Tom Blyth and David Jonsson at the TIFF Wasteman premiere
BOOM SHAKALAKAAAAA

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@bunniebarnes
Tom Blyth and David Jonsson at the TIFF Wasteman premiere
BOOM SHAKALAKAAAAA
getting invited to the btk premiere is such a dream come true 😪
Nasty Bucky
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: Bucky eats you out and he’s nasty about it
Warning: ABSOLUTE FILTH, Bucky eating your pussy, smut smut smuttt, cum eating, pussy spanking
Word count: 1k+
Nasty!Bucky who spits on your pussy while eating you out just to watch it slide down your puffy folds until it dips to your entrance. shoving his tongue inside your hole and fucking his saliva deeper inside, chuckling against you when he feels you clench around his hot tongue. “you like that, sweetheart?” words hot and thick against your sticky cunt.
Bucky gets impatient with not having an answer and pulls away just to spank your pussy, using his metal hand. “asked you a question,” he says sternly, catching your attention. you immediately squeal, voice breaking with a “y-yes! oh god, i love it, Bucky!” you can barely make out a muffled, “good girl, just needa use your words f’me” before he’s spreading your folds open wide, watching as you blossom pink and flushed for him before licking up your slit and sucking your clit directly into his mouth.
This was so fucking hot of him. Insufferable
As Dora says, “Delicioso” 😛
did you like being noticed by tom because of his friend?
how insightful, anon. you've managed to identify the real issue here: its not that an actor harassed me but that another actor noticed me. ofc my experience of harassment is secondary to the dynamic between two men. its always about them, isn't it?
this anon is fucking disgusting, by the way. do you realise that HE noticed that his co-star was the fucking problem and not literally notice beca???? i hope u know you’re fucking dumb and misogynistic.
run rabbit, run [steve kemp x f!reader]
Synopsis: A game of cat and mouse turns into something far more sinister when you run from Steve—and he catches you. In the depths of the forest, under the moonlit sky, you learn the hard way that he doesn’t just take what he wants. He makes sure you never want to run again.
W/C: 1.6k
Warnings: 18+ explicit content. cat/mouse, dub-con, knife play, unprotected p in v, outdoor sex, mouth fucking ????? / m receiving oral. lol kind of insane but also very canon typical behaviour of steve i fear……..
masterlist
The forest is silent, save for the pounding of your footsteps against the damp earth. Twigs snap beneath you, branches claw at your skin as you push forward, lungs burning from the effort. You don’t know how long you’ve been running—minutes, maybe hours—but it doesn’t matter. He’s still behind you.
Somewhere in the distance, Steve’s voice carries through the trees, low and teasing. “You can run, rabbit… but you can’t hide.”
Your pulse thrums wildly as you weave between the trees, heart slamming against your ribs. You know he’s toying with you. He’s always been faster, stronger. The only reason you’re still on your feet is because he wants you to be.
Then you hear it—the steady crunch of footsteps, closer than before. Your breath catches.
He’s here.
even after war.
pairing: 1940s!Bucky x 1940s!fem!reader
summary: Bucky didn't mean to fall in love with his little sister's best friend, but you were just so sweet and caring, he just couldn't help himself, you were younger, but when you looked a him, he suddenly didn't care about people's whispers.
content warnings: age gap (Bucky is 26, reader is 19. both legal!!) mentions of war, waayyyy too many fluff. /if i'm missing any, please lmk!/
a/n: i am so excited about this fic because i love me a good soft 40's Bucky fic. hope u guys enjoy this and don't forget that requests are open!
It was the 1940s, and the world was at war. Rules were different then. Women wore red lipstick to keep morale high, men left with only duffel bags and hope, and people clung to love like it was the last cigarette in a storm.
No one really cared if a girl dated a guy older than her—at least, not out loud. But Bucky Barnes cared. God, did he care.
You were nineteen, barely out of school and still clinging to the naivety of youth. He was twenty-six, a soldier wrapped in leather, grief, and duty. But more than that—he was your best friend’s older brother.
Rebecca Barnes had been your best friend since you were six, and you’d practically grown up inside her brother’s Brooklyn apartment. At first, he barely noticed you. You were just the quiet girl with the big eyes who always had her nose in a book and offered to do the dishes after dinner.
But as time passed and you grew into yourself, he started seeing you differently. You weren’t a child anymore. You laughed louder, teased him more, brought sugar cookies every time he came home on leave. And each time you knocked on that door, you unknowingly chipped away at whatever walls he tried so hard to build.
Bucky had always tried to keep it casual. Just Becca’s best friend. Just the girl who lingered after movie nights. Just the kid who smiled too brightly. But the truth crept in when he least expected it—when you fell asleep on his shoulder, your breath soft and steady. When you patched up a tear in his uniform, sitting cross-legged on the floor. When you cried the night the news reported another battalion lost and he held you through it all.
He fought it at first. Of course he did.
“I’m not good for her,” he told Steve one night on the rooftop. They both had cigarettes hanging between their lips, the stars above doing little to light the city. “She’s just a kid.”
Steve gave him a knowing look. “She’s not a kid, Buck. And you’re not as bad as you think.”
But Bucky wasn’t convinced. He was used to getting blood on his hands. You were all cream and softness and Sunday morning warmth. He didn’t want to ruin that.
Still… he couldn’t stay away.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The moment it shifted between you two wasn’t dramatic. It was soft, almost quiet. You had stayed late after Becca fell asleep early with a headache. It was just you and Bucky on the worn-out couch, listening to the radio hum jazz through the static.
You leaned your head on his shoulder without asking.
“Hey, Buck?” you whispered.
“Hm?”
“Do you ever think about the future?”
He stiffened. That was dangerous territory.
“All the time,” he admitted. “But lately… I only think about it when you’re in it.”
Your heart skipped. “I didn’t think you noticed me like that.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “That’s the problem, doll. I noticed you too much.”
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
After that, it became harder to pretend. Harder to brush his hand against yours and act like it meant nothing. Harder to watch you laugh with someone else and keep his fists from curling at his sides. He was gone more often than not, but whenever he came back, you were always the first person he wanted to see.
It wasn’t easy. Rebecca wasn’t thrilled when she found out.
“You’re my best friend. He’s my brother. Do you know what kind of mess this could turn into?” she had snapped, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“I know,” you’d whispered. “But I love him.”
Rebecca stared at you for a long time, then shook her head. “You better not break him.”
Funny. Because Bucky said the same thing about you.
He didn’t care what people said, especially not Steve, who always tried to be the voice of reason.
“People are gonna talk, Buck. She’s young. They’ll think—”
“I don’t care,” Bucky interrupted, sharp but not angry. “They can talk all they want. As long as I have her, I’m fine.”
And he meant it.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Behind closed doors, he called you his baby. He kissed your forehead every morning, even when he had to leave before sunrise. He read the little notes you left in his coat pocket, sometimes tearing up when no one was around.
You weren’t just a distraction from war. You were the only piece of peace he ever found.
“I ever get out of this thing alive,” he whispered one night as you laid on his chest, fingers tracing lazy circles over his ribs, “I’m gonna marry you. I don’t care what anyone says. We’ll get a little house, you’ll bake those cookies I love, and I’ll finally get to sleep in past five.”
You laughed softly. “You never sleep in.”
“Exactly. You’ll wear me out.”
You smacked his chest and he laughed. But then he kissed you—slow, like the world wasn’t burning around you.
It was a strange time, and you were a strange couple. But it worked. Because for every explosion overseas, there was a quiet moment between you. For every wound he brought home, there was your voice reading poetry into the night.
No one else needed to understand. It was enough that you had each other.
And maybe that was all anyone could hope for in a world at war. But then, he got sent away, again.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The day he was supposed to come home, you didn’t sleep the night before. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking and your heart wouldn’t slow down. Bucky’s last letter had been short, urgent— “Orders changed. I’ll be home sooner than we thought. Wait for me.”
You re-read it so many times the ink was beginning to fade. The words blurred together in your mind like a prayer you didn’t know you were whispering.
He was coming back. Bucky was finally coming home.
You stood on the platform at the train station, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. You’d picked the one he liked best—the soft blue one with buttons down the front. Becca had offered to come with you, but you told her no. Not because you didn’t want her there, but because this moment… it had to be yours and his.
The whistle blew.
And your breath caught.
Dozens of soldiers stepped down onto the platform, some greeted with cheers, others with tears. And then you saw him.
He was thinner. His face looked a little sharper, like the boyish roundness had been scraped away by war. His uniform hung differently on him, and there was a weariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
But when his eyes found yours—That same boy, the one who used to blush when you offered him cookies, was still there.
“Bucky!”
You didn’t mean to shout it, but your body moved before your mind could catch up. You ran, and he dropped his duffle bag and caught you mid-step, wrapping you in his arms and lifting you slightly off the ground. You clung to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck.
“I missed you so much,” you breathed. “I know, baby. I missed you more.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands cupping your face like he was memorizing every inch.
“You didn’t change a bit,” he said, voice rough with emotion.
You smiled through tears. “You did.”
He nodded. “But I still love you. That didn’t change.”
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Back at the apartment, Becca wasn’t home when you brought him back. The air was quiet, the soft light of dusk slipping through the windows. Bucky stood just inside the doorway, looking around as if everything had changed in his absence.
“You hungry?” you asked gently.
He shook his head, eyes still scanning the familiar furniture. “I’m home, but I don’t feel home yet.”
You walked over and wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades.
“You’re safe now,” you whispered. “You’re home, with me.”
He turned, his arms finding your waist, holding you tighter than he ever had before.
“You know what got me through over there?” he asked softly, looking down at you.
“What?”
“You.”
He leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours. “Every time I closed my eyes, I thought about you baking in my kitchen, waiting for me to walk through the door.”
You let out a soft laugh, tears falling freely now. “That’s exactly what I did yesterday, actually. Just… you didn’t walk through the door.”
He tilted his head, his thumb brushing under your eye. “Well,” he said, voice quiet and full of meaning, “I’m here now.”
That night, you lay curled into his side, his fingers tracing gentle lines down your arm. The room smelled like soap and laundry powder and something distinctively him. He was quiet for a long time, staring at the ceiling.
“You think I’m different now?” he asked suddenly, his voice barely audible.
You looked up at him. “I think… you’ve been through things I’ll never understand. But no, Buck. You’re still you. You’re still mine.”
He looked down at you with such open vulnerability it nearly broke you.
“I don’t know how long peace will last,” he said. “But if it doesn’t—if they call me again—”
“Then I’ll wait again,” you interrupted. “Every time. Always.”
He leaned in and kissed you softly, like a promise sealed in silence.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
A few days later, Steve came by, wearing that sheepish smile of his. Bucky welcomed him in with a hug, and you gave him some coffee. The three of you sat around the kitchen table, and for a moment, it felt like the world was normal again.
“So,” Steve said with a grin, nudging Bucky’s shoulder, “you gonna tell her yet?”
“Tell me what?” you asked, eyebrows raised.
Bucky cleared his throat, suddenly bashful. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small velvet box—worn, like it had been carried across oceans.
“I’ve had this since before I left,” he said, opening it to reveal a delicate gold ring. “I just didn’t want to give it to you until I could do it properly.”
Your heart stopped.
“Bucky…”
“You waited for me. Through the worst. Through all of it. I don’t want to wait anymore.”
He got down on one knee.
“Will you marry me, baby?”
You barely got the “yes” out before you were in his arms again.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The wedding came three months later.
You married him in the back of a small church, wearing your mother’s old dress and a veil sewn by Rebecca herself. Steve was there, tears in his eyes, smiling like he’d waited forever to see Bucky happy.
And Bucky? He didn’t take his eyes off you for a second.
“My baby,” he whispered as he slipped the ring onto your finger.
“My wife,” he whispered later that night, holding you under warm blankets as the snow fell outside.
“My always.” he promised, again and again, long after the lights were out and the city was asleep.
And you believed him.
Because he came back. Because he chose you. Because love—real love—waits, survives, and heals.
Even after war.
a/n: ahh im gonna cry, i love them!! also, i've been trying to write ome smut but i've come to the realization thatt i'm not THAT good at writing it, so it'll definitely be a while before i post or add any smut to my fics. i know, i know, we all love smut and i AM trying to read more smut so i get inspired to write it.
anyway, remember, reblogs and likes are incrdibly appreciated! <333
Imagine our poor old man Bucky catching a glimpse of his girl prancing around the house in a skimpy little sheer dress with no underwear, as she’s just bent over the balcony maybe taking a hit of her joint, & he just can’t contain himself…
tehe
…
the breeze just pushes the sheer dress just right over your ass and his cock throb sin his sweats and within a second he’s behind you as you’re bent over the balcony “admiring the view”
“buck—!” you gasp out, feeling him bring against your bare cunt.
“shh, baby.” he coos, pushing his sweats down enough to free his cock before teasing your hole with his tip. “keep smokin’ that joint, doll.”
you whine softly as he rubs his tip over your wet folds as you take another hit. he sinks into you slowly, looking up for a second and scanning the area but not finding anything
and afte that he sinks all the way into you, a mosn bubbling past your lips as you exhale your smoke, leaning your forehead against the rail
he doesn’t like that
he grips your hair at the root and pulls your head back up, making you moan again and seating further on his fat cock — tip snug in your cervix
“that’s right baby, head up when daddy’s fucks you on the balcony. gotta keep an eye out, you hear me?”
SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES Captain America: Civil War THUNDERBOLTS*
Still An Innocent
Pairing: fatws!Bucky Barnes x oblivious!fem!reader (pre relationship)
Word count: 1.9k
Summary: You're the barista at Bucky's local coffee shop. You become fast friends, and Bucky cherishes that you don't care about his past. Until he's assaulted for his crimes in front of you and he quickly realises that you don't know what he's done.
Warnings: innocent/ditzy/oblivious reader, discussions of bucky's time as the Winter Soldier, trauma, bucky hating himself, me pretending alpine exists, coffee shop au kinda, some asshat pours hot coffee on bucky for existing :(
Requested: yes, here by my love @fluentmoviequoter. i don't think i got the ditzyness quiet there but hope you like it <33
A/N: bonus points to anyone who figures out the taylor swift song this is based on and gets the references (its very obvious). also my first bucky fic so BE NICE.
bucky fic inspired by Begin Again??? i’m sobbing at 5 am GOODBYE
even after war.
pairing: 1940s!Bucky x 1940s!fem!reader
summary: Bucky didn't mean to fall in love with his little sister's best friend, but you were just so sweet and caring, he just couldn't help himself, you were younger, but when you looked a him, he suddenly didn't care about people's whispers.
content warnings: age gap (Bucky is 26, reader is 19. both legal!!) mentions of war, waayyyy too many fluff. /if i'm missing any, please lmk!/
a/n: i am so excited about this fic because i love me a good soft 40's Bucky fic. hope u guys enjoy this and don't forget that requests are open!
It was the 1940s, and the world was at war. Rules were different then. Women wore red lipstick to keep morale high, men left with only duffel bags and hope, and people clung to love like it was the last cigarette in a storm.
No one really cared if a girl dated a guy older than her—at least, not out loud. But Bucky Barnes cared. God, did he care.
You were nineteen, barely out of school and still clinging to the naivety of youth. He was twenty-six, a soldier wrapped in leather, grief, and duty. But more than that—he was your best friend’s older brother.
Rebecca Barnes had been your best friend since you were six, and you’d practically grown up inside her brother’s Brooklyn apartment. At first, he barely noticed you. You were just the quiet girl with the big eyes who always had her nose in a book and offered to do the dishes after dinner.
But as time passed and you grew into yourself, he started seeing you differently. You weren’t a child anymore. You laughed louder, teased him more, brought sugar cookies every time he came home on leave. And each time you knocked on that door, you unknowingly chipped away at whatever walls he tried so hard to build.
Bucky had always tried to keep it casual. Just Becca’s best friend. Just the girl who lingered after movie nights. Just the kid who smiled too brightly. But the truth crept in when he least expected it—when you fell asleep on his shoulder, your breath soft and steady. When you patched up a tear in his uniform, sitting cross-legged on the floor. When you cried the night the news reported another battalion lost and he held you through it all.
He fought it at first. Of course he did.
“I’m not good for her,” he told Steve one night on the rooftop. They both had cigarettes hanging between their lips, the stars above doing little to light the city. “She’s just a kid.”
Steve gave him a knowing look. “She’s not a kid, Buck. And you’re not as bad as you think.”
But Bucky wasn’t convinced. He was used to getting blood on his hands. You were all cream and softness and Sunday morning warmth. He didn’t want to ruin that.
Still… he couldn’t stay away.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The moment it shifted between you two wasn’t dramatic. It was soft, almost quiet. You had stayed late after Becca fell asleep early with a headache. It was just you and Bucky on the worn-out couch, listening to the radio hum jazz through the static.
You leaned your head on his shoulder without asking.
“Hey, Buck?” you whispered.
“Hm?”
“Do you ever think about the future?”
He stiffened. That was dangerous territory.
“All the time,” he admitted. “But lately… I only think about it when you’re in it.”
Your heart skipped. “I didn’t think you noticed me like that.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “That’s the problem, doll. I noticed you too much.”
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
After that, it became harder to pretend. Harder to brush his hand against yours and act like it meant nothing. Harder to watch you laugh with someone else and keep his fists from curling at his sides. He was gone more often than not, but whenever he came back, you were always the first person he wanted to see.
It wasn’t easy. Rebecca wasn’t thrilled when she found out.
“You’re my best friend. He’s my brother. Do you know what kind of mess this could turn into?” she had snapped, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“I know,” you’d whispered. “But I love him.”
Rebecca stared at you for a long time, then shook her head. “You better not break him.”
Funny. Because Bucky said the same thing about you.
He didn’t care what people said, especially not Steve, who always tried to be the voice of reason.
“People are gonna talk, Buck. She’s young. They’ll think—”
“I don’t care,” Bucky interrupted, sharp but not angry. “They can talk all they want. As long as I have her, I’m fine.”
And he meant it.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Behind closed doors, he called you his baby. He kissed your forehead every morning, even when he had to leave before sunrise. He read the little notes you left in his coat pocket, sometimes tearing up when no one was around.
You weren’t just a distraction from war. You were the only piece of peace he ever found.
“I ever get out of this thing alive,” he whispered one night as you laid on his chest, fingers tracing lazy circles over his ribs, “I’m gonna marry you. I don’t care what anyone says. We’ll get a little house, you’ll bake those cookies I love, and I’ll finally get to sleep in past five.”
You laughed softly. “You never sleep in.”
“Exactly. You’ll wear me out.”
You smacked his chest and he laughed. But then he kissed you—slow, like the world wasn’t burning around you.
It was a strange time, and you were a strange couple. But it worked. Because for every explosion overseas, there was a quiet moment between you. For every wound he brought home, there was your voice reading poetry into the night.
No one else needed to understand. It was enough that you had each other.
And maybe that was all anyone could hope for in a world at war. But then, he got sent away, again.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The day he was supposed to come home, you didn’t sleep the night before. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking and your heart wouldn’t slow down. Bucky’s last letter had been short, urgent— “Orders changed. I’ll be home sooner than we thought. Wait for me.”
You re-read it so many times the ink was beginning to fade. The words blurred together in your mind like a prayer you didn’t know you were whispering.
He was coming back. Bucky was finally coming home.
You stood on the platform at the train station, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. You’d picked the one he liked best—the soft blue one with buttons down the front. Becca had offered to come with you, but you told her no. Not because you didn’t want her there, but because this moment… it had to be yours and his.
The whistle blew.
And your breath caught.
Dozens of soldiers stepped down onto the platform, some greeted with cheers, others with tears. And then you saw him.
He was thinner. His face looked a little sharper, like the boyish roundness had been scraped away by war. His uniform hung differently on him, and there was a weariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
But when his eyes found yours—That same boy, the one who used to blush when you offered him cookies, was still there.
“Bucky!”
You didn’t mean to shout it, but your body moved before your mind could catch up. You ran, and he dropped his duffle bag and caught you mid-step, wrapping you in his arms and lifting you slightly off the ground. You clung to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck.
“I missed you so much,” you breathed. “I know, baby. I missed you more.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands cupping your face like he was memorizing every inch.
“You didn’t change a bit,” he said, voice rough with emotion.
You smiled through tears. “You did.”
He nodded. “But I still love you. That didn’t change.”
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Back at the apartment, Becca wasn’t home when you brought him back. The air was quiet, the soft light of dusk slipping through the windows. Bucky stood just inside the doorway, looking around as if everything had changed in his absence.
“You hungry?” you asked gently.
He shook his head, eyes still scanning the familiar furniture. “I’m home, but I don’t feel home yet.”
You walked over and wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades.
“You’re safe now,” you whispered. “You’re home, with me.”
He turned, his arms finding your waist, holding you tighter than he ever had before.
“You know what got me through over there?” he asked softly, looking down at you.
“What?”
“You.”
He leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours. “Every time I closed my eyes, I thought about you baking in my kitchen, waiting for me to walk through the door.”
You let out a soft laugh, tears falling freely now. “That’s exactly what I did yesterday, actually. Just… you didn’t walk through the door.”
He tilted his head, his thumb brushing under your eye. “Well,” he said, voice quiet and full of meaning, “I’m here now.”
That night, you lay curled into his side, his fingers tracing gentle lines down your arm. The room smelled like soap and laundry powder and something distinctively him. He was quiet for a long time, staring at the ceiling.
“You think I’m different now?” he asked suddenly, his voice barely audible.
You looked up at him. “I think… you’ve been through things I’ll never understand. But no, Buck. You’re still you. You’re still mine.”
He looked down at you with such open vulnerability it nearly broke you.
“I don’t know how long peace will last,” he said. “But if it doesn’t—if they call me again—”
“Then I’ll wait again,” you interrupted. “Every time. Always.”
He leaned in and kissed you softly, like a promise sealed in silence.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
A few days later, Steve came by, wearing that sheepish smile of his. Bucky welcomed him in with a hug, and you gave him some coffee. The three of you sat around the kitchen table, and for a moment, it felt like the world was normal again.
“So,” Steve said with a grin, nudging Bucky’s shoulder, “you gonna tell her yet?”
“Tell me what?” you asked, eyebrows raised.
Bucky cleared his throat, suddenly bashful. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small velvet box—worn, like it had been carried across oceans.
“I’ve had this since before I left,” he said, opening it to reveal a delicate gold ring. “I just didn’t want to give it to you until I could do it properly.”
Your heart stopped.
“Bucky…”
“You waited for me. Through the worst. Through all of it. I don’t want to wait anymore.”
He got down on one knee.
“Will you marry me, baby?”
You barely got the “yes” out before you were in his arms again.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The wedding came three months later.
You married him in the back of a small church, wearing your mother’s old dress and a veil sewn by Rebecca herself. Steve was there, tears in his eyes, smiling like he’d waited forever to see Bucky happy.
And Bucky? He didn’t take his eyes off you for a second.
“My baby,” he whispered as he slipped the ring onto your finger.
“My wife,” he whispered later that night, holding you under warm blankets as the snow fell outside.
“My always.” he promised, again and again, long after the lights were out and the city was asleep.
And you believed him.
Because he came back. Because he chose you. Because love—real love—waits, survives, and heals.
Even after war.
a/n: ahh im gonna cry, i love them!! also, i've been trying to write ome smut but i've come to the realization thatt i'm not THAT good at writing it, so it'll definitely be a while before i post or add any smut to my fics. i know, i know, we all love smut and i AM trying to read more smut so i get inspired to write it.
anyway, remember, reblogs and likes are incrdibly appreciated! <333
i haven’t had time to upload the fic nor the cai bot because work has been CRAAAAZY these past few days, but i swear i’ll get to it as soon as i get home 🩷
love yall 🩵🩵🩵
1940’s age gap!bucky fic coming tomorrow (hopefully) AND I AM SO EXCITED FOR U GUYS TO READ THIS ONE 😭🫠🩷 (r’s legal!!!!! and its not that much of an age gap lmao)
sweetest secret
pairing: avenger!teammate!dad’scoworker!Bucky x femStark!reader
summary: where Bucky Barnes falls for Tony Stark’s daughter, and she falls too. 💞
content warnings: mentions of father’s death, slight grieving, implications of sexual activity. other than that, all fluff because we love sweet, soft Bucky. <3
a/n: FIRST FIC, YAY!!! no but, tbh, this is a terrible blurb i couldn’t stop writing while creating for a cai bot, so it became too long and decided to post it here 🥰 bear with me, i’m still getting the hang of this.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
You’d always had a thing for your dad’s coworker.
It started when you were fourteen. He was the new addition to the team—quiet, brooding, always lurking in the corners with eyes that had seen too much. You knew he was older. Much older.
But that didn’t stop the flutter in your chest whenever he spoke near you, his voice low and gravelly, like a secret only you got to hear.
Bucky Barnes had that effect on people. But on you? It was different.
At first, it was silly—just a teenage crush. The way you’d stammer around him, the way your pulse would quicken if he so much as looked at you.
He always smiled softly, amused but kind, never crossing a line. Never inappropriate. He kept his distance, respectfully so.
But when you turned eighteen, everything shifted.
The tension you’d always felt became something more. Something magnetic. Something electric.
You noticed it in the way he would clench his jaw when you walked by in your training gear, how his eyes would flick to your lips when you talked, how his metal hand would twitch slightly, like it ached to touch you but knew it shouldn’t.
You noticed, too, how he was always near. Always watching. Always protecting. His hand would hover near the small of your back in crowded hallways.
He’d position himself beside you on missions. He’d wait until you were safely in your quarters before going to his. It was subtle, but it was Bucky—and subtle for him meant volumes.
And then your father died.
Everything changed again. You broke.
But Bucky? He was there. Not as a soldier. Not as your dad’s teammate. As himself. He sat beside you at the funeral. Held your trembling hands through sleepless nights. Whispered comforting words when the grief clawed at your chest.
He never pushed, never asked for anything. Just stayed. One night, after hours of crying in his arms, you felt his lips barely graze your hairline. Not lustful. Just… aching.
Something bloomed in you then—trust, maybe. Or love. Maybe both.
You started spending nights in his room when the loneliness got too loud.
At first, you’d fall asleep in his bed, his hand smoothing over your hair, his chest warm against your back. But eventually, things changed again.
One night, you kissed him. He kissed you back. And that night, for the first time, he let you see the softness in him—the man beneath the weapon.
You gave yourself to him, and he gave himself to you. It was desperate and tender all at once, like the two of you had been waiting years for that moment. And maybe you had.
From then on, those nights became frequent. Needed. Secret.
No one could know.
Not Tony’s daughter and the ex-Winter Soldier. The man who had murdered your grandparents. Not the Avengers who were left, not the Thunderbolts, not the public. The headlines would write themselves.
The betrayal. The scandal.
So you kept it hidden. Your stolen kisses. His fingers tracing lazy circles on your back in the dark.
The way he whispered “baby” into your neck like it was a prayer. The way you loved him more with every breath.
Because he wasn’t just your dad’s coworker anymore.
He wasn’t just Steve’s best friend.
He wasn’t just The Winter Soldier.
He was your Bucky.
And in a world full of chaos, secrets, and haunted pasts—you had each other.
And that was enough.
Always.
⸻
One night, long after the world was asleep, you lay tangled in his sheets, your head on his chest, fingers trailing slow shapes over the metal lines of his arm.
He broke the silence first, voice husky and low. “You ever think about the future?”
You looked up at him, heart doing that fluttering thing it always did when he spoke like this—unguarded. “All the time.”
His thumb brushed over your bare shoulder. “I mean… us. What this is.”
He paused, then added, “What it could be, if we ever stopped hiding.”
You blinked slowly, letting the words settle. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to not worry about who’s watching. To kiss you in front of the others and not care what they think.”
His smile was small but aching. “They’d tear us apart, you know. Not just the team. The world. I’m not… the guy people want for you.”
You reached up, touching his jaw with gentle fingers. “But you’re my guy.”
He exhaled shakily, like your words were both healing and dangerous. “God, I want a life with you. I want mornings with you in my arms. I want to take you out and not look over my shoulder. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up knowing I can keep you forever.”
You swallowed hard. “Then let’s want it. Even if we can’t have it yet. Even if the world doesn’t get it.”
He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re not afraid?”
“Terrified,” you whispered. “But I love you more than I’m scared.”
And he kissed you then—slow, deep, reverent. Like he was promising you a forever, even if the world wasn’t ready for it yet.
⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔
a/n: okay, this is not my favorite thing but it’ll do because i have been wanting to post a blurb here, so enjoy, i guess 🥹 reblogs & comments are very much appreciated 🤍
“But you’re my guy.” i melted 😭😭tony’s daughter trope has me dead everytime
stop stop, im kinda fangirling GOODBYE I LOVE U 😭🩷🩷🩷
in too deep 𐙚 b.b
pairing: dom!new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, fingering, orgasm denial, publi(ish) teasing, dirty talk do not operate heavy machinery after reading
summary: you told bucky it was your ovulation week and he took that as a challenge. you really, really, should’ve kept your mouth shut. based on this request | requests are open!
word count: 3k
author's note: hi my loves! i had too much fun writing this and i love it so much! i'm so excited to start working on the other requests that i have received 💓. have a great time reading, love ya and stay safe out there!
You should’ve kept your damn mouth shut.
It was just a whisper, a breathy, heat-laced confession, murmured with your face buried against Bucky’s throat last night while straddling his lap.
The compound was quiet, the television playing some netflix movie neither of you were watching. His hand had been sliding slow, comforting circles across your lower back, and your thighs were clenched tight around his hips, slick with want.
i’m 🫠🫠🫠🫠 in the best way possible!!!!!!
── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Lust ˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──
professor!bucky barnes x reader
summary: You’re a literature student. He’s your English professor — brilliant, composed, and entirely off-limits. But the more you write, the more he notices you. And what begins as admiration quietly unravels into something far more dangerous.
word count: 8,5k
WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, mutual desperation, age gap, dirty talk, praising kink, fingering, oral (m receiving), PiV, rough sex.
Part 4 | Previous Part
You slammed your dorm door a little too hard behind you. Not on purpose. But kind of.
Your bag slid from your shoulder, landing with a dull thud by your desk. You kicked your shoes off without bothering to untie them, paced once across the room, then sat on the edge of your bed—and stayed there.
Frozen.
Staring at your phone like it might blink first.
God.
What the fuck was that?
You hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t your fault some guy sat next to you, smiled, introduced himself like you were a normal person in a normal class—not someone tangled in a secret affair with the professor who’d stared daggers through him the whole lecture.
ohmygosh the viagra jokes would lead to the most INSANE fucking.
“would an old man make you squirt like this?” while he pulls the most mindblowing orgasm out of you
and still “you’re not done, not yet sweets” as you softly whimper into his neck
“ ‘m still hard” as he begins to work your overstimulated cunt, bringing his thumb to your clit.
rough fucking followed by the sweetest aftercare. or maybe im just ovulating.
-🫃
stop I wrote that post in like two minutes while walking out the door and it got 400+ notes
genuinely old man bucky 🤤🤤🤤
he would be so rough trying to prove to you he doesn’t need viagra
“m still hard” GOD that would probably kill me. i can’t possibly keep up with him but i can offer to let him fuck me until he’s tired out 😭😭😭
oh yeah the aftercare with this man would be insane.
grrrrrrrrr