbbing pussy. His powerful hands hold your thighs spread so wide that you know you’ll have marks tomorrow. He growls like an animal as he devours you.
“You taste the hottest I’ve ever tasted. I could spend the whole night with my head between your legs.”
You gasp. Your body is still shaking with spasms. He moves his mouth back up to your hypersensitive clit and starts sucking on it again, more gently this time, almost cruelly. You shake your head.
“Bucky… it’s too much… I just…”
“Shut up.”
He slaps your right thigh hard. The pain immediately turns to pleasure. He thrusts three fingers inside you again, spreading them wide to open you up. His tongue hits your clit with quick, precise movements. You can already feel a second orgasm building, even stronger.
“Look at yourself. You’re squirting like a fountain all over my beard.”
His crude words drive you wild. You grab his hair with your free hand and pull on it. Bucky growls with pleasure and gets even rougher. He pumps his three fingers quickly while he sucks your clit relentlessly. The sound is wet, slapping, indecent.
You feel like you’re going to explode.
“I’m going to…, I’m going to come again…”
“Second time. Give it to me.”
You come harder this time. Your body tenses like a bow. A little cry escapes you despite yourself. Bucky immediately presses his big hand over your mouth to silence you. He keeps licking you while you shake violently, swallowing everything that comes out of you. Your legs thrash around his head.
When he finally removes his hand from your mouth, you’re breathing as if you’d just run a marathon.
“You’re making too much noise, kid. Steve’s going to come see what’s going on. Do you want him to see you like this? Legs spread wide, your pussy red and swollen, dripping onto my tongue?”
You shake your head. Bucky smiles against your skin. He’s relentless. He slides his forearms under your knees and bends you almost in half. Your hips are completely raised. He plunges in again, this time with even more force. His tongue, his lips, his teeth grazing you, his constant growls.
He devours you like a man who hasn’t touched a woman in years. For a long time. Brutally. Without a single pause. He alternates between slow, deep licks and quick, short sucks on your tormented clitoris. His fingers return again and again, fucking you deeply, curved, rubbing that spot that drives you wild.
“Third time. I want you to cry.”
You feel tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. The pleasure is so intense it’s almost painful. Your clit is so sensitive that every stroke of his tongue makes you jump. Bucky notices this and takes advantage of it. He sucks your clit between his lips and gently tugs on it while looking you straight in the eyes.
“Look at me while I tear your pussy apart with my mouth.”
You come a third time. This time it’s too much. A sob escapes you. Your tears stream down your face. Your body convulses. Bucky presses his hand over your mouth again as you scream his name into his palm. He drinks it all. He licks it all. He keeps going even after the orgasm has passed, keeping you in this delicious torture until you beg.
“James… please… it’s too much… I can’t take it anymore…”
He finally lifts his head. His beard and chin are completely soaked with you. His eyes are wild. He looks at you as if he wants to devour you whole.
“I’m not done yet. I promised to make you cry. And I always keep my promises.”
He dives back in without giving you time to catch your breath.
You’ve barely come down from your third orgasm when you hear the stairs creaking. Bucky looks up from between your thighs, his mouth and beard glistening with your juices. His eyes meet yours. He recognizes the sound immediately. Steve is coming up to bed. His footsteps are slow and heavy, as if he’s taking his time.
“Shit, he’s coming,” Bucky growls in a low, tense voice. “Don’t make a sound. You’re going to come quietly now.”
Before you can answer, his large hand slaps down hard over your mouth. His fingers cover your lips and part of your nose. His palm is broad, warm, merciless. He presses down just hard enough for you to understand that you’re no longer allowed to make a single sound. His gaze is dark, almost menacing.
“You begged me to eat your pussy all night long. Now you’ve got to deal with the consequences. Steve is three meters away, and I’m going to make you come again. Several times. ”
Steve’s footsteps are getting closer in the hallway. Bucky doesn’t waste a second. He dives back between your spread legs and runs his broad, flat tongue all over your soaking wet pussy. The sensation is electric after your previous orgasms. Your clit is swollen, hypersensitive. You arch your back, but his hand over your mouth turns your scream into a muffled moan that vibrates against his palm.
“Shh, damn it,” he whispers against your skin without stopping. “Can you feel how wet you still are? Your pussy gives it all away.”
You shake your head frantically. Fear and excitement swirl together in your stomach. Steve is right behind the door now. You hear the floorboards creak beneath his feet. Bucky thrusts two thick fingers inside you in one sharp motion while sucking your clitoris between his lips. He sucks hard, mercilessly, while his fingers fuck you deep, pressing against your G-spot.
Your whole body is trembling. You try to breathe through your nose, but his hand presses down harder. An orgasm is already building, fast and intense. You dig your nails into his forearm. Bucky growls against your pussy, and the sound vibrates right into your stomach.
“That’s it. Come on my tongue while your father walks down the hall. I can feel your pussy squeezing my fingers like a whore. Come on, give me the fourth one.”
You come. Hard. Your back arches violently and your legs clamp shut around his head. The scream that escapes your throat is completely muffled by his hand. It turns into a long, hoarse, desperate moan against his palm. Bucky doesn’t slow down. He keeps pumping his fingers and sucking your clit while you convulse. Your juices flow freely down his chin and onto the sheets.
Steve stops right in front of your door. You can hear him clearly. He seems to be looking for something in his pocket. Your heart is pounding so hard you feel like he’s going to hear it. Bucky barely lifts his head, just enough to whisper:
“Look at yourself. You keep coming like a fountain even though he’s right there. You really have no shame. I’m going to make you come one more time before he goes into his room.”
He pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his tongue, which he pushes deep inside you. He swirls it around as if he wants to fuck you with it. His free hand holds your thigh apart so tightly that his fingers will leave bruises. With his other hand still pressed against your mouth, he prevents you from breathing properly. You gasp through your nose, your eyes filled with tears.
“Breathe through your nose and come again. I want to feel your pussy throbbing on my tongue. You’re mine tonight.”
The footsteps resume. Steve enters his room right next door. The door closes with a quiet click. Bucky immediately takes advantage of this moment to get even rougher. He moves his mouth back up to your clitoris and sucks on it with quick, short strokes while thrusting three fingers inside you this time. The stretching is intense. You feel your walls parting around him.
You moan loudly against his hand. The sound is muffled but still audible in the room. Bucky squeezes harder, almost to the point of hurting you.
“Shut the hell up. Do you want him to come back? Do you want him to open that door and see you with your legs spread over my face? Because I’m not going to stop. I’ll keep eating you out until you cry.”
Your fifth orgasm hits without warning. It’s more powerful than the previous ones. Your stomach contracts so hard you feel like you’re breaking. Your eyes roll back. You scream into his hand—a long, primal scream, completely muffled. Bucky growls with satisfaction and swallows everything that comes out of you. He licks, sucks, and gently nibbles your hypersensitive clitoris without ever removing his hand from your mouth.
“Five. You’re crying now. Just like I promised. Your tears are running down my fingers. You’re beautiful like this.”
He finally pulls his hand out of your mouth for three seconds. You take a deep breath. Your lips are swollen and red. Before you can speak, he roughly flips you onto your stomach. He pulls your hips up so you’re on all fours, your face buried in the pillow.
“Steve’s in his room, but he’s not asleep yet. We’re going to keep going like this. I want a sixth. And you’re going to take it in silence.”
He spreads your butt cheeks with both hands and plunges his tongue straight into your asshole this time. You flinch violently. No one had ever touched you there before. Bucky growls and then moves back up toward your dripping pussy. He alternates between your clit and the inside of your slit, lapping up everything that’s flowing out.
“Damn, you’re wet all the way down to your knees. You really love taking risks, don’t you? Say it. Tell me you love it when I eat you .”
You whisper in a hoarse voice, still out of breath:
“I love this, I’m going crazy… he’s going to hear us…”
“Louder. I want to hear you say it while I lick you.”
He slides two fingers into your pussy and starts pumping them quickly while his tongue works on your clit. You manage to say between gasps:
“I love it when you eat my pussy … I’m such a slut… I’m going to come again…”
Bucky picks up the pace. His fingers make a wet, obscene slapping sound inside your soaking wet pussy. He slaps your right butt cheek with the flat of his free hand.
“Say it again. Tell me who this pussy belongs to now.”
“To you… it’s yours…”
The words come out almost too loudly. Bucky presses his hand over your mouth again from behind, smashing your face into the pillow. He fucks you harder with his fingers while sucking your clit mercilessly. Your sixth orgasm hits you like a wave. You scream into his palm. Your body shakes violently. Your legs almost give out. Bucky holds you in place, continuing to stimulate you throughout the orgasm.
“Six. You’re completely spent, and we haven’t even fucked yet. ”
He pulls his fingers out and rolls you back onto your back again. Your body is covered in sweat. Your hair is stuck to your forehead. Tears have streamed down your cheeks. Bucky looks at you with animalistic hunger. He runs his tongue over his lips, still savoring your taste.
“We’re not done yet. I want one more seventh from you. Steve just turned off his bedside lamp. We’re going to take it slow this time. Very slowly. But you’re still going to come. And my hand stays over your mouth. ”
He spreads your trembling thighs and returns his mouth to your pussy. This time his movements are slower, deeper, almost languid. His tongue traces wide circles around your clitoris before moving down to lick the inside of your labia. His hand presses back against your mouth, less firmly this time, but still there.
“Breathe through your nose. Feel how I possess you completely. Every time you come, you become a little more mine…”
You moan long and hard against his palm. The pleasure is almost unbearable now. Your clitoris is so sensitive that every stroke of his tongue makes you jump. Bucky takes his time. He looks you straight in the eyes as he licks you. His fingers gently slide back inside you just two of them but he curves them perfectly.
“Look at me. Look at who’s making you come like this.”
You feel your seventh orgasm slowly building, like a distant wave growing stronger. Bucky continues to whisper, his voice hoarse and full of desire:
“That’s it… let it come. Come for me one last time before I let you catch your breath. Your pussy is so hot and wet. I could spend hours like this. I’m so hard it hurts, but tonight it’s your pussy that matters.”
When the orgasm hits, it’s different. Deeper, longer. Your whole body trembles. Your insides squeeze his fingers rhythmically. You’re really crying now; tears stream down his fingers pressed against your mouth. Bucky swallows it all, groaning with satisfaction against your flesh.
“Seven. You kept your promise. You cried just like I wanted you to. ”
He finally pulls his hand away from your mouth. You take a deep breath, your body completely limp, exhausted, sticky with sweat and your own juices. Bucky moves up your body and kisses you for the first time. You taste yourself on his tongue. He whispers against your lips:
“Steve’s asleep now. But we’re not done yet. Rest for two minutes. Then I’m going to fuck you. And this time, I won’t stop until morning.”
You lie there, breathless, your legs still trembling, while Bucky slowly caresses the inside of your thigh. The tension is still there. And you already know you won’t say no.
You were still lying on your back, your body trembling, your pussy red and swollen after the seven orgasms Bucky had just wrung from you with his mouth. Your breath was ragged, your cheeks wet with tears. The house was silent, but your heart was pounding like a drum. You watched Bucky as he sat up between your legs, his beard glistening with your juices, his dark gaze fixed on you.
“James… I beg you… fuck me now.”
He didn’t move right away. He remained on his knees, shirtless, his pants still zipped up but with a huge bulge straining against the fabric. His hand slid slowly down your trembling thigh, spreading your legs a little wider.
“Do you know what you’re asking me to do?” he said in a low, almost gravelly voice. “Look me in the eyes. If I take out my cock and penetrate you, it’s over. Do you understand that? ”
You nodded quickly, your body burning with desire. Your pussy throbbed, still tight from the previous orgasms.
“I don’t care… I want your cock. I need you to fill me up. Please… fuck me. Destroy me.”
He leaned over you, one hand on either side of your head. His face was just a few centimeters from yours. You could taste yourself on his breath.
“I’m serious. If I start fucking you, I’m not going to stop after just one round. I’m going to take you all night long. I’m going to fuck you in every position until your pussy is completely wrecked. You won’t be able to walk tomorrow. You won’t be able to look your father in the face without thinking about my cock that tore you open. Is that what you want? ”
His voice was tense, almost threatening. His eyes never left yours. You felt a violent shiver run through you. Your hand slid down of its own accord between your two bodies, and you grabbed the belt of his pants.
“Yes… that’s exactly what I want. I want you to ruin me. I’m begging you.”
He grabbed your wrist and pinned your hand above your head with a sharp movement. His body pressed down on yours. You could feel his massive erection pressing against your bare pussy, separated only by the fabric of his pants.
“Last warning. Once I’ve penetrated you, you’ll be mine. Not just tonight. Not just this week. Mine. Whenever I want to fuck you, you’ll spread your legs. Even if Steve’s in the next room. Even if he’s in the house. You’re becoming my very own little slut. Say it.”
You were panting beneath him. Your clit was rubbing against the hard bulge in his pants, and it was driving you crazy. You lifted your hips to grind against him like a bitch in heat.
“I’m becoming your slut… I’m yours. Fuck me. Shove your cock inside me. I can’t wait any longer.”
Bucky growled. He gripped your wrist tighter. His jaw was clenched. You could see the struggle in his eyes. He was still trying to give you one last chance to back out.
“You don’t get it. It’s thick. Once I’m deep inside your pussy, I’m not coming out. I’m going to pound you until you’re crying again. You’re going to come all over my dick . And then I’ll flip you over, take you from behind, pull your hair, and fill you up. Are you ready to betray your father like this? To become a real little slut for me?”
You had tears in your eyes, the desire was so strong. You moved your hips in circles, desperately trying to feel more friction against your swollen pussy.
“Yes! I’m ready!”
Bucky closed his eyes for a second, breathing heavily. When he opened them again, something had changed. The last line of defense had just crumbled. He let go of your wrist and slid his hand down between your bodies. You heard the sound of his belt as he unbuckled it, then the zipper of his fly.
“You asked for this. Remember this moment. This is the point of no return. ”
He pulled his pants down just enough to free his cock. The enormous member slapped against your stomach. It was heavy, veiny, the head swollen and already glistening with pre-cum. Your eyes widened as you saw it up close for the first time.
“Oh my God… it’s even bigger than I thought… ”
“And it’s going to go all the way inside you,” he replied in a hoarse voice. “Last chance to say no. Because in ten seconds I’m going to impale you, and after that I won’t stop until I’ve emptied my balls deep inside your pussy at least three times.”
You grabbed the back of his neck with both hands and pulled his face toward you. Your lips brushed against his as you spoke in a pleading, broken voice:
“Shove it in. Tear me apart. I want to feel you deep inside my belly. Fuck me like I’m your property. I’m yours, Bucky. Take me. Make me scream into the pillow.”
Bucky growled like an animal. He grabbed his thick cock at the base and rubbed the thick head between your soaking wet lips, up and down, tapping your hypersensitive clit several times. Every touch made you jump.
“You’re soaking wet like a real slut. Look how your pussy is already trying to swallow me up. Are you sure? Are you really sure? Because once I’m inside, I won’t be coming out for hours.”
“Yes… I’m sure… stop talking and fuck me. Shove it in. I want to feel every bit of it. Every centimeter. Pound my pussy. Please… please, Bucky… I’m going crazy… ”
He positioned the tip of his cock right at the entrance to your hole. You felt the immense pressure against your little opening. He looked you straight in the eyes, his face tense, his voice low and deep:
“All right. You asked for it.”
Bucky pushed slowly. His thick cockhead forced its way into your pussy, which was already soaking wet yet still tight despite all the orgasms he’d wrung from you. You immediately felt the brutal stretching. Your mouth opened wide, but no sound came out. He held your gaze captive in his.
“Breathe. Look at me. You’re going to take it all. Every fucking centimeter.”
He pushed in further. Two more centimeters. Your pussy opened around him like a clenched fist. The sensation was almost unbearable—a mixture of burning and pleasure so intense that your eyes filled with tears again. Bucky growled, his jaw clenched.
“Damn… your pussy is so tight. It’s trying to push me out and at the same time it’s sucking me in. Can you feel how I’m opening you up?”
He pressed his large right hand against your stomach, just below your belly button, and kept pushing. Another three centimeters disappeared inside you. You gasped loudly, your nails digging into his forearms. The pressure of his palm against your stomach made everything more intense, as if he could feel for himself the path he was carving inside your body.
“Yes… right there… I can feel my glans pushing against your walls. Look at my hand. When I’m all the way inside you, you’ll see your belly rise with every thrust. ”
He gave a sharper thrust with his hips. Half of his cock was now inside you. You felt your labia completely spread apart, stretched to the limit around his thickness. Bucky was breathing through his mouth, his eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies met.
“A few more centimeters and I’ll hit the bottom. You’re going to take my whole cock tonight. No half-measures. No gentleness. I warned you.”
You begged in a broken, almost sobbing voice:
“Deeper… push it all the way in… I want to feel you inside my belly… please… ”
He pressed harder on your stomach with his palm, as if to hold you in place, and thrust deeply and continuously. The rest of his cock slid brutally all the way in. You felt his thick glans slam violently against your cervix. A hoarse scream escaped you. Bucky immediately clamped his other hand over your mouth.
“Shh. Your dad’s sleeping right there. Take my whole cock like a big girl. Feel it.”
He stayed still for a moment, buried deep inside you. His hand pressed against your stomach, gently caressing it. You could clearly feel the hard bulge beneath his palm, the shape of his cock distorting your stomach from the inside. Bucky smiled darkly, looking satisfied.
“See that? My cock is so deep it’s pushing your skin up. I’m completely buried in your pussy. That’s where I belong now.”
He began to move. Slow, deep, controlled thrusts. Each withdrawal left your pussy gaping for a moment before he plunged back in all the way. The sound was obscene: a wet, steady slapping every time his balls hit your ass.
“Can you feel how full I’m making you? Every time I push in, I hit your uterus. That’s where I’m going to cum. Right inside it. ”
You moaned against his hand, your eyes rolled back. The sensation was indescribable. His cock was so big it rubbed against every nerve ending inside you. His palm remained firmly pressed against your stomach, intensifying the pressure with every thrust.
“… it’s too big… I’m going to come again…”
“Already?” he growled with a cruel smile. “We’ve barely even started. I’m going to make you come on my cock until you can’t speak anymore. And then I’m going to fill you up.”
He picked up the pace slightly while maintaining maximum depth. His hand on your stomach moved a little lower, just above your pubic bone, and he pressed harder. The sensation became even more intense. You could almost see the shape of his glans pushing against your skin with every thrust.
“I’m going to get you pregnant tonight. Do you hear me? I’m going to unload every drop from my balls deep inside your womb. Your pussy is going to drink all my cum…”
The crude words made you clench violently around him. Bucky groaned with pleasure.
“Oh yeah… squeeze me like that. Your pussy loves the idea of me getting you pregnant, doesn’t it? Say it. Tell me you want me to fill you up until you’re carrying my baby.”
Bucky pulled his hand away from your mouth and grabbed your right leg, lifting it high, almost up to your chest. The new position allowed him to enter you even deeper. His hand immediately returned to press against your stomach, as if he wanted to feel his own member through your abdominal wall.
“Look at my hand. Feel how I’m tearing through your womb. I’m going to impregnate you tonight. ”
Every thrust was now powerful, precise, brutal. The bed was banging softly against the wall. You both knew Steve could hear it if he woke up, but neither of you stopped. Bucky pounded you relentlessly, his hand still pressed against your stomach.
“Feel that bulge? That’s my cock claiming your pussy. From now on, this pussy belongs to me. I’m going to fuck you every day. I’m going to fill you up every day until you’re pregnant with my baby.”
You suddenly came, without warning. Your body arched violently. Your pussy clenched around his cock in powerful, prolonged spasms. Bucky groaned but didn’t slow down. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, his hand pressing even harder against your stomach to prolong the sensation.
“That’s it… come on my cock. Squeeze it. Milk it. It’s going to give you all its cum soon. I’m going to flood your pussy.”
Your orgasm lasted a long time, almost painful because it was so intense. When he finally finished, Bucky rolled you slightly onto your side without pulling out of you, one leg still raised. He resumed his deep thrusts while keeping his hand on your stomach.
“We’re not done yet. I want two more orgasms before I come. And when I come… you’re going to take it all. Every last drop. I’m going to breed you like a little bitch.”
He picked up the pace. The room was filled with the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaking wet pussy, your ragged breathing, and his hoarse groans. His hand never left your stomach. He felt around, pressed down, sensing exactly where he was inside you.
“Say my name when you come this time. I want to hear you scream my name while I make you pregnant.”
You were gasping, completely lost in pleasure. Your voice was hoarse and broken:
“James… harder… I’m yours… fill me… get me pregnant… I want to feel your hot cum deep inside… ”
He growled with satisfaction and shifted the angle of his hips slightly. His glans was now hitting a specific, sensitive spot with every thrust. You felt a new orgasm building very quickly.
“I’m going to give you everything. My balls are heavy with cum for you. I’m going to pump all my cum right into your womb. You’re going to leave here full of me.”
You came a second time, even harder. This time, you muffled your scream with your own hand. Bucky kept pounding you mercilessly, his palm still pressed against your stomach, feeling every contraction of your pussy around his cock.
“Second one. You’re milking me so hard I won’t last much longer. But I want a third one before I fill you up. Come on. Give me another one.”
He put you back in the missionary position, both your legs on his shoulders this time. The position was extremely deep. His cock was touching places no one had ever reached before. His hand pressed down on your stomach again, lower this time, almost at your pubic bone.
“Look. I’m so deep inside you that my cock is pushing your stomach out with every thrust. This is where I’m going to come. Right here. Inside your womb. You’re going to feel every spurt.”
The next few minutes were a succession of brutal thrusts, crude words, and extreme sensations. Bucky alternated between long sentences and animalistic growls while keeping you open and exposed.
“This pussy is made for my cock. Starting tonight, I’m the one who owns you. I’m going to fuck you in their bed if I want to. I’m going to fill you up every morning . You’re going to feel my cum dripping out all day long while you think about me.”
You came a third time, your body shaken by violent spasms. This time you screamed his name without being able to hold back:
“Jmaes! Fuck… !”
He growled loudly, his rhythm becoming erratic. His hand pressed so hard against your stomach that you could clearly feel the shape of his cock throbbing inside you.
“I’m going to come. I’m going to fill you up. Take it all. Take my cum. I’m going to get you pregnant tonight.”
His body tensed. You felt his cock swell even more inside you. The first spurt of hot cum hit your cervix directly. Bucky growled long and hard, his teeth clenched, while continuing to thrust deep and hard to drive his seed as far inside you as possible.
He continued to come for several long seconds, ejaculating copiously inside you. You could feel every pulse, every thick spurt filling your belly. His hand remained pressed against your belly as if to keep the semen inside.
When he finally finished, he remained buried deep inside you, panting. His hand was now slowly caressing your belly, almost tenderly, as if he were already imagining what might happen there.
“You’re full. Completely full of me. And this is just the beginning. I won’t leave this room until I’ve emptied my balls inside you at least three more times tonight.”
He leaned in, kissed you roughly, then whispered against your lips:
“There’s no turning back now. You’re mine now.”
Bucky remained buried deep inside you for several long seconds, his cock still throbbing after the first load. Your belly was already heavy with his cum. You were gasping for breath, your body covered in sweat, your pussy clenched around his thick shaft. He was staring at you with eyes that were completely black, as if he’d lost all reason. His hand was still pressed against your stomach, feeling the bulge his cock made.
“I can’t stop now. I warned you. Now I’m going to destroy you. Turn around. Get on all fours. Right now. ”
You obeyed without thinking, your legs trembling. You got down on all fours on the bed, your elbows dug into the mattress, your ass raised toward him. Bucky positioned himself immediately behind you. He didn’t even take the time to caress you. He grabbed your hips forcefully and thrust his entire cock in one brutal stroke all the way to the hilt.
“Fuck, yes… that’s how I want to take you right now. Look how your pussy swallows it all. It’s made for that. To be filled by me.”
The slap of his hips against your buttocks echoed through the room. He wasn’t even trying to be quiet anymore. His thrusts were hard, deep, and repeated. Every time he thrust all the way in, his balls would slap against your swollen clit. You bit down on the pillow to stifle your moans, but it was getting harder and harder.
“Bucky… too hard… my dad’s going to hear us…”
“I don’t care. I want your pussy completely wrecked. I’m going to fill you up again. And again. And again. Until you’re brimming with my cum. You’re going to carry my baby. It’s decided. ”
He picked up the pace. His hands gripped your hips so tightly that his fingers dug into your flesh. The bed was now banging against the wall in a steady, loud rhythm. Bucky growled like an animal with every thrust. His cock slid in and out of your soaking wet pussy with a wet, obscene slapping sound.
“Feel how deep I am. I’m hitting your uterus every time. That’s where I’m going to cum. Right inside. I’m going to mark you. Fill you up. Get you pregnant tonight. Your pussy will be good for nothing else. Just for taking my seed.”
You suddenly came, violently, the walls of your pussy clamping down on his cock like a vise. Bucky didn’t slow down. He kept pounding you through your orgasm, even harder.
“That’s it. Come. Milk my cock. I’m going to give you all my cum. Take it. Take it all. I’m going to breed you like a bitch. ”
He thrust several times particularly deep, then pressed himself against your buttocks. You felt his cock swell inside you. The first powerful jet of hot cum hit your cervix. Bucky growled loudly, making no effort to hold back.
“Fuck… I’m coming… I’m filling you up… take my seed… I’m getting you pregnant…”
He kept coming for a long time, in thick, heavy spurts. You could feel your belly filling up. When he was done, he didn’t pull out. He stayed buried inside you and started moving slowly again, spreading his cum inside your pussy.
“I’m not pulling out. I’m staying inside you. I’m going to fuck you again with my cock full of cum. You’re mine. Completely mine. This pussy is mine now. ”
He picked up a steady rhythm. The cum from his first load was flowing around his cock with every thrust, making everything even slipperier and noisier. Your moans were getting louder and louder. You couldn’t hold them back anymore.
“… I beg you… harder… fill me up again…”
“You’re already asking for more? You dirty little whore. You want me to get you pregnant, don’t you? Say it. Say it loud.”
“Yes! Get me pregnant! Fill me up! I want your cum! I want to carry your baby!”
Bucky growled with satisfaction and shifted his angle slightly so that his cockhead would slam even harder against your cervix. He was now fucking you with an almost disturbing intensity. His hands slid over your sweat-soaked back, yanked your hair, and slapped your ass.
“I’m going to mark you from the inside. Every drop of cum I’m going to put inside you tonight is going to stay inside you. I’m going to fill you up five times. Six times. As many times as it takes to get you pregnant. Your pussy is going to overflow with me.”
The second orgasm came quickly. You screamed into the pillow. Bucky kept going without slowing down, repeating the same crude phrases over and over, as if he were possessed.
“I’m going to fill you up. I’m going to get you pregnant. This pussy is mine. I’m going to breed you. You’re going to feel my cum dripping out of you for days. I own you. Completely. ”
He came a second time, even more profusely. You felt the powerful spurts hitting deep inside you. He growled loudly—almost a roar—pressing himself against your buttocks so that not a single drop would be wasted.
“Second load. Feel how I’m drowning you. Your womb is drinking up all my cum. You’re going to be full. So full of me. ”
He stayed inside you once more without pulling out. His cock remained hard, throbbing inside your overflowing pussy. The cum was starting to flow freely down your thighs. Bucky slid a hand between your legs and smeared the mixture over your clit while continuing to thrust deep inside you.
“Look at all that’s flowing out. That’s me. That’s my mark. And I’m not done. Not by a long shot.”
He pulled you down onto the bed, pinned you face-down, and continued fucking you in reverse missionary for several minutes, just as brutally as before. Then he lifted you up onto all fours and started again. The cycle repeated itself. He pounded you, talking nonstop about filling you up, making you pregnant, marking you, came copiously inside you, stayed inside, and started right back up.
With each new orgasm, his words became more obsessive.
“You’re my breeding bitch now. I’m going to keep you full all the time. Every morning I’ll come and fill you up before Steve wakes up. You’re going to smell my cum all day long while you’re running errands, while you’re talking to him. You’ll be full of me.”
You were getting louder and louder. The bed was banging against the wall. Bucky was growling loudly. You were moaning, unable to hold back any longer. The room smelled of sex, sweat, and cum.
Suddenly, you heard a noise coming from Steve’s room. The floorboards creaked. His bedroom door swung open.
Bucky froze for a moment, still buried deep inside your pussy. Your heart stopped. You were both sweaty, breathing heavily. Steve was walking down the hallway. He was going to the bathroom.
“James… stop… he’s right there…” you whispered in a panicked voice.
Bucky pressed a hand over your mouth and started moving again. Slowly, but deeply. His cock slid in and out of your cum-filled pussy with a wet sound that was impossible to hide.
“I won’t stop. Even if he opens that door. I’m going to keep filling you up.”
Steve’s footsteps echoed down the hallway. He was less than two meters away. Bucky picked up the pace slightly, his hand still over your mouth. With his other hand, he pressed against your stomach to feel his cock through your skin.
“Can you feel how your pussy keeps milking me even when you’re scared? You’re soaking wet. You love the risk…”
Steve walked into the restroom. The door closed. Bucky removed his hand from your mouth and grabbed both your wrists, pulling them back like reins while pounding into you violently.
“Now you’re going to come again. And you’re going to do it in silence. But I’m going to talk to you. I’m going to tell you exactly what I’m doing to your pussy.”
He was now fucking you with obsessive fury. Every thrust was meant to leave its mark on you. His balls slapped against your pussy, still dripping from his two previous loads.
“I’m filling you up for the third time. I’m going to cum even more than the first two times. Your belly is going to be so full that you’ll feel like you’re pregnant by tonight. I’m going to put my baby inside you. You’re going to swell up with my cum.”
You came, your face buried in the mattress to stifle your cry. Bucky kept going without slowing down, his voice hoarse and low but perfectly audible.
“Take it. Take my third load. I’m marking you. I own you. This pussy will never be the same after tonight. It’ll hold the shape of my cock. It’ll hold my scent. ”
He came with a long, low growl. You felt the powerful spurts—almost painful, they were so intense. He stayed pressed against you, slowly grinding his hips to push the cum as deep inside you as possible.
“Three. You’re officially full. But I’m not stopping. Turn around. We’re going to spoon. I want to hold you close while I fuck you some more.”
He finally pulled out. A thick stream of cum flowed from your pussy onto the sheets. Bucky lay down behind you and pulled you against him. He slipped one arm under your head, the other around your waist, and lifted your right leg. His cock immediately found the entrance and sank deep inside you again with a wet sound.
The position was extremely intimate. He was pressed against your back, his mouth against your ear. He started moving again, slowly but deeply, pressed tightly against you as if he wanted to merge with your body.
“Just like that. I want to feel you completely pressed against me while I fill you up again. Can you feel my cum flowing between us? I’m the one who did this to you. And I’m going to give you more.”
His thrusts were now smoother, more controlled, but just as deep. His free hand slid down to your stomach and pressed hard.
“I can feel my cock through your stomach. I’m so deep inside you. That’s where I’m going to come for the fourth time. Right into your womb. You’re going to be so full that you won’t be able to close your legs without my cum leaking out.”
Steve flushed the toilet. The sound of the water momentarily drowned out your heavy breathing. Bucky took the opportunity to pick up the pace and speak louder into your ear.
He came a fourth time, clenching his teeth, his face buried in your neck. You felt the powerful contractions of his cock as it expelled even more cum. Your belly was so full it was almost painful. Yet you came too, shaken by spasms, your pussy pulsing around him.
Bucky didn’t stop. He kept moving slowly in the spooning position, his cock still hard, bathed in all the accumulated cum.
He started to pick up the pace again. The tight spooning position made every movement extremely intimate and deep. His hand never left your belly. He caressed it, pressed against it, as if he already wanted to feel a baby.
The next few minutes were a long sequence of slow, deep thrusts, obsessive dirty talk repeated over and over, and grunts and moans you could no longer control.
Steve went back to his room. The door closed. Bucky whispered in your ear, his voice hoarse with desire:
“He’s gone back to bed. And I’m still filling you up. Fifth load coming. Open your pussy wide. Take all my cum. I’m going to make you a baby tonight.”
He came a fifth time, long and hard, holding you so tightly against him that you felt like he was going to break you. Cum was now spilling out everywhere. The sheet beneath you was soaked.
Hours had passed. The room was plunged into deep darkness, lit only by the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. The bed was a complete mess, the sheets soaked with sweat, pussy juice, and several loads of cum. Your body was still trembling from the repeated orgasms. Bucky had fucked you relentlessly for over four hours, moving from one position to the next with unflagging intensity. Your pussy was red, swollen, and dripping. Cum flowed nonstop down your thighs, forming a large stain beneath your buttocks.
He gently rolled you onto your back. This time, he wasn’t rough. Bucky positioned himself between your spread legs, his massive body hovering over yours. His cock, still hard despite all the times he’d come, pressed against your soaking wet entrance. He looked you straight in the eyes. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His breathing was heavy and raspy.
“Look at me. Don’t close your eyes. I want to see you while I take you this time.”
You nodded, exhausted, your voice hoarse from moaning too much.
“I can’t take it anymore… I’m completely drained… but I still want to feel you…”
He pushed slowly. His thick cock parted your sensitive lips and slid all the way in with a wet, obscene sound. The cum from the five previous loads made entry easier, but your pussy remained tight around him. Bucky placed his large right hand flat on your stomach, just like before. His eyes never left yours.
“Can you feel that? My cock is deep inside you again. After everything we’ve done tonight, your pussy keeps squeezing me as if it wants to keep me forever. I can’t stop now. It’s over. You’re mine.”
He began to move. Slow, deep, almost lazy thrusts but so intense that each stroke rubbed against every sensitive part of you. His hand gently pressed against your stomach every time he thrust in, as if he wanted to feel his own cock through your skin. The sound was constant: a slow, wet squelch with every withdrawal and every thrust.
“Look me in the eyes while I fuck you. I want you to see who this pussy belongs to now. ”
You gasped, your hands clenched around his forearms. Your legs trembled around his hips. The exhaustion was overwhelming, but the pleasure remained intense, almost painful, given how much your pussy had been stretched for hours.
“… I’m yours… I can feel it… your cock is so deep… I’ve been full of your cum since earlier…”
He barely quickened the pace, maintaining that slow, controlled rhythm. His hand was now caressing your stomach in slow circles while continuing to press firmly with every thrust. His blue eyes were fixed on yours without ever blinking.
“This hand on your belly… it’s so you’ll understand. I’m marking you from the inside. All that cum I put inside you last night—it’s doing its job. I’m going to get you pregnant. I can feel it. Your pussy is drinking up the last load I’m going to give you. Look at me. Tell me you understand that you’ll never be able to go back.”
You moaned for a long time, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes from the intensity and exhaustion. His cock hit a spot so deep with every slow thrust that your belly visibly rose beneath his palm.
“I understand… I’m yours now… … I only want your cock… I want you to fill me up again… even if I can’t walk anymore…”
Bucky growled softly. He leaned in a little closer, without breaking eye contact. His face was just a few centimeters from yours. You could feel his warm breath on your mouth. His hand remained pressed against your stomach, possessive, heavy.
“You’re mine. Completely mine. After tonight, every time I see you with him, I’ll know your pussy is still full of my cum. I’ll come and fuck you in your bed. I’ll fill you up in the morning, at noon, and at night. You’re going to live with my seed inside you. Look me in the eyes and say it. Say you’re going to carry my child. ”
“I’m going to carry your child… I want you to get me pregnant… fill me one last time… I’m exhausted but I want all your cum… ”
He continued to fuck you slowly for several long minutes. Time seemed to stand still. All you could hear was your breathing, the wet, slow sound of his big cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy, and the sound of your hushed voices. Bucky spoke almost nonstop, his voice hoarse, possessive, obsessive.
“Feel how your pussy throbs around me. It knows. It knows it belongs to me now. I’ll never be able to stop fucking you. Even if Steve catches us, I’ll keep pounding you right in front of him. You’re my wife now. My little personal breeding machine. My pussy. My womb. My cum.”
You suddenly come, a slow, deep, almost exhausting orgasm. Your walls contracted for a long time around his cock. Bucky never looked away. He kept moving at exactly the same rhythm, his hand pressing harder against your stomach to prolong the spasms.
“That’s it… come while you look at me. Come knowing that I’m going to fill you one last time tonight. I’m going to shoot everything I have left right into your womb. You’re going to sleep with my cum still dripping out of you. You’re going to wake up full of me.”
Your orgasm lasted a long time. Your legs trembled uncontrollably. Bucky slowed down a little more, savoring every contraction. His cock was swollen, throbbing inside you. The cum from his previous loads made every movement loud and slippery.
“Bucky… I beg you… give me everything… I’m yours… I can’t think of anyone else anymore… only you… only your cock… only your cum… ”
He picked up the pace slightly, still maintaining that intense eye contact. His hand left your stomach for a moment to wipe a tear from your cheek, then immediately returned to press against the spot where his cock was pushing against your abdomen.
“You’re so beautiful when you let yourself go completely. Look at me. I’m going to come. I’m going to fill you one last time tonight. But it’ll never really be the last. I’ll never be able to stop. You belong to me now. Body and pussy. Say my name when I come inside you.”
The next few minutes were a long, slow, deep dance. Bucky fucked you while looking into your eyes, his possessive hand on your stomach, whispering the same raw, obsessive promises over and over. You responded between moans, your voice broken by exhaustion and pleasure.
“…I’m yours… I’m your slut… fill me up… get me pregnant… I want to feel your hot cum one last time tonight…”
“You’re going to feel it. I’m going to give you everything. Look at me. Don’t close your eyes. I want to see the look on your face the moment I make you pregnant. Your pussy is mine. Your belly is mine. Your future is mine. . There’s only me left. Only my cock. Only my cum.”
He gradually picked up the pace. The thrusts remained deep but grew more insistent. His cock struck your cervix with every thrust. The wet sound was constant. Your belly was almost gurgling from all the cum already inside you. Bucky was now growling between each sentence.
“I’m going to come… I can feel it building… look at me… I’m going to fill you one last time… you’re going to fall asleep full… so full…”
You came one last time with him, your eyes locked on his. Your body arched weakly, exhausted. Bucky let out a long, hoarse groan and pressed himself against you. His cock swelled violently inside your pussy. The first spurt of cum, thick and hot, hit your uterus directly. He kept moving slowly as he came, as if to drive every drop as deep as possible.
“Take it all… take my last load… I’m filling you up… I’m making you pregnant… you’re mine now… I’ll never be able to stop… never… ”
He kept coming for several long seconds, growling your name softly between each spurt. His hand pressed firmly against your belly, feeling the throbs of his own cock. When he was done, he remained deeply buried inside you, panting, without pulling out. His forehead rested against yours. Your breaths mingled.
“It’s over for tonight… but this is only the beginning. You belong to me. Completely. Look at me one last time and say it.”
You whispered, your voice almost inaudible from exhaustion:
“I belong to you… I’m yours… I don’t want anyone else anymore… ”
He kissed you slowly, deeply, then finally pulled away. An impressive stream of cum immediately flowed from your pussy onto the already soaked sheets. Bucky lay down beside you and pulled you close. He wrapped his large body around yours in a tight spooning position, one arm tucked under your head, the other around your waist. His large hand rested possessively on your swollen belly, exactly where he’d been pressing for hours.
“Sleep now. Sleep with my hand on your belly. Sleep knowing that you’re full of me. Tomorrow morning, when Steve wakes up, you’ll still feel my cum running between your legs. And I’ll be there. I won’t leave anymore. ”
You closed your eyes, your body completely spent, sticky with sweat and cum. Bucky tightened his grip. His cock, still half-hard, rested against your buttocks. His hand didn’t leave your belly for a single second. He slowly caressed the taut skin, as if he were already imagining the result of this night.
“Can you feel how full your belly is? It’s me. All that cum is inside you. It’s going to do its job. You’re going to wake up different. You’re going to wake up as mine.”
He kept whispering in your ear as sleep overtook both of you. Possessive, low, repetitive phrases. His voice grew slower and slower, heavy with fatigue, but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking.
“You’re mine… my little pussy… my belly… I’m going to keep you full… every day… every day… sleep… sleep full of me…”
Your eyes closed completely. Bucky’s body was burning against your back. His hand remained heavy and protective on your belly. Cum continued to trickle slowly from your pussy, soaking the sheets even more. Bucky’s breathing became steady against the nape of your neck. He fell asleep holding you tight, his hand still resting in the same spot, like a silent oath.
The night was over. But something irreversible had just begun.
You fell asleep with the lingering sensation of his cock inside you, his cum filling your belly, and his possessive hand that wouldn’t let you go. Bucky slept pressed against you, wrapped around your body as if he were afraid you’d disappear. His large hand completely covered your belly, fingers spread apart, his palm pressed down as if to keep all his cum inside.
Neither of you spoke anymore. Silence fell over the room. Only your exhausted breaths and the distant sound of the wind outside accompanied the deep sleep that finally carried you away.
Summary: When you have needs to be met all you need is the perfect stranger.
WC: 2k Pairing: Bucky x reader Warnings: Illusions of adult activity, weird bar patrons without boundaries, language, Bossy Bucky😏
A/N: I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!
The floor is packed as you slip through the crowd, sliding up to the bar, already ready to go home. The bodies moving against each other to the rhythmic bumping bass gives the illusion that the building itself was alive, breathing in and out with the beat of the music.
This was not a place you would typically find yourself, standing alone at a honky-tonk bar on the busiest night of the week. However, tonight you had a mission and you weren’t going home until it was accomplished. Life had been so hectic lately that tonight called for drastic measures, and your needs were going to be met before you went to sleep tonight.
A double shot of courage and you turn, leaning your back against the cool wood to stake your claim to the spot, in case you needed another round. Your eyes scan the crowd, taking in your options. A few people of interest catch your eyes, while most only earn a quick dismissal, a sad few even garnering a hell no.
A few songs later and you’re no closer to finding what you came for, the few you even enjoyed looking at already paired up. With a sigh you turn, signaling the worker behind the counter for another round. Your feet were hurting, your eyes itched from the eyeliner you liberally applied, and even though this dress did wonders for you it was uncomfortable as hell. You needed to make this quick.
You feel a presence before you hear him, his voice drowning in the mix of music and boots. “You from around here?”
In an attempt to seem uninterested you wait for your drink before you turn. It was worth it, because when you turn you find yourself both disappointed and face to face with a highly ranking hell no.
“Not interested.” You offer curtly, hoping he’ll get the hint. He doesn’t, instead squeezing in between you and the girl next to you so he could signal the bartender. “Two shots of jagermeister.” He turns to you, tapping your shoulder to regain your attention. “And for the lady?”
“A Quick Death.” You moan, but it’s lost to the rhythmic stomps of a lively line dance taking place inches from your exchange.
“ Crème de menthe?” He asks uncertainly, leaning in even closer.
You try again, turning to face him so he will get the hint, adding a firm head shake to seal the deal. “I’m fine.”
“Oh I know you’re fine, that’s a given.” He reaches out to grab your waist, your attempt to escape thwarted by the wall of bodies behind you. A chorus of expletives come as you collide, even more following as bottles hit the floor.
“Don’t touch me!” You yell, pushing his hand away before it makes contact. “I said-”
The words get cut off as a hand materializes on his shoulder, jerking him away from you with enough force to cause an immediate and wide berth to be given by everyone around. He seemed out of place here, dressed in shades of gray and black, sunglasses holding back his long hair even though it was well past nine pm.
“What the fuck?” Your would be tormentor yells, attempting to stand from the floor as his captor still holds his shirt tight.
Eyes, a dangerous shade of blue, look up from the man at his feet and find yours. You shiver, even though it feels like your entire body is on fire.
Bingo.
“Did he touch you?” He asks, free hand in a balled fist, ready to be put to use.
“No, he was just going to buy me a drink.”
A slight flicker of confusion skirts across his face, but it’s fleeting, replaced almost instantly by a tight lipped seriousness.
“See! The lady’s fine. I was here first, so fuck off!”
The cry from the floor earns him nothing but a tightened grip on his shirt and a quick lift, leaving him scrambling to secure footing upon his landing. He jumps when he manages to find it, finally coming as close to face to face as he could manage while being almost two heads shorter than his challenger.
“Look man, I was just buying her a drink, what’s it to you?”
“You tried to touch her without asking, so I thought you’d like to know how that felt.”
The threat leaves him wide eyed as you sip your drink happily, at the very least you’ll go home amused.
“Hey man I’m sorry, I’ll just go.”
“I’m not the one you own an apology. I’m not the one whose hips you wanted to grab; but I can be the one to grab yours.” He moves closer to his now squirming prey.
“What the hell? Fuck off man.”
Stormy eyes dance as a wicked smile pulls across his lips as he leans in, almost nose to nose. “You all done touchin’ women without consent?”
“Yessir.”
“Now what do you say to the lady?”
“Sorry Ma’am.”
“Do you accept?” The tall one asks, cutting his eyes towards you to maintain his proximity to the problem.
All you offer is a shrug, but you’re fighting against giggling like a school girl.
“Get outta here. Don’t let me see you again or God himself couldn’t stop me from stompin’ your ass.”
As soon as he’s allowed to, he scrambles off, running towards the stairs under carefully watching eyes.
“My hero.” You quip, but he cuts his eyes at you and words escape you.
Once he’s sure the threat is gone his whole body relaxes, and he moves closer to you with a smile. “Hi. What are you having?”
You down your shot and give him an enjoyable once over. “If I get my way, you.”
A hearty laugh meets your confession, but he doesn’t look surprised. “I can respect a woman who knows what she wants. I’m happy to oblige, but what’s the hurry, you got somewhere to be?”
You check your watch and look up to find him looking at you with his own hungry look of desire. “Well It’s 9:35 and I’d like to be home by 10, so yeah, kinda in a bit of a hurry. I’ve got some Ben and Jerry’s that’s calling my name.”
He seems amused and intrigued. “What flavor?”
“Cookie dough.”
A frown as he moves closer, hands on your waist to pull you in. “No Half Baked?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Too Bad.” He grins, taking your hand to pull you away from the bar. He moves you through the crowd, heading to the back corner.
“Here?” You ask, a bit trepidatiously, as he opens the door to a unisex restroom.
“I do my best work in public restrooms.” He shrugs, locking the door behind himself. “I’ll have you happy at home in no time.”
“I’ll be the judge of tha-” But your words get cut off as he turns, a wild look taking over his face. He crosses the space in a step. You instinctively withdrawl, back hitting the wall behind you with a thud. A breath and he’s sliding his hand under your chin to gain control, his other arm by your ear as he steadies himself on the wall. You’re trapped between him and the wall, looking into eyes that are nearly black from blown pupils.
This is gonna be fun.
He tightens his grip, lifting your face to look at him, apparently pleased by the long suppressed giggle that escapes you.
“Hush.” It’s a demand, one given with a tone that leaves your knees weak. They work to betray you, but his grip is tight, sliding down to grasp your neck instead. “What kinda dirty girl does this, with a stranger in a filthy public restroom?”
Your eyes instinctively move to scan the state of the bathroom, his words momentarily breaking the spell.
“Hey.” He steadies himself and slips his free hand into your hair, a pull that knocks your head on the wall regains your attention. “Focus.”
“You could find yourself in dangerous situations out here. I won’t always be there to protect you, save you from real creeps. A hero like me should be thanked.”
An attempt at a nod is all you can manage, still under his grip.
“Would you like to thank me?” He releases you, moving to cross his arms.
“Yes, please.”
A knock comes from outside the door.
“Go away.” He says in a tone that quells the knocking. “Better make it fast, pretty girl.”
Five minutes, one hand dryer shaped bruise on your back, a broken sink, and two possible concussions later and he’s walking you down the steps to the sidewalk.
He leans in, softer now in the glow of the street lamps, and steals a kiss.
“Can I call you?”
“The only thing you better call is the babysitter Bucky Barnes, because we’re late as hell.”
A laugh, warm and familiar, fills your ears as he slips his hand into yours and leads you towards the car.
“It’s not my fault we’re late, you never play by the rules. You went off script. I wasn’t planning on jealousy being a contender tonight." A playful tug causes you to bump into him. He steals another kiss before you regain your balance.
“I’m not the only one who went off script. I requested cowboy boots, pearl button shirt, tight jeans,and a cowboy hat to go with the vibe, and you roll in all John Wick. It kinda did it for me though, I’m not gonna lie.”
He chuckles at your pout. “Did you really wanna spend $500 for a one night bit?”
“Remember when it was your turn to pick last June? Those flights were $300 each and my foot went in that airplane toilet, it ruined my favorite boots.”
A memory plays for him in his mind and he smiles, agreeing once it finishes. “Fair enough.”
“Tonight was an interesting experience, but I'm not sure I care to revisit it.”
“Me either. Speaking of, do you have any sanitizer? It really was gross and I thought you’d see it there for a minute. I knew I’d lose you if you started thinking with your brain again.”
He pauses beside you as you search your purse, laughing at your gag when you process his confession. “I have a chapstick with no top, forty three cents, a half eaten granola bar, six cheerios, and a paci.”
“Oh, a snack! I’m famished.” He takes the bar, picking off lint before sticking it whole into his mouth.
“You’re disgusting.” You chide, wrinkling your nose at him before taking his hand, swinging it as you walk beside him.
“And yet this was your turn to pick and look at what you made me do.”
“Oh yeah, Bucky, it took so much convincing.”
A few moments pass, and you finally reach the car. He is going to shut your door but stops, leans over, and meets your eyes with a look like he’s about to make a serious confession.
“My love, can I ask you a question? It’s really been bothering me.”
“Of course baby, what is it?”
“Did you really not get me my ice cream?”
His intense worry at the trivial matter makes you laugh, your hand finding his with a squeeze.
“I got you a big one.”
“Yay!”
He closes the door and you watch him dance around the back of the car to his side. He slides in and reaches immediately for the console, lifting it to pull out a huge bottle of painkillers.
“Your head hurt as bad as mine?”
A nod, and you take a few from him. “And I think you broke my rib.”
“Sorry.” It’s soft, and sheepish as he pulls the car into reverse. “I’ll make it up to you next time.”
“I’m holding you to that, Bucky. Let’s go home and pay the babysitter her overtime. We would have made it on time if you didn’t bring out the enforcer.”
“I’ll take care of the babysitter’s late fees… and please, you love the enforcer, it’s in all the feedback reports.
“You keep those? I thought it was a joke you nerd.”
The tone from the bathroom is back, its accompanying look illuminated by shadows.
“Hush.”
And so, as usual, you do, sitting silently as he drives you home with a satisfied grin.
Baking With Bob and Bucky | Bucky Barnes x Bob Reynolds x Reader
Bob and Bucky decide to do something nice for you.
Content: poly fluff and cuddles. I imagined the throuple from Miracle at the Watchtower, but you don't need to have read it.
AN: not just unbeta'd but I wrote it and posted it 🙈 having to go home from my hols early so posting from the services in the middle of the night!
For @fluffyjuly Day 27 - Learning a New Skill
And for @juniebjonesin Picnic Blanket Prompts “You already thought of everything.”
Masterlist | Marvel | Miracle at the Watchtower | Bob Reynolds | Bucky Barnes
"Right. Making a cake."
"Making a cake."
"How hard can it be?"
"Bob," Bucky sighed, "I think it is actually quite hard."
Bob thunked his head into the counter and Bucky ran his palm down his face.
"Hey boys," your voice rang out around the kitchen and both men jumped, trying to hide the bag of ingredients they'd snuck out to buy that morning.
"Hey baby," Bob tried to run interference, racing over to kiss you while Bucky hid the bag beneath the counter.
"This is nice," you giggled as he pressed kisses all over your face, "What's going on?"
"Nothin' doll." Bucky swept up behind you, "why don't you go and relax in the sitting room, didn't you say you wanted to finish your book? I can bring you a coffee, or a nice tea?"
You narrowed your eyes.
"What's going on with you two?"
"Like I said, nothin'," Bucky smiled, but it was the same slightly awkward smile he gave to journalists.
"Robert?"
"Hmm?"
"Want to share?"
"Nope, like Bucky said, nothing."
You squirmed away from them both and headed straight for the kitchen, pulling the bag from under the counter and sorting through the contents.
"Are you making a cake without me!?" You asked, shocked. "I love baking, why didn't you want to bake with me."
"Oh no she's gonna cry, Bucky, Bucky!" Bob smacked Bucky's arm and started pushing him towards you.
"Okay, we were going to make you a cake."
You put the ingredients down, "you were? Why?"
"Because you're always making us cakes and cookies —"
"And dinner for everyone —" Bob cut in.
"And dinner," Bucky finished. "Please let us do a nice thing for you."
"But you don't know how to bake."
"If I can HYDRA I think I can make a chocolate cake."
Bob gave you a thumbs up and you sighed.
"What about dinner tonight? Cakes take a long time and —"
"We're making dinner too," Bob squeezed your side and started leading you away from the kitchen.
"You already thought of everything did you?"
"We did." He said proudly and Bucky nodded.
"So no need to worry about anything, go and relax "
"Okay, okay." You agreed, picking up your book and heading back to your room, you looked back in time to see Bob and Bucky together in the kitchen, avidly reading through your recipe book and smiling.
Summary: Working as an Avenger is hard, and what's worse is living in the tower, surrounded by the constant hustle of work. You have a favorite escape for when it all becomes too much, but what happens when you find specific super soldier in your spot?
Tags: Fluff, Confessions, Substance Use (Marijuana), Living at the Avengers Tower, AU where everyone lives in the tower, Mentions of Past trauma
Word Count: 2.9k
AN: Started this when I was both stoned and fuzzy from the pain meds because of a fever. But now it's here and it's my first work on this account!
Also up on A03!
Living at the tower often got stressful, with the buzz of work continuing around you even as you clocked out for the day. You could constantly hear the sounds of footsteps and voices outside your little apartment in the upper floors, and occasionally your quiet time was interrupted by FRIDAY, reporting with a message from Tony or Cap, sometimes Natasha.
You really tried your best to separate work and home, but some days it just got to you. And on days like that you would open the cabinet in the kitchen area and take out three things: a bong, a lighter, and a full buster of weed. This was one of those days- or rather, nights…
You had gotten back to your small Avengers tower apartment and dropped your bag on the floor, feeling the weight of the reports and evidence files on your shoulders as you made your way to the kitchen area. You opened the cabinet, already relaxing as your saving grace came into view. The tall pink bong, marked with black lettering declaring the company name, a black Bic lighter, and a multi-tiered weed buster.
You grabbed all three and made note of your phone and a set of wired ear buds in your back pocket before setting off, out the door and quietly down the hallway. It's not that you were hiding this little habit, but you didn't care to make a big deal out of it.
When you finally reached the roof, the cool night air hit you and you breathed in, a small smile on your face as you made your way across the roof.
Your steps slowed as you caught sight of someone in your spot, squinting as your eyes focused in the dark. Staring out at New York City with his legs dangling over the building's edge, a figure with broad shoulders, dark hair, and the metal of his arm glinting in the moonlight. Your heart did a little jump.
“Bucky?” He jumped a little bit, twisting to look at you.
“Oh, hey,” His voice was soft when he said your name, so soft, softer than you'd ever heard it. “What’re you doing up here?”
“I come out here all the time. It’s a nice place to clear my mind and relax.” Shrugging, you sat alongside him, careful not to be uncomfortably close.
Bucky eyed the bong in your hands, “I take it that relaxation is helped along by that.” He nodded to it.
You held it out to admire, “Pretty, isn't she? I call her Eleanor.”
He chuckled, “Eleanor? You named it?”
“Of course I did! I've named all of my bongs, it feels like the right thing to do.” You grinned as you fished the buster from your hoodie, packing a nice amount of the dried plant in the bowl. “I got this one when I moved to the tower, with the new chapter of my life it felt right to get a new bong too.”
He hummed and nodded, eyes flicking back out to the city for a moment. “I've been coming out here a bit lately, tryin' to gather my thoughts. Being free from the brainwashing didn't fix the anxiety or PTSD.” His metal fingers tapped a pattern into the roof.
Biting your lip, you thought for a moment, unsure what to say. “So.. has it been helping? Sitting up here?”
Bucky shrugged, “I dunno. It gives me time to think but sometimes I'm not sure sitting with my thoughts is the best idea.”
Nodding, you touched his shoulder, just above the line of metal. The touch was gentle, restrained. Your crush on Bucky was obvious to the other Avengers, but you weren't sure if Bucky himself was aware. He'd never said anything. Even so, you didn't want to make it seem like you were doing anything more than comforting him right now.
“I'm sorry. That's awful… Look, I don't know what you're going through, but I do know what I find helps get my mind in a better place.” You held the bong up, tapping one finger on the cool glass. “Totally relaxes me, distracts my bad thoughts, makes me feel good. I put on some music and enjoy my alone time.”
Buckys eyebrows shot up, “You're asking me to do drugs?”
“No, I'm offering you some weed. Marijuana. It's nothing like drugs, it's a plant. Dried and ground up.” Correcting him, you offered the bong to him.
“Can- can I watch you do it first?” He scratched the back of his neck, “We didn't have those in the forties. Or I've never seen one. Never had the chance to try it.”
“Sure! It's easy.” You pantomime the actions as you explain them, “So put your flame to the bowl, slowly sucking in, the slower you go the harder it hits by the way. Then when the weed is all burnt and you suck harder and faster, the ashes drop into the bong, pull out the bowl and make sure you suck all the smoke into your lungs.”
You didn't miss how his lips twitch at your wording, but ignored it in favor of actually hitting your bong. You made eye contact with Bucky for a second while you held it in, before exhaling away from him. He continued watching as you hacked out a few short coughs.
“Didn't look too difficult.” He murmured.
“It's not. Wanna try, or no?” You said it casually, not wanting him to feel pressured. You were by no means forcing it on him.
“Sure. Keep my super soldier tolerance in mind though.” You nodded and hummed as you filled the bowl, handing it and the lighter over. It looked foreign in his hands, the metal hand awkwardly finding its position on the neck of the glass, while his right hand fidgeted with the lighter.
As he got comfortable, you hit play on your music, the tail end of a Fleetwood Mac song picking up where you left off earlier. Bucky executed the bong hit clumsily, and it felt weird seeing the ever-flawless Bucky Barnes do something without absolute finesse and perfection. As he exhaled the smoke and coughs took over his chest, you took the bong back, setting it aside as you watched him.
“Please don't fall off the roof.” You muttered, patting his back.
Eventually he looked at you, having caught his breath, “Fuck, that hurt.” He rubbed his chest, frowning at you accusatorily “You hardly coughed.”
You smirked and shrugged, “I've got a lot more experience than you. And it was a huge hit, you told me to consider your tolerance issues.”
“And how does it help you exactly? I don't feel anything.”
Rolling your eyes, you laughed, “You only just smoked it, give it a second! It's gradual.”
Bucky grunted, returning his gaze to the city lights around you. With a small smile, you did the same, observing the fast moving headlights below, the rainbow array of signs and advertisements, the white and yellow illuminating from the windows of those still awake in their apartments.
You thought about your life before, how your family was dysfunctional and tiring. How your life was utter chaos while you worked as a spy for a strange rich man. How you had gone against him which nearly resulted in your death. Being found by and joining the Avengers, ultimately saving your life in a number of ways.
“You ever think about what life would’ve been like if you didn't come here?” Buckys voice cut through the silence after an uncounted number of minutes, causing you to look over and meet his eyes.
You bit back a smile at his red eyes and relaxed expression. “I do. I am right now actually.”
“Where would you be?” He asked.
You paused, glancing to the streets of New York below. “Assuming I wasn't killed for that little stunt I pulled? On the run. Always looking over my shoulder and wondering when someone was going to find me.”
He nodded after a moment. “What about if you were never a spy? What would you be doin?”
“You know what I always wanted to be?” Buckys head tilted curiously, “A baker. The kind with their own shop and cute little aprons and an outdoor seating area.”
A smile spread across his face, not the usual tense and polite half-smile he gave to everyone, but a new smile. One that was warm and relaxed and genuinely happy.
“That's so cute.” He laughed, rubbing his flesh hand down his face.
You scoffed, “I was a little girl.”
“I can see you in a bakery. Wearing some pink apron and bows in your hair.” He laughed again, “Frosting on your face.”
Rolling your eyes, you packed another bowl, “What about you? What did little James wanna be when he grew up?”
“Little James wanted to be a conductor on a train.” Bucky said, leaning over to bump your shoulder with his. He was fidgety now, as though there was a buildup of energy in his usually stiff body.
“Aw, really?” You smiled.
“Yes, really. I had a really nice wooden train set from my mother when I was a kid, loved that thing. Played with it all the time.”
“Now that's cute!” You giggled, bumping his shoulder back.
“Sure, sure.” He shook his head.
“I liked to play with bugs in the backyard.” You eventually admitted, a blush tinting your cheeks as you avoided eye contact.
“Well that explains a lot.” Bucky snorted, leaning back.
Gasping dramatically, your hand clutched to your heart, “Ouch!”
“Oh come on, you have to know that you’re a little bit weird.”
Rolling your eyes, you packed another hit, “Oh trust me, I’m aware.” A beat of silence passed, and you looked over to see Bucky studying you with an unreadable expression. His eyes felt like they were boring into your soul, forcing a heavier blush onto your cheeks.
“What?” You asked, looking away before you could lose yourself in his gaze.
“Nothin’.”
“Yeah, right,” You raised the bong to your mouth, ignoring whatever he said in response in favor of smoking your hit. This time, you did cough, having overestimated how much you could do in one go. “Shit-” You wheezed as the coughs took over your body. You hardly noticed when the bong and lighter disappeared from your hands, too busy clutching the safety rail as a tear slipped down your cheek. Recovery took a minute, breath returning to your lungs as you felt a hand patting your back, the cold metal could be felt even through your thick sweater.
“You good, doll?” Bucky asked while you wiped your eyes.
“Fine, yeah, I’m good-” Clearing your throat before looking at him.
His face was a mix of concern and amusement, the cold metal of his hand not leaving your back. “So much for being experienced, eh?” He smirked.
“Oh, shut up Barnes.” You huffed with light amusement.
“Do I get to go again?” He raised the bong that he still held in his flesh hand.
“Oh, sure!” You took care in packing him another one, and he scoffed at the amount. With raised brows you looked up at him. “Now what’s wrong?”
“Why’re you bein’ so careful with me now? Think I can’t handle it?”
The taunt in his voice and the building high feeling in your head triggered your competitive side, and without any ounce of caution, you filled the bowl. “If you say so, Sergeant.”
Bucky took the bong, and a deep breath, before bravely pulling the whole bowl. You watched him as he held it for a second, before exhaling up into the sky.
Your breathing stopped when you realized just how good he looked doing that. His neck exposed as he looked up, jaw sharp and eyes closed, moonlight brightening his sharpest features. Forcing your gaze away, you cleared your throat, which was suddenly very dry. Buckys coughs echoed next to you, and it took you a second to turn your head and look at him, your movements feeling sluggish. Next to you, Buckys face was red as he struggled to catch his breath, shakily placing the bong between the two of you.
It was clear now that you were both high enough. His eyes were squinting more than yours, but you had given up on sitting up, choosing to instead fall to your back and stare up at the nearly starless night sky. Bucky had twisted and was leaning on the safety rail so he could look at you.
You were sure he was saying something, but you found yourself instead hearing Piano Man begin playing on your phone. You reached to adjust the volume instinctively, catching Buckys attention.
“Doin?” He frowned.
“Don’t you love this song?” Your hands came up in front of you to sway as though you were conducting the song.
“Dunno that I ever heard it.” He shrugged.
This prompted you to turn it up more and reach for his hand, which he didn’t hesitate to give you. There was no resistance as you pulled him down with you, his metal arm coming to rest against your right arm. “Just listen then.” You told him, shutting your eyes to enjoy the music.
He seemed to oblige, though you couldn’t see him. Memories associated with the song floated through your brain, a faint smile on your face for the three or so minutes it took for Billy Joel to sing. By the time it was over, your eyes had opened, fixed on the dark sky. Buckys eyes on your face were nearly a physical force, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.
“It’s a pretty good song.” He broke the silence after a while.
“Isn’t it?” You grinned, relaxed and feeling hazy.
He hummed, “Whatcha lookin’ at?”
“The stars. Or, what I can see of them.” You sighed, eyes flicking between the few visible stars, “Most stars aren’t visible here ‘cause of the light pollution. It’s a little depressing, honestly. Stargazing was once my favorite hobby, I can’t really do it here.”
“I’ll take you to stargaze some day.” Bucky said. Your eyes flicked to his face quicker than you wanted them to, only to find Bucky blushing in the faint moonlight.
“That’s… You don’t have to do that for me.” You whispered, though your heart began to beat faster, eyes threatening to well up.
“I will though. We can make a day of it if you want. Just you, me, my bike and the sky. We’ll go as far as we can to get out of these city lights and just spend a night lookin’ at the stars.” His eyes met yours, full of sincerity and promise.
“Thank you.” Your voice cracked, and you looked away.
“Hey, look at me.” Bucky murmured, your body obeying before your mind caught up. “I gotta tell ya somethin’.”
“Okay, sure.” You nodded, hands fidgeting.
“First of all, thanks for this. I haven’t felt this relaxed in… Well, decades. It’s a nice feeling.”
“Of course. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, anytime you want to, you know where I am.”
Bucky smiled at you, a genuine and happy smile, the kind you haven’t seen him do in the months you’ve known him. Your heart did a little flip. You willed it to relax.
“But also, I guess I gotta confess something.” He took a shaky breath, “And I’m pretty sure the confidence to do this is comin’ from the weed, so bare with me... You. You are an amazing person. And for a while I thought it was just that you’re really nice to everyone. But after a while I realized that I felt something for you that I haven’t felt in a very long time.”
A short pause had you holding your breath, willing him to continue with wide eyes. He cleared his throat, “So I wanna make it clear that when I ask you to go stargazing with me, it’s a date. I like you too much to pass up this opportunity, and if I was sober I’d never be able to say it, doll.”
Thirty seconds of silence passed as you forced your breathing to restart, Buckys face contorting into worry that you needed to wipe right back off. “I would like that very much.” You found it in you to whisper.
A heavy sigh of relief left his lips, and you realized that he may have been holding his breath as well. “Oh thank god.”
You giggled, reaching to rest a hand on his shoulder, “I couldn’t say no, not after all this time liking you, too. I’m pretty sure Nat’s on the verge of locking me in a room with you until I confess.”
His pretty blue eyes widened as much as they could, “Really?”
“Well, I don’t know if she’d actually do that-”
“No, no. I mean… You really like me like that?”
“Oh! Yeah. Yes, definitely. For far too long, I was driving myself and half the tower insane with it.” You shook your head, thinking back to Sam glaring daggers at you after you’d avoided telling Bucky once again this week.
“Shit. I didn’t even notice.” He ran his flesh hand down his face.
“Well… Now you know.” You smiled, “And now I know, too.”
Bucky nodded, “True. And now that we both know, I’m determined to take you out for a good time, and clear night skies.” His hand traveled from his face to hold the one you’d left resting on his shoulder.
“I’m counting on it.” You murmured with a smile, rolling to rest your head and body along the side of his. The metal arm beside you slid to your lower back, pulling you closer. His face tilted to look you in the eyes and in the moment you felt a calmness you hadn’t felt in years.
“Goddammit, Steve!” Bucky growled as he yanked him by the wrist into the abandoned building. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”
There was anger in Bucky’s voice, but layers under it, there was something more. Steve was taken back to Brooklyn alleyways and fights with much lower stakes.
“I can take care of myself, Buck,” he couldn’t help but echo.
Bucky glared at him.
“I was fine! You had my back!”
“Always,” Bucky grumbled. “Just don’t scare me like that, punk.” The hostility in his voice was just as fleeting as the anger as he pulled Steve into a hug
~~~~~~~~
Part of A Whisper, a Cry, a Yell, a Sigh
Day 27 of @monthlywritingchallenges Firefly July: fleeting
Somehow, all that became Captain America, and Bucky - a man with enough names of his own - stared.
“That’s for them, though,” Steve shrugged, laying flat with his head on folded arms that were too large. “We’re still just me ‘n’ you, Buck. Nothin’ll change that.”
summary Bucky overworks himself till all you see is a grumpy, uptight man. Maybe a date night under the stars will bring your boyfriend back.
warnings soft!bucky; fluff; so much fluff; bucky is a goner; date night; teasing; a little banter; kisses; nicknames (doll, baby); no explicit content
author's note ahem, this is a fluffy drabble for Bucky's relationship—highkey for whatever happened in my last fic. hope you like it it.
i'm always open to critcism. love-love.
previous fic: chapter one; prologue.
<700
"Come on, try it my way!", you splayed your arms out wide, moving your limbs like a squiggly star on the grass.
Bucky exhaled heavily through his nose, pretending to be annoyed but the corner of his lips twitched in helpless affection.
He shook his head fondly, tilting his head back to meet the stars above. His arms draped lazily on the knees he'd drawn to his chest, his posture relaxed but not unguarded. Yet.
"The grass is wet, doll. You should be happy I'm even sitting."
You giggled quietly at that, lifting your head just enough to look at him with a stupid, giddy grin, "You already look like you peed your pants. A little more soaked doesn't matter."
He scrunched his face up at the poor comparison, shifting his ass unconsciously—very obviously embarrassed.
"You're annoying."
You gasped dramatically at that, watching him with cartoonish, mock-offended, wide eyes as he lowered himself on the wet greenery. Flipping over, you propped yourself up on your forearms, eyes squinted into narrow slits.
"You dare dislike your own girlfriend, James Barnes."
"Woah, you use my full name again, and I might as well actually pee my pants," he said in a painfully flat tone. He clasped his hands to his chest like he was praying for divine intervention.
You exaggeratedly gagged, wincing at his words like you hadn't used less than a minute ago.
"Ew. Stop being so childish", you gave him a sassy once-over, eyes sweeping over his body like he was disgusting you.
He stared at you in disbelief for a moment, eyebrows raised to his hairline. He blinked once. Then twice.
Two moments of misleading peace, and before you could comprehend, two thick, strong arms were grabbing you by your waist. You gasped at first, a sharp inhale at the suddenness. Rolled over, he was now on top of you, nimble fingers finding the sides of your abdomen.
You burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, legs kicking the air like you were a mosquito being electrocuted. Your nails dug into his jaw, trying to use your acrylics to an unfair advantage.
"Uh-huh, what were you saying again, baby?", the smugness was dripping from his words, prominent in ways other than his smirk.
Your head tipped back, pieces of weed and crushed petals tangling into a mess in your hair. But you couldn't care less. And neither could Bucky.
He thought you looked prettier like this. More than the stars.
"HAah—let gooo~", you thumped your fists against his chest half-heartedly, all the strength sucked out of your arms. Damn you for being so ticklish.
He lowered his body more, using his ridiculously hot, beefy frame to pin you harder. Before he could trouble you more, a bright, soft light hit your face.
For a moment, he was starstruck. The white light illuminating your beauty. Your pearly teeth shining. Your dimples deepening.
"You missed it."
And you were back on top, a thumb gesturing to the starry sky above.
"No, I didn't."
"Bucky missed a shooting star! He missed a shooting star! Bucky missed—", your very exasperating loud and high-pitched singing was brought to an abrupt stop when his lips met yours.
Not roughly. Not even firm.
Sweet. Gentle in a way that allowed backtracking if you wanted.
Because even if he wanted to shut you up, he didn't have the heart to do it harshly.
"Geez, keep it in your pants", you rolled your eyes but the blush on your cheeks gave you away when he broke it.
The night continued with his head on your chest, a stubbly cheek smushed against the softness of your breast. He'd promised he was only giving you a 'quick hug'.
But here that grump was. Head lolled—heavy—as he unknowingly dozed off to the sound of your heartbeat. Your fingers played with the hair on his nape, twisting and curling, and deciding you'll wake him ten more minutes later for the third time now.
You just couldn't help it.
It made something warm bloom in your chest when you saw a man like Bucky lower his guards around that one person—you.
CW: mentions loss of a parent, mentions of grief, so so so so so much flirting and yearning, big age gap (21 and 39), ambiguous timeline, mentions of sex,mentions of negative experience with sex, mentions of dominance, mentions of- a lot but no actual smut, pet names princess and baby are used, this is all just the most crazy tension ever
A/N: this idea possessed me the minute I woke up at 5 AM and had to write it.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!
Bucky has always been around in my life. For as long as I can remember he has been something steady, constant. I remember him showing up for my dad when my mom died, though the memory is hazy. I was so young, at the time, but I remember the feel of his cold metal arm on my tiny shoulder.
Another memory, this time later. My dad, Steve, was better. Still sad sometimes but I remember the day he came home with a motorcycle- a project piece for him and Bucky to work on together to distract himself.
I have lots of memories like that- my dad and Bucky. But somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing him as just my dad’s friend but as a man. I don’t know when it happened but suddenly I noticed when he would lift his shirt up to wipe his face and would expose his toned stomach. I noticed when he would be carrying something heavy- which took a lot for super soldier standards- and the way his biceps would pop. I one day noticed just how striking his eyes were as I caught him looking at me as I packed up my room for college. I felt the same eyes on me when I can back, helping dad unload my stuff after transferring back home.
That’s where we are now. I was home now, on summer break. I would be going into my senior year of college in the fall but at a school closer to home this time. I had enjoyed university but I was grateful to be back home, in a little town that felt safe- secure. I am standing in the yard, looking at the garden beds that had been woefully neglected in my absence. My mother had loved to garden and my dad had built these raised beds for her. I had taken it upon myself to give them new life as a fun summer project.
The problem was, it was so hot. I had shed my shirt and was standing in the yard in just a lilac sports bra and shorts. My shoulders ached from the hours I’d spent pulling weeds and I grimaced at how little progress I had really made.
The tell-tale sign of a motorcycle rev makes me grin. His bike was older, and has a different pitch than dad’s bike- the sound oddly comforting after all these years. I look up to see Bucky, kicking the stand down and swinging his leg over. He never got less striking to look at. He’s in a plain black t-shirt and I notice the chain of his dog tags around the back of his neck- he always wear them tucked into his shirt. I give him a warm smile, assuming he would go straight in and talk to dad.
He pauses though, eyes raking over me and I realize how little I am wearing. He leans against one of the far garden beds that I had completely finished pulling weeds from and I feel his eyes lingering on me as I yank a stubborn weed from its root.
“Working hard, princess?” He says with the most dazzling grin and I shake my head slightly, fighting my own smile. It was something he has called me for
as long as I could remember, but it sounded different now.
“Just trying to get these beds in better shape. My dad clearly wasn’t the gardner of the family.”
I say, pointing to a bed with weeds almost taller than me.
“That’s a lot of work.” He says, coming around a bed and walking towards me. “Need some help?” He asks, even though he’s already picking up a small shovel.
“No it’s okay, really. It’s a summer project.” I say smiling, trying to be polite and not put a guest to work.
“It’s July 28th, princess.” He says back flatly and I catch his point- summer break was quickly wrapping up and I still had a good ways to go from the looks of it. “I don’t mind helping.” He restates, grabbing a particularly large weed with hard yank, “Plus I don’t mind the view.”
I nearly fall over at that. Was he flirting with me? I noticed things had been…different lately, ever since moving back home. I couldn’t quite place it but Bucky had just felt more present. I try and not get my hopes up that my crush is reciprocated just yet, but my face flushes a pretty shade of pink anyway.
I never quite learned the skill of taking a compliment. I was an only child raised by a single father which means I was good as picking and taunting. My flirting often comes out as a jab which is why it’s no surprise when, instead of responding with something normal like ‘thanks’, I say “Really? Aren’t you like 100? I figured your type would be uh- maybe the ladies from the nursing home?” I say, playful smirk on full display.
“What happened to
respecting your elders then, little girl!” He says, playfully slinging a weed in my direction.
“What? You want me to call you sir?”. I answer, a full warm laugh escaping me and I can’t remember the last time that happened.
His responding, “Careful, princess.” comes out low and rough. The unspoken ‘I might like that’ hangs heavy in the air between us.
The screen door opens with a loud pop and we jump apart, tearing our gazes away from
one another. I hadn’t even realized
we had gotten so close to one another as I turn to a bed, trying to look busy.
“Everything alright out here?” Steve asks, sensing the weird tension as he gets closer to the two of us.
Bucky clears his throat and gives a little wave with the hand holding the shovel, “Yeah, we’re good. Just helping out your daughter in the garden.” And the words sound so absurd coming from a man that was once an assassin that I can’t help the choked little giggling sound that slips out of me.
“I see.” Steve says, crossing his arms as he looks at his best friend like he is some kind of criminal. “When did you become a gardener, Buck?”
Bucky smiles a little shyly at that, scratching the back of his neck, “I just figured the extra hands would be nice.”
“That awfully nice of you Buck”
he says in a tone that makes it feel like it’s anything but nice.
Then he turns to look at me and says, “Why don’t you go inside in the AC for a minute? You’ve been out here all day.” My dad says and I know this is a dismissal. It’s a dad move to make it sound like a request when really it’s a demand.
I take it on the chin though, as I respond with a tight smile. “Sure, I’ll go make us all some lemonade.” I walk towards the house and throw a look over my shoulder at Bucky before letting the door shut behind me.
Meanwhile, Steve turns to Bucky, the kind face instantly dropping. “You’re treading on some dangerous ground.” is all he grits out, arms crossed, looking every bit the retired soldier.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bucky respond voice flat and cold- he could play the soldier card too.
“Don’t play dumb Buck, I saw you looking at her. She still my little girl and you’re twice her age.” Steven says, shifting from soldier to father.
“18 years apart” Bucky says, biting the inside of his cheek, “Technically not double.” He is fighting a smirk hard. If you don’t count the years frozen, which him
and Steve don’t; he is 39 years old to your 21.
“Don’t you get technical on me,
18 years is still way too old.”
Steve says, looking more protective than genuinely angry, “You’re deflecting. What are your intentions with her?”
“To weed the garden.” Bucky says, waving the small shovel still in hand with a downright devilish grin.
“You’re impossible.” Steve
says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She’s not some girl you can mess around with and then forget about, Buck. She’s my daughter.”
Bucky tries to not take offense. He wasn’t even the womanizer type, but he knew Steve was just being protective. He gives him a firm nod. “I know.” Bucky says roughly.
“I mean it Buck, don’t do anything stupid.” Steve says before turning back inside, resigned but muscles still tight. Bucky smirks behind his back. Technically he hadn’t said you were off limits. His exact word weee to not treat it like a fling and to not do anything stupid.
Challenge accepted.
I walk back out a minute later, two tall cups of lemonade in my hand. I hand one to Bucky before asking, “Do I even wanna know what just went down?”
“Just your dad being a protective parent is all.” He says smirking, taking a sip of the lemonade you offered him. I lean back against a raised bed, crossing my legs at the ankle. I tried to take Bucky’s words at face value and not overthink it. I had been suprised when my dad hadn’t yelled at me to put a shirt on when I was inside. He already didn’t like me wearing sports bras around, even to the gym. So yeh fact he hadn’t corrected you, especially with Bucky here felt…strange. I realize I’ve been silent for some time and let my eyes snap up to where Bucky has been observing me.
“You got quiet” He says, not to state the obvious but to try and break the growing tension from the silence.
“Sorry just, just thinking is all” I say, taking a long pull from my lemonade and licking my lips. I am looking at you, the same way you had looked at me. You were devastatingly handsome.
Then, I ask something not flirty or romantic at all, which was so like me. Always analyzing and thinking, maybe a little awkward.
Bucky loves it though and knows it’s why I was getting some big fancy science degree that he couldn’t even pronounce half the words in.
“Your arm, does it get hot in the sun?” I ask, motioning to your metal arm. I remember leaning against a hot truck once that had been baking in the sun and wince at the idea, assuming your arm is more advanced but not sure.
The topic change shocks him but he takes it in stride. He was used to your quirky questions and segway’s my now. “No. It’s pretty high tech stuff. It would be pointless to have it freezing up or burning me.” He said, a little tightly- the way he always got about his arm. He recovers smoothly though, a quick flex of his metal hand before saying, “But you’re sweet for worrying.”
I blush and realize I’ve been staring at his arm like a total dork. I quickly clear my throat. “I wasn’t worrying I was just curious- sometimes I’m too curious for my own good.”I say, surprisingly myself with my openness.
“Nothing wrong with that, it’s a good thing. You’re smart as hell. Don’t be ashamed of that.” He says it so sweetly, and you know it’s genuine. “I like your questions.”I was so used to compliments about my hair or my looks, but this? Someone complimenting me on something that mattered- the intelligence I had worked so hard to hone in through lots of advanced schooling. I didn’t know how to react- I was speechless. I feel my ears get hot but not from the baking heat.
Bucky flashes a grin, like a predator finding a weak spot. “Look at that princess, so red after complementing that big brain of yours.” He teases, voice warm.
I answer with a playful swat to the arm. I was still a little too flushed and a little too embarrassed to say anything articulate and all I manage is, “oh hush” as I shove.
He barely moves at the contact, which was maddening- stupid super soldier strength. He is amused now and instead of relenting at your embarrassment, it eggs him on. “What’s the matter princess? You’re usually so quick with your snappy lectures.”
I flush because it’s true. I was usually so quick-witted I was accustomed to waiting for people to catch up to me and my reply’s in conversations. Now I was completely disarmed by a few compliments.
Bucky knows he shouldn’t.He knows he should stop flirting with you, stop talking to you. He definitely doesn’t need to touch you- but he does. He tilts your chin ever so slightly, making you turn your bashful face up to him. He’s towering over you, looking down at your blush stained face. His voice is a low, dangerous whisper, “Nothing to say for yourself? no smart comeback or comment? You’re so dang cute like this, speechless…” He’s looking at you hungrily, your faces so close.
“You should really watch your mouth. Wouldn’t want my dad to hear you talking like that.” I say and I know it’s a cop out as I say it. ‘Dang’ wasn’t even a real curse word, but he knew what I meant-Steve was picky about language. It’s a weak comeback but I’m glad I’ve at least found my voice again.
He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your face. It’s amusing to him how you try and take back control
of the situation but he humors you for the time being. “I know, I know. I’ll keep my filthy sailors mouth in check. Wouldn’t want your old man to think I’m corrupting his little girl…”
I chuck a small shovel at him as I turn back to the garden beds. We were needing to work and I wouldn’t not be productive if he kept distracting me, filling my head with thoughts of him corrupting me, teaching me. I know he will catch the shovel but it is still fun to see the shock on his face, however brief.
He does expertly catch it without even looking at it, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. “Careful, princess. I might get the urge to put you over my knee for that.”
I want to melt into the ground at that. I genuinely have to steady myself on a beam of the raised bed, knees feeling a little weak from his comment. So I deflect, acting so uninterested in his flirting, even though we both know it’s a lie. “Oh god- don’t tell me you’re that type.” I say, with a little bit of fake disdain. Trying to act big and bad was hard when staring down the White Wolf.
“And exactly what type is that?” He asks, an immediate challenge. He cocks his eyebrow, waiting on a response.
I bite my lip, immediately regretting saying that because I was certainly out of my element. I could only go as far as the many romance books I’ve read could take me. I try though anyway, even if it’s shyly. “I- I don’t know. Dominant I guess is the right word. A guy who sets rules and expects them to be followed and gives consequences when there’s not.” I say, proud of my answer despite my unsureness.
“And is that what you like, princess? Being told what to do? Having someone else be in charge?” He says, not confirming or denying, just asking. Teasing me back effortlessly, working for my shade to get another shade darker with blush.
This where the confidence really falters. You see it, the wavering of my brave little
facade. I like the sound of the words and while I wasn’t completely oblivious, I had never seen his words in practice. I wrap my arms around my front, crossing them protectively over myself but I answer honestly anyway. “I am not really sure. I don’t have the most…experience.”
Bucky sees you waver, voice softening. His teasing paused for a minute, now full of reassurance. “Hey, look at me.” And I do look up at him, instead of at my feet, “Don’t feel bad for not knowing. That just means the guy that ends up with you will be so lucky to be your first.”
Bucky expected me to soften, but instead I get even more defensive, bristling. “I’m not a stupid virgin!” I practically shriek and he realizes he misinterpreted ‘not experienced’. He silently prays Steve didn’t just hear you shriek that at him. “I just meant- like- I don’t know a lot about…the other stuff.” I say, recrossing my arms, trying to glower at you but it comes across more like a frustrated pout.
He chuckles at your posture, and how cute you were even though you were all out scolding him. He doesn’t know if he completely buys your story. “No need to be so defensive. I was just saying that the first guy you end up with gonna be such a lucky guy for being the first to touch you.” He says again, wishing it was him, he wants to be the first one so desperately, even though he knows he can’t.
“I’ve had guys touch me.” I say, arms still crossed tightly but I tilt my chin up in haughty defiance instead of shyness.
He grins at the sudden tilt to your chin, the haughty act coming back. He can’t help himself when he leans in close, not touching, just there. “Oh? And did they touch you right baby? Or did they have no idea what they were doing?”
I flush at that, knowing my first time had, in fact, been a wreck. My college party hookups weren’t really the kind of settings that were made for the girls pleasure. My silence speaks volumes though and Bucky frowns at that, brows creasing before gently, so gently saying. “You deserve so much better than that, princess.” This time ‘princess’ sounds like the most intimate word in the world. Like he sees you as one, genuinely, and he was upset that whoever touched you hadn’t treated you like one.
It’s such a tender moment- so terrifyingly soft that I feel like I might cry. Instead I try to diffuse the moment, try to reduce some of this heavy energy. I give a quick sniffle before saying what I belive to be the truth, “Yeah well, it’s okay. Sex isn’t really for the girl anyway- it’s just like, extra if it feels good for you.” I say so matter of factly that Bucky genuinely sees red for a moment. Here this beautiful young woman was and she was trying to convince him that sex, which was supposed to be an intimate pleasurable moment between two people, wasn’t meant to be enjoyed by both parties.
He opens and shuts his mouth, mind reeling at how you just said that like you were quoting the bible. He flexes his metal hand instinctively, “Who the hell ever told you that?” He speaks to you gently- always so gently, but I hear the undercurrent of anger.
That surprises me.
I don’t understand why he is so upset by this. I feel innocent, and so vulnerable all the sudden. I feel raw under his gaze and I waver slightly. “Well,” I say, looking down away from his piercing gaze so I can get the words out, “well no one told me- I just…It’s harder for girls to, ya know…” I give a vague hand motion before deciding to add the word, “finish.” I say it in a stammering way that Bucky would find adorable if he wasn’t so pissed.
“That is the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard in my life. Whoever told you that either didn’t know how to make a girl feel good or was a selfish jerk, or both.” Bucky says, his expression so serious.
I bite my lip, looking like I’m thinking really hard about whether or not to say something.
I look so small in this moment before I say something softly, so softly Bucky didn’t think he would have caught it all without his enhanced heading. “It wasn’t just them, I mean it’s hard…like, by myself too. like I could see why a guy wouldn’t want to it…takes time.” I say blushing furiously at what i just admitted. I start wondering if I should start digging a hole with the discarded shovel to just go bury myself in.
Bucky softens, anger filtering out slightly. His heart aches for you and your experience. He wants to go and erase them all for you and teach you from the start. He knows he can’t though so he just decides to try and start now. “Princess, let me ask you something.” He cups my chin so softly, and my poor blushing skin is hot to the touch.
I look up at him so sweetly, so innocently. My curiosity winning again as I give him a nod, telling him to ask. He tries to tread carefully. He knows you are a grown woman but he also knows your dad. He knew Steve was always pretty conservative. He never allowed rated R movies, no swearing. He also knew that with losing your mom at such a young age, you had probably never talked to anyone about this and the last thing he wanted to do was traumatize you. He knows he probably shouldn’t even be the one having this conversation with you but he can’t ignore that desperate look in your eyes. He takes a deep breath before asking, “How often do you…do things by yourself baby?” He says, hoping you caught his meaning. Almost instantly he heads your heart rate kick up and knows you caught him. The way your pupils blow out a bit gives you away too.
“Not, not that much.” I say so shyly I look like I could cry. He had expected that answer, based on your comment you’ve made.
“Why baby? Does it not feel good?” he asks so softly, gently running a thumb over your flushed cheek.
“Its just- it’s hard.” I say with a pout. “and it takes like- forever”
I say sounding every bit the impatient college kid in that moment.
He finally chuckles a bit at that, thinking you were so cute he could hardly stand it. His heart gave a squeeze in his chest. “You sound so impatient baby, don’t you know good things come to those who wait?”
I shoot an all out glare up at you, that haughty attitude coming back with a bite when I say “Well guys seem to coming pretty fast and they definitely don’t wait very long.”
A small scoffing sound escapes him, happy your quick witted confidence was back and not the shy, scare girl he saw a minute ago. “Princess, don’t label us all. You just haven’t met the right kind of guy yet. Those stupid college guys don’t know their left from
right, much less how to treat a woman.” He says, not harshly, just in an easy tone that says he believes what he says. He steps up and grabs my waist, pulling me close. “You deserve better than that.”
I was giggling slightly but stop and suck in a sharp breath when I feel him pull me closer. He is huge. He feels hard, solid, secure- unlike anything I’ve felt before. The heat of him makes me feel bold. His presence like the most potent aphrodisiac in the world. “And who would take their time with me, hm? Who would make me feel good like you say, even though I don’t believe you, Mr. Barnes?” The name is a taunt, a tease, a test.
He smirks, getting even closer than I thought was possible. “Well, princess, I would be more than happy to prove myself anytime, but I’ll warn you, I like to play a little rough.” He say, a dark glimmer in his eye makes me shiver in his hold and that only encourages him. “What, you like the sound of that princess?”
A neighbors car door slams, and we jump apart. It’s like a bucket of ice water being poured on us. I blush as we look at each other from a new distance. I feel shy and embarrassed now that the little spell was broken. I kick my shoe against the dirt, feeling exposed.
Bucky clears his throat, running a hand through his hair as the moment is interrupted. he gives you a small, knowing smirk before stepping back a little to give you some space, his hands now stuffed in his pocket.
"right, uh...so. weeds."
I blush, but I am happy to see him finally flustered. I look back at the garden beds that would look highly suspicious. No work had been done and who knew how long you had been out here supposedly “working.” I take a deep breath before grabbing a handful of weeds, throwing him a look over my shoulder.
summary: After a victory party, you end up drinking a bit too much while trying to keep up with superhumans.
wc: 1,126
warnings: reader being visibly drunk, mentions of y/n, petnames (bear/sweetheart)
The Avengers’ victory party had been a success by all standars. Tony had raided his top-shelf liquor cabinet, Clint had somehow lost his shoes on the roof, and the team had successfully saved the city without blowing up too many city blocks.
Unfortunately for you, and for Bucky, you had attempted to keep pace with a room full of superhumans and gods. Of course you failed.
Now, two hours past midnight, Bucky had his vibranium arm wrapped securely around your waist, steering your frame down the quiet dimly lit hallway of the Compound towards your bedroom. Every third step involved you leaning heavily into his side, giggling at absolutely nothing.
"Careful" Bucky murmured, his deep voice fond and amused as he maneuvered you around the hallway "Left foot, right foot. You're doing soo great"
"Bucky" you slurred softly, stopping dead in your tracks
He paused, effortlessly taking on your full weight without missing a beat "Yeah? What is it? You feeling nauseous?"
Slowly and dramatically you tilted your head back, your eyes wide with awe as you gestured loosely toward the hallway roof.
"Oh, look at the stars! Ursa Major... so beautiful!" you whispered in reverent wonder, mouth lightly opened
Bucky glanced up at the modern drywall above where a grid of small, warm toned LED bulbs glowed softly. He blinked, looking back down at your dreamy, upturned face, his classic smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"We're inside. Those are just ceiling lights, y/n"
"No, Bucky, you don't understand" you insisted, swaying slightly and tapping his chest with a pointed finger "The universe... it's speaking to us. The Great Bear is blessing our voyage"
"The Great Bear is going to give you a massive headache tomorrow if we don't get you some water and a bed" he chuckled shaking his head. He effortlessly scooped you up into his arms bridal style, bringing a dramatic gasp from you
"My hero" you sighed, swooning against his neck "Rescued from the cosmos"
When Bucky finally got you into your room, he carefully set you down on the edge of your mattress. He knelt down in front of you, untying the straps of your shoes with practiced, steady hands.
It's not the first time he had to take care of you after a party. He took your heels off and placed them next to your nightstand, so that you don't fall over them when getting up. Bucky quickly went to the kitchen to bring you a huge glass of water and some painkillers for the morning. He tucked you safely under the duvet before you could attempt to chart any more constellations.
"You're very pretty when you're making up astronomy" Bucky murmured, gently pushing a strand of hair back from your forehead as you sank into the pillows
"I didn't make it up" you mumbled, eyes already half closed "Ursa Major is real, and... you're a big bear"
"Is that right?" He chuckled softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek
"Mmhmm. A soft, scary bear. But I'm not scared of you" You reached up blindly grabbing his hand and pulling his knuckles to your cheek "Stay?"
Bucky’s gaze softened, the lingering shadows in his blue eyes lifting entirely. He kicked off his boots, climbed onto the bed next to you above the covers, and pulled you against his chest.
"I'm right here, y/n" he whispered into your hair, resting his chin on your head as your breathing began to even out "Hope you have sweet dreams"
By three in the morning the starry canopy of ceiling lights had given way to total, pitchblack darkness.
And right on schedule, the alcohol's fun phase had officially retired, leaving behind a dry throat, a spinning room and a sudden desire to consume an entire box of dry cereal.
You shifted groaning softly as you tried to disentangle your legs from the duvet. Beside you, Bucky moved instantly. Even asleep, he was wired like a tripwire and within half a second his eyes were open, clear and sharp in the dim room.
"Hey" he rasped, his voice thick with sleep. His flesh hand immediately reached across the mattress finding your waist "You alright? You nauseous?"
"Water" you croaked, sounding like you’d swallowed a handful of sand "And... my brain feels like it’s vibrating, I don't like it"
Bucky let out a low breathless laugh, a soft rumble against the mattress, and reached over to grab the glass he’d set on the nightstand earlier that night. He sat up, propping his back against the headboard, and pulled you up into his lap so you wouldn't have to hold your own head up.
"Here, take small sips, okay? Don't chug it"
You took the glass, his vibranium hand cupping yours to keep it steady while you drank. The cool water was like a liquid life. When you pulled away leaning back against his broad chest with a heavy sigh, you stared straight ahead at the opposite wall.
"Bucky?"
"Yeah?"
"Why is the dresser looking at me like that?"
Bucky paused, his chin resting on your shoulder as he squinted across the dark bedroom at your plain wooden IKEA dresser "It's a piece of furniture, sweetheart. It doesn't have eyes"
"It has two knobs" you pointed out, gesturing vaguely with your hand "They're staring. Judgmatically"
"Judgmatically" Bucky repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching "Pretty sure that's not a word"
"It's a very real word" you insisted, leaning back harder into his chest and tilting your head up to look at him upside down "It's judging me for mistaking the hall lights for Ursa Major"
"Well" Bucky murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the center of your forehead "the dresser can mind its own damn business. You were very majestic about the hall lights"
"I was, wasn't I?"
"Extremely" he agreed, setting the empty water glass back on the table. He wrapped both arms around you, one warm skin, one cool vibranium, and pulled you back down into the blankets, tucking the comforter tightly around your shoulders "Now go back to sleep before you start getting into an argument with the nightstand"
"The nightstand is nice" you mumbled, burying your face directly into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar, grounding scent of his perfume and soap "The nightstand brought me water"
"I brought you the water" Bucky chuckled, his chest vibrating against yours as his fingers softly combed through your hair, repeating the rhythmic motion until your breathing finally slowed back down
"Same thing" you whispered, already drifting back off "Goodnight, bear"
"Goodnight, sweetheart" he whispered back, resting his cheek against your hair with a faint smile staying on his lips long after you fell asleep
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ › the tide has a way of bringing old things back to shore. and as the rain refuses to leave town, so do the memories you've spent months trying not to revisit.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ › bucky x female reader
ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ › mature themes, character death (readers mother), grief, 5+1 with a twist, five stages of grief + one stage of love, stage three: bargaining, emotional rollercoaster, hurt/comfort, self blame, semi slow burn, lowkey grumpy x grumpy, storm symbolism (i tried sorry if it suck/feels repetitive) not beta read we die like... everything
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ › 5.4k
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ › halfway there >:) also ive decided that editing is writings evil cousin bc WHY does it suck so much pls cant i just wave a magic wand and make the spelling errors go away
ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
The storm refused to leave.
It settled over the coast like an unwelcome guest, filling the sky with heavy gray clouds and turning daylight into a muted, washed-out version of itself. Rain drummed against the cottage roof morning and night, sometimes gentle enough to disappear into the background, sometimes loud enough to shake the windows. The weather report insisted it would move offshore tomorrow, tomorrow came and it stayed. By the fifth day, you'd stopped checking altogether.
Instead, you found yourself sitting on the porch each morning, wrapped in your mother's old knitted blanket, a mug of coffee cooling forgotten in your hands.
The repaired half of the railing remained sturdy, the unfinished section remained cordoned off by a pair of old sawhorses. An ugly reminder of last week, of words you couldn't take back. Rain blurred the horizon until the ocean and sky became one endless sheet of gray. Even through the weather, you watched the tide. It came in, and went out. Again, and again, and again. Your mother used to say that if you watched the tide long enough, you'd realize the ocean never really lost anything, it only borrowed it. Shells disappeared beneath the waves only to wash ashore somewhere else, driftwood floated away before returning months later, smoother than before, even footprints weren't erased forever. Just carried somewhere else, the looming promise of its return fizzing away in the foam caps.
You used to roll your eyes whenever she said things like that.
"You make everything sound like a life lesson."
She'd smiled over the rim of her coffee.
"That's because everything is one."
At fifteen, you'd thought she was unbearably sentimental. At twenty-eight, sitting alone on the porch she'd loved so much, you wished you'd listened more carefully.
The tide rolled away from shore, then returned. Give. Take. Give. Take.
Your thoughts had begun doing the same. Every quiet moment became another negotiation, another impossible bargain.
If I'd called more... The thought arrived before you could stop it. You'd called every Sunday and most Wednesdays. Sent pictures throughout the week, but maybe, maybe every Sunday hadn't been enough. Maybe she hadn't told you she was lonely because she didn't want you to worry. Maybe she spent evenings sitting in this very cottage wishing you'd come home.
If I'd visited more... You'd always meant to but work was busy. Projects piled up, clients demanded impossible deadlines. There would always be next month, next summer, you used to tell yourself. The holidays, there was always another visit waiting somewhere in the future.
Until suddenly there wasn't.
If I hadn't left... That one stayed the longest. You imagined impossible versions of your life, one where you'd never accepted the promotion, one where you'd stayed in town after college, one where you'd bought a little house down the road. You pictured stopping by after work and fixing things around the cottage, cooking dinner together, insisting she let you carry the groceries.
Would she have gone out that morning if you'd been here? Would you have driven instead? Would she still be alive?
Your rational mind answered immediately. You know that's not how this works, yet your grief ignored it completely. Instead, it continued rewriting history, searching desperately for the version where everyone lived. You found yourself replaying your final phone call with her, not the words but the spaces between them. Had she sounded tired? Had she paused longer than usual? Had she been trying to tell you something?
You couldn't remember and that frightened you most. You were already forgetting, not the important things, but the ordinary ones. The exact sound of her laugh. Whether she'd still said "goodnight, sweetheart" at the end of every phone call, whether she'd preferred daisies or sunflowers. You'd spent your entire life assuming there would always be time to ask again.
Time had quietly disagreed.
The cottage creaked behind you as a gust of wind rattled the windows, the lights flickered once, twice then steadied. You looked toward the ceiling instinctively. The storm wasn't showing any signs of slowing down and the weather radio had warned about possible outages all morning.
You sighed. One more errand.
You'd hoped to avoid town for another few days but apparently life had other plans.
An hour later you found yourself pulling into the hardware store parking lot beneath a sky the color of wet concrete. Rain tapped steadily against the windshield as you sat there for a moment watching droplets race one another down the glass. The store's fluorescent lights glowed warmly through the windows while people hurried inside carrying umbrellas. You pulled your hood over your head and stepped into the rain.
The automatic doors whooshed open and warm air smelling faintly of sawdust and fertilizer wrapped around you. You headed toward the lighting aisle, your list echoing through your head, flashlights, lanterns, extra batteries and a few oil lamps, just in case.
Your mother always kept oil lamps ready for hurricane season.
"Electricity's nice," she'd always said. "But candles and lanterns don't care about power lines."
The memory almost made you smile. Almost.
You reached for the last hurricane lantern on the shelf as another hand reached for it at exactly the same time. You closed your eyes before you even looked. Of course.
"You've got to be kidding me." You muttered.
Across from you, Bucky looked equally unimpressed. Rainwater dripped from the ends of his hair onto the shoulders of his jacket.
"Not my fault you keep showing up where I shop."
You let out a disbelieving huff.
"I'm fairly certain this shelf existed before either of us walked into this store."
He considered that.
"...Probably."
Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth threatened to move. You caught it before it could. Thunder rolled across the coastline once more, echoing through the store. Though you couldn't see it, beneath buzzing fluorescent lights and the smell of fresh-cut lumber, the tide quietly shifted again.
For a second, neither of you reached for the lantern as rain drummed steadily against the roof overhead. Someone pushed a cart down the next aisle. The ordinary sounds of the hardware store settled around the silence neither of you seemed eager to break.
You shifted your weight.
"So..." you looked down at the lantern between your hands. "I should probably apologize."
He tilted his head slightly. "For what?"
You blinked. "The porch."
His expression stayed neutral.
"You know..." you gestured vaguely. "The part where I told you to get the hell out of my house like a crazy person."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Heat crept into your face despite the cool air humming from the store's vents. "I'm really sorry about that day."
The words came easier than you'd expected.
"My life is kind of..." You laughed softly, humorless. "...a mess right now."
You rubbed absentmindedly at the back of your neck. "And you didn't deserve any of that."
The admission hung awkwardly between you. "You probably think I'm some crazy unstable person."
Bucky's shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "I don't think you're crazy."
A breath escaped somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
"Well..." you looked toward the ceiling. "Maybe you should."
The corner of his mouth twitched, not enough to become a smile but enough that you noticed. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, just, thoughtful. Outside, thunder rolled again closer now.
Then, quietly—
"It's not your fault."
You looked up. "...What?"
Bucky leand one shoulder against the shelf beside him. "Whatever's eating you alive inside."
His voice remained calm, matter-of-fact.
"It's not your fault."
You stared and your heart gave one strange, uncertain beat.
"...What?" The word came out much smaller this time, almost afraid. How did he—had someone told him? Had Mrs. Patterson said something? The diner? The grocery store? Was the entire town talking about you?
Your stomach twisted.
Bucky shook his head as though answering a question you hadn't asked.
"You have this look." He gestured vaguely toward your face, toward all of you.
"Every time you walk into a room..." he searched for the words. "...you brace yourself."
You frowned. "For what?"
"For what you think is going to happen."
His eyes stayed on yours.
"Then nothing does." Another pause. "And you still look devastated."
Your throat tightened. Nobody had ever described grief like that before. Not as sadness, not as crying. Bracing. As though every ordinary moment carried the possibility of another terrible phone call, another loss, another rug pulled out from beneath your feet.
You hadn't realized you were doing it.
Apparently everyone else had.
"...That obvious, huh?"
His answer came immediately. "Yeah."
You winced.
He looked away briefly. Then added, almost absentmindedly—"Well... I know that look pretty well."
Something about the way he said it stopped you from asking. There was no bitterness, no self-pity, just recognition. Like two strangers unexpectedly speaking the same language. Your eyes drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the sleeve covering his metal arm and you thought about the first day on your porch. The way he'd noticed you staring and the way he'd quietly let the moment pass.
Nobody ended up carrying that kind of history without learning something about loss.
"I'm sorry."
The words slipped out before you thought about them.
Bucky looked back at you. "You said that already."
The tease was gentle, light enough that you felt yourself smiling. A real one this time, small but real.
"Yeah well..." you glanced down at your shoes. "I mean it."
"I know."
Another silence settled between you. This one softer than the others.
The rain battered the windows harder, and the wind howled around the building.
You inhaled slowly, held the breath, then let it go.
"Can I..."
You stopped. God, this felt awkward.
"...Can we..." another deep breath. "...like..."
You laughed quietly at yourself. "Can we start over?"
Bucky looked at you for a long second, his face remained completely unreadable and your stomach sank. He's going to laugh. He's absolutely going to laugh. Instead, he shifted the lantern into his other hand, then held out his right.
"I'm Bucky."
You blinked. A surprised laugh escaped before you could stop it as you nodded your head. Your fingers slid into his hand, warm, solid and steady. The simple contact startled you more than it should have. You couldn't remember the last time someone had shaken your hand, the last time another person had reached for you without pity or obligation, without condolences waiting behind their eyes. Just... hello.
His palm was warm against yours, comfortingly so. You realized, with a strange ache in your chest, how long it had been since you'd touched another human being. You hadn't noticed the absence until the warmth returned.
You gave your name. "It's nice to meet you, Bucky."
His smile arrived slowly this time, small and almost shy.
"You too."
The handshake lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary as neither of you seemed in much of a hurry to let go. Eventually, you did, almost reluctantly.
"So..." he nodded toward the lantern in your cart. "Preparing for the apocalypse?"
"The power's been flickering."
He glanced toward the ceiling as another crack of thunder echoed overhead. "...Fair."
The lights buzzed once and flickered then recovered. Then the rain intensified all at once, not just rain anymore. Sheets of water slammed against the storefront windows hard enough to blur the parking lot into gray. Several people stopped what they were doing to look outside.
Someone muttered, "That's not good."
Bucky frowned toward the entrance. "My bike."
You followed his gaze to the motorcycle that sat completely exposed, already disappearing beneath the downpour.
"You can't ride in that."
"I've ridden in worse."
Lightning cracked somewhere uncomfortably close. Both of you instinctively looked toward the windows.
"...Maybe not today."
Without really thinking about it, you spoke. "I can give you a ride."
"You sure?" His eyes shifted back to you.
You nodded. "It's the least I can do."
He considered the offer, then smiled faintly.
"Then I accept."
Relief settled somewhere inside you.
"...But."
You should've known there'd be a but.
"I drive."
You frowned.
"What?"
He took your keys from your open palm before you could protest. "I don't need you backing into any more stationary objects."
You let out an offended laugh. "I hit one motorcycle."
"You hit one motorcycle that belonged to me."
You waved your hand. "Details."
"They're pretty important details."
Despite yourself, you found yourself laughing again. Quieter this time and without the sharp sting of guilt that had followed the first one. Not gone, just less immediate.
The drive began exactly as expected. Rain pounded the windshield as the wipers struggled to keep up. Roads disappeared beneath standing water.
You assumed he'd direct you toward town. Instead—
"Left here."
You frowned when he didn't take it.
"My cottage's the other way."
"I know."
Another turn. Another unfamiliar road.
"Bucky..."
"It beats sitting in that old cottage with no power waiting for the walls to blow down."
You looked out at the storm. The trees beginning to bend beneath the wind and the relentless rain. Part of you wanted to argue, to insist you could handle it, that you'd spent the past several weeks proving you didn't need anyone. But another part, a quieter part, was simply tired. Too tired to spend another night pretending isolation was the same thing as healing.
So, for once... you didn't argue.
You simply watched the rain race across the windshield as Bucky drove toward a place you hadn't expected to end up. And for reasons you couldn't yet explain, you didn't mind nearly as much as you thought you would. Bucky's house sat at the edge of town, tucked beneath a stand of old live oaks that leaned toward the shoreline as though they, too, had spent their lives listening to the ocean.
It wasn't large. Just a weathered one-story cottage with faded blue shutters and a wide front porch that had clearly been repaired more than once over the years.
Some porch chairs rocked gently beneath the covered awning despite the storm. The windows glowed warm against the gray afternoon. Home. The thought came uninvited. Not your home. Just someone's.
The engine quieted, rain continued drumming against the roof.
"You coming?"
You blinked, realizing you'd been staring.
"Right."
The dash from the truck to the porch lasted only a few seconds, still long enough to soak the hems of your jeans, for the cold rain to sting your cheeks.
Bucky unlocked the front door.
"Watch the rug."
"What?"
"It likes to slide."
Sure enough, your foot caught the edge. You stumbled and Bucky reached out instinctively, steadying your elbow before you could fall.
"See?"
"I wasn't going to fall."
"You absolutely were."
"I recovered."
"You were recovering and I caught you."
You rolled your eyes.
"I liked you better when we were strangers."
He laughed quietly as he disappeared into the kitchen.
"Liar."
The house smelled like cedar and coffee. Something simmered in a slow cooker somewhere, while fresh rain drifted in every time the wind rattled the windows. It wasn't immaculate. There were books stacked on side tables, a flannel thrown over the back of the couch, a toolbox sitting half-open near the fireplace. Evidence of someone actually living there, not performing the idea of home but just existing inside it.
You found yourself standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room unsure what to do with your hands. Unsure what the etiquette was for unexpectedly taking shelter in a near stranger's house.
"You drink tea?"
His voice carried from the kitchen.
"Usually coffee."
"I've got coffee."
You hesitated.
"...Coffee sounds nice."
"Good answer."
You heard cupboards opening, the clink of mugs, water beginning to boil. Normal sounds. Ordinary sounds. They settled something restless inside you. Your gaze wandered toward a bookshelf, to the photographs lined the top. Friends, family, people smiling beneath summer sunlight. You looked away before examining them too closely, it felt private.
The rain intensified again. Hard enough that conversation would've been impossible outdoors yet inside, everything felt wrapped in warmth. The mugs arrived a few minutes later, one was set carefully into your hands. The ceramic radiated heat through your chilled fingers, you hadn't realized how cold you'd become.
"Thanks."
"Mhm."
Bucky settled into the armchair opposite the couch. Not beside you, not close enough to crowd but present enough to feel normal. Steam curled lazily from your mug and you watched it disappear into the air.
One breath. Then another.
Neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, it simply existed, like the storm, like the ocean. Eventually, your eyes settled on the rain streaking across the windows. You could feel your thoughts beginning to form and figured now was better than ever.
"I..." the word caught.
You tried again. "My, uh..."
Your fingers tightened around the mug. "A few months ago… my mom died."
Saying it aloud still felt impossible, like speaking another language. The room remained quiet around you two. Bucky didn't interrupt, didn't offer sympathy, didn't tell you how sorry he was. He simply listened.
"I tried to keep going." You laughed softly, without humor. "Back in the city."
Another pause.
"I went back to work."
The meetings, emails, presentations and business lunches. You remembered every single one feeling wrong. Like wearing someone else's clothes.
"It all felt...wrong. So," you looked down into your coffee. "I sold almost everything I owned and quit my job."
The sentence sounded absurd now that it was out loud, pulling another quiet humorless laugh from you.
"I packed three boxes," your throat tightened. "And I came back."
Back here. Back to the town you'd spent years convincing yourself you'd outgrown.
"I thought... I thought it would make things better."
The storm answered for you. Rain battered the windows, wind sighed through the trees and up against the door. Howling through the air
Your voice cracked. "I think I'm just unraveling."
Silence settled between the two of you. Not empty or echoing, just patient.
Bucky looked into his own mug for a long moment before speaking. "I lost someone."
You looked up.
"My..." he smiled faintly to himself. "My best friend."
His thumb traced absent circles against the ceramic.
"He was the closest thing I had to a brother. To family."
Something softened in his expression. Memory.
"I think..." he breathed slowly. "I think a part of me always knew it was coming."
The admission seemed difficult, like lifting something heavy.
"But it still hurt."
He looked toward the rain, his voice remained steady.
"I knew he deserved peace. I just didn't know how I was supposed to find mine without him."
The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest. Because that was it, that impossible contradiction. Wanting someone you loved to stop hurting, then not knowing how to continue once they had.
You looked down at your hands. "...Did you?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Find it."
His eyes looked out toward the window. Beyond it, the ocean churned beneath dark skies. The tide continued its endless rhythm despite the storm. Coming in. Going out. Taking. Giving.
A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
"Yeah." He leaned back in the chair. "Took a little while."
The smile grew, barely.
"But... " his gaze drifted toward the shoreline visible through the rain. "I'm happy here."
There was no grand revelation in the words. No dramatic speech, just quiet certainty as though happiness wasn't something he'd found all at once. As though it had arrived slowly piece by piece, like driftwood washing ashore after a storm.
You followed his gaze to the ocean. The waves were rough, the sky still dark, nothing about the view suggested peace. And yet sitting here, wrapped around a warm mug in a house that smelled like coffee and cedar while rain beat steadily against the roof... you found yourself believing him.
Maybe peace wasn't the absence of storms. Maybe it was simply finding somewhere safe enough to wait for them to pass.
Your eyes burned and the tears arrived quietly this time. Not with the overwhelming force they'd carried these past months, just a slow sting gathering behind your eyes. You blinked once, twice and the feeling eased, you'd cried enough in front of strangers. You weren't sure Bucky counted as one anymore. The realization caught you off guard. That somewhere between repairing porch railings and sharing coffee during a storm, he'd become... something else. Not quite a friend, not yet. But no longer a stranger.
You let the thought settle without examining it too closely while the rain continued its steady assault against the windows. The tide churned beneath an angry sky, the water rushed toward shore. Pulled away again. Give. Take. Give. Take.
Your mother would've liked this house.
The thought arrived gently and not with the sharp ache it usually carried. She would've complimented the porch swing, asked Bucky entirely too many questions, probably insisted on bringing over blueberry muffins after learning he lived alone. The image lingered, then floated quietly away before you realized you were smiling. It was small, almost invisible.
Bucky noticed anyway.
"What?"
You shook your head. "Nothing."
"Hm."
He didn't press.
Instead, both of you watched another flash of lightning brighten the horizon. The silence settled comfortably around you once again. Eventually, curiosity won.
"So..." you turned toward him. "How'd you end up here anyway?"
He glanced over.
"You don't exactly look like the beach local type."
The words left your mouth before your brain had fully approved them.
You grimaced. "...No offense."
"Offense."
The reply came so dryly you couldn't help it, a laugh escaped, short and soft.
"You are impossible."
"I've been told."
You tucked one leg beneath yourself on the couch.
"So?"
He rubbed a hand thoughtfully across the back of his neck.
"My buddy Sam."
"The one in the pictures?"
He nodded.
"Lives outside Delacroix."
The unfamiliar name rolled around in your head.
"I spent some time down there." His gaze drifted toward the rain-speckled windows. "Needed somewhere to land."
The words were simple but you suspected there was an entire story hiding behind them. One he wasn't ready to tell and you understood that.
He continued.
"Turns out..." a tiny smile appeared. "Life by the water isn't too bad."
You looked toward the ocean. "It grows on you."
"It does."
The room fell quiet again.
Then another question slipped free.
"So why didn't you stay there?"
Bucky's expression became perfectly serious.
"I'm not a fan of the local marine life."
You frowned.
"...Marine life?"
It took your brain a second. Then—
"You mean—"
"Alligators."
"You left an entire state because of alligators?"
"I saw one smile at me."
You stared.
"They... don't smile."
"They absolutely do."
"They don't."
"They literally do."
You laughed again, longer this time.
"You are making that up."
"I wish."
"You've got to be kidding."
"I'm telling you."
He held one hand out dramatically.
"Eight feet long."
Your brows furrowed with amusement. "You know they get bigger than that."
"I wasn't sticking around to measure."
You shook your head.
"So you traded alligators for hurricanes?"
"They're easier to reason with."
"Hurricanes?"
"They usually announce they're coming."
You laughed hard enough to shake your head.
"That's terrible logic."
"It hasn't failed me yet."
"No..." you smiled into your coffee. "I suppose it hasn't."
The warmth in the room settled deeper. The storm still raged outside, wind bent the sea grass nearly flat, rain blurred the horizon into watercolor streaks of gray and blue, the tide continued its endless conversation with the shore. Coming. Going. Taking. Returning. Neither of you spoke for a while, you simply watched.
The strange thing about grief was how loud it usually was. It demanded attention, filled every corner of your mind until there wasn't room for anything else. Yet somehow, sitting beside someone who wasn't trying to fix it, who wasn't pretending to understand every part of it, who wasn't offering hollow reassurances or carefully chosen condolences… it grew quieter. Not gone, just, less alone. You thought back to the endless what ifs that had occupied every waking moment since your mother's death.
If I'd called more.
If I'd visited sooner.
If I hadn't left.
Questions with no answers.Questions that only circled back to themselves like waves chasing the shoreline. You looked toward the ocean again. The tide was beginning to turn, pulling gently back from the beach, making room for the next wave. Your mother had always believed the sea had something to teach people willing to sit still long enough.
You'd spent years dismissing that as one of her charming little philosophies. But tonight, watching rain streak across the glass while a near stranger quietly shared your silence, you wondered if maybe she'd been right. Not because the ocean had answers, but because it never stopped moving no matter what it carried away, no matter what it brought back.
Eventually, the lights flickered once more as a strong gust of wind howled up against the side of the house.
Bucky sighed theatrically. "There goes your excuse to avoid fixing that porch."
You rolled your eyes.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The sarcasm."
"I was worried you'd started to miss it."
"I definitely hadn't."
"Liar."
You smiled into your mug. Maybe. Just maybe.
The storm finally broke three days later.
The first morning the sun returned, the entire town seemed to spill outside at once. Windows opened, porches filled, children raced toward the beach carrying towels nearly bigger than they were. The ocean glittered as though nothing had happened, as though it hadn't spent the better part of a week throwing itself against the shore.
You were halfway through your morning coffee when someone knocked. Three quick taps.
You opened the door to see Bucky stood there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.
"Morning."
"Morning."
He nodded toward the beach.
"Wanna take a walk?"
The invitation hovered between you.
You should've said no. It would've been easier. Safer.
Instead you set your coffee down on the end table. "...Sure."
Just a walk, right? That's all. The thought came quickly. You're not making friends, you're just walking, there's a difference. Just finally taking in the sun after it was sorely missed over the past week. That's all. You repeated the same excuse the following afternoon when he asked again, and the afternoon after that. It's just coffee, just conversation, just company. Nothing permanent because so long as it stayed that way it couldn't hurt you, temporary things couldn't become something you lost. You clung to that logic with surprising determination.
The beach stretched wide beneath the afternoon sun. The tide had gone out, leaving smooth wet sand that reflected the sky like glass. Neither of you hurried, sometimes you talked, sometimes you didn't. Bucky seemed equally comfortable with both until he stopped suddenly, bent down and picked something from the sand.
"What?"
He held it out. A small piece of pale blue sea glass rested against his palm, its edges had been worn perfectly smooth.
"You know what this is?"
"Sea glass."
"I figured you'd know that much."
You bumped his shoulder lightly. "I grew up here remember."
"Fair."
He rolled the tiny piece between his fingers.
"It starts as broken glass like a bottle."
You looked down at it. "Or a jar."
"Something somebody threw away." He skipped it lightly across his palm. "Spends years in the ocean. Moving through the waves and sand."
His thumb brushed over its smooth surface.
"And eventually..." he handed it to you. "...it transforms and becomes this."
You turned it over carefully as it caught the sunlight. Soft, translucent, and beautiful.
"It doesn't even look like glass anymore."
"Exactly."
You stared at it for a long moment. The ocean whispered around your ankles, a gull cried somewhere overhead.
"Is this your cryptic way of giving me advice?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "It's just glass."
There was a brief pause between you two before he bent down to pick up another piece, this one still jagged, the edges rough and not yet worn by the sea.
"Used to be something you loved, then it broke and you cast it out because it hurt you. But eventually it comes back, and after some time you realize how beautiful its become."
His words weren't lost on you, the ache in your chest that your mother left hasn't truly subsided nor do you think it ever will. Finally, you shook your head.
"I don't think people work that way."
Bucky looked at you.
"I think some do."
"I don't."
The words came quietly.
"I think..." you swallowed. "I think some things stay broken."
His gaze remained steady. "So do bottles."
You looked away.
"Bottles don't have to fight their way through everyday to get..." you searched for the word. "...fixed."
"I didn't say fixed."
You frowned.
He nodded toward the sea glass still resting in your palm.
"I said transformed."
You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. Instead, you closed your fingers around the glass and handed it back to him.
"Well until I throw myself into the ocean and get thrashed around for a couple years I think I'll stay this way."
Bucky didn't argue, didn't insist otherwise. He simply smiled that quiet little smile of his.
"Keep it."
You looked up.
"What?"
"The sea glass."
He shrugged. "I found another."
"But that ones not smooth yet."
"I like it this way."
There was a strange thump in your chest as you slipped it into your pocket, something you didn't recognize until a few moment later as your heartbeat. Skipping a beat. You decided not to shed any more light on that as you continued your walk with him, the glass shifting lightly in your pocket with each step. You didn't take it because you believed him, even though a quiet part wanted to, but now somehow it felt wrong to throw it back.
A few mornings later, Bucky knocked on your front door again. When you answered, he looked oddly uncertain, something you hadn't seen before.
"I made something." He blurted out, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found as he held out a small bundle wrapped carefully in an old handkerchief.
You unfolded it slowly.
It's a necklace, simple leather cord, tiny knots woven carefully by hand and in the center the pale blue sea glass.
You looked up. "You made this?"
He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck with a shrug. "I had some extra cord."
Your thumb traced the smooth glass.
"I figured..." another shrug. "...it looked better around you than sitting in a drawer."
For a long moment, you couldn't find any words. Nobody had made you something in years. Not bought, but made. Something about that mattered more than you could explain.
"It's beautiful." You voice was quiet.
The compliment seemed to embarrass him.
"It'll probably fall apart eventually."
You laughed softly. "I'll take my chances."
He smiled. "So will I."
That night, after he'd gone home, the cottage felt different. Not less lonely, just less silent. There was a strange warmth to the air as you moved about. You changed into pajamas, made yourself tea all while the necklace rested against your collarbone, cool against your skin.
Your phone sat charging on the kitchen counter. Waiting. Seven voicemails, still. You stared at the notification for a long time. Then, before you could change your mind you pressed play. The speaker crackled softly.
Then—
"Hi, sweetheart."
Your mother's voice filled the quiet kitchen, bright and ordinary.
"Just wanted to remind you that the strawberries at the market are finally in season."
You laughed through the tears already gathering. Of course she called about strawberries.
"I know you'll probably forget to eat actual fruit if somebody doesn't remind you."
A pause. You could hear a grocery cart rolling somewhere in the background.
"Anyway..."
The familiar warmth in her voice wrapped around you.
"Call me when you get a chance."
Another pause.
"Love you."
The voicemail ended with the soft click of her hanging up.
That was it. No final wisdom, no hidden goodbye, no feeling that she'd somehow known. Just strawberries and groceries. A reminder to eat fruit on an ordinary Tuesday. Somehow, that hurt more than anything else. Because life hadn't ended with a grand farewell, it had ended in the middle of an ordinary conversation. Just another voicemail you'd planned to return after work.
You stood alone in the quiet kitchen, tears slipping silently down your face. The necklace rested over your heart. Outside, the tide continued its endless rhythm. Coming in. Going out. Borrowing. Returning. And for the first time since your mother's death, you allowed yourself to miss not just the moment she died—
But all of the beautifully ordinary moments she should have still been here to live.
Author's Note: I was on my lunch break with a Dr. Pepper and too many sugary snacks.
Word Count: 592
Summary: “We could yeet the whole problem and bounce before the second team even rolls up.”
You sat along the side wall with a tablet. Officially there to take notes. Unofficially there because Bucky had asked you to come, and no one had the energy to argue.
Yelena was kicked back in her chair, boots on the table. Walker stood with his arms crossed like he was trying to project authority. Ava flickered faintly in and out of visibility near the screen, and Alexei was eating something orange that had no business being in a strategy meeting. Bob was, well, wherever Bob was.
Bucky stood at the head of the table, metal arm braced against the surface, trying to keep the debrief on track.
“So the extraction point is compromised. We need a new route out of the warehouse district. Any suggestions?”
Yelena raised a finger. “We could yeet the whole problem and bounce before the second team even rolls up.”
Bucky blinked once. Slowly. “Yeet.”
“Yes. Yeet. Like—” She made a throwing motion. “Toss it. Be done. No notes.”
Walker nodded as if it was a perfectly reasonable suggestion. “She’s got a point. We casper the place, hit the alternate, and we’re out before they even clock us.”
“Casper,” Bucky repeated, slower.
Ava’s voice drifted from the half-visible corner. “It’s giving major ‘we should’ve stayed home’ energy, if I’m honest.”
“I like this plan!” Alexei slammed a fist on the table hard enough to rattle the mugs. “We yeet, we casper, we leave them with the L!”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. He looked down the table, then sideways at you, the silent plea clear in his eyes.
I’ll explain later, you mouthed.
He exhaled through his nose and tried again. “So… we abandon the original exit, move fast, and leave the opposition at a disadvantage.”
Yelena beamed. “That’s what I said.”
“That is not what you said.”
“It is. You just need to level up your vocab, old man.”
Walker smirked. “Yeah, Barnes. Don’t be so mid about it.”
Bucky’s metal fingers flexed once against the table. “I understood every individual word in that sentence and yet none of them together.”
Trying not to laugh, you bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. He shot you another look, this one half betrayal, half desperate for backup.
You cleared your throat. “They mean the plan is solid, you should agree with it, and you’re being unnecessarily traditional about the language.”
“Thank you,” he muttered.
Grinning, Yelena leaned forward. “See? She gets it. You’re lucky you’ve got her. Otherwise this whole meeting would be you standing there looking like someone asked you to download more RAM.”
Bucky stared at her. “I know what RAM is.”
“Do you, though?”
Alexei roared with laughter. Ava flickered fully visible just long enough to look amused. Walker was clearly enjoying himself too much.
Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose with his flesh hand, then dropped it and looked straight at you again. The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.
“You’re writing this down, aren’t you?”
“Every word,” you smiled sweetly. “It’s going in the archives under ‘professional development.’”
He shook his head once, but the fondness in his eyes was unmistakable. Straightening, he addressed the room with the long-suffering patience of a man who had fought wars and still somehow ended up here.
“Fine. We… yeet the original plan and casper the warehouse. But if anyone says ‘mid’ again before the end of this briefing, I’m leaving you all there.”
Yelena saluted with two fingers. “Understood, king.”
They called him Soldat. The Asset. No name, just a weapon with a mission. Then Steve found him and said “Bucky” like the word still belonged to him. Much later, in the dark, she whimpered “Buck” against his throat. Soft, claiming, certain. He never corrected her. Some nicknames feel like coming home.
