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Your lives have always moved in parallel: close enough to touch, yet separated by an irreconcilable distance. Bucky is a prince and you are his sister's lady-in-waiting. But love ignores rank, and so does the kingdom's newest desire-inducing substance.
▸ PAIRING: Prince!Bucky Barnes x Lady-in-Waiting!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, dubcon because of sex pollen, so much yearning, slight hurt/comfort, public sex, porn with too much plot tbh, possessive!bucky, degradation, filthy talk that border on dubcon but know that she wants to be there as much as him, breeding kink, insecurities, both virgins, bucky is nasty and a lil mean under the influence, probably a lot of historical inaccuracies
▸ WORD COUNT: 16.1K
▸ A/N: "this will be a short pwp," i say, famous last words. thank you so much to @iamthatonefangirl and @barnesonly for organizing this collab. dedicated to @artficlly in honor of pursuit of jade episode 37 iykyk — i'm gifting you the sex pollen by the stream that we never got <3 hope you enjoy this baby of mine. if you do, please let me know your thoughts (even if they are incoherent) through reblogs, comments, and likes!!
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Princes James Buchanan Barnes has everything he could ever want. A palace fit for the king that he will eventually become. Mountains of jewels that shine brighter than the sun and all the stars combined. Bespoke dress uniforms made from the finest fabrics, adorned with elegant aiguillettes and medals of his valor in battles fought and won. Countless women and men alike throwing themselves at his feet for the opportunity of him even sparing them the briefest of glances.
But the only one he truly wants, the only person he truly wishes to hold, is the one thing he cannot have — and it’s you.
You’ve been destined to become Princess Becca’s helper since you were born. Your mother had served the family for two generations; you were born in the palace, raised in the hustle and bustle of the castle with all the live-in staff. You spent years refining your cooking skills in the kitchen that seemed to function twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, decades toiling away in the garden with the landscaper to take care of the queen’s prized roses, and occasionally sneaking into the palace library for a quick novel or two when your mother took her eyes off you.
It was a natural pathway for someone who wasn’t born to nobility yet was constantly surrounded by it.
Fortunately, growing up in this kingdom that is governed with kindness and compassion means that there are paths to advancement that you never anticipated, mainly becoming Becca’s lady-in-waiting. The two of you had been raised together, joint at the hip, to the point where you may not even distinguish which of you is the real princess. The king and queen had welcomed you as if you were one of their own.
Of course, you know that it’s far from the truth. Despite their accommodations and generosity, you’ve always known your place in society. There is a reason why Becca is the one covered in silver and gold, while you’re handstitching the holes in your clothes. She’s seated at a table for twelve with a wide array of dishes and pastries all created to her liking, while you join your fellow staff members for a family meal, cramped together in a table meant for half of you.
You’ve always drawn that line, regardless of how many times Becca tries to cross it.
“Come now, you must come with me to Viscountess Romanoff’s ball!” She huffs, stomping her feet as she always does when she does not get what she wants.
You let out a sigh and Becca’s face falls as she prepares herself for your disappointing response. “Princess—” she glares and you bite your tongue, “Becca, that is not my place.”
“Of course, it is! Many ladies-in-waiting go to these balls.”
“Ladies-in-waiting that were born into nobility,” you correct her with a look.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re my lady-in-waiting and I need you there to— to— fix my dress!”
You know it isn’t true — well, it is only true to the extent that Becca may become ridiculously inebriated and has to be stowed away before she can go as far as risk the royal family’s reputation, and you somehow have become the most reliable person for those circumstances.
However, there are many there that will surely keep her on her toes — literally, including her brother.
“Did you hear that? She needs you to fix her dress. You simply have to attend now.”
The interruption brings both of your attention to the door where Bucky is leaning against the doorway, a smirk curled on his lips. His eyes skip past Becca and land on you and — heaven almighty.
He drinks you in, you in your simple gown, yet his sapphire eyes warm all the same. They darken like the evening has arrived far too early and the moon is nowhere in sight. His smile dims slightly, if only for him to clamp down on the inappropriate sound that climbs up his throat.
Bucky has never been good at subtlety.
You drag your eyes away and back to the lady that you’re supposed to be waiting on. The lady who is currently huffing and puffing as she plops down on the sofa with a scowl. “Will you please convince her to come, Buck?”
He steps further into the room. The air is a little heavier, like his presence has sucked all the oxygen out of the space — but only for you. Your fingers twist quietly together in front of you as you force yourself to stand upright, force yourself to keep looking ahead when his arm brushes yours — an inappropriate proximity for a prince and a member of the staff.
Discreetly, you take one step to the side, just enough to put distance that allows you room to breathe, lest you risk Becca suspecting something transpiring between the two of you.
“You should come,” Bucky murmurs. His gaze is warm on your cheek. His blue eyes no doubt soft as they take you in.
You resist and instead address Becca. “That would be unacceptable, Pr— Becca. Please. The crown prince will be in attendance and the viscountess’ staff are more than capable. I’ve met many of them and you will be in good hands.”
“Well, the crown prince would appreciate his ability to drink the viscountess’ liquor supply for the night without worrying about whether his dear sister can control her alcohol,” Bucky chimes in, which earns a roll of the eyes from Becca.
“I can control my drinking, Bucky. Can you control your deviant desires in the presence of all the other women in the ton?”
Your heart skips a beat. A little nick in your chest to draw blood. You can practically hear the smile wipe off Bucky’s face, his face red as he grits his teeth. “You know that’s not true, sister dear. I’ve never once laid a hand on them.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t try,” Becca shoots right back.
Another scratch, enough to peel back another layer to your bleeding heart.
It shouldn’t — doesn’t — matter. There has never been anything between you and Bucky. He is the crown prince and you were born to be a lady’s maid at best; it was only the queen’s philanthropy and Becca’s friendship that you were granted this promotion.
Bucky is meant to marry a princess from another kingdom, or at the least someone born to a proper, respectable family with titles.
Neither of which is you.
“Rebecca Marie Barnes.” Bucky’s voice is sharp; it slices through the air and straight towards Becca whose face goes cold the moment it lands.
Becca’s lips purse in annoyance. “I’m going to look for a dress for tonight.” Then she’s lifting her dress and stomping away.
You make a move to follow, only for Bucky to swiftly take your hand. You don’t turn. Bucky forces you to when he tugs you towards him, spinning you around so you land against his chest. You’re quick to flatten your palm on it to push yourself away, but instead, he catches your hand and presses it over his heart.
“It’s not true,” he murmurs. “I’ve never once shown any of them any interest.”
Don’t cry. You’d be a fool to cry over a prince. You steel your gaze as you look up at him. “It would be in your right to do so. A crown prince is meant to take a wife.”
Irritation flickers across his eyes. “There’s only one woman I wish to take as a wife but she seems to deny me that right at every turn. What say you to that?”
“A crown prince is meant to take a proper wife. One fit for the ton.”
“I don’t give a damn about the ton.”
“Bucky!” The chiding comes out on instinct, his name sliding on your tongue like water. Habit — one that you should’ve curbed a long time ago if it weren’t for the two of them always insisting that you call them by their names.
Bucky’s face thaws, mouth curving into a delighted smile. You try to extract yourself from his grasp again but fail to do so when he ducks his head, lips brushing the shell of your ear. A shiver snakes up your spine as he drags you closer to him. “I love when you say my name. I’d love it even more if you called me your husband.”
Your traitorous heart slams against your ribs. Foolish desires plague your very being. It’s been decades since you were first introduced to Bucky, ten years since you first defended Becca against Bucky’s teasing, and far too long since you first fell for the crown prince.
It’s not as if your feelings are not reciprocated; Bucky has made it clear from the start that he adores you dearly. Adores you in a way that is far from acceptable for a prince. But your mother has reminded you time and time again that, no matter how intimately acquainted you are with them, you will never be one of them.
And Bucky deserves a partner — an equal. Someone who can stand tall and proud beside him without the risk of gossip and mockery. You would only give him grief and he would certainly bore of you in the future once the thrill of the chase is done.
So you exert more effort this time to push him away. “Prince Barnes, I must ask you to maintain some semblance of decorum. If you’ll excuse me, I have to tend to the princess.” You do a small curtsy, ignoring the flash of pain in his eyes as you walk away.
This is how it’s supposed to be. This has always been your fate.
“You have to try this on. Please? For me?”
It begins as an innocent enough request. Becca was in the midst of selecting her gown for the evening and that meant that you were right by her side, providing her with the necessary words of affirmation for her to make a decision.
These are the most challenging questions that royalty have to deal with. Sometimes you dream of living such a comfortable life, pampered daily with the sweetest of treats and lavishing yourself with the praise of society. However, you know that things aren’t so simple. There are restrictions that come with being part of this family.
You saw firsthand how many classes Becca had to take as part of her education — in addition to the typical academic courses, she had to spend hours learning proper etiquette, how to sew, how to play a musical instrument, how to entertain and host a gathering. They had to prepare her for her future as a wife. While options are limited for women in society, they are practically a straight-line path for a princess who is not in line for the throne.
Her career, her future, her partner — everything is almost pre-destined.
One day, Becca will marry someone. While she dreams of a happily ever after, she also understands the political nature of matrimony. To maintain power, you have to seek power. She may not be here a few years from now when she’s officially married off to extend her father’s reign. Her parents have insisted that they would never force her to marry, but Becca has always had a strong sense of responsibility.
You both admire and hold sympathy for her.
Unfortunately, in this very moment, you would like to push her out of the carriage so you too could make your escape. Somehow, she has managed to rope you into going to the ball — in one of her dresses.
“This is completely inappropriate,” you hiss. “I should not be here.”
“I want you here.”
“Becca,” you exhale deeply, “if your parents knew about this.”
“It’s a masquerade ball! Nobody will know.”
“I’m coming with you! I fear that makes it quite obvious.”
“I’ll tell them you’re one of our very distant cousins — one from a land far, far away.”
You pinch your nose as the carriage rattles, the silk of your glove glides along your skin. Pulling your hand away, you can’t help but look at the delicate fabric on your skin.
When you first tried the clothes on, you could hardly believe your eyes. You didn’t even look like… you. Gone were your well-worn gowns. The tightness of the corset has you a little breathless, but the dress adorned with intricate sequins and embroidery sliding over your body like water. The silver shimmers underneath the moonlight that spills past the curtains of the carriage, white camellias sewn in a river down your shoulder to your waist.
You reach up to tuck your hair behind your ear, only for your fingers to brush over the diamond necklace that Becca has so thoughtfully loaned you. The gems catch light, winking at you as if they’re letting you in on a secret. Then your fingers catch on your mask, a combination of beads and lace trimming, the same flowers framing the corners of your eyes.
In all your life, you could never have even dared to dream of wearing such things. You never imagined that you would be swimming in such luxury.
If your mother could see you now, she would absolutely murder you. She would bury you six feet under before the royal guards could even get to you.
You know that neither the queen nor king would mind, but what would the rest of them think if they knew? What if they found out that you were no more than a girl born into somewhat fortunate circumstances? That your blood was redder than most of them. Common.
A hand lands atop yours. Becca peeks at you with a nervous smile. “Hey, it’ll be fun. You’ve never been to one of these. Please try to enjoy yourself. I promise that nobody will say a thing.”
“What if I stand out? What if they know that I don’t fit in with the rest of them?” You whisper.
Becca squeezes your hand. “If you stand out, it’s because you look far more beautiful than the rest of them. If you stand out, it’s because they are looking at you with envy. You could’ve easily been the diamond of the season.”
Warmth creeps up your neck as the carriage pulls to a stop. You can already hear the music filtering through the entrance; the sound mingles with the fast rhythm of your heartbeat in a symphony that echoes through your mind.
“Showtime,” she beams.
Now, as someone who has been directly involved in the planning, decorating, and organizing of the extravaganzas, you’ve seen your fair share of ridiculously opulent displays. The palace is, after all, renowned for hosting the grandest of balls, bringing together only the who’s who of society. The guest list is selective, both for security and exclusivity reasons. It is the most sought-after invitation of the season. So when you walk into the viscountess’ home, you didn’t think you would be impressed.
However, you have never been happier to be proven wrong. Every inch of this place has been meticulously swathed in a color scheme perfect for the summer. Florals in every shade of the sunset draped across banisters, hanging over the staircase leading down to the dance floor, and standing tall in structures that do not look humanly possible.
Butlers and maids dressed head to toe in fine fabrics float around the room carrying hors d'oeuvres that look more like miniature works of art. Macarons that match the colors of the flower arrangements, tarts with crusts that crumble perfectly on your tongue, bonbons in perfect spheres dusted in cocoa, and fruits plucked from the vines at their ripest, sweetest point.
The stars twinkle above you to complement the tiny candles that string across the railings to illuminate the room, only outshone by the chandeliers with flickering flames hanging above you. Guests in their Sunday bests drift around the room in excited chatter, spreading the newest gossip that will surely make the papers by morning.
Heads turn as you and Becca enter the room and, before you can duck behind her, she’s linking her arm through yours and pulling you forward into the crowd.
“Becca—”
“Breathe, this will be fun. Enjoy the treats and the wine. The viscountess has exceptional taste, she has gathered the best chefs in the kingdom in her kitchen. Mother simply adores visiting her for tea for the food alone.”
Becca walks through the room with the confidence of someone who owns it. Everyone knows her as the princess even hidden behind the mask, murmurs of awe rippling across the crowd. The men pay particularly close attention, eager to get hers. The women speak of her in resentful admiration.
Becca — the belle of the ball. You, her companion.
“They’re looking at you,” she giggles quietly in your ear.
“No, they’re looking at you, Princess.”
“I’ve been in enough of these rooms to know when people are looking at me. While some are focused on me, most of them are keeping a close eye on you.”
“Likely to see when they would have the opportunity to speak to you alone no doubt,” you mutter under your breath.
Becca frowns at you. “Must you be so cynical? You look absolutely stunning. If you gave the room a chance, you’d know how many of them are keen on dancing with you. In fact, why don’t we put it to a test?”
Right as you’re about to ask her what she means, Becca moves away from you, pretending to be drawn by the dessert that appears to be running away from her. Her name leaves your mouth but you don’t get very far when three men approach you. All of them impeccably dressed, all of them handsome — at least, from what you can see with the mask.
“My lady, would you grant me the honor of joining me for a dance?”
Your lips part in surprise, eyes darting around the room to search for the princess. Becca stands off in a corner, grinning proudly to herself as she nibbles on a cream puff. You bite down the urge to curse before politely turning to the men. “My apologies, I should be getting back to my companion. I can’t leave her for far too long.”
You take a step and one of them moves directly in your path. “I’m sure she’ll find the company of others just as pleasant. Please, you must grant each of us a dance. It would be a privilege for us.”
Although you’ve danced before, it’s mostly to help Becca with her training. You have no idea how these dances work during the balls — the coordination, the etiquette. Your heart begins to race as your throat closes in a panic.
“I can’t—”
“One. One song is all I ask.”
“Then mine next.”
“And then me.”
Your chest flares as you search around the room for Becca again but she is nowhere to be found. Your skin begins to burn as your survival instincts kick in. The last thing you need is for these men to notice and question how they’ve never seen you before at such events, and you would have to craft a convoluted fib that you would be forced to maintain.
Just as you are about to deny them again, a hand presses against the low of your back.
“My lady.”
The voice grounds you in a familiar presence. You look up to find Bucky — even through the mask, you’d know it was him. His favorite cologne clings to the threads of his jacket and his hair, thick and styled, is one you can practically feel on your fingertips. Those days spent by the riverbend, his head on your lap as you read him sonnets—
No. This is not the time to be sentimental.
“Your royal highness.” The men stumble over each other to greet him, their energy shifting to nervous jitters as they look amongst each other.
“I believe the point of the masks is anonymity,” he says smoothly. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to invite this lovely lady to a dance.”
He doesn’t wait for your answer, he simply takes your hand and whisks you into the crowd. You don’t have time to think about the consequences of this, more relieved that you’ve escaped that sticky situation.
“Thank you,” you breathe out.
“I believe I should be thanking you for this dance,” he grins.
“How did you find me?”
“I could find you even if you were across the world, mon cher.” You roll your eyes and Bucky huffs a quiet laugh. “I don’t think you’re supposed to respond that way to the crown prince.”
“Perhaps if the crown prince didn’t use such predictably embarrassing lines.”
His lips curl again. “I noticed you the moment you walked into the room. Most beautiful woman tonight. Most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, in fact.”
“Haven’t you been taught that dishonesty is unbecoming on a man?” You snip back.
“You wound me,” he gives a little shake of his head, “Out of everyone, you know that you would be the last person I would attempt to bathe in false affirmations. I know you can see through those pretenses.”
“Then why try?”
“Oh ye of little faith. If you wanted praise from me, you could just say so—”
You balk, snapping back in surprise. “That was not my intention!”
Bucky squeezes your hand as he shifts you around the room. It is then that you realize he’s been guiding your movements all along, every one of your steps falling in line with the others around you. He’s always been a good dancer, far better than Becca who had resisted these lessons for the longest time.
“You look absolutely ravishing tonight,” he ducks his head to whisper in your ear. The smell of him infiltrates your senses, his warmth, the brush of his hair against your cheek. “Of course, you could’ve worn nothing at all and you would undoubtedly still be the most fetching person in this room.”
“If I wore nothing at all, then I’m sure I would fetch the eyes of everyone in this room,” you tease with a small quirk of your lips.
Bucky goes momentarily taut, stiff as he spins you and then pulls you in even closer. His hands tighten around you, like he’s fearful you would slip away at any moment. “Thank the heavens you opted for clothing today. I would rather not imagine anyone else seeing you in such a state. I’d have to dramatically increase this kingdom’s beheading rate. If I do that, what kingdom would I have left to rule?”
“Because you’d have to eliminate the witnesses to my humiliation of the royal family?”
“Because I have limited self-restraint when it comes to you.” You cock an eyebrow in question. “I would have to eliminate anyone who has ever seen you in such an intimate state. I’m a tad possessive you see, I’d rather be the only person alive who’s ever seen you in all of your raw beauty.”
Heat flushes along your skin, a sudden rise in temperature that rarely occurs at this time in the evening. “You’ve never seen me in such a state.”
“I would be the first and the last, my dear. I’ve never been very good at sharing.”
“I am not an object to own, your royal highness,” you bite out with a sour curl of your lips.
“You’re not,” Bucky murmurs softly, “but my heart belongs to you and I was hoping that yours to me — and your affection is the one thing I refuse to ration.”
You look up to meet his eyes. Earnest blue eyes that are far too honest for your liking. That gaze that’s dripping with the kind of affection he cannot counterfeit. Your movements nearly falter, your knees suddenly weak, but Bucky holds onto you even tighter.
“Bucky, I—”
Your gaze snags on the view behind him — a line of women watching the two of you, glowering green seeing your frame tucked against Bucky’s. Women who undoubtedly come from near and far in search of a notable husband to match or increase their standing in society. What better catch than a prince?
Instead of investing his time looking for a proper candidate for a wife, he is instead wasting these minutes with you. It’s been three songs, far from appropriate for two acquaintances, suspicious enough that you can hear the whispers of speculation begin to circulate the room. As the song comes to an end, you’re quick to curtsy in front of him.
“Thank you for the dance.”
You whirl around before he can say another word and disappear into the throng, leaving Bucky to be swarmed by women who are far better suited for him.
Becca stands by a corner, having watched all of this transpire. She’s barely paying any mind to the gentlemen suitors around her. When you come around to her, she’s immediately distancing herself and rushing towards you. Her gaze is eager, far too eager.
She’s had at least two drinks then.
“How was it? I saw you out there.”
“It was fine,” you mutter.
“You’ve only had one dance and it was with my brother. Methinks it’s time to expand your registry. How about the Duke? I hear he gets a little bit handsy and a little fun can do no harm.”
After your conversation with Bucky, you seriously doubt that. You would rather avoid this ball turning into a beheading festival tonight — or Bucky ruining his pristine reputation with society when he decides to do an execution in the middle of the dance floor.
Bucky is many things but he is not a liar. Whether he exaggerates is up for debate but that is not a theory you want to test tonight.
“Or shall we have a few more to drink in the meantime? Their champagne is quite lovely. I heard the viscountess had sourced all of the vintages from her favorite year.”
“Ladies.”
Speak of the devil. The two of you find yourselves in front of the viscountess. Even beneath the mask, her vibrant ruby hair is an easy identifier. She is cloaked in a glimmering black fabric with touches of red, breasts pushed up with the tight wrap aroung her waist. Spiders are stitched into her mask, crawling up the sides.
“Lady Romanoff,” Becca cheers, “what a lovely ball you’ve thrown. This is stunning, our chefs simply must learn from yours, otherwise I’d be tempted to sneak a few of those macarons up my sleeve before I leave.”
The viscountess laughs. “Princess, if you desire the macarons, I shall ensure that they are delivered to the palace by the morning. I believe your queen mother is also rather fond of the bonbons I source from France, I’ve already arranged for it to be sent tomorrow and I’ll make sure we include your macarons with that delivery.”
“You are most kind and gracious.”
Then she turns her eyes to you and you freeze. “And I do not believe we’ve met. Your name, dear?”
Your eyes flick to Becca momentarily before returning to her. You should lie. You should give her another name, but the viscountess has been known to be shrewdly intelligent. If you were caught in a fib, you would likely have your tongue cut out. There have been rumors of what she has done outside this kingdom, things that are far from proper; still, nobody has been brave enough to validate any of that gossip.
So you tell her your name.
“And I presume you are the princess’…” she trails off for a second and you go rigid once more, her gaze sharpens a fraction. “…cousin from far, far away?”
“Um, yes! She has decided to do an impromptu visit because she missed me so. I hope you don’t mind my bringing her, my lady.”
Lady Romanoff smiles like she knows — and you have a feeling she does. She simply doesn’t care. After all, she has always danced to her own tune, including how she’s wearing all black tonight that would be typically reserved for funerals.
“Not at all. I hope you enjoy your visit and my ball tonight. I would avoid Lord Smith, he’s in desperate search of a wife and may latch on to the one new face who appears unaware of the reputation of his temper.” Then she laughs.
“Fair advice, Lady Romanoff, thank you,” you murmur.
With one last squeeze of your arm, she brisks away from the two of you. As you follow her movements, you also spot Bucky as he makes his own escape with a few of the gentlemen you’ve seen come around the palace. He turns in time to catch your eye, his mouth curling into a smile as he winks at you from the distance, right as he disappears out the door.
“Now, shall we indulge in more treats?”
You’ve always been a quick study and there are three things that you now understand about the nature of these functions.
The first is to eat your fill — between the champagne and the specially mulled wines, intoxication is a friendly foe that rears its head far too fast. You have to learn to balance properly.
The second is that the marriage market appears dreary. None of the ladies are interested in the gentlemen, no matter how desperately they try. It appears that the women in the room aren’t too afraid of waiting a tad bit longer if it means they could find the one. This means that the gentlemen are far too preoccupied with harassing the help to keep themselves entertained, not that Lady Romanoff tolerates that behavior; she’s kicked out a number of them already.
Last but not least is that Becca is a social butterfly. While you’ve always been familiar with her friendly nature, seeing her out and about like this, crafting budding friendships with every single person in the room, you’re once again reminded of why the two of you were fast friends. Becca has always been more welcoming, conquering all five love languages on top of the three spoken and written ones that she’s already studying. However, following her around, you are also reminded that you are, in fact, not like her and these interactions are beginning to wear you down.
There are only so many ways you can talk about your dress before the discussions start to sound inane.
There are also so many times you can tolerate the way these women look you up and down. What happened to camaraderie? The catty looks are one thing you don’t expect. In your eyes, you’re a nobody who just happened to be playing dress-up thanks to a good friend. However, you can see how you seem from their perspective — close enough to the princess to attend this ball, apparently attractive enough for the crown prince to steal you for more than a handful of minutes.
You swallow the urge to scream, “I’m nothing more than the help!”
“The prince does have peculiar taste, doesn’t he?” One of them comments and you have to resist rolling your eyes, lest you offend her publicly.
“What do you mean?” Becca asks as she nibbles on her third tart of the night.
Expectedly, the girl’s eyes flick to you for a brief second before her lips stretch into smirk. “I assumed he would take a wife by now. Have an heir to continue the lineage. However, it doesn’t seem that anyone in this room suits his preferences. He hasn’t asked anyone to dance yet — and not for a lack of trying from our part.”
“He did have one dance—”
You clear your throat to interrupt Becca. She looks at you quizzically.
God bless her heart. Becca means well but sometimes she misses some of these cues; she’s too trusting, which is why you have to be the exact opposite.
“Apologies, I meant a dance that would count—” she smiles saccharine sweet. “—that would matter. You’re a visiting relative, right?” This question she directs towards you.
All eyes turn to you. The attention has your cheeks burning. “Correct.”
“She’s actually a very dear friend, but she’s practically family. She knows Bucky very well.”
“Is that so?” You don’t appreciate the way the woman’s gaze flashes with something akin to amusement. “Practically a sister then. I don’t believe I recall where you’re from. I haven’t heard anyone speak of you either.”
“I didn’t say.” Your lips twist up in an irritated smile.
Awkward tension falls upon the conversation. Becca looks nervously between the two of you; this cue is far too hard to miss. “That doesn’t matter! What matters is that we are here now. How about we get some lemonade? It’s quite warm here, isn’t it?”
As Becca busies herself with resolving the tension, which is the last thing a princess should be doing, you take this opportunity to slip away from the suffocating atmosphere of the room.
Perhaps the garden can be healing this time of night.
Bucky would rather be anywhere else but here. Let him correct himself — there is exactly one place he would rather be than here and it would be to be back inside. With you. Dancing. Fetching you drinks. Keeping those overly-excited, unworthy vultures away from you.
The moment you stepped through those doors, he knew he was in for a long night of suffering. Time and time again, you’ve rejected his advances. He knows you feel the same way, has felt you leaning into his touch before you would pull yourself away. Your stubbornness has always been endearing, but Bucky yearns for the day when he finally breaks through those walls.
It’s not an if, it’s a when.
Because Bucky has always achieved everything he’s dreamed of and you are his most important one.
However, for now, he is instead subjected to the debauchery of his peers. Dukes, viscounts, and fellow noblemen who have far too much time on their hands to be exploring substances that shouldn’t be explored. Sam is in the midst of lecturing their tight-knit group about this vial he procured while out in the countryside, some fermented liquid that supposedly produces the most vivid, imaginative visions that have you questioning reality.
The others ooh and aah in fascination but Bucky’s eyes continue to stray towards those double-doors where you stand on the other side.
“Your royal highness, I have something that may be of interest to you.”
To that, he does turn with a raised brow.
“I specifically obtained this one for you. I am sympathetic to your cause—” Sam teases and Bucky responds with a withering glare that does nothing to deter his friend. “—and when the time comes and you hope to last, this will be immensely beneficial.”
“His cause is hopeless if he doesn’t do anything about it,” Steve laughs.
“I appreciate your vote of confidence, Rogers. Believe me, it’s not for a lack of trying,” Bucky mutters as he leans back against the stone pillar.
Sam grabs his hand, slips it into his palm and closes his hand around a small tin. “Very potent. I wouldn’t recommend more than a pinchful at a time. A pinchful should last you through an hour, but what a delicious hour it will be.”
He doesn’t know how to tell him that Bucky doesn’t need this sort of chemistry to make him last. Every time he’s near you, his pants tighten like a schoolboy again. Thirteen and realizing that this desire to kiss you isn’t a result of friendship. As he got older, he realized that these urges aren’t those that should be held against his sister’s lady-in-waiting.
Urges that blossomed into far more when he feels his chest constrict, breath stolen from his lungs, whenever he catches a whiff of that perfume. Or how he can’t resist peeking at you from around the corner whenever you sneak into the library, wondering what book has absorbed you this time, how quickly he could read it to spark conversation with you. Or how desperately he tries to make you laugh just to hear that tinkling melody that loops like the nation’s best symphony in his mind.
There are days that Bucky wishes he wasn’t born into this family, that he could be normal, so he wouldn’t be forced upon societal standards that he has no desire to follow. He could pursue you and you wouldn’t constantly put this chasm between you.
But then if he hadn’t been born into this life, then he would’ve never met you. He would have never known what it means for love to consume his very soul, how one person could mean the world to him, to a point where he would give it all up — the riches, the rule — to be with you.
Fate is a funny thing.
“I don’t need this, Wilson,” Bucky grunts as he tries to push it back into Sam’s hands.
Sam raises them. “No, sir. Think of it as an early coronation gift. Perhaps once you can change the rules of the kingdom, you would be inclined to follow them too.”
“Think he’s a jester,” he mutters to Steve with a roll of his eyes.
“In another life, my prince, perhaps in another life,” Sam grins cheekily. “You simply have to breathe it in. Like the usual stuff. Again, very powerful so be careful. Otherwise, you’d be trapped in that state for hours on end and your only relief would be to…”
Bucky’s eyes rise to meet his. Sam only wiggles his eyebrows in response. He makes a face of repulsion. “That’s how you rid yourself of the effects?”
“The more you finish, the lighter the effects will be. However, if you don’t find any form of… relief, then it could last for hours and you’d be hurting everywhere — and I do mean everywhere. It’s the strongest form of desire that can be relieved if you fulfill it.”
Bucky looks down at the tin again. Unassuming. Small. How powerful could this little thing be? He tucks it inside his coat, if only to appease his friend, and lets them resume with the conversation.
By the time they adjourn, Bucky is sufficiently exhausted. All he wants is to go search for you. It’s only been an hour and he already misses you. What a fool he is — if only the kingdom knew that the crown prince’s only weakness is a woman who doesn’t even want him.
As the other men filter back indoors, Bucky moves to follow. That is, until your perfume tickles his senses. You’re outside. He whips around to try and find you but you’re nowhere in sight.
Perhaps this is his chance. The two of you would be in Lady Romanoff’s prized garden, far away from the prying eyes of the palace or the rest of the ton. He looks at Steve and Sam, waves them away. “Go on. I’ll enjoy the fresh air a little bit more.”
“Alright, don’t look too thrilled that all those women inside are waiting for their prince to return.”
Bucky winces. Of course, he’s felt their hungry gazes all night. All of them practically vibrating where they’re standing, fanning themselves a little faster, batting their eyelashes a little more rapidly. He has zero inclination to humor any of them because the one person he wants to dance with is the one who won’t even look at him.
With one final gesture, he begins to prowl further into the grounds, further away from the mansion, to find you.
Little does he know that the tiny tin rattles like a cry against his chest, lid loose as he walks at a pace that’s far from careful.
After exploring the gardens for a bit, you almost wish that Lady Romanoff would adopt you under her wing to understand her excellent taste in design and decoration. The architecture is as old as time. Each brick feels intentionally placed like it’s meant to be part of history. The stream that sits quietly further away from the palace brings a touch of natural life to the otherwise manmade masterpiece.
A boat sits swaying in the gentle evening breeze and you’re half tempted to paddle yourself out to the middle to find some form of peace. However, given how deep it is into nightfall, you assume you’d have to eventually make your way back to find Becca. She’s promised not to touch another drop of champagne for the evening so you trust her to make good decisions.
Just as you turn to begin your journey back to the mansion, the last person you expect is standing before you.
“Bucky, what are you doing here?”
In the darkness, he stumbles towards you, mumbling incoherently. You strain your ears to decipher him but it’s near impossible when his words blur together. He’s clearly intoxicated. You wonder how much liquor Steve and Sam have fed him and lord knows what else.
When he finally stands where the moonlight shines across the concrete, you see the flush that sprawls like an illness across his skin. His breathing is labored and his fingers continue to tug at the collar of his shirt, clawing almost desperately. With his mask long gone, you can see how his pupils are blown wide as they drink in the sight of you, a mix of relief and desire in the constantly shifting shades of his ocean eyes.
He breathes out your name like a prayer when he sees you. “Gods, you look…” he trails off again as he moves towards you, walking side to side as if his legs can’t bear the weight of him.
You catch him before he can topple over, his entire body draped over yours. You thank the heavens that you’ve done enough manual labor in your life that you’re able to prop him up, pushing him up against the wall. Your hands on his shoulders as you frown at him.
He doesn’t smell too heavily of liquor but there are strange particles on his coat that you suspect are the reason why he’s behaving like this. You bite back the urge to scold the crown prince of all people to be more responsible. When you look up at him, he’s looking down at you with a lazy smirk.
“Bucky, what did you take?”
“Y’smell…” he leans forward again, nearly tipping over but his nose ends up buried in your neck. You feel him inhale, deep, before a long, extremely indecorous moan rumbles against your skin. Heat slithers up your spine, pushing your blood south between your legs. “Fuck, you smell so good.”
Biting your tongue, you try to push him back against the wall but he’s faster. His arms wrap around you, holding you tight against his chest as his mouth trails warm against your skin. He whispers your name again — like a promise. “Bucky, please, I can’t help you like this.”
“Need—” he chokes then, whimpering.
“What do you need? Tell me.”
“You.”
You stroke his hair gently as he continues to mumble words you cannot hear against the pulse in your neck. “I know, I’m here. Tell me what you need.” Worry torments your heart as you press the back of your hand against his forehead. “Heavens, you’re burning up.”
“So hot,” he whines, “so, so warm.”
Without removing himself from you, he begins to shed off his tailcoat first, casting it aside. Then his fingers reach for the buttons of his waistcoat, fingers seemingly too uncoordinated to undo them.
“Please. Help,” he pleads.
How can you say no when he asks so sweetly? But at the same time, you really shouldn’t be doing this. “Bucky, this isn’t a good idea. I don’t think you should—”
“Help me.”
Gods, you’ve never been good at saying no to this man, not when he sounds like he’s in pain. Your gloved hands reach towards him as you begin to unbutton him slowly, revealing more and more of the linen underneath. Then Bucky pushes it off his shoulders.
“My shirt next.”
“Bucky!” you gasp, “That’s completely out of the question. I couldn’t possibly.”
“It’s so warm, mon couer. Please.”
He’s never played a fair game, but particularly when he addresses you so charmingly in French. You remember when he first started calling you those terms, practicing the foreign language on his tongue in a way that had you leaning in to listen for more. You asked him what they meant, and he said, “Only the truth.”
My love. My heart. Your heart feels like it’s been lit on fire when you read the translations.
You never questioned it further. Becca always took it as teasing, like Bucky’s being his usual charismatic, mischievous self. But every time he calls you that, you know that it is the truth. A truth you keep contesting for the sanctity of your mind.
Because if you accept that you are his love and that you are his heart, you don’t know how much of your resolve would be left.
And Bucky deserves more than that. He deserves the world, which he already has. You can’t be the reason that he loses all of it.
“We should head back. Becca’s going to be wondering where we are.”
“Becca can be patient,” he murmurs as he finally finds the strength to rip his shirt open, the buttons flying off as the fabric is torn off his body, leaving him bare in front of you. His abdomen ripples with the kind of muscles that come from the hours spent training, the hours you spent watching him practice.
Saliva pools on your tongue and you feel like a dog taught to drool at the sight of its master. You’ve seen him shirtless before, of course — god knows the man loves to be fully exposed to the sun in seasons like this. However, something about him is different this time. He’s practically soaked through his shirt, his body glows with a sheen layer of sweat.
“You have a fever, Bucky. You need help.”
“Need you,” he repeats, clearer this time. His brows then meet in the middle as he looks down at you. He tugs the mask off your face, letting it drop to the floor as he searches your eyes. Deep blue, bluer than the summer sky. “There you are,” he says softly.
Your heart stutters as you shy away from his gaze, his fingers catching your chin to tilt you to face him again. His eyes fall to your lips, your lips separate, sticky with whatever Becca had swiped onto you earlier.
Then he slants his lips over yours and you feel the fireworks explode inside your chest. Bucky’s moan spills down your throat as he kisses you deeper, harder. Ravenous is the only way you can describe it. He’s chasing after your lips like you’re the last drop of water for a parched man. He breathes the air from your lungs, an intimate exchange that has noises you’ve only made in the quiet of your room — alone — rising from your stomach.
It’s everything you’ve ever imagined, and so much more. You spent nights picturing what this could feel like in painstaking detail, hoping that it may happen one day — in the slightest of chances.
But then that anxiety seeps back in, creeping under your skin enough to wake you from this dream.
“Bucky—” He kisses you again, quashing whatever rational thought you’ve only just begun to formulate.
“Tastes so sweet, even better than I thought,” he murmurs. “So sweet, my love. Gods, I could kiss you for days and I’d never tire of it.”
“We shouldn’t—” Your protest once again dies in your throat as Bucky begins to kiss along your jaw, placing a wet trail of fire as he mouths down your neck, counting your racing heartbeat. Your palms flatten against his chest, damp and humid. He’s sweating bullets but you don’t get the chance to interrupt again.
“I need you,” he groans, “lord, I need you.” His fingers catch your hand and press it against his chest. Your heart pushes against your ribs. “You smell so good. I can’t stop thinking about you. Thinking about what it would be like to kneel at your feet, your leg over my shoulder, and bury my face in that pretty pussy of yours.”
A gasp wrenches from your throat as you jerk back. “Bucky, that is— oh my god, that is unacceptable!”
“It’s the truth,” he growls, “I can practically smell you between your legs, your sweetness on my tongue. I want you to press your hips against my face and let me feast like a king. Slip my fingers in there and feel how you resist me, how you act like you don’t want this but you’re dripping all over my fingers.”
The moan that climbs out your chest is involuntary and it’s all Bucky needs before he’s flipping you around and he’s pressing your back against the pillar. A gust of wind blows, providing some semblance of reprieve to the sudden sweltering heat that blankets you. It does nothing to soothe Bucky who looks at you like you’re the perfect prey, skin exposed to him with your hair twisted up like the forbidden fruit.
Bucky isn't a godless man, but in that moment he swears there isn't a higher power who could stop him from having you.
He silently asks the heavens to turn their gaze away from the sin he's about to commit. Because whatever happens next, he won't be seeking forgiveness.
He will only offer his thanks.
He kisses you again, tongue slipping past your lips just as he swallows your surprised sound. His tongue strokes against yours, licking up and pressing against it until you’re trembling against him.
You no longer have authority over your body, how every ounce of energy dissolves into thin air against him, knees nearly sending you crumbling to the ground if it weren’t for his own strength holding you up. One of his hands is ont he back of your neck, keeping you close, and the other on your hip. His mouth continues to move against you as if he’s savoring every inch of you.
Distracted by the taste of him and his seemingly contagious fever, you barely realize when Bucky peels back layer upon layer of your eveningwear. The weight of the fabric pools around your feet with a soft thump. His fingers are frantic as he pushes each piece off your shoulders, leaving you only in your shift and your stay. The corset is tight around your body and Bucky snarls to himself when he can’t seem to untangle the loops.
Then you hear it, the sound similar to clicking tongues as Bucky tears it off your body. When the haze clears just enough for you to realize what’s been done, you shove him away from you, but your power doesn’t throw him very far.
“Bucky, this is indecent. I can’t be—”
“We’re too far past decency, my love.” He stalks back towards you, capturing your lips in a languid kiss that eviscerates your objections into ash. “Beautiful. You had the eyes of everyone in that room tonight. I loathed seeing you surrounded by all those men earlier. Undeserving creatures who think that they have an opportunity with you.”
“I—I wasn’t interested in any of them,” you whine as he works his way down your neck, teeth and lips marking slow, deliberate claims against your skin. Ones that spell out mine.
“I know,” he murmurs against your pulse, smiling as if the answer was never in doubt. “You don’t need to fret. You’re mine. I wouldn’t let them near you. I wouldn’t even allow you to look their way.”
His mouth drags lightly over your skin again. Unhurried, certain.
“Only me. Always me.”
It’s not a question, nor an order. He’s stating a fact. For as long as you can remember, regardless of how many handsome bachelors walk through the palace doors — or even through the staff entrance, you haven’t spared any of them a second glance. Your heart and eyes have always belonged to him.
Bucky takes your hand and gently removes your gloves. He brings your hand up to his lips, placing one gentle kiss after another. First on your wrist, then up your forearm, to your bicep, until he’s on your shoulder. He moves this final layer to the side just enough for him to press wet kisses on your collarbones.
However, despite his attempts to divert your attention away from the actual matter at hand, you can’t help but worry. His temperature is a far cry from normal, you fear what would happen if he weren’t observed and provided the necessary remedies.
“You’re sick, Bucky. Please let me take you back to the palace. Let me fetch your carriage so we can at least summon the royal physician to assess you.”
“No, won’t help,” he grunts, “need to— need to—” and the next word that slips from his lips has your heart slamming against your ribcage— “fuck.”
Your mouth dries and your own desires begin to overwhelm you. This isn’t right. He’s not himself. He’s not in his right mind. What he needs is a doctor and a bed and—
“Sam said,” he exhales harshly, “I need to get it out. To stop this.”
“Get what out?”
“Need to finish.”
Finish. Fuck. Your throat suddenly feels like sandpaper.
He needs to climax.
“Don’t think I’ll be satisfied with finishing once,” he huffs honestly as his hands reach up to cup your breasts. He lets out a little pleased noise as he feels up your soft flesh, the shape of your breasts molding to his hand as he massages them. With only one barrier left between the two of you, it feels as if there’s nothing at all there. “My gorgeous girl with her gorgeous tits. I always knew you’d fit so perfectly in my hands. You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt of this, putting my hands on them, pinching these lovely pert nipples—” he moans as he tugs on your nipple, electricity coursing through you in a zing straight down to your core. “How it would feel to have my cock tucked in between your tits.”
You don’t have the voice to argue, nor the mind. All you can think about is how delicious it feels for Bucky to be touching you. Your head leans back as your eyes slide shut, your mind lost in the sensations of his touch.
“Please, let me have you, my love. I need— I need you.”
His hand doesn’t wait for an answer, they begin to bunch up your skirt, pinning them against your hip with his wrist as his fingers trail up your inner thigh. You fight against your shudder and he lifts his mouth back to your lips to kiss you, just as his fingertips make contact with your core.
You’re sticky down there already, a mess from the proximity and his scent and his feverish warmth. This is still Bucky — your Bucky — but he’s also different, like all of the chains that have held him back, that have granted him the patience all these years, have been shattered. This is the result of all the times you’ve rejected him again and again and again. All of the times that you have rejected these feelings within yourself.
Now the dam has been destroyed and all those times you’ve swallowed your pride and your wants, they’re finally being released and they completely drown you.
The moon reflects off the water, illuminating Bucky’s face in a shifting series of ethereal colors. Even with the glimmer, his eyes are dark. A fog clouding his judgment. His desire is unwavering. The more you touch him, the more you let him touch you, the stronger the effects of his fever.
If possible, he grows even warmer. His skin practically searing against yours but nothing burns more than his fingers between your legs, the delicate stroke of your lips, moist with the evidence of your lust.
“You’re drenched down here, my sweet girl,” Bucky moans, “is this all for me? Were you thinking of me the same way I was thinking of you?”
“Bucky, please,” you jolt, hips rising when he dips a tentative finger inside you.
It’s almost embarrassing how easily he slips himself in there, aided by the slick between your legs. He pushes a finger in as he gulps down your pleasured sound, a desperate little cry as his fingers stretch out your insides.
You’ve never had anyone else touch you like this. You’ve barely even touched yourself like this; even when left to your own devices with nothing more than your imagination and the lingering scent of Bucky’s cologne on your threads, shame still restricts how much pleasure you allow yourself.
However, out there, with Bucky in control, you relinquish that power to him. You let him determine how much pleasure you experience, how much gratification you can get under his ministrations.
Bucky’s fingers are skilled as they work you open, scissoring you open until your teeth sink into his shoulder. “My pretty girl, look at you. I want to hear you cry for me, want to know how good I make you feel.”
Obediently, your lips split open in a wail that shakes the air.
“Let me have a taste of you,” he murmurs and draws his hand away from you. The loss is almost instantaneous, a sudden chill where his touch had been, but it’s replaced by the fire that burns bright in your gut the moment he drags his wet fingers along his lips. He breathes it in like he’s memorizing the scent of you before he slides his fingers over his tongue. “God, you’re perfect. Sweet, as I expected.”
Then Bucky sinks to the ground and there’s something about the crown prince on his knees before you that has you faltering. Someone whose blood is bluer than the ocean shouldn’t risk scraping his knees for a mere maid — and yet here he is.
“Hold your skirt up for me, sweet girl.”
You want to protest. You want to say no. You want to remind him again that this isn’t a good idea but there’s determination in his eyes that have you whimpering, fingers reaching for the hem of your skirt to reveal yourself to him.
Bucky drags a finger along your slit again, collecting the moisture and wiping it on his tongue with another moan. He leans forward and your eyes slide shut, heart thrumming in anticipation with the steady pulse in your veins. He kisses you slowly at first, making his way up your thigh but his patience is thin and soon enough he’s burying his face between your legs.
His tongue strokes up your pussy, legs still clamped shut in your apprehension. Bucky looks a little irritated when he can’t seem to properly taste you so, with one hand, he holds one of your legs up by the thigh and opens up your leaking cunt to him. He curses under his breath when he sees you glisten in the flickering night.
The stars in the sky blend in with the ones behind your eyes when he finally lays his lips on you. He mouths at you hungrily, like he’s wolfing down his last meal. His tongue presses eager strokes along your walls that have your legs closing in around him again — only for his hand to pry them open once more to grant him access to the nectar between your thighs.
“So sweet, so soft,” Bucky groans against your pussy. His lips suckle eagerly, the lewd slurps ricocheting off the surfaces in this quiet night. In the distance, the music continues quietly, but here — you’re accompanied by the sound of your quickening heartbeat and Bucky’s delighted grunts.
Each time he licks you, he buries himself deeper and deeper, until his nose bumps against your clit and his face glistens with your arousal. Your fingers tangle in his thick hair, damp with the sweat from his fever. When you tug on it slightly, Bucky sticks his face in even deeper, moans even louder.
You can see how his erection only grows underneath his trousers, needy for attention, and yet satisfied all the same by your own pleasure. He tilts his face to reach new angles, his fingers pushing inside of you to keep you full while his tongue flicks that sensitive bundle of nerves.
It doesn’t take you long fall apart, walls closing in around his tongue and his fingers, spasming with your orgasm — the first of the evening.
For a moment, guilt enters your system and you’re forced to look down at Bucky remorsefully that he didn’t even achieve what he set out to do. However, you notice the shaking of his shoulders, a shudder wracking through him as his hips twitch upwards. A pulse down there.
“Y-you finished?”
Bucky nods, unabashed as he comes to a stand. “Do you see what you do to me? Cumming untouched in my trousers like a prepubescent boy who can’t even control himself.”
“I didn’t— I mean, you didn’t even touch it.”
“The mere thought of you finishing around my mouth like I’ve always dreamed is enough for me, my love.” He tucks a loose strand of your hair, one that have fallen loose from your updo, behind your ear. “However, I’m far from done. This fever — I can’t break it without you. I have to have you.”
Again, he doesn’t wait for your permission as he steals the air from your lungs with a passionate kiss. This time, you can taste the sweetness of champagne on his tongue along with something a little more unique. Something that belongs solely to you and now also belongs to him.
“I’ve been leaking for you all night, sweet girl,” Bucky mumbles, “I couldn’t stop thinking what you look like underneath this dress. How soft and supple your body would be. Apparently, everyone else had the same thought. I could see how they looked at you. I should have them all stripped of their titles and banished from the land.”
“Bucky,” you chide, warmth flaming your cheeks. “That would be incredibly rude. Nobody did anything.”
He rolls his eyes as he presses you back against the pillar, reaching down to his pants. You hear the fabric shifting as he holds you up and frees himself. You’ve never seen one in real life before, only those diagrams that Becca likes to tease you with.
And the real thing looks far more intimidating.
It stands upright, a thick vein running along the top as the head strains red. It looks almost as if that line pulses, encouraged by the purplish lines that sit underneath the surface. A new pearl sits at the tip of him, pearlescent as it rolls down the length of his cock, already sticky and stained creamy white from the mess in his trousers. It’s fat and it’s long and you can’t imagine that fitting inside you.
You must’ve voiced your fears aloud because Bucky is then saying, “Don’t worry, mon couer. We’ll make it fit.”
He lifts you up, drawing a squeal from your lips, as he wraps your legs around his waist. The head rests against your entrance, the sight of it already has your pussy drooling over the tip, like it’s preparing for his cock.
“She’s excited to have me,” he muses quietly, “she’s dripping. So eager to have me. You haven’t been filled before, have you? You’ve never had another man touch you?”
You must’ve taken a moment too long to respond, too preoccupied with the incredulity of the situation.
The low roar sounding from Bucky’s chest has you looking at him. Fury claws at his eyes, the usual bright blue shifting darker as he sneers. His hands tighten around your hips. “Has anyone else touched you? Who is it? Is it the stableboy? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’ve been meaning to replace him—”
“Bucky, god, no. Nobody!” You pant, “Where would I find the time?”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? I know your good heart would want to protect them.”
Your lips curl. “No, I would have no reason to lie to you.
“Good, because I fear the dire action I would’ve had to take if you told me otherwise.”
“I’m not yours to own, Bucky,” you snap.
“That’s where you’re wrong, sweet girl. You’ve always belonged to me, whether you knew it or not. You’re mine and I’ll kill anyone who even dares to think about you.” Another surprised sound escapes your lips and Bucky only smirks. “This pussy especially. I’ll shape it to the size of me, you won’t ever know pleasure with anyone else. I’ll train her to only please me and only me.”
Before you can admonish him for acting so barbaric, Bucky notches the tip into you. You can already feel the stretch, your pussy resisting the entry of something so… large. So imposing. But he pays it no mind; instead, he uses your own juices to lubricate his entry as he pushes slowly into you, inch by inch.
He drives deep inside of you, swift and merciless the first time, to yank a gasp from your throat. Another expletive leaves his lips as his head rolls back, eyes slamming closed as he relishes in the feel of your cunt wrapping around him.
Your entire body is under a spell, experiencing something otherworldly that no language you know could describe. It burns like you’ve been placed on a stake to be set ablaze, like every atom in your body is being torn apart and rearranged. It’s divine deliverance in the pain, but one that provides you with the kind of relief you don’t expect.
“You feel so—” he chokes as he drags himself out before pushing back in, faster this time, the slide easier. The ache still screams between your legs but you let them fall apart anyway, allowing Bucky to take control over the situation.
His name falls from your lips — this time as a plea, but you can’t tell if you’re begging for him to stop or to go faster. You want to get past the hurt, want to feel the sort of pleasure that you’ve only heard whispers about. But at the same time, a small piece of you relishes in that pain — it reminds you that you’re human, that this is new, that this is real, and that Bucky is right here with you.
“So tight, so fucking wet. You’re completely soaking my cock, sweet girl. I always knew you were meant for me, this pussy was made for me. No one else can ever see you like this, do you understand me?”
Bucky jerks his hips forward, his arms under your knees, hands on your ass as he presses you against the wall. The surface is solid against your spine, holding you upright as he fucks up into you. His grunts are muffled into your neck as he breathes you in, like your scent fuels the fire in his veins.
When you don’t respond, too drunk off the sensations of Bucky driving into you at a pace that has you delirious, he punctuates one thrust particularly hard.
“I asked, do you understand me?”
A sob crawls out of your throat as you nod, tears leaking down your eyes. He doesn’t apologize for your cries, he knows you better than that. These tears are from the overwhelming waves of emotion, the heightened tension that grips your lungs until you can’t seem to find the capability to breathe.
“You feel like heaven, my love. I’ll fuck you to the shape of my cock, until you can’t take anyone else but me — until you won’t even consider taking anyone else. I’ll ensure everyone in this kingdom knows that I’ve defiled you, that you’ve taken my mark on your skin and inside of you. I’ll ensure that you will only be mine.”
The shame settles hard and fast in the pits of your stomach. If everyone could see you like this, pinned outside against a wall by the prince, fucked like a whore in heat with your pussy clamping down around him, you could never show your face again. A desecrated maid who couldn’t keep her legs shut for a prince.
Anyone would be lucky to have him, but no one in their right mind would let even the crown prince take them before marriage. They would rather die than be labeled a slut. A harlot. You would be the bane of your family, no one would speak of you again and you would be banished to the outerlands.
But this is Bucky and even the concept of him keeping you as his dirty little secret only sends thrills through your veins.
“Bucky, you can’t—”
He laughs, dark and sinister. Like the idea of him unable, unallowed to do anything is absurd. “I’m the crown prince, sweet girl. I am the future of this kingdom. What I say goes. If I say you are mine then it is true. No one will come within a foot of you. Not after I’m done with you. I’ll make sure everyone sees the marks of my affection for you. I’ll imprint them in places everyone can see and other places that nobody will ever see.”
His words have your heart clenching in mortification and a humiliating level of arousal. The debasement of your character, the degradation of your morality — apparently none of it means anything if it means you have Bucky between your legs and his cock buried deep inside your cunt.
“I’ve laid my claim on you. No one else will ever touch you. You—” thrust “—are—” thrust “—mine.”
Staying true to his promise, his fingers dig deep into your flesh. Deep enough that you’ll surely carry those bruises with you for some time. The litter of prints on your neck and above your breasts will have to be covered by your high necklines, gowns that would only raise suspicion in the summer.
But most of all — the taking of your virginity, your purity plucked from your hands and placed into Bucky’s — is the kind of mark you will never undo.
Bucky is too lost in his own pleasure, too focused on delivering you to your second peak of the night to recognize the telltale signs of your climax approaching. Your whines crescendoing, the stutter of your heartbeat as your fingers sink into his shoulders. His name spilling from your mouth in an uneven rhythm.
“I will cum in you, sweet girl. I’ll fill you up with so much cum, I’ll have you dripping all the way home, I’ll make sure you’re leaking all over the carriage before I take you again in my chambers. Gods, I’ll tie you to my bed, make sure that you’ll never deny me again.”
Your heart smashes into your chest, threatening to catapult out with his warning. For some godforsaken reason, the idea of being Bucky’s plaything — tied up with no other purpose than to serve his pleasure — has you gasping in desire, your legs closing in around him as you feel your senseless craving crescendo.
“You want that, don’t you? You just want to be my pussy. Keep your legs open, this pretty cunt dripping yours and my cum all over my sheets. My darling girl is nothing but a whore who wants cock to keep her plugged up at all times. You won’t have to worry about a thing ever again.”
“Bucky, please—”
“I’ll breed you until you carry my heir.”
That jars you awake and you’re scrambling, a conflicting concoction of pure, unadulterated want with the terrifying fear of the consequences to follow. “You can’t! Bucky, you have to stop. You can’t get me—” you hiccup, “—you can’t get me pregnant. Your heir has to come from a proper bloodline.”
“I no longer care about propriety and bloodlines. They have kept us apart long enough. I’m the crown prince and, what I want, I get. What I want is you and you alone. Why would I need some uptight, prissy noblewoman who doesn’t know how to cum around her husband’s cock?”
“Bucky!” You gasp as he fucks you hard and fast. His pace is unrelenting and every slide of his cock inside you scrambles every single sensible thought in your mind.
“And I have you — I can feel your pussy choking me. You — while you’re getting fucked outside with the risk of someone finding us. Yet, look at that, you’re squeezing me even tighter, my love. I always knew you were made for me. Every inch of my depravity, you take it even further. You complete me.”
Your stomach coils with something deep and tight, an unknown force set out to subject you to the strongest cut of humiliating pleasure. As a proper woman, you shouldn’t take such words, even from a prince. You shouldn’t stoop so low as to attain this form of high.
However, your mind and your body and your heart do not align. While your rational mind screams at you to put a stop to this, your adoration for Bucky — now forced to surface after years of stomping on it and swallowing it with guilt — and your pure primal need — what many consider to be your purpose — join and meld to push you to keep going.
To chase after this sought-after pleasure that few can even dream about. If the cost of is to reduce your dignity and pride, then so be it.
“And now, I will complete you,” Bucky murmurs sweetly before he shoves himself inside you over and over again until you’re a weeping mess, your legs quaking as your body slides up against the wall with every thrust. Tears leak down your face, destroying Becca’s efforts to make you look beyond yourself.
But all that physical destruction is worth it when your insides are being remade.
With one final thrust, Bucky spills inside you. Warmth coating every part of your walls, thick, clinging onto your skin like it’s marking you with a permanent mess. Your second climax twists inside your gut, rising up to your chest to constrict your lungs as your pussy curls tight around him. His need to complete you is complemented by your own need for the same. Your walls keep him in, trapped, until every single drop is milked from his cock and buried deep inside your cunt.
Bucky doesn’t let up, he fucks into you until he’s groaning sensitive against your neck. His breathing is even hotter than before, each exhale like a furnace in the middle of the desert.
“I’m not done with you yet.”
Those words no longer spark fear, but zealous anticipation.
Then Bucky takes you again — you on your feet, him behind you as he fucks you against the wall, your breasts in his hands to hold him steady as he cums into you again, the milky white seeping out from where you two are joined. But then he misses your face too much so he grabs your chin, turns you to face him, and devours you in a messy kiss that has your teeth clicking almost painfully.
Then he has you laid out over his clothes, your back on the floor, your knees and thighs against your torso, as he fucks deep inside you, promising you that it’ll take this time. That he’ll try as many times as he needs to until his seed takes.
Then you’re on your hands and knees as Bucky pounds into you from behind, his thighs slapping against yours, his fingers reaching around to your clit in intentional circles that have your body quivering underneath him, and he doesn’t stop until you’re cumming around his cock and he’s filling you up with another load.
Then you’re cleaning him up, the taste of his cum and your pussy a more potent substance than all the liquor in the nation combined. The thick liquid spurts down your throat like you’re being fed your dessert, a treat for having done so well.
And again and again and again.
For a while, you forget that Bucky is relentless only due to the poison in his veins, his depraved hunger only exacerbated by the delicious textures of your cunt around his cock. An addiction that he could never suppress.
When both your limbs finally give and enough of the toxins have been excreted — inside you, mind you, the two of you slump down on top of both your clothes. A mess of damp fabrics and fluids that even the best solvents in the kingdom could never remove.
Bucky turns over to you with a groan — the same sound that’s been rattling inside your mind, the same sound that will surely affix to every crevice inside your brain for weeks, if not months — and slumps an arm over your waist.
He nuzzles his face against your cheek, a small chuckle tickling your face. He hums, pleasantly exhausted. You’re a disarray of tangled limbs and gummy skin. You can’t help but laugh too.
“Why are you laughing?” He smiles, leaning down to press a kiss on your bare shoulder. Somewhere along the way, you’ve stripped yourself of your final layer too, leaving you completely nude.
The circumstances are far from believable. If you had told yourself that this was how your night would end, even your wildest imagination couldn’t have conjured up this conclusion. “I can’t believe we’re doing this in the middle of Lady Romanoff’s ball.”
“She would skin us alive if she knew,” he smirks.
“Yes, she would.”
The third, unexpected voice has the two of you jumping, your fingers immediately reach for more clothes to cover you up, at the same time Bucky also drapes his jacket over your body.
Lady Romanoff stands closer towards the land, where the water doesn’t extend. She then approaches, oil lamp in hand. You can’t unriddle whether her expression is contemptuous disgust or unpredicted amusement.
Meanwhile, the two of you are still clad in nearly nothing, only the moonlight to cast shadows that cloak you.
“Lady Romanoff, I apologize profusely. We didn’t mean any disrespect—”
Bucky’s quick to interject. “It was entirely my fault. I have been subjected to… urges that were outside my control. It was a substance, you see.”
His words have your heart palpitating in an uneven rhythm. The words land unexpected sharp, like a piercing wound straight through your beating organ.
Urges that were outside my control.
This was never meant to happen. You and Bucky. This night. All of it is a fever dream. A product of your desires catalyzed by a chemical compound. Bucky never would’ve done it otherwise; the two of you have always run in parallel lines, never meant to intersect.
All of his words — sweet nothings.
Just like this evening.
“I’m fully aware of the substance you speak of, I am frankly surprised that you would be so careless as to consume it at such a public place, your royal highness,” Lady Romanoff muses.
Bucky winces, scratching the back of his ear awkwardly. “I stumbled and the container had been loose. Unfortunately, I was forced to consume nearly all of it — at least, what didn’t end up on my clothing.”
Lady Romanoff only hums thoughtfully. “If I remember correctly, the aftermath to this substance would be a deep sleep. Rather fast, I’m afraid.” This time, she turns to look at you. “I shall set up a room for the two of you — you can enter through the back. Most of my regular staff is gone and I’ll arrange for my lady-in-waiting to prepare it. She is most discreet.”
“We can—” Bucky stops then, seeming caught off guard by the sudden dizzying spell. He sways slightly, words slurring together in a jumbled mess before he falls against you. His breathing even.
“It appears my memory serves me well,” she says, voice tinged with unexpected pride. “Come, my dear.”
As promised, most of the party has dwindled down to a few inebriated guests that Lady Romanoff organizes to be delivered home in their respective carriages. You and Bucky have been set up in a wing far from the prying eyes, this is where they’ve restricted most of Lady Romanoff’s staff, only the trusted are allowed.
Her lady-in-waiting and her most trusted butler had been sent to help carry Bucky back — of course, after you properly dress him. No explanation was provided beyond the crown prince getting “ill from the food”, but you assume that they suspect something else is at play, particularly when you yourself look like you’ve been mauled by a wild beast.
After Bucky has been settled into his room and you’ve been provided your own as a guest, which you insisted against, but Lady Romanoff insisted against your insistence, her staff is sent away. Bucky snores quietly on the bed, he’s been in and out. He was somewhat awake long enough to help the butler walk him back into the mansion, enough to plop himself down on the mattress.
Your heart is uneasy with worry but Lady Romanoff touches your shoulder. “He should be fine. He has most of it out of his system, I presume?” She cocks an eyebrow. Heat crawls up your neck as you nod. “Then he will recover by morning. He may be weary for a while but he’s in good hands.”
“Thank you for your generosity, Lady Romanoff,” you murmur, “I do apologize for the inconvenience and my… impudence.”
“No apologies needed. I spoke to Wilson and he’s received an earful from me about bringing untested substances — in unsealed containers, at that.” She pauses then turns to you, “You’ve been quite the kind… relative, for a distant one.”
She knows. You know that she knows. She knows that you know that she knows.
This is a mess.
“Yes, I’m rather used to caring for him,” you clear your throat, and then realize what you’ve just said. “In a way where he’s almost like my brother. We grew up together.” And that one isn’t a lie per se.
“I’m sure,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “Well, take my words with a grain of salt, but I would like to ask you to proceed with caution. You seem to be a smart woman, I’ve seen you with Becca, how you manage to fit right in with society. While I am a romantic at heart, I am also a realist — and the truth is that the challenge will lie with you. As the crown prince, he will be untouched. Unharmed. The realm will protect him before it will protect a woman.”
“I understand that,” you nearly sigh, glancing back at Bucky.
It’s what you’ve always known — your position in society. It’s why you never accepted Bucky’s advances, nor your own feelings regarding him. It’s easier to pretend that it doesn’t exist, that you aren’t in love with the crown prince as a mere maid — even if it hurts.
“But his royal highness is also a good man. I’m sure he will choose wisely,” Lady Romanoff smiles. “Now, please rest. I will arrange for separate carriages to deliver you both home in the morning.”
“I should return now—”
“What you should do is rest,” she presses with a pointed look. “Furthermore, I believe he could use some tending to tonight — in case he wakes or has… remaining urges.”
She’s teasing you, and it’s working because your face feels like it’s been trapped in a heatwave all day. “I’ll make sure he gets through the night and will depart first thing in the morning. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you any further.”
“No inconvenience. This has perhaps been the most entertaining occurrence this season.” Her eyes are practically twinkling in delight.
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “Lady Romanoff, please forgive me for overstepping, but if I could ask for your discretion regarding this matter—”
She waves you off with a reassuring smile. “You need not ask. I understand the position you are in and I would never trouble another woman more than necessary. I also would not enjoy making an enemy out of the palace and I doubt the crown prince would let things slide if anything were to happen to his precious lover.”
Your mouth opens to correct her, she gives you a look that tells you not to even attempt to lie to her. You technically wouldn’t be fibbing.
After all, it was only his urges that allowed him to do such things to you tonight. At the end of the day, you’re still nothing more than a maid — a member of the royal staff. A lover is what you are not.
“Have a good evening, dear.”
“You as well, Lady Romanoff.”
Once she leaves the room, you go to check on Bucky one last time before you move to your own room; it is an adjacent space, connected by a door should you need access to his room. That distance, while small, still feels much too large.
You pull the blanket up higher on his waist, brush the wet strands away from his face as you check his temperature again. His fever has come down plenty, he’s at least broken through it and now he’s simply sweating out the rest.
With that, you pull your hand away and ready yourself to move to your own room.
Except, you don’t get the chance, not when you feel those familiar fingers wrap around your hand before you could move. You whirl around to find Bucky drowsily looking up at you. His eyes glow in the moonlight spilling through the massive windows.
“Stay,” he murmurs.
“Your royal highness, I should return to the chambers Lady Romanoff has provided. If the staff were to return, I wouldn’t want to have to explain the circumstances.”
“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” He says, but there’s no bite to his words, only affection.
You swallow thickly, chancing another look at your door.
“Stay,” he insists again, “please.”
Who are you to deny the crown prince? Your frail heart can’t seem to do that, not when it could be your last evening with him.
So, you slide under the covers when he makes room with a giddy little smile. He tucks you into his chest and kisses the top of your head. “Sleep, sweet girl.”
And for once, you listen to him.
Come morning, the reality of the situation has carved itself deep into your bones. While you wake up in Bucky’s warmth, his arms around you and your legs on top of each other, you know that this is the last part of your dream. The epilogue. This will be nothing more than a memory, maybe even the figment of one.
You swiftly clean yourself up, ensuring that you are properly clothed and presentable before you make your way to where Lady Romanoff had directed you. She is nowhere to be found but a carriage has been arranged to take you back to the palace. The sun hasn’t even risen when you slipped out of bed.
With one last look at Bucky who’s still sleeping peacefully, you take your leave.
You’re back early enough that none of the staff are awake yet, but you also can’t bring yourself to sleep. The gown Becca had lent you hangs by your door quietly, a stark reminder of the evening you thought you had crafted in your mind. You turn over to ignore it.
However, slumber doesn’t find you and so you begin your duties early. The princess’ gown, the tea, everything a lady-in-waiting should do in the palace.
It’s expected that Becca has questions about where you went last night. She was frantic with worry at the thought of losing you somewhere, or if something had happened to you that she refused to leave.
“Lady Romanoff informed me that you and Bucky had returned earlier because he was ill,” she says, forehead creasing with lines, “I apologize that your night was ruined by my brother. I was hoping you would enjoy the remainder of the ball.”
“I enjoyed it plenty already, don’t worry,” you smile. “Thank you for giving me that opportunity.”
“Well,” she eagerly presses, “were there any handsome bachelors that caught your eye?”
Only one and he is the one you certainly cannot have.
“No, I believe we were out there to assess the men for your own relationship.”
Becca blushes, fanning her face. “No, no one of importance.” She’s never been a good liar. “Okay, there was one but Bucky would kill me if I tried. Have you ever noticed how attractive Lord Rogers is? He also has such a kind heart.”
If he had a kind heart, he would’ve stopped Bucky from taking that ridiculous substance, you think bitterly, unfairly.
“I’m sure he is,” you only say.
“How was your evening then? Did you really not see anyone to your liking?”
You smile softly at her. “Princess, even if there were, it would not be my place.”
“That’s rather unprogressive of you! I’m sure there are suitors who would care little about such trivial things.”
Naive, hopeful Becca. This is why you love her.
Before you can respond, Becca perks up and waves behind you. You turn and that’s when you see him — Bucky. He’s crossing the ground with long strides like a man possessed. He’s a man on a mission as he wastes no time at all in closing the distance.
He looks furious.
He also looks an outright mess — shirt unbuttoned, sleeves haphazardly folded, hair sticking up at odd angles. It looks as if he rolled right out of bed at the Romanoff house and came straight here. Here to this garden that you’re walking with Becca.
You have a feeling that that’s exactly what he did.
“Brother, you’re looking much better—”
“You left,” he instead speaks directly to you.
You grit your teeth, doing your best to avoid Becca’s look of utter confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, your royal highness.”
“I thought we’ve established that we’re past that level of formality,” he snaps, “I’m not letting you escape this conversation. If you’ll excuse me, sister dear, I need to have a little chat with this one.” His hand covers yours, none of the gentleness from last night, instead he squeezes it tight like he’s afraid of you slipping away again.
Becca doesn’t follow, she’s too busy gaping and slowly piecing things together.
All the while Bucky is dragging you stumbling and tripping over your own feet towards a more secluded part of the gardens, away from the curious eyes.
You’re trying to pry his fingers off you to make your escape. “Bucky, stop. Stop this.”
He does stop dead in his tracks but he immediately spins around to face you. “No, you stop,” he growls and the sound shoots straight for your chest. “After last night, after everything that’s happened, you simply – what — leave? I woke up and you were nowhere to be found. Lady Romanoff was the one who had to tell me that you departed earlier.”
“I had to return to my duties first,” you say brusquely, “I have responsibilities to tend to, your royal highness. It also would have been inappropriate and highly suspicious if we arrived at the same time.”
“Damn propriety,” he barks, eyes glowering, “I think you should cross that word off your vocabulary after last night.”
Said last night flashes before your eyes, like paintings that could force a priest to pray. You’re warm all over now, the ghost of his touch on your skin, his mouth mapping out every inch of you like he’s memorizing the dips and curves of your body. The feel of his cock, hot and wet, sliding inside you, spilling evidence that took you far too long to clean last night.
Even now, you can almost still feel it dripping down your legs.
“You left,” Bucky presses.
“You weren’t yourself last night. Like you said, they were urges as a consequence of the substance you accidentally took. It was nothing more than a fulfillment of the circumstances.”
He scoffs, “I said that to Lady Romanoff, not to you. I did not want her to hold you responsible for the state we were in. To me, last night was— last night was everything.”
The lump in your throat only grows, tears prick your eyes. He can’t do this. Not now. You’ve made your decision to let that dream go.
“It shouldn’t have happened,” you whisper.
“Shouldn’t have happened?” He echoes, aghast. “Is that regret I hear in your voice?”
“Bucky…”
“Because I don’t regret it. Not a single damn thing. I want you, I’ve always wanted you. I’ve made it very clear that I love you and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. If I had to give it all up, I would — if that meant that I could finally hold you.”
“You can’t say such things!” You hiss, “You are the crown prince!”
“And sometimes I wish I wasn’t! Because it would make this easier, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t have to restrain yourself every time you speak with me. You wouldn’t have to call me such ridiculous titles when all I want is for you to say my name. Because I know you love me, I know you do. You can’t look at me the way you do and expect me to believe that you don’t feel anything for me.”
Your heart splits down the middle, parts of it chipping away. “I— it doesn’t matter how I feel or what I want. You have a long line of noble ladies waiting for you to make your choice—”
“I’ve already made my choice and damn anyone else who gets in my way. I’ve already had a taste of you, my love. I’m never letting you slip through my fingers again. I’ll speak to my parents—”
“Don’t!” You interrupt. “Please don’t. It’s— it won’t be you who would suffer the consequences. If they know of what… we did, if they know that it goes far beyond the previous evening, it wouldn’t be you they punish. My mother and I…” Your sentence trails off as your voice cracks.
Bucky cups your face, presses his forehead against yours. “I wouldn’t dare let a thing happen to you.”
“It’s not your choice.”
“It is. If they want me to be their heir, this is my choice. They have to make theirs.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, that’s love.”
You swallow thickly as he leans back only slightly, pained like he can’t even bear this amount of distance between the two of you.
“I love you. I love you and that’s a fact truer than the sun that spills light onto this earth. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise to care for you, to cherish you. I promise to be a man fit for you. I won’t be perfect because god knows nobody in this world could deserve you, but I’ll always try my damndest to make you happy.”
“Bucky,” you breathe out..
“Say yes. Say you’ll be mine. You’ve made me wait all this time. All these years wasted. Don’t let us forego anymore.”
Could you really do this? It would be a risk — not only to you, but to your mother, to the staff. They would be questioned if they’ve ever encouraged your entanglement with the prince. Becca — oh god, what would Becca even think? It would be an incredibly selfish decision.
“Don’t do that,” Bucky murmurs as he tightens his fingers around your face, “don’t think about anyone else. Think about you and what you want.”
You want him. You do.
“You’re mine regardless, sweet girl. I’ll protect you no matter what you decide. My heart is yours.”
“Yes,” you whisper and the answer comes easier than you think, “yes. I’m yours.”
Bucky lets out a wet laugh, blue eyes glistening as he presses his lips against yours. “You’re mine. I’ll protect you, I swear it.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know,” he rasps, “I know. Thank you for trusting me. I promise to do right by you. No matter what happens, know that my entire life is yours. I’d burn the kingdom down before I let anyone lay a finger on you.”
“Becca might get to you first,” you choke out a laugh.
Bucky swipes the tears from your cheeks with the pads of this thumb. “Then maybe I will have to take your protection first.”
“Deal.”
+ sam: my google searches from this are so embarrassing but hey i tried. i havent written bucky in a hot second but this one took me by the throat so i hope you enjoyed it!!! i love hearing thoughts so please share them if you liked it <3
summary: new team. new color. new drivers. what could go wrong?
pairing: formula one + female!driver!reader
warnings/tags: smau + irl, poor kimi in this chap he's just living his dream :(, merc shade but thats honestly just a taste of it, luca and y/n r lowkey gp and max coded, sky sports cameos
notes: first chapter, hello ?!?!?! so overwhelmed w the love you gave driver!yn and i'm more than happy to introduce you to her new era :) all my love to u all reading and supporting xx
mercedesamgf1
liked by georgerussell63, lewishamilton, and 4,972,439 others
mercedesamgf1 Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team is pleased to confirmed that Kimi Antonelli will race alongside George Russell for the 2026 FIA Formula One World Championship.
Welcome to the Silver Arrows, Kimi.
#MercedesAMGF1 #KimiAntonelli #F1
view all comments
kimi.antonelli Dreams really do come true. Let's get to work!
user8 yall are pissing me tf OFFFFF
lewishamilton Huge congrats mate
user29 truly think kimi's gonna do wonders but this feels so wrong for y/n...
georgerussell63 Welcome, mate 👊 Can't wait to get started
user72 Remember when mercedes said they were "building around y/n?" where tf is that energy now
user12 everyone's blaming kimi when he's literally done nothing lol
user90 why did they let admin post this knowing the comments are going to be MESSY
user53 laurent mekies refreshing the comments like 😋
redbullracing
liked by maxverstappen1, redbull, and 6,329,340 others
redbullracing Oracle Red Bull Racing is delighted to announce the signing of Y/N L/N on a multi-year agreement ahead of the 2026 FIA Formula One World Championship.
A proven race winner with exceptional pace and determination. Welcome to the family.
#RedBullRacing #YNLN #F1
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yourinstagram new beginnings babyyy
user63 TOTO YOU FUMBLED SO BAD
user5 merc basically spoon fed redbull
lando LETS GOOOOOO
lewishamilton Proud of you.
user72 other drivers interacting here more than the other side is kinda...
danielricciardo oh? OH?
user21 how do you even explain horner getting fired then the new tp hiring y/n l/n to a normal person
user4 imagine dropping your race winner only for your rivals to sign her IMMEDIATELY.
user10 admin was READY to post this
Your phone vibrated against your bedside table at exactly 8 AM.
You ignored it, pulling the duvet tighter around your shoulders, trying to cling to the final moments of sleep. Then it buzzed again. And again.
By the time you finally rolled over and blindly reached into the cold air to grab it, the bright light of the screen illuminated the room. It displayed an overwhelming amount of notification.
Your eyes adjusted to the glare, and the first major headline locked into focus.
BREAKING: Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team confirms Kimi Antonelli as race driver for the 2026 FIA Formula One World Championship.
For a long second, you forgot to breathe. You didn't like the post. You didn't read the caption. You didn't need to.
Deep down, in the quietest part of your mind, you had known this day was coming for months. But seeing it written out officially still felt like a punch to the face.
Before you could even fully process the quiet sink in your chest, the screen lit up with another notification, overriding the first.
Oracle Red Bull Racing is delighted to announce the signing of Y/N L/N on a multi-year agreement.
For the last six months, your stomach had been in a permanent, tight knot. You had spent half a year waiting for the axe to fall. There had been endless, grueling meetings behind closed doors, hushed conversations in the back of the units, and polite but entirely empty smiles from Toto whenever you passed him.
You had been living in a state of constantly performing while knowing your seat was actively being shopped around.
Mercedes had chosen their teenage prodigy, Kimi.
But Red Bull, the ruthless giants of the grid, had chosen you.
You unlocked your phone, knowing immediately that it was a terrible mistake to do so on a morning like this. Within half a second, your social media feed refreshed itself, instantly descending into madness.
RED BULL SNATCHES MERCEDES STAR Y/N L/N
ANTONELLI PROMOTED. L/N DEPARTS IN SHOCK MULTI-YEAR DEAL.
WOLFF'S BIGGEST GAMBLE?
You scrolled down, your eyes catching the comment sections, which were updating so rapidly that the text literally blurred.
"Mercedes absolutely bottled it. How do you let a proven race winner walk away just to gamble on a kid? Toto has lost his mind."
"Kimi is the future, it's the right move. Mercedes is playing the long game. People said the same thing about Lewis back in the day."
"This is going to age horribly for Mercedes. Y/N is going to have the biggest advantage on her shoulders now."
"Max is going to absolutely destroy her. No one survives the second seat. It's a career killer."
The official announcements had been live for less than five minutes, and the internet had already mapped out the entire trajectory of your career, predicting either your ultimate downfall or your greatest revenge.
Before you could read any further, an incoming call came. You swiped the screen to answer, immediately putting him on speaker and placing the phone back down on the bed as you sat up, wrapping your arms around your knees.
"You've seen it?" Luca's voice slightly muffled, the low hum of morning traffic in the background suggesting he was already driving to work.
You let out a dry laugh. "I mean it's kind of impossible to miss. I think my phone is about to explode."
"I've had six different journalist call my personal number already," Luca said, his tone in sheer disbelief. "Half of them didn't even say hello! They just started asking if I was going with you."
"Only six?" you teased, trying to put some lightheartedness into the morning. "You're losing your touch. Usually, you're the most popular guy in the paddock."
"Just give it ten minutes," he sighed.
Luca had been your race engineer since the very first weekend you had ever turned the wheel. He was the calm, steady voice in your ear through the highest highs of your first podium and the absolute, miserable lows of failures and bad pit stops.
You two had spent countless late nights locked inside cramped rooms, arguing over strategy, upgrades, and degradation until the security guards had to physically knock on the door and tell you to leave.
He wasn't just your engineer. He was your anchor in a sport that constantly tried to pull you under.
"You okay?" Luca's voice softened, dropping his usual tone.
"I'm relieved, honestly. I didn't think I would be, but the moment they released it, it felt like a massive weight was lifted off my chest."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"And you?" you asked. "How are you feeling about it all?"
"I'm furious," Luca admitted frankly. "You deserved a hell of a lot better than finding out once they've made their decision. They dragged their feet for months, keeping you on the hook while they finalized Kimi's contract. It's straight up disrespectful."
You didn't argue. Because he was entirely right.
Losing the opportunity to continue with Mercedes hurt. But the coldness of how they had handled it, making you play the role of the loyal team player while they secretly prepared your replacement, hurt a lot deeper.
"You know, I'm going to miss working with you," Luca said quietly, his voice cracking just a fraction.
Your throat tightened suddenly. "I'm going to miss yelling at you over the radio."
He laughed. "You mean ignoring my perfectly calculated strategy calls?"
"Luca, I love you, but they were usually terrible strategy calls."
"Hey, they won you races!"
lucaromano
liked by lewishamilton, yourinstagram, and 423,749 others
lucaromano I've been lucky enough to be there for the highs, the lows, the podiums, the celebrations, the frustrating sundays, and the little moments nobody sees.
Wherever you go next, I'll always be cheering.
P.S. Lucky misses you already. 🐶
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user16 oh i know LUCA HATES THEM
user47 race engineer subtweet is crazy
yourinstagram don't make me CRY
yourinstagram i don't think i'll ever find anyone who puts up with me like u do
yourinstagram im cryifn couldn't have asked for a better person next to me through all of this
user82 the fact everyone knows luca and y/n are a package deal 😭
user3 luca being the first person she looks for after getting out of the car will always be my roman empire
user29 they really broke up the best engineer-driver pairing for WHAT
user44 the fact that he NEVER posts and THIS is what he chooses to post
Three hundred miles away, in the heart of London, the cameras were already rolling in the Sky Sports studio.
Naomi Schiff leaned forward in her chair, her expression serious as she looked into the camera.
"I think Mercedes made the biggest gamble of the decade," Naomi said, gesturing with her pen toward the graphics on the screen.
"And let me clarify, this is not a criticism of Kimi. We all know he is an incredibly fast, generational talent. But Mercedes has allowed Y/N L/N, a driver who already knows exactly how to handle the immense pressure of a top-tier team, to walk straight out of their building and into their biggest rival's garage."
Nico Rosberg, sitting directly next to her with his arms crossed, nodded in agreement.
"If I was Red Bull," Nico said, a sharp, knowing smirk on his face, "I'm absolutely popping champagne today. You're getting a driver who's hungry, highly experienced, and massively motivated by how she was treated. Mercedes didn't just lose potential today, they lost guaranteed points to their rivals."
Jenson Button folded his arms, playing devil's advocate to keep the debate going.
"But you have to look at the long-term future here, Nico. Kimi represents the next decade for Mercedes. Sometimes you have to take a massive risk in the present to build the next era."
"The future doesn't score points in the constructors' today, Jenson," Naomi countered. "Red Bull just got significantly stronger, and Mercedes just handed them the perfect match."
By the early afternoon, you were walking through the doors of the Red Bull building in Milton Keynes.
As you walked through the main lobby, mechanics and engineers looked at you. Instead of the polite, formal nods you were used to, you were greeted with broad smiles and enthusiastic waves.
"About time you got here!" a voice shouted.
Another mechanic, dressed in team kit, held up a can of Red Bull, grinning widely. "Welcome to the dark side! I assure you that we have the better parties."
You couldn't help the genuine smile that spread across your face. It felt incredibly warm. It didn't feel like a PR stunt, and it didn't feel forced for the sake of the cameras.
For the first time in over a year, you felt like a driver who was actively wanted, rather than a driver who was simply being tolerated.
Mekies walked beside you, keeping his hands casual in his pockets as he guided you toward the simulator building.
"I told you," Mekies said in a reassuring voice, looking over at you with a small smile. "We wanted you here. We don't sign drivers just to fill a seat or to make up the numbers. We sign them because we believe they can help us win. Remember that."
Before you could reply, the doors of the simulator bay slid open with a soft hiss. Max stepped out, a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair slightly damp from a grueling simulator run.
He spotted you immediately. He didn't wait for his manager to introduce you, he didn't look around to see if any cameras were watching.
He just walked straight over to you and stopped, towering slightly over you.
"So," Max said, wiping his face with the towel.
"So," you replied, tilting you head up slightly and matching his tone.
"It's official, then."
"I guess. No turning back now."
He nodded once, his eyes analyzing your face, looking for any sign of hesitation. "You ready for this?"
"I think so," you said, keeping your voice steady.
Max shrugged, amusement appearing in his eyes. "I hope not. If you already think you're completely ready, this place gets boring very quickly. You have to keep pushing."
"Is that your way of a motivational welcome speech, Max?"
"Yeah," he said simply. "Pretty good, right?"
"Did you practice that in the mirror this morning?"
"No. I don't waste time on that."
"You probably should have," you retorted. "It needs a bit of work."
A grin broke across Max's face. He reached out, shaking your hand with a firm grip. "Welcome to the team, future champ."
yourinstagram via instagram story!
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user86 damn seeing her in any other color is giving me jumpscares honestly
user42 SHE LOOKS GOOD WITH IT IM SORRY YALL
user5 i just stared at this for 5 minutes in silence
lando finally got u in the right color
user21 and to think she was just mercedes' rookie
mercedesamgf1
liked by kimi.antonelli, yourinstagram, and 3,213,300 others
mercedesamgf1 Join us live from the Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Formula One Team headquarters as we welcome Kimi Antonelli to the race team!
Kimi and George Russell will sit down with the media to discuss the new season, the challenges ahead, and the future of the Silver Arrows.
#F1 #Mercedes #KimiAntonelli #GeorgeRussell
Kimi stood in the main lobby, nervously adjusting the stiff collar of his brand-new team shirt. He looked incredibly younger under the lights that had been set up for the press day, his eyes wide and slightly overwhelmed as he took everyone crammed into the space.
George walked past the media pen, noticing the visible tension in the teenager's shoulders. He reached out, clapping a hand firmly on Kimi's shoulder with an encouraging smile.
"You'll be fine, mate. Just breathe and stick to the talking points."
"Yeah, I'm trying," Kimi muttered, offering a weak smile in return. "But there's so many people."
The moment Kimi sat down, a dozen microphones were instantly thrust into his face.
"Kimi! Do you feel any personal guilt taking Y/N L/N's seat, especially considering how much she has contributed to the development of the cars?"
Kimi blinked, the carefully memorized, media-trained answers completely evaporating from his mind. He looked down, swallowed hard, and tried his absolute best to find words that wouldn't cause a massive headline.
"Look... I don't think any driver ever wants to see another driver lose their seat," Kimi said, his voice quiet. "We all know how hard it is to get to this level. This was a dream opportunity for me and my family, and it was an opportunity I simply couldn't say no to."
Down in Italy, Lewis was sitting in the Ferrari lounge, dressed in his striking new team gear. He was quietly sipping a cup of espresso, watching the live coverage of the Mercedes press day on the screen.
Charles walked past, stopping to look at the screen before glancing at Lewis. "So? What do you think of the big swap?"
Lewis didn't take his eyes off the screen. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking his watch with a knowing smile. "I give it exactly an hour before they invent a rivalry between them. They love a good villain story."
He tapped his screen, scrolling through his contacts until he found your name, and hit dial. You answered on the second ring, your voice sounding a bit breathless.
"Congratulations," Lewis said immediately, his familiar voice instantly cutting through the noise in your head.
"Thanks?" you replied. "Congratulations to you, too. I have to say, seeing you in red is still going to take some getting used to."
Lewis chuckled softly. "They're acting like like the championship's starting today. The press is going absolutely crazy."
"It definitely feels chaotic," you admitted. "I haven't even sat in the car yet."
"It's all just noise," Lewis said, his tone turning serious and protective. "You have the whole year to write your story. Don't let them get inside your head."
"I'm trying not to. But it's hard when every second post is comparing my stats to his."
"And they're going to keep doing that," Lewis warned gently. "Every single weekend."
"I know."
"Don't play their game. Show them exactly why you belong in that seat."
f1
liked by redbullracing, mercedesamgf1, and 5,290,401 others
f1 The FIA has officially confirmed the media schedule for the upcoming Formula 1 Pre-Season Testing at the Bahrain International Circuit.
Teams and drivers will take to the track for the first time ahead of the new season, with media sessions, press conferences, and testing programmes scheduled throughout the week.
Full driver appearances and press conference timings are now available.
#F1 #Formula1
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user61 THISLL BE THE FIRST TIME WE SEE Y/N IN A RED BULL GARAGE AND KIMI IN A MERCEDES GARAGE
user3 i love how everyone already knows that the first conference is going to be the most watched non-race event in f1 history
user78 MAX AND Y/N IN MATCHING TEAM GEAR IM READY
By the late afternoon, the FIA officially released the media schedule for the upcoming pre-season testing in Bahrain.
Your phone buzzed again in your hand. It was your personal PR manager, who had been managing your media presence since your MotoGP career.
"Hey, do you have a quick second? I have a slight update regarding the media run."
"Please tell me it's actually a simple update, Ryland," you groaned, leaning your head back. "My brain is completely fried."
"Well... the media delegate just sent over a last-minute change to the seating arrangements for the main stage." Ryland paused, clearing his throat.
"Instead of seating us by teams like they usually do, they've decided to mix the order to create a more 'dynamic visual.' Their words not mine."
You sat up. "What do you mean? How are they mixing it?"
"It means... you'll be sitting directly between Max..."
He hesitated, letting the silence stretch for a beat.
"...and Kimi."
You closed your eyes, letting out a long, slow breath as you rubbed your temples. "You have got to be kidding me."
"I wish I was joking," Ryland said. "Everyone's throwing a party online. They know exactly what they're going to get."
After you hung up, you stared at your blank phone screen for a long moment. You locked your phone, tossed it onto the sofa, and looked out at the rainy night.
Tomorrow, the talking would finally stop. Tomorrow, you'd see them all again. And tomorrow, the real fight would begin.
stfu my show is AWN. I stepped away from tumblr (just deleted the app) but comes back for this. Also has read the OG version and im excited to see that her Red Bull era has its own plot? talk abt FEEDING THE STARVED (me I am the starved)
I genuinely love this series, both OG and reimagined. Deffo one of my fave fanfics.
no word count. was edited but then tumblr didn’t save it so slight minor mistakes!
uh, yk the drill the watch is in the right hand instead and imagine the imagine flipped so it fits buck buck <333 enjoy!!! based off a dream i had so. also listened to megan the stallion’s fell in love for some of this teehee
“you cant wear stuff like that around me and expect me to behave.” you said in a half joking tone, half serious. more serious because the ache you felt reverberate through your cunt and spine was enough to know you were about to jump his bones if he wasn’t careful.
he raised an eyebrow looking at you, looking down at his shirt and then back to you with a curious look.
“my undershirt?” he laughed while he said this, noting this for the future but still surprised that something as simple as his undershirt would get you this riled up.
you nodded, biting your lip as you shrugged. you couldn’t help it, why did his bicep have to look that good in a simple undershirt that he usually always wore for work anyways? you couldn’t help but stare, not really caring if you figured it out or not. you just wanted those strong arms around your body while you rode him, took him anyway he let you.
he only laughed, clearly not taking you seriously. thats what annoyed you the most, flaring your inner brat for just a moment before you bit your lip, rolled your eyes and looked away.
he caught on.
“what’s wrong, sweetheart?” he strides across the room in a few easy steps, smirk on his lips as he comes up behind you in the living room, his boots discarded by the floor along with his suit jacket and tie. you could smell his cologne the second he came into your close space, the scent overriding tour brattiness for just a second before you felt his hands on your hips, pulling you close.
you huffed, crossing your arms and tried not to give in, but fuck — the way his strong arms were wrapped around your hips like his, pulling your waist flush into his, feeling him near your lower back, grazing the top of your ass.
you felt your cunt pulse. please, it seemed to beg you.
“c’mon, you cant be mad,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, before nipping it slightly and tugging it. “where would be the fun in that? let me make it up to you…” he suggests, and you shiver softly as he slowly grinds into you from behind, enticing you further and further in the softness and warmth of his broad frame taking out your space.
his cologne really contributed to the dizzy feeling he left you feeling almost all the time.
“dont you want to feel me here, sweetheart?” his hands find the bottom of your abdomen, pressing firmly as you let out a little sigh, giving him an answer without even realizing it.
there you were, hips on either side of his as your hands steadied yourself with the expanse of his broad shoulders. your fingers grazed over the soft scarring where metal met flesh. he groans softly, the skin always sensitive, no matter how much time has truly passed. he adored the way you were with his arm and his shoulder — you never lingered on it long enough to make him self conscious but he even knew that was far fetched. he never felt that way around you.
he felt his most confident self, with our without the arm.
you had felt the same way, thankfully but much to bucky’s surprise. he couldn’t imagine someone like you loving someone like him. but you did, you proved it to him every single day. there was hardly any room for him to doubt you.
especially when you were laid atop him like this, reaching between your legs a grabbing his hard cock. he kept his hands loosely on your hips, still sometimes nervous to touch you with his metal hand. but you encouraged him, as soon as you slipped the tip of his cock inside of you, you took both your hands and pressed them more firmer over his on your hips — signaling him that it was okay.
and he understood instantly. the moan that left your lips as you lowered yourself slowly on his cock, the shudder that ran through your body that he could feel because it happened to him as soon as it happened to you. you felt amazing, better than he could ever have imagined. no matter how many times he was blessed to make love to you, to pour himself into you, it always felt like the first.
“you feel so good, baby, fuck…” he couldn’t keep his eyes off yours as you lowered yourself more and more onto him, hoping that you could feel the love pour through his gaze, and you could. he didnt look at anyone else like he was you right now, he doesn’t think he had ever looked at anyone like this before.
you lean forward, pressing your forehead against his as you take all of him, moans slipping from the both of your lips, swallowed by each other. your lips find home against each other as his hands move your hips making his cock nudge deeper inside of you.
you couldn’t find any words right now but that was okay, bucky never minded doing most of the talking. he loved just seeing you enjoy yourself and fuck — the noises he was able to drag out of you in many, many ways was enough for him.
he’d do anything for you.
you rock into each other for a while, his hands roaming up your hips and against your sides before traveling back down your thighs wrapped around his, then to your ass, squeezing possessively. you let out a moan, hiding your face into his neck as he starts to move you on top of him. his cock slides easily in and out of your cunt, slick dripping down his shaft and making a mess under his lap and to his balls. he loved when he could get you this wet, opening up for him easily.
“that feel good, baby?” you nod your head in the crook of his neck, your lips parting against his skin as you nip on it, moaning softly. he could tell your body was slipping deeper for him, letting him take control — take care of you.
he continued his pace, feeling your cunt squeeze and writhe around his throbbing cock, the only sound in the room was the pants and moans exchanged in each others ears, the slight slaps of his hands on your ass cheeks. you gave some effort in moving your hips to the rhythm of his own with he guidance of his hands and fuck. it made you both feel closer to each other.
“buck…” you whined against his neck, nuzzling your nose deeper into his skin as if you could crawl in there and live in the space.
he kept going, and you could feel his cock throb deep inside you, before you sat up, stretching your back slightly enough so your chest stuck out, driving his cock deeper into your abdomen, he couldn’t help but press his hands against the small bump, both of you groaning.
“gonna cum this fuckin’ deep in you.” he groaned like it was a promise, and with the hungry look in his gaze as he watched you lean back enough to give him enough leverage to fuck up inside you, it only encouraged him.
“jus’ like that, sweetheart. stay right there, takin’ my cock so fuckin’ good.” he groans as he feels his balls tighten, leaning his head back with a moan as he screws his eyes shut and you squeeze his cock tighter, not letting him go because you knew exactly what you both wanted
“please,” you pleaded him, his body shivering with pleasure as you begged. it was simply a trigger for him as the second time you groaned another please, he let go with a moan, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you in place.
you moan with him, watching him as he grunts, starting a slower pace to keep him from being overstimulated. he didnt want to stop now. he leans his head forward to meet your eye before hes pulling out and he can feel his mess on his stomach just as soon as his tip pops out.
he quickly replaces it with his right hand fingers, a moan slipping from your mouth as you situated yourself more comfortably on his lap and he watches you take what you need, what you’ve needed the second he walked through the door.
you could feel yourself slipping away to the touch of him, curse words slipping out between moans as you felt your body teeter closer to the edge.
exactly what he wanted.
“there you go, sweetheart. oh fuck…dripping down my fuckin’ wrist…” he gruffs out, his thick fingers sinking in and out of you cunt that was dripping his cum. he loved fucking his mess back into you, watching as you drip down his arm and over his lap.
his eyes hungrily lap up the scene, eyes traveling up your body and watching your chest move with each move of your hips, lightly bouncing on his fingers. he did the rest of the work.
you grabbed his wrist, usually an indicator that you were close. he groaned softly, eyes finally making their way to your face, your eyes already closed and brows scrunched. he licked his lips, siting up more to kiss the column of your throat lightly, nipping at the thin skin with his teeth.
“fuck, bucky… im so close i —“ you let out a choked moan as his fingers curled inside of you, his thumb pressing against your swollen clit and moving in precise and steady circles, not breaking rhythm. he kept his metal arm wrapped around your back to cradle you, making sure you didnt have to do any lifting of your own body. he just wanted to feel you like this
“yeah, baby? you gonna make a mess on my fingers? add to mine?” he asks gruffly against your skin, muffled. he tastes your sweat on his lips as he licks them with each thrust of his fingers, his cock throbbing back to his half hard self as he felt you tighten around his digits, your fingernails digging bluntly into his skin keeping him there. he loved knowing what you loved, reading your body and how you reacted to his touch
he wanted to study your body forever. keep it locked in his memory, only him.
“yes, please i… fuck…” words were lost from you as you felt your hips stutter, your mind going blank as you felt your orgasm ripple through your body, squirting all over his hand and down his wrist, soaking the glass front of his watch. his eyes watched the mess unfold, his cock rightfully hard and pressing against your inner thigh, pre cum smearing on your skin.
“atta girl, just what i wanted… what you needed,” he groans, watching you ride your high as he slows his fingers, removing them and holding them up to the dim lighting, seeing the shine on his fingers, wrists, the small droplets of your squirt on his watch. he looks up at you, his metal fingers splayed out across the expanse of your back, holding you close as you semi lowered yourself back into his lap, his hard cock in between the two of you and snug up against the mound of your bush.
“I am not done with you yet, promise you that.” he nuzzles his nose into your neck, letting you catch your breath as he lazily kisses your skin, and you find yourself melting more into his gentle touch,
pairings: pre civil war!bucky x fem!reader, congressman!bucky x mom!reader
summary: your life is forever changed after a tender night with your quiet, traumatised neighbour in bucharest. years later, you're living in brooklyn with your five year old daughter and run into congressman barnes. he's everything you remembered and more, and now he wants to be part of yours and jamie's lives.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, plot with porn, angst, fluff, mentions of nightmares, a lot of plum pie, slooow burn, tender soft sex, then not tender sex, accidental pregnancy, explicit detailed smut, protected and unprotected pnv, slight dom!bucky, praise kink, dirty talk (bucky is a bit feral), pregnancy/breeding kink, body worship, oral (f!receiving), fingering, a lil spanking, multiple orgasms (f!receiving), reader cries during, love confessions, very few physical details of reader, reader's daughter has blue eyes and dark hair, no use of y/n (i'm trying something new), timeline inconsistencies (i tried tho), partly proofread, let me know if i missed anythingggg
word count: 19k (no but seriously can someone tell me to chill)
authors note: 2 fics for the price of 1! partly inspired by this post, partly inspired by @metal-armed-muse's second chances fic (dad congressman barnes has me weak in the knees). i needed a break from man on your mind and this just appeared like the sun through rainclouds (though it definitely put me in the trenches i won't lie). this is written from reader's pov, but might do some bucky pov blurbs if y'all are interested! reminder that i am a new writer so my style & formatting is ever evolving - ai will never be used in this household. please like, reblog, and comment :)
song inspo: river - zinadelphia
I’m somewhere in between
The things that I’ve lost
And the things I’ll gain from losing
Either way I will leave something behind
But I’m dying to do something different this time
June 2016 - Bucharest, Romania
Sleep had become a rare commodity the past couple weeks.
The group of guy backpackers staying below you refused to turn their music down after eleven—if anything, they turned it up louder to spite you—and you could hear them fucking the poor girls who made the mistake of going home with them after the pub. Every night. Fortunately for you, the guys had awful stamina and they were finished within five minutes. This wouldn’t normally be a big deal, if you hadn’t ‘lost’ your headphones three days after you moved in to the short-term stay apartment—you were ninety-nine percent certain one of them had broken in to your room and stolen them, but you had no proof.
Sleep would welcome you for a few hours before the screaming across the hall started. The first time the deep, throaty screams made their way through your paper thin walls, you startled awake so violently you jumped out of bed and twisted your ankle. You limped out of your apartment—if you could call it that—with a Romanian dictionary held high as your weapon, your socked feet quiet on the concrete floor. It wasn’t hard to find the source of the screaming—the aftermath of a nightmare, heavy breathing and sobbing, was crystal clear through the door opposite yours.
It was on day four of being woken up by your neighbours nightmares when you finally saw him. You were running late for your first class of the day, arms full of marked papers and keys hanging from your mouth as you opened your door, when you caught movement in your periphery. He was climbing up the stairs silently, his head titled towards the ground with a cap on top of his long dark hair, obstructing the view of his face. The first thing you noticed was the size of him—he was tall and broad, big muscles still noticeable under layers of clothes. The second thing you noticed was his gloved hands—an odd sight in the Bucharest warmth—one of them holding a bag of plums.
Plum guy. You had seen him while out on your daily morning walks, buying plums at one of the fruit vendors down the street. You had no idea that the gentle giant you watched make quiet conversation with the vendor was the man whose sobbing and whimpering had your heart clenching at three every morning.
The keys in your mouth dropped on top of the paper stack, the small jingle and thud making the man tense, his eyes darting to you—standing in your doorway staring at him. You quickly looked away, grabbing your keys and locking your door.
He was opening his own door when you crossed the short distance to the stairs—and to him, given that his door was right next to the stairs. He turned his head slightly, a gloved hand clenched tight on the doorknob.
You smiled softly as you walked closer to him. “Bună dimineaţa,” you said quietly. He tracked your movements closely, offering you a brief nod before he disappeared inside his apartment. Not a talker, then.
Later that night—or technically early the next morning—you were bent over the small kitchen table, struggling to read your student’s handwriting. You had just over a week left teaching English to Romanian middle-graders, and then you would be on a flight back home to the States.
You were trying to rub the red ink off your hand when the first gasp echoed from across the small hallway. You looked towards the apartment door on instinct, halting your movements and waiting for another noise. It came a few seconds later—a loud gasp that sounded like someone was struggling to breathe. Then a pained shout, in what you were almost certain was Russian. The shouting turned into whimpered pleas within minutes. You felt tears well behind your eyes listening to the man across from you have another nightmare. Your heart bleed for a man you didn’t know, didn’t even know his name. You only knew he spoke gently to fruit vendors and bought fresh plums everyday.
Call it sleep deprivation, homesickness, or basic empathy, but you felt deeply enough to come up with a plan—to offer the hurting man some kindness. You finished marking papers as quietly as you could before you fell into bed, barely audible sniffling sending you to sleep with a heavy heart.
In the morning you thought strategically about how you would approach him. Knocking on his door empty handed made no sense, and following him around the fruit market seemed an even worse idea. But, like him, you wanted to buy plums. And, it made sense to buy them on your usual morning walk.
You left earlier than you normally would, wanting to be at the market before him so it didn’t look like you were stalking him. You were making idle chit-chat with the vendor, asking what traits constituted a ‘good’ plum—half of you was interested, the other half was stalling in the hopes that plum guy would show.
Conscious that you were in the way of paying customers, you turned to leave and found your neighbour standing two metres away, watching you apprehensively. How long had he been there?
“Bună!” You greeted him with a kind smile, a little louder now that you were outside. His eyes narrowed slightly, giving you a once over as he studied your body language. Despite how hard you worked on your Romanian pronunciation, your American accent came through strong and you knew he noticed it.
Another brief nod was your reply. You tried to not let your disappointment show but his eyes darted to your shoulders, watching them deflate.
“Morning.” Oh. You were not expecting that.
You were expecting the American accent even less.
He spoke quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. He stepped to the left, turning his body slightly to let you pass. It was progress at least—you would take the simple greeting as a win.
You saw him again later that day. You were stomping up the stairs cursing to yourself, more papers to grade overflowing your arms and a takeout bag dangerously close to slipping from your fingers. You tripped on the last step, the takeout dropping on the floor and spilling right in front of your neighbours door—half of the papers in your arms following shortly after.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” You exclaimed louder than you intended, pissed that your dinner was now all over the floor—some of your students work now stained with pho.
You bent down slowly, gently lowering the rest of the papers on the clean ground next to your ruined dinner. You didn’t notice the door in front of you opening—the sight of boots next to your mess making you flinch. You jerked your head up to find your neighbour watching you carefully, the side of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. You flushed red, embarrassed by the mess you’d made and flustered from seeing him without his baseball cap. He was handsome.
“Shit, I—sorry, I’m in the way. I’ll just, uh…” You stumbled over your words, feeling suddenly intimidated by him.
He squatted down to where you were crouched awkwardly, your arms still holding the pile of papers. He looked down at the mess of pho and essays, his eyes assessing the damage.
He picked up a soggy paper, a stray noodle sliding down the page. He read the page slowly, noticing the name and age in barely legible scribbles. He let out a quiet huff, his blue eyes flicking to your shocked ones. “Might have to give out a few automatic passes.”
He spoke first. He’s looking at you with amusement swirling in his gorgeous blue eyes, and he spoke to you first—even more, he made a joke.
You let out a breathy laugh, leaning closer to see what students name was written at the top. “He struggles more than anyone else in the class, giving him a pass may cause suspicion…” You trailed off with a small, teasing smile.
He placed the ruined essay back on the mess, his movements gentle.
He stood to his full height, nodding towards the stack in your hands. “You should put those inside. I’ll clean this up.” He moved back towards his door to let you pass.
You stood back up and hesitated, biting your lip as you looked down at the mess. “No, this is my fault. I’ll sort it out.”
“You should put those down first. Don’t wanna ruin more of your student’s work.” A muscle in his cheek twitched, like he was holding back a smile.
“Right, yeah, that’s smart.” You stepped over the mess and walked the few steps to your door, fumbling with the keys in your bag. You glanced over your shoulder as you opened the door, seeing plum guy crouched down and picking up papers gently. You shook your head fondly at the sight—of course he would clean it up anyway.
You entered the small apartment, making your way over to the dingy kitchen table and dropping the stack of papers and your bag onto it. You closed your eyes and took a couple breaths, shaking off the nervousness seeing your neighbours face properly had caused.
He’s just a guy. A handsome, tormented, gentle guy—whose name you still don’t know.
In the time it took to give yourself a pep talk, plum guy had finished collecting the papers and was standing in your doorframe. He cleared his throat softly causing you to turn around quickly. His eyes roamed around your small apartment while yours focused on him—he made the doorframe look small, his shoulders just as wide and his head close to touching the top.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as you walked towards him.
His eyes met yours, soft and hesitant. “I know.”
He looked down at the papers in his hands, extending them towards you. You offered him a grateful smile as you grabbed them. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
He stuffed his hands in his front pockets, shrugging his shoulders at your gratitude. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his eyes scanning you and the apartment—looking for any hidden threats.
He took a step back, nodding his head once in goodbye.
You blurted your name out quickly, not wanting to miss the first chance you’ve had to properly connect with the man.
He tilted his head towards the ground, a strand of hair falling in front of his face. His eyes darted side to side, like he was thinking. Hard.
Finally, he lifted his head but kept his eyes downcast. “…Bucky.”
Your eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch, surprised by the unusual name. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.” His eyes met yours again, more sure this time.
“Likewise,” he muttered before leaving your apartment, closing the door softly behind him.
You felt a small smile take over your face as you stood still, watching the space he just occupied. Progress.
Half an hour later you were bent over the drying essays, determined to make sense of the smudged scribbles when two sharp knocks sounded against your door.
You furrowed your brows, not sure why anyone would be knocking on your door—the only person who knew you lived here was your neighbour, Bucky. You shot up from your chair quickly—it must be him.
You opened your door a second too late, just catching his door across the small hall closing behind him. You looked down to the floor, surprise knocking you breathless for a moment. There on the concrete at your feet was a bowl of soup, steam rising from it. You picked it up slowly, your heart doing flips in your chest. Bucky had made you soup. He had cleaned up your mess outside his door, and had made you soup to replace your ruined dinner.
That night you found yourself silently crying along with him, the sounds of his nightmare causing you physical pain. What had happened to him?
It was Saturday afternoon and you were pacing the length of your apartment, trying to hype yourself up. Bucky’s clean bowl was resting in your palms, feeling like a loaded gun. You had a plan—to return the bowl and try make conversation, maybe even get him to laugh. That would be nice, right? For him to laugh, for you to hear something from him that wasn’t sounds of agony in the middle of the night.
You raised your hand hesitantly to his door, giving it two soft knocks. You waited patiently, straining to hear any movement behind the door. A minute passed and nothing. You tried again, knocking with more confidence this time. Thirty seconds passed and you were shifting on your feet, starting to feel disheartened.
“Bucky,” you called softly. “I—sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted to return your bowl—from the other night?” It came out as a question, your confidence fading and you started to feel silly. Obviously the guy wanted to be left alone.
You turned to leave when the door in front of you opened, Bucky’s large frame obstructing your view of his apartment. He was without his baseball cap again and his hair was damp, like he had just stepped out of the shower. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans like usual, gloves covering his hands. His eyebrows were raised slightly at you standing in front of him, nervously biting your lip with his cheap bowl in your hands.
You extended the bowl towards him. “Thank you, for the soup the other night. I…wasn’t expecting it. Beats the granola bar that’s been sitting in my bag for weeks.” You chuckled awkwardly.
He grabbed the bowl with a quiet nod.
“And, thank you again for cleaning up the mess I made. You really didn’t need to.”
“It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it.” His voice was deep, still rough from lack of use. You found it comforting—you wanted to hear more.
You took a breath to steel your nerves, plastering on what you hoped was a disarming smile.
“I was planning on baking a plum pie this afternoon.” You started, watching as a confused expression took over his face. “My mom’s recipe—I used to bake with her, and I’ve been feeling homesick lately so…” You trailed off, hoping the lie wasn’t obvious.
Your mom didn’t bake plum pies, and the last time you baked with her was when you were nine—you ended up in tears with little burns on your hands.
“Would you…would you like some? Or want to join me?”
His surprise at your invitation was evident, though it was quickly replaced with suspicion.
“…Why?”
“You like plums, right? I saw you down at the market.” He was still looking at you skeptically, his big arms now crossed over his chest. Your voice wavered slightly, “think of it as a thank you gift, for your help the other day.”
He sighed at you thanking him again.
“…Fine. I’ll come over in a couple hours.”
Bucky looked abnormally large sitting at your small kitchen table. His shoulders were tense, his gloved hands clutched together tightly in his lap, his eyes darting around the small space absorbing every detail he could. His brows furrowed at your suitcase on the other side of the room, your clothes spilling out next to the bed.
You followed his line of sight, an embarrassed chuckle escaping you. “Sorry for the mess, this is just a temporary situation. I wasn’t expecting to be living out of my suitcase, still.”
His eyes flicked back to yours in interest. “Temporary?”
You turned back to the dirty dishes, needing something to do with your hands when he’s looking at you like that. Like he wants to know more about you.
“Yeah, I was meant to fly back home a couple weeks ago, but the school I’m teaching at asked me to stay until school finished for the year—they offered to pay for the flight transfer.” You shrugged lightly.
He shifted slightly, the small chair squeaking and straining beneath his weight. “Home?”
You noticed he didn’t talk much and when he did it was in small sentences. Though he was asking you questions now, and you took that as more progress.
“The States—Philadelphia, to be exact.” You took a breath before asking him, “where’s home for you?”
He was silent for a minute before quietly muttering, “Brooklyn.”
You turned to him, flashing him a bright smile you couldn’t tame. “Oh cool, my parents are planning on moving there in a couple months! Any non-touristy places they should check out?”
He hesitated again. “It’s—uh, it’s been a while since I was last…home.” He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead staring intently at his clenched hands. You took the hint that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
You bent down to check on the pie in the oven, sighing in relief that it didn’t look like an absolute disaster.
Turning back to Bucky you tried to think of anything else to talk about, wanting to know more about the quiet man.
“The pie should be ready in a few minutes. Do you want to…watch something, maybe? While we eat.”
His response was a small nod.
You walked over to grab your laptop off your bed. You sat down on the chair across from Bucky, noticing how he leaned away from you and put his hands in his lap.
“Anything in particular you want to watch?” You briefly glanced at him as you scrolled through the streaming apps.
“Dealers choice,” he hummed quietly.
You picked A New Hope, deeming it an acceptable movie to watch while eating pie with your neighbour.
Bucky waited until you took your first bite of pie before he inhaled his slice in less than a minute. You let out a small laugh at the sight of him—hunched over in the small chair, shovelling the pie in his mouth like he hadn’t eaten for days.
He looked up at you sheepishly when he heard you laugh.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, mouth full of plum and pastry.
“No, don’t apologise—I take it as a compliment,” you smiled at him, licking your fork clean. His eyes tracked the movement carefully, causing your smile to turn to a small smirk. He looked back down to his empty plate quickly, his shoulders tense after being caught staring.
You stood up and grabbed his plate, cutting a much larger slice of pie for him. He offered you a bashful smile as you put the plate in front of him.
“Thanks…it’s, uh, pretty good.”
Your body rushed with warmth at his compliment, your cheeks flushing and a small smile now permanent on your face.
“I’m glad.”
He ate the second piece at a normal pace, only half interested in watching the movie playing from your laptop on the table. You caught his eyes watching you every few minutes but it didn’t put you on edge. From the few times you’ve interacted with him you gathered he’s a cautious, suspicious guy—the occasional staring didn’t bother you.
Suddenly, the floor started to shake below you—the telltale sign that the backpackers had started partying early. Their music was more bass than anything, making everything in your apartment vibrate slightly. You rolled your eyes and sighed in annoyance—you knew it was going to be a long night.
Bucky stood up and grabbed your empty plates, walking over to the sink to wash them. You opened your mouth to stop him, to tell him you’ll sort it out. He shut you up with a sharp look and shake of his head.
“That happen often? The…music?” He asked, his head tilting towards the floor.
You let out a small scoff. “Yeah, basically every night. This isn’t even the worst of it.”
He grunted in response, displeased.
“You don’t hear it from your apartment?”
“I do, it’s just not this bad. Becomes background noise after a bit.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “It’s fucking awful music.”
You laughed at that. “Right?! I’m pretty sure they’re aspiring DJ’s…all I know is that I hate them.” He let out a deep laugh that sent a thrill through your body. God help you, you wanted to hear it again.
“What music do you like?” You tried to ask casually.
He paused, deliberating his answer. “I like…older music, jazz. Not a fan of the modern stuff.”
That didn’t surprise you at all.
You hummed in response. “Yeah, I get that. My grandma made sure I listened to all the classics—I have a soft spot for Sinatra, among others.”
“Huh,” was all he offered. He started walking towards the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“This was…nice. I—um, I enjoyed your company. Pie was good, too.”
You giggled at his nervousness—there was something so charming about this big guy being awkward.
“Yeah, me too. We should do it again, before I go home.”
He hesitated opening the door. “When’s your flight?”
“Friday morning.”
“Monday after work. I’ll bring the plums.”
Later that night, you made the unsafe decision to take an after midnight stroll around Bucharest, choosing to potentially put your life in danger than listen to the gut wrenching sounds of Bucky’s nightmare. It was a bad one—you tried burrowing your head in all the pillows and blankets you had, but you could still hear the harrowing screams and cries. Potentially being mugged seemed a lot more appealing in that moment.
Bucky knocked on your door an hour after you got home on Monday, with plums in his hand and a request that you teach him the plum pie recipe.
“Oh Bucky, it’s really not that special. Any recipe you find on the internet will be just as good!” And you knew that was true, because your recipe was the first result when you googled ‘plum pie recipe’.
“I want to know your one. Promise I won’t get in the way.” His eyes were almost pleading, and you hated the way your heart clenched at his kicked puppy expression. You could see the exhaustion lining his eyes, how his torturous, sleepless nights were taking a toll on him. Your eyes burned with tears just looking at him.
That’s how you ended up hiding in your bathroom, staring unblinking at your phone screen trying to commit the plum pie recipe to memory.
He didn’t get in the way, just like he promised. But you could feel him hovering over your shoulder, his eyes solely focused on your hands as you made the pie. His rapt attention made you stumble a few times, completely forgetting steps and measurements.
He still didn’t talk much, only offering small grunts and hums when you explained techniques and made the occasional awkward—trying to be funny—comment.
You sat closer to him at the table this time, cheering internally when he didn’t lean away or move his chair further from you.
You let out a breathy chuckle as a thought crossed your mind.
“What?” Bucky asked curiously.
“Nothing, just had a thought.” You shook your head with a small smile, pushing around a large chunk of plum with your fork.
“Do you not get those often?”
You gasped in shocked delight, not expecting him to make a lighthearted dig at you. You looked up from your plate at him, seeing his blue eyes twinkling and an almost smirk tugging his mouth.
“Wow,” you dragged out. “And to think, I was just starting to like you…” You teased him back.
He huffed out a small laugh.
“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. What were you thinking about?” He shovelled more pie in his mouth, waiting for your response.
“You remind me of a cat.”
“What?” He laughed out, his mouth full of pie.
“You’re like a cat. Aloof, wary of people, ready to run out the nearest exit.” You spoke softly, not wanting him to perceive your words as an attack. “But, with a bit of patience and treats,” you nodded towards the pie, “you start to become curious…even trust a little, maybe. It’s not a perfect analogy—it was just a thought.”
He looked at you with a strange expression on his face—something achingly tender, with a mix of disbelief and sorrow. He didn’t answer for a minute, just watched you like he still couldn’t figure you out.
“What kind of cat would I be?”
“A black cat, for sure.”
You saw him two more times before Thursday afternoon. The first time he joined you on your morning walk around the neighbourhood, the both of you silent—basking in each other’s company and enjoying the quiet summer morning. The second time was late on Tuesday night, when you finally had enough of the backpackers bullshit and were banging on their door demanding they shut the fuck up. Bucky was there within a minute of you shouting, gently pulling you away from the door where two sleazy backpackers were leering at you.
“It’s not worth it,” he said your name softly.
“Fucking assholes,” you seethed. “I know they stole my headphones, Bucky!”
You were no match for his strength as he carried you up the stairs, your legs thrashing uselessly. “They were expensive,” you whined like a pouting toddler.
Saying goodbye to your students on Thursday was by no means easy. Even though you only taught there for a few months as part of your gap year, the kids had dug their way into your heart and left you in tears when they hugged you goodbye.
You recovered by the time Bucky knocked on your door in the late afternoon, plums in one hand and a small bunch of wildflowers in the other. You were frozen, staring at him with what you were sure was a lovestruck expression on your face.
He held the flowers out for you to grab, your hand brushing his gloved one in the process. He quickly pulled his hand back at your touch, running it through his hair as he looked everywhere but you.
“For your last day,” he said, like that explained everything. “Sorry, they’re nothing, uh, special—they were the only ones the florist had left…” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder.
You snapped out of your smitten daze, a soft giggle leaving you at his nervousness. He looked at you then, his shoulders relaxing.
“They’re perfect.”
You opened the door wider for him to come in, walking to the kitchen to put the flowers in a glass of water while he closed the door behind him.
You turned your head sideways, shooting him a teasing look. “You know…they’re going to die in a couple days. I won’t be here to look after them.”
You watched in fascination as a flush climbed up his neck, painting his cheeks red.
He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a nervous huff. “I didn’t think about that.”
“You can always break in after I’ve left, grab them for yourself before the pricks downstairs steal them.”
“We don’t want that happening,” he chuckled, putting the plums on the counter next to you. “I’m starting to see why you hate them so much.”
“You’re only seeing it now? They’ve been my number one enemies since I moved in.” You grumbled bitterly.
You rolled your shoulders back with a sigh—you didn’t want your bitterness clouding your last night with Bucky.
“Okay, let’s change the subject,” you clapped your hands together, turning to face Bucky fully. “I’m thinking one last plum pie, and maybe we can finish that movie we were watching the other night?”
“Whatever you want.”
An hour later you were both sat at the small table, the half-eaten pie between you and Bucky barely paying attention to the movie, again. His eyes were fixated on your packed suitcase and duffel bag next to the bed. He looked…sad, mournful even. There was a small crease between his furrowed brows, the sides of his mouth downturned, and he hadn’t eaten much in the last few minutes.
“Hey,” you started, voice low and soft. “You okay?”
He whipped his head back to you, his glassy eyes meeting yours for a second. “Yeah,” his voice broke faintly. He cleared his throat, looking down at the pie.
“I’m…gonna miss you.”
You sucked in a breath, the emotion in his voice making your throat feel tight. Tears pricked behind your eyes as you looked at the man in front of you. You wished you could take away all his pain, all his sadness.
You gently laid a hand on his arm, your eyes darting between his for any signs of unease—the only other time the two of you had touched was when he dragged you away from the backpackers door. His arm was solid and cold through his long-sleeve, almost unnaturally hard. His shocked eyes looked into yours as your thumb rubbed his sleeve faintly.
“I’m going to miss you, too.”
You removed your hand and looked back at the movie, a single tear slipping down your cheek.
Tension hung thick in the air, causing you to clear your throat and try relieve some of the tightness in your chest.
“You kinda look like him,” you said to Bucky, nodding towards your laptop—a close up shot of Luke Skywalker on the screen.
“Yeah, I can see it,” you continued, turning your face to see him already looking at you. “If you cut your hair short, shave the beard…” You trailed off, your eyes catching on a bit of plum on his chin.
You raised a hand without thinking, your attention transfixed on the piece of fruit and his pink lips an inch above. His stubble faintly pricked your thumb, your touch featherlight as you swiped the bit of plum away. A small gasp caught in his throat, his chin leaning towards your touch unconsciously.
Your eyes couldn’t leave his lips, a faint purple tint to them from the pie.
“You really like plums.”
“They’re meant to help with memory,” he murmured, distracted.
That caught your attention, your eyes darting up to his in question. He let out a deep exhale, the air brushing against your hand.
“I had an accident…a few years back. Can’t remember much from before, it’s—uh, it’s coming back in bits and pieces.” Your heart clenched painfully, the sorrow for his lost life bleeding through his eyes.
“Is that—,” you swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Is that what your nightmares are? Memories coming back?” You asked gently, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his chin.
His eyes widened in panic. “You—you know about the nightmares?”
You moved your hand from his chin, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you pushed a loose strand behind his ear. His body involuntarily shivered from your gentle touch.
“Yeah…I’ve known since my first night here,” you whispered. “The walls are pretty thin.”
His eyes dropped to his lap in shame. “God, I am so sorry,” he rasped out your name, his deep voice thick with emotion.
You cupped his face with both your hands, tilting his head up until his eyes met yours. “Never apologise for your pain, Bucky.” The anguish and self-hatred you saw in his eyes made yours tear up. “Can I—would it be okay if I hugged you?”
He stared at you for a long moment, then finally gave you a nod.
You stood up slowly with Bucky following your lead. You looked into his eyes once more, checking he was still comfortable with this, before stepping forward and winding your arms around his waist, your palms resting lightly on his back. He sucked in a sharp breath at the touch, his muscles going stiff under your hands. You gently rested your cheek against his chest, his heart beating fast beneath your ear. He didn’t reciprocate the hug for a moment, his arms hovering at his side like he didn’t know what to do.
“Breathe,” you whispered into his shirt. He took a few shuddering breaths in and out then raised his right arm slowly, hesitantly draping it over your shoulder. You felt some of the tension leave his body as he sunk into your embrace. His gloved hand instinctively traveled from your shoulder to the middle of your back, pulling you closer into his warmth—surprising you both.
“Sorry,” his voice was quiet, a slight tremble lacing through. “It’s…been a long time, since I last…hugged someone.” His voice cracked at the end and your heart broke into a million pieces.
You hugged him tighter, your hands clutching the back of his shirt—tethering him to you. A small sound slipped out of you, something between a gasp and a pained whimper. The lump in your throat grew bigger, spreading down your chest and sitting heavy on your heart.
He rested his chin on the top of your head, so gently you barely noticed it at first. He let out a staggering breath and then rested the weight of his head on yours fully, purposely. He moved slightly, his nose brushing against your hair as he inhaled deeply. His arm around you tightened, pulling you tight against his strong body.
“…I can’t believe you’re real.”
You croaked out a watery laugh against his chest. Fuck, he had no clue what he was doing to you—that you were going to be leaving half of your heart behind when you got on that flight in the morning.
You pulled away from him an inch, moving your hands from his back to cup his face gently. You looked into his glistening blue eyes before looking down at his lips, watching as his tongue peaked out to wet them.
“Can I kiss you?”
He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips on yours hesitantly. He sucked in a sharp breath before pressing his lips to yours firmly. You let him set the pace, letting him know he was the one in control here. His hand moved from your back to your waist, pulling you up into his chest as he deepened the kiss. A whimper caught in your throat when his tongue swept along your bottom lip, your mouth opening for him immediately. His chest rumbled with a low moan, his kisses growing more desperate. Your hand slipped from it’s place cupping his jaw, trailing along his skin before tangling in the long hair at the nape of his neck. He let out a whimper at the feeling, breaking the kiss and taking in deep breaths.
“You okay?” You asked softly.
His breathy chuckle brushed against your lips. “Yeah, more than okay.”
He kissed you again, more sure this time. Both your hands tangled in his hair, gently tugging his scalp as you kissed him with just as much desperation. His stubble scratched against your skin as he moved his lips, kissing along your jaw and making you gasp. The noise encouraged him, his kisses gaining more confidence, making their way down your neck. You titled your head back, granting him more access. He kissed and licked all over your neck, gently biting down on a spot under your ear making you release a moan. He focused on the spot, sucking and biting as you let out more moans and gasps. His hand on your waist gripped tighter, his fingers digging slightly as he pulled you flush to his body. That’s when you felt it—hard and unmistakable, pressing against your lower stomach.
You broke away from the kiss, watching his eyes flutter open to look into yours. You moved a hand from his hair, brushing your thumb against his jaw.
“Let me help you feel good.”
He swallowed audibly, his eyes leaving yours to glance at his left arm hanging stiffly at his side. You watched an internal struggle play out on his face, his darting eyes exposing his overthinking mind.
“We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with,” you said softly.
He let out a small, disbelieving chuckle before kissing you again—his mouth both achingly tender and bruisingly desperate against your own.
“Did you fall from heaven?” He whispered against your lips, walking backwards and pulling you towards the bed without breaking the kiss.
You giggled and rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up,” you mumbled.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. He took his hand off of your waist and ripped the glove off with his left hand. He brought his hand up to your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb and gazing at you reverently. You let out a little gasp, not expecting him to initiate skin to skin contact first. He leaned in to kiss you again, hungrily claiming your mouth with his. He moved his bare hand down to your hip, slipping tentative fingers under the hem of your shirt and brushing your skin—igniting your nerves and sending shivers along your body. His hand cupped your waist under your shirt, pressing your hips down ’til they were flush with his.
He let out a wrecked moan from the contact, his hips jerking against yours involuntarily. You rolled your hips experimentally, relishing when he let out a deep groan—his body vibrating beneath yours. You rolled your hips faster, spurred on by his noises and his bulge pressing deliciously against your jeans. He broke away from your mouth, dropping his head to your shoulder.
“Shit, I’m not gonna last long if—if you keep doing that.” He sounded ruined. A needy whine tore out of you, your need for Bucky overwhelming you. You ground down on him harder, the ball of desire in your core slicking your underwear and making you greedy. He moaned out your name, clutching your hip to stop your movements. He lifted his head off your shoulder, his glazed eyes meeting your own.
“Do you have a condom?” He asked, panting already.
You jumped off his lap, opening your suitcase in a rush to find a condom. You found the open—but unused—box at the bottom, grabbing a couple before joining him on the bed again. He rolled you onto your back, hovering over you with a small smirk on his face.
“Eager, are we?”
You nodded quickly in response, grabbing his face and pulling him down into a needy kiss. He gripped the hem of your shirt and slowly pulled it up and off your body, pausing to stare at your clothed breasts. He kissed down your neck, lavishing your collarbones and chest in tender, hungry kisses.
“God, you’re a work of art.” He mumbled into your skin. Your heart swelled in response, unexpected tears pricking behind your eyes. No guy has ever said anything like that to you, it’s normally ‘you’re hot’ or they don’t compliment you at all.
“Take off your pants,” he muttered. He removed himself from your body, standing at the foot of the bed to take his own jeans off, your eyes widening at the impressive bulge in his boxers. You felt more wetness gather in your core, preparing you for what was to come.
You eagerly pushed your jeans down, kicking them off your feet. He climbed back over you, holding his body up with his left arm next to your head. His right hand trailed down your torso slowly, stopping at the wet patch of your panties. He pressed down on it, pulling a desperate whimper from you, your hips rolling up to his touch. He pulled your underwear down your legs one-handed, throwing them somewhere behind him.
He pulled his boxers down to his knees, grabbing one of the foil squares on the bed next to you and ripping it open with his teeth. He rolled the condom down his cock, gasping from the sensitivity.
He leaned down to kiss you tenderly. “Still wanna do this?” He asked breathlessly.
“Please, Bucky.” You whimpered.
With his mouth on yours, he lined himself up and pushed in slowly. You both gasped at the feeling—he was the biggest you’ve had and you couldn’t control your walls clenching down on him. A pained moan tore from his chest as you gripped him tight, your hands winding through his hair and tugging the dark strands.
He mumbled curses, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He pushed in more, and you let out a sound you’d never heard before—the stretch of him sending you to another world. He started off with slow thrusts, letting you adjust to his size.
“More,” you moaned against his mouth. He picked up the pace, hitting the spot that had your back arching and stars forming behind your eyes. You clenched down on him hard, his hips stuttering and head dropping onto your chest at the feeling.
“Christ, shit—I’m not gonna last long.” He whimpered, his thrusts starting to lose rhythm. He moved his hand to your centre, finding your throbbing bundle of nerves and rubbing firm circles. Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, the fire in your core spreading through your veins.
Bucky thrusted a few more times before coming, your name slipping from his lips in a half moan, half whimper. He continued thrusting into you, his release long and overwhelming. He doubled his efforts on your clit, sending you over the edge with a sharp gasp of his name. It wasn’t an all-consuming, white hot pleasure but it was good. Warm, like golden sun rays spreading through your body.
He laid his head on your chest, the both of you panting after your releases. You raked a hand through his hair, rubbing soothing circles on his scalp. He shuddered at the feeling, tears slipping from his eyes and wetting your chest.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For making me feel human.”
You woke up before six the next morning, finding cold sheets next to you where Bucky once was. Sitting on the small kitchen table was your stolen headphones, a ripped piece of paper with chicken scratch handwriting next to them.
You were right
- Bucky
A week later you were at your parents place in Philly, sitting on the floor in their lounge sorting their stuff into boxes for donation or storage. Your mom turned the TV up louder, drawing your attention to the breaking news story. There on the screen was a video of the man officials suspected bombed the United Nations—James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Bucky.
Oh, shit.
Present day - Brooklyn, New York
The referee’s whistle shrieked loudly, piercing your ears and signalling the end of the soccer game. You had little time to prepare for the blur of messy dark braids and mud sprinting towards you, colliding with your legs and making you stumble back.
“I did it, mama! I didn’t let a single goal in!”
“I saw, peanut—I am so proud of you!” You squatted down and hugged your daughter tightly. “Did you have fun?”
She bounced in your arms, nodding vigorously. You pulled back, seeing the beaming grin on her face—proudly displaying the small gap in her top front teeth. She lost her first tooth the week before and she was ecstatic when the tooth fairy visited her—she tried to stay up two hours past her bedtime to ‘catch’ the tooth fairy, but fortunately for you she was out like a log long before you went to sleep.
“Can we get ice cream? Pretty please?” She asked, her blue eyes wide and bottom lip jutted out in a small pout—the puppy dog expression pulling on your heart strings.
You stood up, combing the loose strands back from her face and wiping a smudge of mud off her forehead.
“Hmm, how about we go home first and get cleaned up?” The both of you headed towards the field’s exit, waving goodbye to her teammates and their parents.
She rolled her eyes. “But home is far away, the ice cream store is closer!” Where she got her attitude from, you had no idea. Well, you did—while she was the spitting image of her father, her personality was a mirror of your own.
“You have a great point, Jamie. But—” you leaned towards her and took an audible sniff of her hair, dramatically taking a big step back and holding your nose. “—you’re stinky. We need to get you cleaned up for the public’s sake.”
She let out a high-pitched giggle, a familiar smile gracing your face at the sound. It was the most beautiful sound—your daughters joy was all that mattered to you. It meant you were doing something right.
“Okay,” she dragged out. “Does that mean I get two scoops?”
“What?! Two scoops? You won’t be able to sleep after that, bug.”
The two of you made your way down the street, walking the normal ten minute route back home. She continued to try her luck, trying to guilt trip you into giving her more sugar and you were close to breaking once—when her big eyes glistened with tears—but you held strong even when your heart tugged. God, what you would do for those baby blues.
You were halfway home when a group of men in suits stepped out of the cafe ten metres ahead of you. They were taking up the whole sidewalk, laughing obnoxiously and all exuding alpha male energy. You pulled Jamie closer to you out of instinct, your eyes scanning for an open gap in the group of men when something—someone—caught your eye.
He looked…older, more refined. His hair was slightly shorter, the once styled strands tousled—likely from him running his hands through his hair. His suit was tailored to him perfectly, the faded blue and dark grey combination making his heavy stubble stand out. He held his head high, his shoulders rolled back in a quietly domineering stance. He looked confident, comfortable even.
You stopped in your tracks, your heart beating wildly in your chest. The world around you faded, your attention focused solely on him as he shook his head with a small laugh, a faint smile curving his lips.
Bucky Barnes, in the flesh.
Shit. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Jamie’s little hand tugged on yours, confused as to why you stopped walking.
“Mama?”
You sucked in a sharp breath, reality crashing down on you—along with a bucket of anxiety and fear.
You tightened your grip on her hand, spinning the both of you around and hurrying in the direction you came from.
“What’s wrong? Where are we going?” Jamie asked in her sweet small voice.
You brushed a hand over her head, tucking loose strands behind her hair. “Nothing’s wrong, peanut. I just—you were right, it makes sense to get ice cream now!”
She instantly perked up, her little feet walking faster than you—dragging you towards the store.
“Finally! Can I get two scoops?”
You nodded in a daze, your mind racing. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, honey.”
Had he seen you? Had he seen Jamie?
You spent countless sleepless nights tossing and turning over the past five years, playing out millions of different scenarios. You had numerous scripts drafted in your head, what you would say to him—how you would tell him he had a child, a daughter. But seeing him a few feet away from you, alive and well—and so fucking handsome—your mind went blank.
It wasn’t the right time, you told yourself. Other people were around—you couldn’t put Jamie in that situation.
Trying to get a sugar crazed Jamie to bathe was like trying to tame a sticky-fingered tornado. She jumped over furniture, slid between your legs, and slipped through crevices like she was boneless. You were starting to regret enrolling her in taekwondo classes.
“The hell? How are you moving like that?” You flopped on the couch in defeat, the pounding in your head exacerbated from chasing her around the apartment.
You blinked and suddenly a jar was shoved in your face, half full of crumpled dollar notes, glittery pink and purple letters spelling out ‘swear jar’ on the white label.
“You said a swear word!”
You pounced on her, securing your arms around her waist and pulling her tight against you. You blew raspberries on her face and neck, holding her tighter as she squirmed.
“Let me go!” She squealed through giggles, trying to wriggle out of your arms.
“Not a chance, peanut.”
After her bedtime routine that took twice as long with the sugar in her system, you sunk into the couch with a glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other.
Your phone shook slightly in your grip, anxiety pinching your chest. The last time you looked up Bucky on the internet was over a year ago; you found out he was saving the world alongside Captain America and had been pardoned of his crimes from when he was the Winter Soldier. It was hard to process—that the gentle man you had spent a tender night with in Bucharest, the man that was Jamie’s father, was off saving the world when the world had been anything but kind to him.
But now, you knew he was in the same city—the same borough—as you, and you couldn’t keep running from the truth.
Ever since that night you’ve felt an ache in your bones, like you had left a part of yourself behind in that shitty apartment. You missed him, but you were so confused. After the UN bombing you tried to find out everything you could about him, and when the two pink lines appeared clear as day on the pregnancy test you knew you had to tell him. But, he had disappeared—gone off the face of the earth and you had no ways to contact him. You thought he had died.
Then the blip happened. Jamie and you came back to find a world that had changed—that had forgotten about you. Your apartment in Philly had new residents, all your belongings gone—you had taken Jamie for a walk in the park and then suddenly five years had passed when you blinked. You moved to Brooklyn to live with your parents while you rebuilt your life, and keeping Jamie safe in a world that was torn apart was all that mattered. The Avengers had brought back half of the world, and that’s when you found out Bucky was alive—his face plastered on the TV screen along with dozens of other superheroes. You didn’t know how to reach out and you didn’t know if you wanted to—you and Jamie were just finding your footing and you didn’t want anything to jeopardise that. And truthfully, you were scared.
When Jamie asked about her dad you told her that you had lost contact when the blip happened, and that you were looking for him. You told her he was once in the army and fought for your country, that he took down bad guys like it was nothing. She occasionally asked, “have you found daddy yet?” and your heart broke every time you looked into her bright, hopeful eyes—the exact same shade of blue that you had fallen for over plum pie.
Taking a long swig of wine, you typed his name into google—your thumb shaking as you hit the search button.
And there he was.
Congressman James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Representative for Brooklyn.
A memory from two weeks prior surfaced, when you were slumped over your home desk—trying not to panic over the next months budget. Jamie had begged to join a swim club, even with her already busy schedule of school, soccer, and taekwondo. You were starting to struggle on your teacher’s salary, but you couldn’t say no to her. You wanted to provide her with everything she wanted and more.
You were barely paying attention to your mom on the phone, gossiping about brunch with her book club friends earlier that day.
“You’ll never guess who we saw—that new Congressman, the handsome one. You know, I heard that he’s single…”
You sighed at her tone, knowing what she was suggesting. “Great, I’ll make sure to tell dad he’s got competition.”
“Oh, hush! That’s not what I was implying and you know it.” You dropped your head onto the desk with a groan. “It’s about time you put yourself out there, give dating a go again. You never know who you’ll meet.”
“Mom, I’m busy—“
“We’re worried about you, honey. All you do is work and take care of Jamie—who takes care of you?”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me, thank you very much. Jamie and I are happy on our own.” You mumbled, a headache starting to pound against your temple.
There was a pause on her end, and you braced yourself for what was coming.
“…Have you—has there been any updates on Jamie’s father?”
“No—look, sorry, I’m busy with school stuff. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” You ended the call without waiting for your mom’s goodbye, guilt gripping your chest like it always does when someone brings him up.
Little did you both know, the congressman she was gushing about was Jamie’s father.
You gulped down the rest of your wine, saving the number for his office in your phone.
“What the fuck.” You muttered, your voice echoing in the quiet apartment. You had no clue what you were going to do.
Jamie’s giggles could be heard from across the grocery store, bringing an unconscious smile to your face. She was with your mom in the bakery section, giving her opinion on what her grandpa’s birthday cake should be. You could already picture the awestruck expression on her face—no doubt her nose was pressed against the glass with wide eyes taking in all the baked goods.
You were in the fruit and vegetables section, gathering ingredients for your plum pie. It had become a tradition without meaning to—baking the pie for your loved ones on special occasions, or even when they just needed comfort. It was a staple in your kitchen now, you had even altered the recipe throughout the years, truly making it your own.
In the weeks after you left Bucharest, you would find yourself making it when you missed him. When you couldn’t get to sleep at night, the sounds of his nightmares echoing in your mind, you were in the kitchen making the goddamn pie. And then when your pregnancy cravings kicked in, all you wanted was that stupid pie. And him. But you couldn’t have him, so the sugar filled pastry would have to do.
Walking through the section, you felt your phone sitting heavy in your pocket, weighed down by the numerous email drafts in your inbox and his office number in your contacts.
You were focused on selecting the right apples—Jamie was seriously picky with them—when a deep voice called out your name. A low, gravelly, familiar voice—one that you hadn’t heard in years.
You turned around and there he was, standing a few feet away, wearing a similar suit to when you saw him outside the cafe. His hair was just as messy, dark strands swooping on his cheeks, making his blue eyes look even more electric, intense. You watched as they widened in surprise, an awed smile overtaking his face. He took a small step towards you and you resisted the urge to take one back, your brain struggling to comprehend that Bucky was right in front of you.
“It really is you.” He spoke softly, dazed.
You blinked.
This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. You were meant to meet at a cafe, or a park—a safe, common ground. Not at your local grocery store after five pm on a Friday, your hair frizzy from a long day at work and running around after your daughter.
“Bucky, hi,” you mumbled, still in shock.
“You—you look great, beautiful.” He shook his head as if in disbelief, his eyes trailing up and down your figure.
Your nerves lit up in response, your body begging you to step closer—to close the gap between you and the man you had spent the past five years yearning for.
“How are you? Are you still teaching?” Your breath caught in your throat—he remembered. He remembered you, and he remembered the brief conversation you’d had about teaching during your gap year.
Then, as if fate had orchestrated this whole interaction, your daughter came skipping over, a big giddy grin on her face.
“Look, mama! Nana said I could get Pop the Captain America cake for his birthday!”
Bucky watched closely as Jamie crashed into your legs, your hand instinctively rubbing her back in soothing circles—more for you than her. You watched his eyes drift over her, starting at her messy dark braids, then taking in her taekwondo uniform, finally ending on her crocs—covered in princess and Captain America charms.
She peered into the basket in your hands. “Oooh! Are you making plum pie tonight?!” You think the whole store heard her yell.
Bucky’s eyes shot up to yours, a stunned and confused expression on his face. He looked speechless.
Jamie turned around, finally noticing the other adult in front of her. You watched the infectious grin take over her face, proudly showing off her missing tooth. She waved to Bucky. “Hi!”
You had taught her the importance of stranger danger—well, as much as you could teach a five year old—but her kindness was built into her DNA, she couldn’t help smiling at and greeting every stranger she met.
Bucky was still speechless, his wide eyes looking into your daughters—seeing the same blue you imagined he saw in the mirror. He let out a stunned breath, his body swaying slightly like the rug had been pulled out from under him—because it had. You knew he knew.
“Sorry, hun. I don’t know what you feed her, but I’ve never seen a kid run that fast.” Your mom panted as she joined the accidental family reunion, the Captain America cake in her hands. She looked at the man in front of you, doing a visual double take as she recognised him.
“Oh! Congressman Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stuck her hand out to Bucky, shooting you a side-eye that screamed “what the fuck aren’t you telling me.” Bucky shook her hand absentmindedly, his eyes not leaving Jamie for a split second.
You were stood frozen, unable to think. Both your mom’s and Jamie’s eyes were watching you curiously. Why weren’t you saying anything?
Bucky finally looked away from Jamie, his confused yet hopeful eyes meeting your panicked ones. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, at a loss for words. He licked them nervously then tried again.
“…Is she—“
His voice brought you back to earth, back to your body.
“It was really great seeing you, Bucky—I hope you’re well! We’re running late—like super late, so we need to get going.” You grabbed one of Jamie’s hands tightly, using it to pull her with you and to ground yourself. Your mom hesitantly followed, her eyes darting between you and Bucky—suspicion written clearly on her face. “We’ll—I’ll see you later!” You said to him over your shoulder, scurrying towards the checkout as fast as you could.
Your hands shook as you bagged your groceries, barely noticing that you had only gotten half of what was on your list. You took in a deep lungful of air once the three of you were outside.
Your mom called your name softly yet sternly. “What was that in there? How do you know—did you call him Bucky?”
You sighed, exasperated. “Mom, it’s nothing—“
“No, that was not nothing! You’re acting strange—what’s going on?”
“Please, just drop it!” You nodded towards Jamie next to you, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. “We’ll talk about it later, promise.”
She narrowed her eyes at you but ultimately let it go.
The next morning you were rushing around the lounge, struggling to get Jamie into her soccer kit as she zoomed through the apartment.
“Jesus—just sit still, peanut. Don’t you wanna go play with your friends?” She nodded eagerly, stopping her mad dash around the place so you could get her shirt on. She didn’t stay still for long though, running back into her room with one sock on. “How do you always have so much energy?” You muttered to yourself.
Three heavy raps sounded against your front door. You knew who it was immediately—who else would be knocking at your door before nine am on a Saturday.
Your heartbeat hammered in your throat as you walked to the door slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. You took a deep breath in and grasped the doorknob, stopping for a second to collect yourself.
You opened the door and were greeted by the sight of Bucky, looking devastatingly handsome in a blue t-shirt and black leather jacket. It should be criminal to look that good so early in the morning. His eyes met yours and you could see the emotion swirling in them—hope, determination, and something that looked too close to hurt for your liking. Shit.
You opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it.
“We need to talk.”
“Bucky, hi—how do you know where I live?”
“I have my ways.”
He looked over your shoulder, straining his neck to see into your apartment behind you.
“Look, I agree we need to talk—“
“Why did you run off?”
And yup, there it was—the hurt crystal clear in his voice.
You closed your eyes briefly, the familiar clench of guilt overwhelming your chest.
“I—it wasn’t my intention to…run off, I just—“ You stopped, suddenly at a loss for words. He looked at you expectantly, the exhaustion from a sleepless night evident on his face.
“You what? Were you ever gonna tell me?”
The accusation in his tone slapped you across the face.
“Bucky, that’s not fair—you don’t even know—“
And, like usual, your daughters timing was impeccable.
“We’re gonna be late!” She barrelled towards you, knocking you off balance as she slammed into the backs of your legs.
Bucky instinctively grabbed your upper arms, holding you steady as you regained your balance. Your nerves buzzed alive under his hands and you couldn’t help but notice—no gloves, he wasn’t wearing gloves anymore.
He stepped back from you just as quick, and your body felt the loss of his touch immediately. Goddamn traitor.
He squatted down to Jamie’s level, smiling at her with the softest look you’ve ever seen on the man.
“Hi, I’m Bucky.”
You were suddenly annoyed with him. Coming to talk to you unannounced was one thing, but introducing himself to your daughter when you hadn’t had a chance to place boundaries—yeah, that pissed you off.
“Hi, I’m Jamie!”
The look he shot you had some of your anger dulling, the guilt you were so familiar with clouding over. You both knew the name Jamie was no mistake, and the flurry of emotions that crossed his face showed what the name meant to him.
“Jamie?” His voice wavered. “That’s a great name.”
She beamed brightly at him and you felt the world shift beneath the three of you. There was no going back now.
“Are you coming to my soccer game?”
That shocked both of you.
“Only if your mom wants me there.” And then two pairs of blue eyes are staring at you—one pleading, the other just waiting, letting you know the ball is in your court. And it’s not fair.
“Jamie, we need to talk about you inviting strangers out with us.” Bucky visibly flinched at the word ‘strangers’—it hit like a punch to your gut. “But, sure. Bucky can come with us.”
The ten minute walk to the soccer field was…nice. Bucky fit in like the missing puzzle piece, and it was doing complicated things to your heart. To be fair, Jamie talked the whole time. She was excited to tell someone new all her stories from school, yapping his ear off about everything she could think of. And Bucky was lapping it up. He had a soft smile permanently plastered on his face, his eyes on Jamie the whole time. From the second you stepped outside of your building, he positioned himself to be on the car side of the street, angling his body to protect Jamie—making your heart flip in your chest even more, and waking up something dangerous in your core.
There was no missing the looks sent your way from the other parents when you arrived—especially the looks your fellow soccer moms shot Bucky. Great, the last thing you wanted was Jamie to be stuck in the middle of their rumour mill.
Jamie sprinted towards her friends already warming up for their game, leaving you and Bucky alone for the first time. You drifted towards the other side of the field, putting distance between you and the gossip hungry parents. No one else needed to be privy of your conversation.
The air around you and Bucky grew heavy, neither of you speaking for a few minutes as you watched Jamie hug her friend after they fell, asking if they were okay. An overwhelming sense of pride took over you, tears warming your eyes at the sight of your daughter being so kind, so caring.
Bucky cleared his throat softly.
“She’s…happy,” he said wistfully.
“Yeah,” you mumbled softly. “Means I’m doing something right.”
He looked at you then, his eyes scanning your face as you kept your attention trained on Jamie. You couldn’t look at him. The exhaustion from the last few years was weighing heavily on you, and you knew one glance at Bucky would have you breaking.
He turned back, watching Jamie put her oversized goalie gloves on, chuckling softly as they dwarfed her hands.
“She looks like my sister.”
That had you looking away from your daughter, focusing on the man next to you offering more information about himself. You didn’t know he had a sister.
“Becca was full of energy at that age, too. We both were,” he shook his head with a small laugh. “Ma used to say our house was tornado central with all the damage we caused.”
You let out an amused huff. “I figured she got her energy from you—I was more on the reserved side as a kid. She’s now in three different after school sports activities, but I think they just make her more energised.”
He made eye contact with you briefly. “Three, huh? That’s…a lot.”
You both grew silent again, watching Jamie dive for a ball and successfully defending the goal.
Bucky let out a heavy sigh, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.
“Were you gonna tell me?” He asked again, no accusation in his voice this time—a pensive sadness in its place. It only made you feel worse, the tears from earlier blurring your eyes.
“Bucky, I—“ you took in a deep breath, trying to control your emotions. “I was planning to, I swear.” You kept your eyes on Jamie, her smile bringing you some comfort.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I tried looking for you—I really tried. But, you just vanished…I thought you were dead.”
He sucked in a sharp breath at that, looking down at the ground.
“I didn’t want to go through the pregnancy alone, I was fucking terrified. Then, Jamie was born and she became my whole world—I would do anything for her.” Your throat grew tight and a single tear slid down your cheek.
“After the blip, I could only focus on her, on building a better life for her. And then I found out you were alive, that you had helped save the world, and I was…scared. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, and Jamie’s father—you—being a superhero, putting your life in danger…it was a risk I didn’t want to take. I didn’t want you in our lives if you were just going to be…ripped away from us. It would break Jamie—it would break me.”
Your voice cracked and Bucky lifted his head, looking at you with concern. You brushed the tears off your cheeks and continued.
“Plus, I don’t know if you know this, but getting in contact with the Avengers when you’re a civilian…it’s pretty fucking hard.”
He let out a small laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah, that tracks.”
“I thought about reaching out last year, when I saw you were fighting alongside Captain America—who Jamie is obsessed with, by the way—but I just couldn’t get past that fear. It was easier to…live without you than potentially have you torn from us. Well, that’s what I tried to tell myself.”
You both watched as Jamie hit the ground, hard. Bucky stepped forward instinctively, like he was about to run to her side. She recovered quickly, jumping back up with a giggle.
“She’s tough,” he mumbled with a small smile.
He turned to you, determination and longing shining in his eyes.
“I get that. I get why you didn’t reach out, you were putting Jamie’s safety, her happiness, first.” He let out a humourless chuckle, “it’s a fucking complicated position to be in, I’ll give you that.”
“I want to be in her life, in your life—if you’ll have me.”
You looked back at Jamie in time to see her waving at you, at both of you.
“Yeah,” you muttered softly. “I don’t think she would let you leave, even if you tried.”
“Good.”
You both settled in to a comfortable silence, before you couldn’t resist asking what you’ve wanted to know for the last five years.
“Where were you—“
“What does she know—“
You both laughed softly. You tipped your head towards him. “You go first.”
“What does she know…about me?”
Yeah, you were expecting that.
“I told her you were in the army, that you fought bad guys…that we lost contact after the blip. She asks for updates, wanting to know where her daddy is.”
His brows pinched, his mouth trembling slightly like he was holding back tears. He cleared his throat twice.
“How do we tell her?”
There it was, the question you had been dreading—because you had no fucking clue.
“…I don’t know—hope she figures it out herself?”
The look he shot you was deadly.
You sighed. “Fine, I’ll sit her down one night, tell her gently.”
“I want to be there.”
Of course he does. Of course he just walks back into your life and wants to be involved in everything. Half of you is fucking thrilled he’s here and wanting to be part of your lives, but the other half is terrified he’ll think it’s too much and leave you both—or worse, die and leave you broken.
His eyes watched you carefully and you knew he could sense your internal battle.
“I’m not going to leave, I promise.”
And, because it was the reason you suffered many restless nights, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.
“What happened to you? After Bucharest?”
He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a breath.
“I was in Wakanda. I…couldn’t trust my mind, and they helped me. Brought me a bit of peace.”
You could see it, how different he was to the man who once lived across from you. He was still gentle, soft, but more sure of himself—more confident in who he was. He no longer walked around like he was ashamed to be alive.
“And now…you’re a Congressman? I’ll admit I’m a little shocked, it’s quite the difference to the guy who could barely make eye contact with me.” You teased lightly.
He scoffed, shaking his head with a small smirk.
“Trust me, speaking in front of Congress is much easier than talking to the pretty girl across the hall.”
Your body flushed with warmth. Was he seriously flirting with you?
You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your emotions in check. You were not going to crumble for him that quickly.
“We need to set ground rules, if we want this to work. For Jamie’s sake.”
He nodded solemnly, catching the seriousness in your tone.
“No showing up unannounced—we have a routine, and Jamie can get easily distracted.”
“Noted.”
“Communication is important, okay? Let me know if you want to see her, or if you have to cancel last minute. We have to be honest with each other—you need to tell me if it’s too much. If we’re too much.”
“Not gonna happen,” Bucky muttered.
“And absolutely no funny business—I’m serious, Bucky. I’m not jeopardising her relationship with you because we couldn’t keep it in our pants.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped, but he nodded regardless.
“Whatever you say, doll.”
You glared at him when he said ‘doll’—that was not helping.
“Should I come ‘round tonight to tell her? I can bring dinner.” Bucky was rocking back and forth on his feet, barely containing his eagerness. You bit your lip to suppress a smile.
“No, not tonight. She has a playdate this afternoon and she’s always a nightmare to calm down afterwards.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
You rolled your eyes, the smile breaking out across your face.
“Fine.”
“…Any chance you can make that plum pie?”
Jamie was lying on the couch, her head hanging off the side when Bucky knocked on the door the next evening. You had told her earlier that he was coming around for dinner and she had barely sat still since. It was a pain in the ass, if you were being honest. She clung to your torso like a koala as you tried to vacuum the apartment, making the chore take twice as long. Her crayons and toys covered the dining table—you had already put them back in her room three times that afternoon but she kept on bringing them back out. And there was a purple stain on her chin—which you were fairly certain was a bit of plum pie mixture she had swiped when you turned your back.
“I’ll get the door!” She all but screamed as she ran towards it.
“I hope you like burgers,” came Bucky’s deep voice from behind you. You turned to find Jamie giving him a tour of the apartment, starting with the small kitchen you were standing in.
She gasped, delighted. “They’re my favourite!”
“Thank you,” you said, taking the bags from his hands and putting them on the counter.
“Of course,” Bucky replied, his eyes traveling down your body before meeting your eyes. You tried to not let that affect you, busying yourself with gathering plates and napkins.
“Peanut, can you please grab your stuff off the table?” You asked Jamie. “Don’t forget to wash your hands, too.”
Jamie grumbled her objections but did as you asked, huffing as she gathered her mess of toys.
You turned to Bucky. “Sorry for the mess, I cleaned earlier but…”
Bucky nodded, a small smile on his face. “Tornado central.”
You grinned at him. “Exactly.”
Jamie ran back to the kitchen, grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him towards the lounge. “C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.” She was no match for his super soldier strength yet he let her drag him around with no complaint.
You put the finishing touches on the plum pie, sticking it in the oven before setting the dining table for dinner—all while listening to Jamie show Bucky your quaint apartment.
“And finally, this is mommy’s room—“
“Peanut, I don’t think he needs to see that.” You raised your voice slightly, rushing down the hallway to see them already in your doorway. You did not need Bucky in your room—that would just open pandora’s box and you were not prepared to deal with that.
“Your mom’s right, I don’t need to see her room,” Bucky said, though the small smirk on his face said something else entirely. You really hoped he didn’t catch the bra hanging from the laundry basket.
“Let’s eat before it get’s cold, yeah?” Jamie didn’t need to be told twice, forgetting her tour and sprinting down the hallway.
You and Bucky followed behind her, and he was an inch too close for your liking.
“Red, huh?” He muttered lowly. Your body went hot—he definitely saw the bra.
The burgers were good, like really good, and you weren’t afraid to tell him.
“Where did you get these? I think they’re the best I’ve had in Brooklyn—wait, no, in the city.” You practically moaned.
Bucky’s smirk was bright and smug. “It’s a small hole-in-the-wall near my office. I can take you there sometime.”
Jamie was bouncing in her chair, happily nibbling away at her food—unaware that her life was about to change in a second. You made eye contact with Bucky, both your faces falling serious. It was time.
“Hey, Jamie? There’s something I—we—need to talk to you about.” You spoke to her gently, putting your burger down and wiping your hands. Her bright eyes met yours and you knew you had her attention.
“You know how I said I was looking for your dad?” She nodded eagerly, her eyes briefly flicking to Bucky. She was a smart kid, you could practically see the gears in her brain turning.
“Well, I—uh,” you stuttered. Now that you were here, your mind had gone blank. How the hell do you tell your daughter her dad is sitting right next to her?
Bucky placed a hand on yours, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. He shot you a look saying “I’ve got this” before turning to Jamie fully.
He sucked in a breath. “I’m…I’m your dad, Jamie. And I would love to be in your life, if you’re okay with that.”
Bucky had barely finished his sentence before Jamie lunged, wrapping her little arms tight around his neck—no doubt smearing sauce on his shirt and hair.
He was taken aback for a quick second before returning her hug, his hands gently cradling her back. And that’s when you noticed it—his arm, the left one. You had seen it in pictures, on TV, but never in the flesh. His vibranium thumb was rubbing soft circles on her back, soothing her as sobs wracked through her—her little frame overcome with emotion. A tear slipped down your cheek as you watched them—overwhelmed with guilt from keeping them apart for so long, and something else warm blooming in your chest.
Bucky pressed a kiss to her head, closing his eyes tightly like he was fighting back tears. He pulled back slightly, his hands moving to brush away the tears on Jamie’s cheeks.
“Does this mean you’re moving in?” Jamie asked sweetly.
He let out a watery chuckle. “No, no I’ll be staying at my place. It’s not far from here.” His eyes shot up to yours quickly before continuing. “But, I’ll come ‘round as much as I can. And, I’ll be at all your soccer games—promise.”
By this point she had fully crawled onto his lap, bouncing happily in his arms. “What about taekwondo and swimming? Will you be there?”
“If I don’t have to be away for work.”
She pouted at him, opening her mouth to argue when the oven’s timer went off. She jumped off his lap, running the short distance to the kitchen. “Plum pie!” She squealed, excited.
You put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered. He looked at you with glassy eyes that you were sure mirrored your own.
“Get the pie, I’ll clean this up.” He nodded towards the mess of burgers and napkins.
You shooed Jamie away from the oven and she climbed back onto Bucky’s lap—natural, like it was where she belonged. You put your hands on the counter, dipping your head down and taking a few breaths. This was going better than you imagined, but it was also dangerously twisting your heart.
“You’ve got no idea how much I missed this,” Bucky muttered, looking at the pie in your hands. His eyes dragged up your body, meeting your own with a darkened gaze—it was obvious he was not just talking about the pie.
Your hands shook imperceptibly as you plated up three slices. Bucky was the first to dive in, letting out a low moan as he tasted the pie for the first time in five years. Jamie giggled at him from her place in his lap.
And you? You were frozen in your chair, a warmth spreading in your core from his moan. It was fucking sinful, and he had no right to make a noise like that at your dining table—even if it was him showing his appreciation for your baking. It felt like it was more than that.
You were in the kitchen cleaning up while Jamie had convinced Bucky to sit on the lounge floor with her, showing him her favourite toys. You looked over your shoulder, catching her holding his vibranium arm in her little hands—gazing at it in wonder.
Then you watched the realisation hit her.
“…You know Captain America.” It wasn’t a question.
“Sam? Yeah, I know him.”
And then she was shrieking, hugging the arm tightly.
“Can I meet him? Please, please, pretty please?!”
Bucky laughed loudly at her excitement. “Yeah, princess. I’ll see what I can do.”
You watched as he stood up slowly with Jamie hanging from his arm. She swung on it, giggling nonstop. A smile spread across your face, despite the way your ovaries were screaming at the sight. The ‘no funny business’ boundary you set was looking a lot less appealing now, and it had barely been twenty-four hours.
The three of you were stood at your front door, Jamie clinging onto Bucky’s leg like her life depended on it. You and Bucky had your phones out, syncing your calendars so you were aware of each others schedules, routines.
“You weren’t joking,” Bucky muttered, looking at the colour coded schedule you had for all of Jamie’s activities. You rolled your eyes—you took your schedule very seriously, there was no joking when it came to having your daughter’s life prepared.
Bucky squatted down, pulling Jamie into a hug. “I’ve gotta go now, angel. You be good for your mom.” He tried to pull back but she held on tighter, her little fists clenching his jacket.
“No,” she whined. “Please don’t go.”
“The sugar crash, right on schedule.” You mumbled, gently prying her hands off of him. She let out a cry as you gathered her in your arms, her little hands reaching for Bucky. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. He gave you a small smile and shake of his head, stepping forward to kiss Jamie’s forehead.
You were exhausted by the time you tucked Jamie into bed. She cried for half an hour after Bucky left, and it fucking broke your heart. You weren’t expecting her to get attached to him so quickly, but that was your daughter—she loved with her whole heart. And you couldn’t blame her, you felt like crying after he left too. All your feelings for him came rushing back as you watched him with your daughter—his daughter.
This was not going to be easy on your heart.
A few weeks passed and everything felt so right. Bucky kept true to his promise—he didn’t miss a single one of her games and came to her taekwondo and swimming classes when he wasn’t needed at the Capitol. He spoiled her with gifts—even when you told him not to—and he had started spoiling you too. You tried to brush him off with an eye roll every time, but the flush on your cheeks gave you away.
First, it was a nice bottle of wine, one you would never buy for yourself. Next, a box of expensive chocolates he had been “gifted” and didn’t want—you called bullshit. Then, it was a massage voucher—when you tried to refuse it, he promptly said “it’s either this or I give you one myself, doll” and you snatched it out of his hands before he could see the deep red crawling up your neck. The more he did for you and Jamie, the harder it was for you to ignore the way your heart tugged towards him—the way your body lit up every time he threw you that secret smirk. You were growing more frustrated each day and it was starting to show.
You were sitting in the break room at work, half paying attention to the geography teacher who was gossiping about one of her sophomore classes—apparently two of her students had a cute back and forth and she was coming up with a plan to push them together.
She called your name, looking at you expectantly.
“Huh? Sorry, bit out of it today,” you muttered, your cheeks growing warm.
“I was talking about Sophie and Ben—they’re in your third period English class, right? Don’t you think they would be cute together?” She all but squealed.
You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed them. I don’t know if we should be meddling in our students relationships, though. Besides, it’d just make me feel depressed about my lacking love life…” You trailed off, your mind already wandering to Bucky and the look on his face when Jamie called him ‘daddy’ the night before.
Your colleague dropped into the chair next to you, chin in her hand as she peered at you in interest. “Oh? Are you looking to date?” You were about to shake your head, but she continued. “My cousin just moved here and I think you would be perfect for each other! You’re definitely his type.”
You rolled your eyes, the last thing you wanted was to be set up on a blind date. “No, I’m not dating. It’s fine, really—“
But she was already grabbing your unlocked phone, pulling up your calendar and looking for a free slot. She found one—next Saturday, when Jamie would be staying the night at Bucky’s for the first time. She typed on your phone, setting up an appointment for eight pm—“Date with Michael!”
“I’ll text you his details!”
There was no way in hell you were going to text him to arrange a date. You already had a date scheduled that night—your bath, a bottle of red Bucky had given you, and the toy you hadn’t unboxed yet.
Later that night, Bucky was in your kitchen drying dishes slowly, a faraway look on his face. You had just tucked Jamie in for the night, and he didn’t notice when you returned to the kitchen.
“Hey,” you started. “You okay?”
“Who’s Michael?” He asked gruffly, his eyes boring into yours.
You furrowed your brows at him, very confused. “Michael? I don’t know a Michael.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning the screen to show you an appointment in your synced calendar—the appointment you had forgotten to delete.
You let out a breathy chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Oh, that. My coworker was trying to set me up with her cousin, she put that in my calendar.” You shrugged.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” He looked pissed.
“Tell you what, Bucky? I’m not going.”
“I think I have a right to know if you’re dating, doll.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at you. Fuck, he looked hot.
“I’m not dating, Buck.” He leaned against the counter behind him, still staring at you intensely.
“But, you would tell me if you were?” You were starting to get aggravated, this felt like an interrogation.
“What does it matter to you?” You said, voice louder than intended.
“We have a child together. I should know if you’re bringing random guys home.”
Now you were mad. He made it sound like you were out hooking up with any guy that showed you attention.
You stepped towards him, pressing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest. “For your information,” you seethed, glaring into his darkened eyes. “I haven’t slept with anyone since Bucharest. Don’t you dare imply I’m hooking up with randoms.”
You watched as his pupils dilated, his eyes turning almost black. His vibranium arm whirred as he clenched the counter behind him.
“You haven’t been with anyone else?” He asked, voice dangerously low.
You hadn’t meant to let that slip, to tell him that he was the last guy you slept with.
You took a step back, dropping your hand and putting much needed space between you two. When did it get so hot in here?
“It’s a bit hard to find time for yourself when you’re raising a kid solo.” You were sick of the focus being on your nonexistent sex life.
“What about you, Bucky? Now that Jamie is going to be staying at yours, I have a right to know who you’re dating.” You were only asking for Jamie’s sake. It had nothing to do with the twisting in your gut at the thought of Bucky with anyone else.
He stepped forward, crowding you against the counter behind you. His eyes did a slow drag up your body, lingering on your lips for a few seconds.
“I’ve got all I need right in front of me.”
Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your breath hitching. This was not the Bucky you knew in Bucharest, he was never this forward.
“No funny business,” you whispered, though there was no heat to it.
“It’s not funny business, it’s the truth. Thought you wanted me to be honest, doll.”
You glared at him. How dare he use your words against you.
You pushed at his chest and he took a step back, giving you some much needed breathing room.
You went back to cleaning up the kitchen, Bucky falling in step beside you after a minute.
There was a buzz in the air between you and Bucky, your body hyperaware every time he shifted next to you—slowly closing the gap.
“Do you have photos?” Bucky suddenly asked.
“Photos of what?”
“When you were pregnant.”
You whipped your head to him, staring at him with wide eyes.
“What? Why…why are you asking me that?”
He shrugged like it was a normal thing to ask someone.
“I want to see.”
“Bucky, I’ve already sent you photos of when Jamie was a baby.”
“I’m not asking for those.”
You shook your head at him. “You’re weird, you know that?” He just stared at you blankly. “Fine, whatever. I’ll send you some later.”
The side of his mouth twitched, a faint smirk ghosting his lips.
“Good girl.”
Every time Bucky looked at you all you could think about was those two stupid words. On their own they’re completely acceptable, harmless. Put them together and they’re a totally normal praise to say to a child. But when he said them to you in that low voice? There was nothing harmless or normal about your body’s reaction.
And you knew he knew what he was doing to you. There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes raked over you, and the gifts he kept on getting you? They were not for the sake of co-parenting or whatever bullshit half-excuse he used.
The bouquet of flowers he turned up with the other night? “Something nice for you and Jamie to look at.”
The gift voucher for your favourite clothing store? “Can’t have the mother of my child wearing old clothes.” That was a bullshit excuse and you both knew it.
“You use that massage voucher, doll?” He asked when he came to pick up Jamie for their first sleepover.
You woke up feeling hot and flustered, with a notification on your phone telling you that you were ovulating. The heat lingered all day, your clothes irritating your skin every time you breathed. Now Bucky was standing in front of you with that half-smirk, asking about whether you used his gift, and it was not fucking helping.
“You look…tense, it might help.” He stepped closer, your back pressing against the doorframe.
“Gotta make sure you take care of yourself, sweetheart.”
Oh. That was new. He hadn’t called you that before.
He raised his vibranium hand slowly, running a cold fingertip along the heat blooming on your neck. “Got any plans tonight?”
You shuddered at the feeling, your brain going blank as the dull ache in your core amplified.
“…What are you doing?” You asked, voice barely a whisper.
“Jus’ making sure Jamie’s mom is looking after herself, taking care of her needs.”
Jamie came running from her room, her backpack unzipped and overflowing—even though you had already packed it and double-checked it had everything she needed.
Bucky took a step back, clearing his throat before turning and catching Jamie with ease. Your ovaries started a war inside you, your core cramping with need watching Bucky interact with your daughter.
“Bye Mama!” Jamie kissed your forehead, her spot in Bucky’s arms making her taller than you.
“Have a good night, sweetheart.” Bucky mumbled with a wink, grinning at your cheeks flushing even more red.
Bucky brought Jamie back early the next evening, her body slumped in his arms with little snores escaping her.
“How the hell did you get her to sleep?” You whispered, astonished that she was passed out so early.
He shrugged like it was nothing. “We did some soccer drills at the park, I let her try out some taekwondo moves on me. Helps that the serum gives me a high stamina.”
He walked Jamie to her room, tucking her into bed like it was second nature. He came back to the lounge to find you stood frozen, your mind still reeling over high stamina.
Blame it on your smart mouth, or on your ovulation obliterating your filter, but you opened your mouth without thinking.
“High stamina? Where was that in Bucharest?”
Your wide eyes gave you away—you had clearly not meant to say that. You weren’t disappointed with the sex you and Bucky had, god no, but you wouldn’t say it was a good example of super soldier stamina.
A devilish smirk spread across his face, stalking towards you like he was a predator and you were his prey.
“Cut a guy some slack, doll. You were the first woman I’d touched since the 1940s. I’m surprised I lasted as long as I did.”
He was right in front of you now, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear—his hungry eyes latched on your lips.
“You want a redo? Want me to show you how long I can really go for?”
Your pulse jumped in your neck, a breath getting lodged in your throat, the ache from the day before hitting your core at full force.
“…Bucky, we—we said no funny business.”
His hand moved to your chin, gripping it gently and tilting your head up. There was a fire blazing in his eyes as he stared into your soul.
“No, you said that.” His vibranium hand rested lightly against your hip, testing. You gasped at the cold seeping through your clothes, relieving some of the heat and making your core clench with need at the same time.
He dropped his head, brushing his nose against yours.
“Did you take care of yourself last night, sweetheart?” His voice was low, husky.
Your body flushed even hotter. His proximity had your brain short-circuiting and butterflies raging in your stomach, the smell of his aftershave and something uniquely him overwhelming your senses with every shuddering breath you took.
“I asked you a question,” he gripped your chin tighter, his tone bordering on demanding.
“I…had a bath, drank some wine…” the vibranium hand on your hip slipped higher, cupping your waist and pulling you closer. A tiny gasp got caught in your throat.
“Did you touch yourself?” His nose brushed across your cheek, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.
“You—you can’t ask me that, Bucky.” Your voice shook. Your hand clutched his shoulder, the vibranium cold against your palm even through his shirt. The ground beneath you felt unsteady, your body swaying towards him for support.
“Sure I can, your wellbeing is important to me. Answer the question.” The hand on your chin moved, a calloused thumb brushing your bottom lip.
The touch had your mind blanking, tingles erupting beneath his thumb and travelling through your body, gathering in the pit of your belly. Your head felt fuzzy and the world narrowed to him, only him.
“Yes,” you whispered.
He hummed, satisfied.
“Good girl.”
Your thighs clenched at the praise, the warmth in your core begging for relief. You watched his tongue swipe along his bottom lip, leaving them glistening and looking so fucking tempting.
“It wasn’t enough though, was it?” He walked you backwards slowly, a small gasp escaping you as your back hit the wall. “No, I think you need more.”
His head dropped to the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching your sensitive skin. You sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to moan. It had been so long since someone had touched you—since Bucky touched you—and the need pulsing through you was making you delirious.
Both Bucky’s hands dropped to your hips, squeezing tight as he stepped closer. One of his thighs slotted between your legs, the pressure against your core making you whimper.
“You need to be more careful about what you put in your calendar, doll.”
You struggled to understand what he was saying, too overwhelmed by his closeness and the dizziness it was causing.
He pressed a faint kiss to your throat, right where your pulse was beating wildly. He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against your skin.
“God, I’ve been hard ever since I saw that notification yesterday.”
That had you reeling, a fraction of reality slipping through the haze. What was he talking about?
You found your voice, although meek and small. “What notification?”
His vibranium hand slipped from your waist to your back, pulling you into him until your back arched, your core shifting against his thigh. The slight friction made your body thrum, your hips instinctively rolling to chase the feeling.
“The one letting you—me—know that you’re ovulating.”
You gasped, horror running through your body. You didn’t even think about how your tracking app was linked to your calendar.
“I can smell it, sweetheart. How fucking needy you are.” His words had the horror dissolving into liquid honey, the need he was talking about dripping from your core.
His right hand gripped your hip tighter, his fingers digging in as he moved your hips, dragging you back and forth on his jean-clad thigh.
“I wanna take care of you. Let me make you feel good.” He whispered, his mouth hot against your ear.
Any worries you had about crossing boundaries, about ruining Jamie’s relationship with her father disappeared, replaced by a blazing fire.
“Please,” you whispered desperately.
Bucky didn’t waste a second, his lips finding yours in a bruising kiss. His hands pulled you tighter against him, your hips flush with his. Your hands found their place in his hair, tugging the soft strands and making him moan into your mouth.
His tongue slipped past your lips with no resistance, meeting yours in a battle for dominance that you had no intention of winning. He bit your bottom lip, tugging it as he pulled back. He dropped his forehead to yours, both of you panting heavily from the kiss.
“You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, pressing small kisses to your lips like he couldn’t help himself.
You whined when he stepped back, missing his warmth and the friction between your legs.
“Patience, doll.”
And then he was dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up the sides of your thighs and gripping the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down torturously slow. He groaned low at the sight of your panties, the dark wet patch exposing your need for him.
He pressed a quick kiss to the patch, making your head hit the wall with a thud. He chuckled at you, his eyes filled with a possessive hunger.
“So responsive.”
He placed one of you thighs over his shoulder, peppering your inner knee and thigh with soft kisses. He stopped at your mid thigh, turning his head to lavish your other leg with the same attention. Your breathing grew heavy at the teasing, the need in your core growing unbearable the more he avoided where you needed him most.
“Bucky, please, stop teasing,” you whined, your voice echoing in the apartment.
He chuckled darkly, looking up at you like you were a feast he couldn’t wait to devour.
“Gotta be quiet, doll. Don’t wanna wake Jamie up now, do you?” His tone was mocking and you wanted to slap the smirk off his face.
He relented his teasing, rising to his full height and gripping your hips. His mouth found yours again, softer this time but still just as hungry. Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as you tried to grind your core against the bulge in his jeans. He let out a small broken moan, leaving your lips to kiss along your jaw and neck.
“Jump,” he muttered into your neck. You did as he said, your legs wrapping around his waist as he hoisted you up in his arms like you weighed nothing. His hands grasped your ass, rolling your hips against him harder. He spun you around, walking towards your room with his face still buried in your neck, biting and tugging your sensitive skin.
He closed the door behind him softly, dropping you gently onto your bed. He stood at the end, quiet as his eyes raked over your half-dressed body. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He dipped down to kiss you passionately.
His hands grasped the hem of your top, dragging it up your body and over your head. He stopped momentarily, staring at your naked breasts in awe.
“I didn’t worship you like you deserved, sweetheart. I’m not making that mistake again.”
Then he dropped his head, kissing a path down your neck and across your collarbones. He ran his tongue along your skin, biting the soft swell of your breast gently, avoiding your nipple. Your hips bucked under him, desperate for more. His hands tightened on your hips, pushing them into the bed to stop your squirming. He finally took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently and grazing his teeth against it. You let out a sharp gasp, your hands clutching his shoulders. His flesh hand came up to palm your neglected breast, pulling and twisting the nipple between his fingers, eliciting more debauched gasps from your lips.
“So fucking pretty,” he mumbled, switching his mouth to the other breast to give it the same attention. His vibranium arm whirred as your hips tried to buck more, holding you down with ease.
His flesh hand stayed palming your breasts as his mouth descended, his stubble scratching the soft skin of your stomach. He stopped, pulling back slightly as his eyes focused intently on your skin—more specifically, on the stretch marks covering your lower belly.
He let out a low moan, pressing his forehead against your stomach like he was collecting himself. His hand on your breast trailed down, calloused fingertips reverently tracing the jagged lines your pregnancy left behind.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured absentmindedly, like he was in a trance. “You’re always beautiful, but seeing those photos of you pregnant with my child.” He let out a dark chuckle. “You don’t know what that did to me, doll.” His dark eyes met yours. “I’ve fucked my fist every night looking at them. Seeing you big and round with my baby—shit, doll.” He closed his eyes and groaned. “Makes me wanna get you pregnant again.”
He dropped his mouth to your skin, his lips kissing your stretch marks with a tenderness that had your heart clenching painfully. He took his time, worshiping every scar with his lips. Your underwear was soaked, his actions and words making you so overwhelming needy that it hurt.
You pushed on his shoulders, trying to get him to move down to your core—to offer you some relief. He relented his soft kisses, grabbing your panties and pulling them down your thighs. He moaned, watching the way the fabric clung to your wet pussy—a line of slick keeping them tethered. He stuffed your panties into his back pocket once he removed them, throwing you a wink.
“A souvenir,” he muttered before diving in.
His mouth was hot on your core, his tongue dragging a line up your slit before latching onto your clit. He sucked greedily, a hum sounding in the back of his throat. Your hands flew to his hair, grasping the strands and pushing him further into your core. He switched between sucking your clit and fucking you with his tongue, listening to your moans and whines to see what you liked. His flesh hand splayed against your stomach, stroking the marks there as he held you down. It was both tender and dirty, and it had the heat in your core spreading like wildfire. His vibranium hand trailed along the top of your thighs, making you gasp and shiver.
He lifted his mouth off you, your slick glistening on his lips and beard—you almost came from the sight alone. He watched you closely as his hand inched higher, a cold finger brushing against your lower lips. You gave him a quick nod, muttering “please” and he didn’t waste any time.
He dipped a finger into your entrance, moaning at the wet heat and little resistance. He pumped it slowly, sucking your clit back into his mouth—making your back arch and hands tug harder, pulling at his scalp and making him moan into you. The noise had you preening, the ball in your core tightening. He inserted another cold finger, curling against the spot that had your legs shaking. You let out a long moan, your breath coming quick as you climbed higher.
“Come for me, sweetheart.” He mumbled, his voice vibrating against your core. A third finger joined in and the stretch had tears brimming your eyes, the pleasure he was unleashing on your body too much. You came with a cry, your body tensing and shaking under him. He slowed down slightly, dragging your pleasure out until you were whimpering and pushing his head away from the overstimulation.
He crawled up your body, peppering more kisses on your skin as you struggled to catch your breath, coming down from your high slowly. You giggled as his stubbled tickled your stomach. He brushed your cheeks gently, wiping away the few tears that escaped from your pleasure. He looked at you with what looked like love in his eyes, causing your cheeks to flush and heart to beat harder.
He kissed you deeply, the taste of you on his tongue turning you on more. You returned the kiss with fervour, wrapping your legs around his clothed waist and grinding your hips against his bulge.
He moaned at the feeling, his arms on either side of your head shaking with restraint.
“Can I fuck you, doll?” You responded with an eager nod.
“Will you let me fill you up?” You continued nodding, a little whine and pleads leaving your lips.
He removed himself from you, ripping his clothes off in a hurry. He dropped on top of you and you relished at the feeling of his bare chest against yours. Your hands found his shoulders as he rubbed his cock along your dripping slit. You both let out matching moans.
“Wanna give Jamie a little sibling.” It wasn’t a question.
You nodded deliriously, your breath hitching as his tip caught your entrance. He pushed in achingly slow, kissing you as a high pitched moan escaped your throat. He grabbed your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he plunged deeper—a deep groan rumbling in his chest. You whimpered at the stretch of him. He thrusted slow and gentle at first, closing his eyes and savouring the feel of your tight walls hugging him. He picked up the pace, hitting your sweet spot—sharp gasps escaping you with every thrust. Your hands clutched his back tighter, your nails digging into the flesh slightly. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, your breathy pants and gasps, and his low moans filled the room.
His hand moved from your hip to your core, rubbing circles on your clit in time with his thrusts. You were still sensitive from your first orgasm and you could feel the fire spreading from your belly at record speed.
“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” Bucky muttered against your lips. You clenched around him tightly, the praise adding more fuel to the fire. “You like that? You like when I call you a good girl?” You nodded, babbling incoherently as everything became too much and you seized below him. A harsh gasp escaped you as you came a second time, your nails scratching along his back and drawing blood.
“Fuck—squeezing me so tight, sweetheart. Shit,” he grumbled out as he continued to fuck you through your high, only slowing down when you let out a sob.
He cradled your face in his hands, brushing away tears with a concerned look on his face. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Just breathe,” he cooed softly, pushing hair back from your face. His eyes roamed over your features as you collected yourself, gasping in small breaths as your mind came back to your body.
“You still with me?” You nodded shakily. “Wanna keep going?”
“Please, need you to come inside me.” You whispered, a shaky hand grabbing his jaw and kissing him softly.
He groaned into your mouth, his cock dragging inside you slowly—making you whine.
“You got any idea what you do to me, doll? Fucking begging me to breed you,” he gave a harsh thrust and you let out a broken sob.
He shushed you, moving his flesh hand to your mouth as he continued to thrust mercilessly.
“You’re gonna wake Jamie up.” You moaned behind his mouth, your eyes rolling back and your body feeling weightless.
He pulled out suddenly, making you let out a pained cry at the loss of him. “No, no, please, don’t stop.” You babbled, your hands grabbing his arms trying to get him back inside you.
He chuckled at your desperation before grasping your hips and flipping you over, positioning you on your hands and knees. You had little time to adjust to the new position before he was slamming into you, his cock pounding your walls at a relentless speed. Your moans were muffled by the pillow beneath your head, the fabric getting soaked in your drool and tears.
“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby,” he moaned, clutching your ass cheek before bringing his palm down in a harsh slap. Your body jumped forward, pain radiating from his slap and morphing into pleasure. You clenched down on him in a vice like grip, his hips stuttering in response.
“You want another baby, doll? Want me to get you pregnant again?”
You nodded your head vigorously, mumbling out “yes” and “please” like they were the only words you knew.
He slapped your ass two more times and you let out a broken sob, tears flowing down your cheeks as the pleasure became too much. You could feel Bucky getting close, his thrusts losing rhythm and his grunts increasing in volume.
“God, you’re gonna look breathtaking, not gonna be able to keep my hands off you.” He muttered out, cursing as you gripped him even tighter. His hand moved from your hip to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. Your back bowed from the oversensitivity, trying to escape his touch but needing it at the same time. You bit the pillow below you as you came for a third time, your wail ringing out in the dark room. Bucky thrusted three more times before stilling, coming inside you with a long drawn out groan. He kept pumping inside you, his warm seed filling you completely. You sighed at the feeling, bliss running through your veins. Bucky caught you as your body collapsed, all your strength leaving you. You felt completely ruined.
Bucky pulled out with a groan, gently rolling you over so you were laying on his chest. His hand trailed up and down your back in soothing patterns, the both of you quiet as you came down. He pressed a kiss to your head, breathing you in deeply. You traced a pattern on his sweaty chest, sleep pulling at the corners of your eyes.
“We should probably talk,” you mumbled.
“Later,” another kiss to your head. “Wanna enjoy you in my arms a little longer.”
More tears pricked at your eyes and you hugged him tighter. You took in a shaky breath as you prepared yourself to say what’s been on your mind since Bucharest.
“I…I think I love you, Bucky.”
Bucky’s chest shook with a trembling exhale below you.
pairings: pre civil war!bucky x fem!reader, congressman!bucky x mom!reader
summary: your life is forever changed after a tender night with your quiet, traumatised neighbour in bucharest. years later, you're living in brooklyn with your five year old daughter and run into congressman barnes. he's everything you remembered and more, and now he wants to be part of yours and jamie's lives.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, plot with porn, angst, fluff, mentions of nightmares, a lot of plum pie, slooow burn, tender soft sex, then not tender sex, accidental pregnancy, explicit detailed smut, protected and unprotected pnv, slight dom!bucky, praise kink, dirty talk (bucky is a bit feral), pregnancy/breeding kink, body worship, oral (f!receiving), fingering, a lil spanking, multiple orgasms (f!receiving), reader cries during, love confessions, very few physical details of reader, reader's daughter has blue eyes and dark hair, no use of y/n (i'm trying something new), timeline inconsistencies (i tried tho), partly proofread, let me know if i missed anythingggg
word count: 19k (no but seriously can someone tell me to chill)
authors note: 2 fics for the price of 1! partly inspired by this post, partly inspired by @metal-armed-muse's second chances fic (dad congressman barnes has me weak in the knees). i needed a break from man on your mind and this just appeared like the sun through rainclouds (though it definitely put me in the trenches i won't lie). this is written from reader's pov, but might do some bucky pov blurbs if y'all are interested! reminder that i am a new writer so my style & formatting is ever evolving - ai will never be used in this household. please like, reblog, and comment :)
song inspo: river - zinadelphia
I’m somewhere in between
The things that I’ve lost
And the things I’ll gain from losing
Either way I will leave something behind
But I’m dying to do something different this time
June 2016 - Bucharest, Romania
Sleep had become a rare commodity the past couple weeks.
The group of guy backpackers staying below you refused to turn their music down after eleven—if anything, they turned it up louder to spite you—and you could hear them fucking the poor girls who made the mistake of going home with them after the pub. Every night. Fortunately for you, the guys had awful stamina and they were finished within five minutes. This wouldn’t normally be a big deal, if you hadn’t ‘lost’ your headphones three days after you moved in to the short-term stay apartment—you were ninety-nine percent certain one of them had broken in to your room and stolen them, but you had no proof.
Sleep would welcome you for a few hours before the screaming across the hall started. The first time the deep, throaty screams made their way through your paper thin walls, you startled awake so violently you jumped out of bed and twisted your ankle. You limped out of your apartment—if you could call it that—with a Romanian dictionary held high as your weapon, your socked feet quiet on the concrete floor. It wasn’t hard to find the source of the screaming—the aftermath of a nightmare, heavy breathing and sobbing, was crystal clear through the door opposite yours.
It was on day four of being woken up by your neighbours nightmares when you finally saw him. You were running late for your first class of the day, arms full of marked papers and keys hanging from your mouth as you opened your door, when you caught movement in your periphery. He was climbing up the stairs silently, his head titled towards the ground with a cap on top of his long dark hair, obstructing the view of his face. The first thing you noticed was the size of him—he was tall and broad, big muscles still noticeable under layers of clothes. The second thing you noticed was his gloved hands—an odd sight in the Bucharest warmth—one of them holding a bag of plums.
Plum guy. You had seen him while out on your daily morning walks, buying plums at one of the fruit vendors down the street. You had no idea that the gentle giant you watched make quiet conversation with the vendor was the man whose sobbing and whimpering had your heart clenching at three every morning.
The keys in your mouth dropped on top of the paper stack, the small jingle and thud making the man tense, his eyes darting to you—standing in your doorway staring at him. You quickly looked away, grabbing your keys and locking your door.
He was opening his own door when you crossed the short distance to the stairs—and to him, given that his door was right next to the stairs. He turned his head slightly, a gloved hand clenched tight on the doorknob.
You smiled softly as you walked closer to him. “Bună dimineaţa,” you said quietly. He tracked your movements closely, offering you a brief nod before he disappeared inside his apartment. Not a talker, then.
Later that night—or technically early the next morning—you were bent over the small kitchen table, struggling to read your student’s handwriting. You had just over a week left teaching English to Romanian middle-graders, and then you would be on a flight back home to the States.
You were trying to rub the red ink off your hand when the first gasp echoed from across the small hallway. You looked towards the apartment door on instinct, halting your movements and waiting for another noise. It came a few seconds later—a loud gasp that sounded like someone was struggling to breathe. Then a pained shout, in what you were almost certain was Russian. The shouting turned into whimpered pleas within minutes. You felt tears well behind your eyes listening to the man across from you have another nightmare. Your heart bleed for a man you didn’t know, didn’t even know his name. You only knew he spoke gently to fruit vendors and bought fresh plums everyday.
Call it sleep deprivation, homesickness, or basic empathy, but you felt deeply enough to come up with a plan—to offer the hurting man some kindness. You finished marking papers as quietly as you could before you fell into bed, barely audible sniffling sending you to sleep with a heavy heart.
In the morning you thought strategically about how you would approach him. Knocking on his door empty handed made no sense, and following him around the fruit market seemed an even worse idea. But, like him, you wanted to buy plums. And, it made sense to buy them on your usual morning walk.
You left earlier than you normally would, wanting to be at the market before him so it didn’t look like you were stalking him. You were making idle chit-chat with the vendor, asking what traits constituted a ‘good’ plum—half of you was interested, the other half was stalling in the hopes that plum guy would show.
Conscious that you were in the way of paying customers, you turned to leave and found your neighbour standing two metres away, watching you apprehensively. How long had he been there?
“Bună!” You greeted him with a kind smile, a little louder now that you were outside. His eyes narrowed slightly, giving you a once over as he studied your body language. Despite how hard you worked on your Romanian pronunciation, your American accent came through strong and you knew he noticed it.
Another brief nod was your reply. You tried to not let your disappointment show but his eyes darted to your shoulders, watching them deflate.
“Morning.” Oh. You were not expecting that.
You were expecting the American accent even less.
He spoke quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. He stepped to the left, turning his body slightly to let you pass. It was progress at least—you would take the simple greeting as a win.
You saw him again later that day. You were stomping up the stairs cursing to yourself, more papers to grade overflowing your arms and a takeout bag dangerously close to slipping from your fingers. You tripped on the last step, the takeout dropping on the floor and spilling right in front of your neighbours door—half of the papers in your arms following shortly after.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” You exclaimed louder than you intended, pissed that your dinner was now all over the floor—some of your students work now stained with pho.
You bent down slowly, gently lowering the rest of the papers on the clean ground next to your ruined dinner. You didn’t notice the door in front of you opening—the sight of boots next to your mess making you flinch. You jerked your head up to find your neighbour watching you carefully, the side of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. You flushed red, embarrassed by the mess you’d made and flustered from seeing him without his baseball cap. He was handsome.
“Shit, I—sorry, I’m in the way. I’ll just, uh…” You stumbled over your words, feeling suddenly intimidated by him.
He squatted down to where you were crouched awkwardly, your arms still holding the pile of papers. He looked down at the mess of pho and essays, his eyes assessing the damage.
He picked up a soggy paper, a stray noodle sliding down the page. He read the page slowly, noticing the name and age in barely legible scribbles. He let out a quiet huff, his blue eyes flicking to your shocked ones. “Might have to give out a few automatic passes.”
He spoke first. He’s looking at you with amusement swirling in his gorgeous blue eyes, and he spoke to you first—even more, he made a joke.
You let out a breathy laugh, leaning closer to see what students name was written at the top. “He struggles more than anyone else in the class, giving him a pass may cause suspicion…” You trailed off with a small, teasing smile.
He placed the ruined essay back on the mess, his movements gentle.
He stood to his full height, nodding towards the stack in your hands. “You should put those inside. I’ll clean this up.” He moved back towards his door to let you pass.
You stood back up and hesitated, biting your lip as you looked down at the mess. “No, this is my fault. I’ll sort it out.”
“You should put those down first. Don’t wanna ruin more of your student’s work.” A muscle in his cheek twitched, like he was holding back a smile.
“Right, yeah, that’s smart.” You stepped over the mess and walked the few steps to your door, fumbling with the keys in your bag. You glanced over your shoulder as you opened the door, seeing plum guy crouched down and picking up papers gently. You shook your head fondly at the sight—of course he would clean it up anyway.
You entered the small apartment, making your way over to the dingy kitchen table and dropping the stack of papers and your bag onto it. You closed your eyes and took a couple breaths, shaking off the nervousness seeing your neighbours face properly had caused.
He’s just a guy. A handsome, tormented, gentle guy—whose name you still don’t know.
In the time it took to give yourself a pep talk, plum guy had finished collecting the papers and was standing in your doorframe. He cleared his throat softly causing you to turn around quickly. His eyes roamed around your small apartment while yours focused on him—he made the doorframe look small, his shoulders just as wide and his head close to touching the top.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as you walked towards him.
His eyes met yours, soft and hesitant. “I know.”
He looked down at the papers in his hands, extending them towards you. You offered him a grateful smile as you grabbed them. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
He stuffed his hands in his front pockets, shrugging his shoulders at your gratitude. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his eyes scanning you and the apartment—looking for any hidden threats.
He took a step back, nodding his head once in goodbye.
You blurted your name out quickly, not wanting to miss the first chance you’ve had to properly connect with the man.
He tilted his head towards the ground, a strand of hair falling in front of his face. His eyes darted side to side, like he was thinking. Hard.
Finally, he lifted his head but kept his eyes downcast. “…Bucky.”
Your eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch, surprised by the unusual name. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.” His eyes met yours again, more sure this time.
“Likewise,” he muttered before leaving your apartment, closing the door softly behind him.
You felt a small smile take over your face as you stood still, watching the space he just occupied. Progress.
Half an hour later you were bent over the drying essays, determined to make sense of the smudged scribbles when two sharp knocks sounded against your door.
You furrowed your brows, not sure why anyone would be knocking on your door—the only person who knew you lived here was your neighbour, Bucky. You shot up from your chair quickly—it must be him.
You opened your door a second too late, just catching his door across the small hall closing behind him. You looked down to the floor, surprise knocking you breathless for a moment. There on the concrete at your feet was a bowl of soup, steam rising from it. You picked it up slowly, your heart doing flips in your chest. Bucky had made you soup. He had cleaned up your mess outside his door, and had made you soup to replace your ruined dinner.
That night you found yourself silently crying along with him, the sounds of his nightmare causing you physical pain. What had happened to him?
It was Saturday afternoon and you were pacing the length of your apartment, trying to hype yourself up. Bucky’s clean bowl was resting in your palms, feeling like a loaded gun. You had a plan—to return the bowl and try make conversation, maybe even get him to laugh. That would be nice, right? For him to laugh, for you to hear something from him that wasn’t sounds of agony in the middle of the night.
You raised your hand hesitantly to his door, giving it two soft knocks. You waited patiently, straining to hear any movement behind the door. A minute passed and nothing. You tried again, knocking with more confidence this time. Thirty seconds passed and you were shifting on your feet, starting to feel disheartened.
“Bucky,” you called softly. “I—sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted to return your bowl—from the other night?” It came out as a question, your confidence fading and you started to feel silly. Obviously the guy wanted to be left alone.
You turned to leave when the door in front of you opened, Bucky’s large frame obstructing your view of his apartment. He was without his baseball cap again and his hair was damp, like he had just stepped out of the shower. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans like usual, gloves covering his hands. His eyebrows were raised slightly at you standing in front of him, nervously biting your lip with his cheap bowl in your hands.
You extended the bowl towards him. “Thank you, for the soup the other night. I…wasn’t expecting it. Beats the granola bar that’s been sitting in my bag for weeks.” You chuckled awkwardly.
He grabbed the bowl with a quiet nod.
“And, thank you again for cleaning up the mess I made. You really didn’t need to.”
“It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it.” His voice was deep, still rough from lack of use. You found it comforting—you wanted to hear more.
You took a breath to steel your nerves, plastering on what you hoped was a disarming smile.
“I was planning on baking a plum pie this afternoon.” You started, watching as a confused expression took over his face. “My mom’s recipe—I used to bake with her, and I’ve been feeling homesick lately so…” You trailed off, hoping the lie wasn’t obvious.
Your mom didn’t bake plum pies, and the last time you baked with her was when you were nine—you ended up in tears with little burns on your hands.
“Would you…would you like some? Or want to join me?”
His surprise at your invitation was evident, though it was quickly replaced with suspicion.
“…Why?”
“You like plums, right? I saw you down at the market.” He was still looking at you skeptically, his big arms now crossed over his chest. Your voice wavered slightly, “think of it as a thank you gift, for your help the other day.”
He sighed at you thanking him again.
“…Fine. I’ll come over in a couple hours.”
Bucky looked abnormally large sitting at your small kitchen table. His shoulders were tense, his gloved hands clutched together tightly in his lap, his eyes darting around the small space absorbing every detail he could. His brows furrowed at your suitcase on the other side of the room, your clothes spilling out next to the bed.
You followed his line of sight, an embarrassed chuckle escaping you. “Sorry for the mess, this is just a temporary situation. I wasn’t expecting to be living out of my suitcase, still.”
His eyes flicked back to yours in interest. “Temporary?”
You turned back to the dirty dishes, needing something to do with your hands when he’s looking at you like that. Like he wants to know more about you.
“Yeah, I was meant to fly back home a couple weeks ago, but the school I’m teaching at asked me to stay until school finished for the year—they offered to pay for the flight transfer.” You shrugged lightly.
He shifted slightly, the small chair squeaking and straining beneath his weight. “Home?”
You noticed he didn’t talk much and when he did it was in small sentences. Though he was asking you questions now, and you took that as more progress.
“The States—Philadelphia, to be exact.” You took a breath before asking him, “where’s home for you?”
He was silent for a minute before quietly muttering, “Brooklyn.”
You turned to him, flashing him a bright smile you couldn’t tame. “Oh cool, my parents are planning on moving there in a couple months! Any non-touristy places they should check out?”
He hesitated again. “It’s—uh, it’s been a while since I was last…home.” He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead staring intently at his clenched hands. You took the hint that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
You bent down to check on the pie in the oven, sighing in relief that it didn’t look like an absolute disaster.
Turning back to Bucky you tried to think of anything else to talk about, wanting to know more about the quiet man.
“The pie should be ready in a few minutes. Do you want to…watch something, maybe? While we eat.”
His response was a small nod.
You walked over to grab your laptop off your bed. You sat down on the chair across from Bucky, noticing how he leaned away from you and put his hands in his lap.
“Anything in particular you want to watch?” You briefly glanced at him as you scrolled through the streaming apps.
“Dealers choice,” he hummed quietly.
You picked A New Hope, deeming it an acceptable movie to watch while eating pie with your neighbour.
Bucky waited until you took your first bite of pie before he inhaled his slice in less than a minute. You let out a small laugh at the sight of him—hunched over in the small chair, shovelling the pie in his mouth like he hadn’t eaten for days.
He looked up at you sheepishly when he heard you laugh.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, mouth full of plum and pastry.
“No, don’t apologise—I take it as a compliment,” you smiled at him, licking your fork clean. His eyes tracked the movement carefully, causing your smile to turn to a small smirk. He looked back down to his empty plate quickly, his shoulders tense after being caught staring.
You stood up and grabbed his plate, cutting a much larger slice of pie for him. He offered you a bashful smile as you put the plate in front of him.
“Thanks…it’s, uh, pretty good.”
Your body rushed with warmth at his compliment, your cheeks flushing and a small smile now permanent on your face.
“I’m glad.”
He ate the second piece at a normal pace, only half interested in watching the movie playing from your laptop on the table. You caught his eyes watching you every few minutes but it didn’t put you on edge. From the few times you’ve interacted with him you gathered he’s a cautious, suspicious guy—the occasional staring didn’t bother you.
Suddenly, the floor started to shake below you—the telltale sign that the backpackers had started partying early. Their music was more bass than anything, making everything in your apartment vibrate slightly. You rolled your eyes and sighed in annoyance—you knew it was going to be a long night.
Bucky stood up and grabbed your empty plates, walking over to the sink to wash them. You opened your mouth to stop him, to tell him you’ll sort it out. He shut you up with a sharp look and shake of his head.
“That happen often? The…music?” He asked, his head tilting towards the floor.
You let out a small scoff. “Yeah, basically every night. This isn’t even the worst of it.”
He grunted in response, displeased.
“You don’t hear it from your apartment?”
“I do, it’s just not this bad. Becomes background noise after a bit.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “It’s fucking awful music.”
You laughed at that. “Right?! I’m pretty sure they’re aspiring DJ’s…all I know is that I hate them.” He let out a deep laugh that sent a thrill through your body. God help you, you wanted to hear it again.
“What music do you like?” You tried to ask casually.
He paused, deliberating his answer. “I like…older music, jazz. Not a fan of the modern stuff.”
That didn’t surprise you at all.
You hummed in response. “Yeah, I get that. My grandma made sure I listened to all the classics—I have a soft spot for Sinatra, among others.”
“Huh,” was all he offered. He started walking towards the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“This was…nice. I—um, I enjoyed your company. Pie was good, too.”
You giggled at his nervousness—there was something so charming about this big guy being awkward.
“Yeah, me too. We should do it again, before I go home.”
He hesitated opening the door. “When’s your flight?”
“Friday morning.”
“Monday after work. I’ll bring the plums.”
Later that night, you made the unsafe decision to take an after midnight stroll around Bucharest, choosing to potentially put your life in danger than listen to the gut wrenching sounds of Bucky’s nightmare. It was a bad one—you tried burrowing your head in all the pillows and blankets you had, but you could still hear the harrowing screams and cries. Potentially being mugged seemed a lot more appealing in that moment.
Bucky knocked on your door an hour after you got home on Monday, with plums in his hand and a request that you teach him the plum pie recipe.
“Oh Bucky, it’s really not that special. Any recipe you find on the internet will be just as good!” And you knew that was true, because your recipe was the first result when you googled ‘plum pie recipe’.
“I want to know your one. Promise I won’t get in the way.” His eyes were almost pleading, and you hated the way your heart clenched at his kicked puppy expression. You could see the exhaustion lining his eyes, how his torturous, sleepless nights were taking a toll on him. Your eyes burned with tears just looking at him.
That’s how you ended up hiding in your bathroom, staring unblinking at your phone screen trying to commit the plum pie recipe to memory.
He didn’t get in the way, just like he promised. But you could feel him hovering over your shoulder, his eyes solely focused on your hands as you made the pie. His rapt attention made you stumble a few times, completely forgetting steps and measurements.
He still didn’t talk much, only offering small grunts and hums when you explained techniques and made the occasional awkward—trying to be funny—comment.
You sat closer to him at the table this time, cheering internally when he didn’t lean away or move his chair further from you.
You let out a breathy chuckle as a thought crossed your mind.
“What?” Bucky asked curiously.
“Nothing, just had a thought.” You shook your head with a small smile, pushing around a large chunk of plum with your fork.
“Do you not get those often?”
You gasped in shocked delight, not expecting him to make a lighthearted dig at you. You looked up from your plate at him, seeing his blue eyes twinkling and an almost smirk tugging his mouth.
“Wow,” you dragged out. “And to think, I was just starting to like you…” You teased him back.
He huffed out a small laugh.
“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. What were you thinking about?” He shovelled more pie in his mouth, waiting for your response.
“You remind me of a cat.”
“What?” He laughed out, his mouth full of pie.
“You’re like a cat. Aloof, wary of people, ready to run out the nearest exit.” You spoke softly, not wanting him to perceive your words as an attack. “But, with a bit of patience and treats,” you nodded towards the pie, “you start to become curious…even trust a little, maybe. It’s not a perfect analogy—it was just a thought.”
He looked at you with a strange expression on his face—something achingly tender, with a mix of disbelief and sorrow. He didn’t answer for a minute, just watched you like he still couldn’t figure you out.
“What kind of cat would I be?”
“A black cat, for sure.”
You saw him two more times before Thursday afternoon. The first time he joined you on your morning walk around the neighbourhood, the both of you silent—basking in each other’s company and enjoying the quiet summer morning. The second time was late on Tuesday night, when you finally had enough of the backpackers bullshit and were banging on their door demanding they shut the fuck up. Bucky was there within a minute of you shouting, gently pulling you away from the door where two sleazy backpackers were leering at you.
“It’s not worth it,” he said your name softly.
“Fucking assholes,” you seethed. “I know they stole my headphones, Bucky!”
You were no match for his strength as he carried you up the stairs, your legs thrashing uselessly. “They were expensive,” you whined like a pouting toddler.
Saying goodbye to your students on Thursday was by no means easy. Even though you only taught there for a few months as part of your gap year, the kids had dug their way into your heart and left you in tears when they hugged you goodbye.
You recovered by the time Bucky knocked on your door in the late afternoon, plums in one hand and a small bunch of wildflowers in the other. You were frozen, staring at him with what you were sure was a lovestruck expression on your face.
He held the flowers out for you to grab, your hand brushing his gloved one in the process. He quickly pulled his hand back at your touch, running it through his hair as he looked everywhere but you.
“For your last day,” he said, like that explained everything. “Sorry, they’re nothing, uh, special—they were the only ones the florist had left…” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder.
You snapped out of your smitten daze, a soft giggle leaving you at his nervousness. He looked at you then, his shoulders relaxing.
“They’re perfect.”
You opened the door wider for him to come in, walking to the kitchen to put the flowers in a glass of water while he closed the door behind him.
You turned your head sideways, shooting him a teasing look. “You know…they’re going to die in a couple days. I won’t be here to look after them.”
You watched in fascination as a flush climbed up his neck, painting his cheeks red.
He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a nervous huff. “I didn’t think about that.”
“You can always break in after I’ve left, grab them for yourself before the pricks downstairs steal them.”
“We don’t want that happening,” he chuckled, putting the plums on the counter next to you. “I’m starting to see why you hate them so much.”
“You’re only seeing it now? They’ve been my number one enemies since I moved in.” You grumbled bitterly.
You rolled your shoulders back with a sigh—you didn’t want your bitterness clouding your last night with Bucky.
“Okay, let’s change the subject,” you clapped your hands together, turning to face Bucky fully. “I’m thinking one last plum pie, and maybe we can finish that movie we were watching the other night?”
“Whatever you want.”
An hour later you were both sat at the small table, the half-eaten pie between you and Bucky barely paying attention to the movie, again. His eyes were fixated on your packed suitcase and duffel bag next to the bed. He looked…sad, mournful even. There was a small crease between his furrowed brows, the sides of his mouth downturned, and he hadn’t eaten much in the last few minutes.
“Hey,” you started, voice low and soft. “You okay?”
He whipped his head back to you, his glassy eyes meeting yours for a second. “Yeah,” his voice broke faintly. He cleared his throat, looking down at the pie.
“I’m…gonna miss you.”
You sucked in a breath, the emotion in his voice making your throat feel tight. Tears pricked behind your eyes as you looked at the man in front of you. You wished you could take away all his pain, all his sadness.
You gently laid a hand on his arm, your eyes darting between his for any signs of unease—the only other time the two of you had touched was when he dragged you away from the backpackers door. His arm was solid and cold through his long-sleeve, almost unnaturally hard. His shocked eyes looked into yours as your thumb rubbed his sleeve faintly.
“I’m going to miss you, too.”
You removed your hand and looked back at the movie, a single tear slipping down your cheek.
Tension hung thick in the air, causing you to clear your throat and try relieve some of the tightness in your chest.
“You kinda look like him,” you said to Bucky, nodding towards your laptop—a close up shot of Luke Skywalker on the screen.
“Yeah, I can see it,” you continued, turning your face to see him already looking at you. “If you cut your hair short, shave the beard…” You trailed off, your eyes catching on a bit of plum on his chin.
You raised a hand without thinking, your attention transfixed on the piece of fruit and his pink lips an inch above. His stubble faintly pricked your thumb, your touch featherlight as you swiped the bit of plum away. A small gasp caught in his throat, his chin leaning towards your touch unconsciously.
Your eyes couldn’t leave his lips, a faint purple tint to them from the pie.
“You really like plums.”
“They’re meant to help with memory,” he murmured, distracted.
That caught your attention, your eyes darting up to his in question. He let out a deep exhale, the air brushing against your hand.
“I had an accident…a few years back. Can’t remember much from before, it’s—uh, it’s coming back in bits and pieces.” Your heart clenched painfully, the sorrow for his lost life bleeding through his eyes.
“Is that—,” you swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Is that what your nightmares are? Memories coming back?” You asked gently, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his chin.
His eyes widened in panic. “You—you know about the nightmares?”
You moved your hand from his chin, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you pushed a loose strand behind his ear. His body involuntarily shivered from your gentle touch.
“Yeah…I’ve known since my first night here,” you whispered. “The walls are pretty thin.”
His eyes dropped to his lap in shame. “God, I am so sorry,” he rasped out your name, his deep voice thick with emotion.
You cupped his face with both your hands, tilting his head up until his eyes met yours. “Never apologise for your pain, Bucky.” The anguish and self-hatred you saw in his eyes made yours tear up. “Can I—would it be okay if I hugged you?”
He stared at you for a long moment, then finally gave you a nod.
You stood up slowly with Bucky following your lead. You looked into his eyes once more, checking he was still comfortable with this, before stepping forward and winding your arms around his waist, your palms resting lightly on his back. He sucked in a sharp breath at the touch, his muscles going stiff under your hands. You gently rested your cheek against his chest, his heart beating fast beneath your ear. He didn’t reciprocate the hug for a moment, his arms hovering at his side like he didn’t know what to do.
“Breathe,” you whispered into his shirt. He took a few shuddering breaths in and out then raised his right arm slowly, hesitantly draping it over your shoulder. You felt some of the tension leave his body as he sunk into your embrace. His gloved hand instinctively traveled from your shoulder to the middle of your back, pulling you closer into his warmth—surprising you both.
“Sorry,” his voice was quiet, a slight tremble lacing through. “It’s…been a long time, since I last…hugged someone.” His voice cracked at the end and your heart broke into a million pieces.
You hugged him tighter, your hands clutching the back of his shirt—tethering him to you. A small sound slipped out of you, something between a gasp and a pained whimper. The lump in your throat grew bigger, spreading down your chest and sitting heavy on your heart.
He rested his chin on the top of your head, so gently you barely noticed it at first. He let out a staggering breath and then rested the weight of his head on yours fully, purposely. He moved slightly, his nose brushing against your hair as he inhaled deeply. His arm around you tightened, pulling you tight against his strong body.
“…I can’t believe you’re real.”
You croaked out a watery laugh against his chest. Fuck, he had no clue what he was doing to you—that you were going to be leaving half of your heart behind when you got on that flight in the morning.
You pulled away from him an inch, moving your hands from his back to cup his face gently. You looked into his glistening blue eyes before looking down at his lips, watching as his tongue peaked out to wet them.
“Can I kiss you?”
He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips on yours hesitantly. He sucked in a sharp breath before pressing his lips to yours firmly. You let him set the pace, letting him know he was the one in control here. His hand moved from your back to your waist, pulling you up into his chest as he deepened the kiss. A whimper caught in your throat when his tongue swept along your bottom lip, your mouth opening for him immediately. His chest rumbled with a low moan, his kisses growing more desperate. Your hand slipped from it’s place cupping his jaw, trailing along his skin before tangling in the long hair at the nape of his neck. He let out a whimper at the feeling, breaking the kiss and taking in deep breaths.
“You okay?” You asked softly.
His breathy chuckle brushed against your lips. “Yeah, more than okay.”
He kissed you again, more sure this time. Both your hands tangled in his hair, gently tugging his scalp as you kissed him with just as much desperation. His stubble scratched against your skin as he moved his lips, kissing along your jaw and making you gasp. The noise encouraged him, his kisses gaining more confidence, making their way down your neck. You titled your head back, granting him more access. He kissed and licked all over your neck, gently biting down on a spot under your ear making you release a moan. He focused on the spot, sucking and biting as you let out more moans and gasps. His hand on your waist gripped tighter, his fingers digging slightly as he pulled you flush to his body. That’s when you felt it—hard and unmistakable, pressing against your lower stomach.
You broke away from the kiss, watching his eyes flutter open to look into yours. You moved a hand from his hair, brushing your thumb against his jaw.
“Let me help you feel good.”
He swallowed audibly, his eyes leaving yours to glance at his left arm hanging stiffly at his side. You watched an internal struggle play out on his face, his darting eyes exposing his overthinking mind.
“We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with,” you said softly.
He let out a small, disbelieving chuckle before kissing you again—his mouth both achingly tender and bruisingly desperate against your own.
“Did you fall from heaven?” He whispered against your lips, walking backwards and pulling you towards the bed without breaking the kiss.
You giggled and rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up,” you mumbled.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. He took his hand off of your waist and ripped the glove off with his left hand. He brought his hand up to your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb and gazing at you reverently. You let out a little gasp, not expecting him to initiate skin to skin contact first. He leaned in to kiss you again, hungrily claiming your mouth with his. He moved his bare hand down to your hip, slipping tentative fingers under the hem of your shirt and brushing your skin—igniting your nerves and sending shivers along your body. His hand cupped your waist under your shirt, pressing your hips down ’til they were flush with his.
He let out a wrecked moan from the contact, his hips jerking against yours involuntarily. You rolled your hips experimentally, relishing when he let out a deep groan—his body vibrating beneath yours. You rolled your hips faster, spurred on by his noises and his bulge pressing deliciously against your jeans. He broke away from your mouth, dropping his head to your shoulder.
“Shit, I’m not gonna last long if—if you keep doing that.” He sounded ruined. A needy whine tore out of you, your need for Bucky overwhelming you. You ground down on him harder, the ball of desire in your core slicking your underwear and making you greedy. He moaned out your name, clutching your hip to stop your movements. He lifted his head off your shoulder, his glazed eyes meeting your own.
“Do you have a condom?” He asked, panting already.
You jumped off his lap, opening your suitcase in a rush to find a condom. You found the open—but unused—box at the bottom, grabbing a couple before joining him on the bed again. He rolled you onto your back, hovering over you with a small smirk on his face.
“Eager, are we?”
You nodded quickly in response, grabbing his face and pulling him down into a needy kiss. He gripped the hem of your shirt and slowly pulled it up and off your body, pausing to stare at your clothed breasts. He kissed down your neck, lavishing your collarbones and chest in tender, hungry kisses.
“God, you’re a work of art.” He mumbled into your skin. Your heart swelled in response, unexpected tears pricking behind your eyes. No guy has ever said anything like that to you, it’s normally ‘you’re hot’ or they don’t compliment you at all.
“Take off your pants,” he muttered. He removed himself from your body, standing at the foot of the bed to take his own jeans off, your eyes widening at the impressive bulge in his boxers. You felt more wetness gather in your core, preparing you for what was to come.
You eagerly pushed your jeans down, kicking them off your feet. He climbed back over you, holding his body up with his left arm next to your head. His right hand trailed down your torso slowly, stopping at the wet patch of your panties. He pressed down on it, pulling a desperate whimper from you, your hips rolling up to his touch. He pulled your underwear down your legs one-handed, throwing them somewhere behind him.
He pulled his boxers down to his knees, grabbing one of the foil squares on the bed next to you and ripping it open with his teeth. He rolled the condom down his cock, gasping from the sensitivity.
He leaned down to kiss you tenderly. “Still wanna do this?” He asked breathlessly.
“Please, Bucky.” You whimpered.
With his mouth on yours, he lined himself up and pushed in slowly. You both gasped at the feeling—he was the biggest you’ve had and you couldn’t control your walls clenching down on him. A pained moan tore from his chest as you gripped him tight, your hands winding through his hair and tugging the dark strands.
He mumbled curses, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He pushed in more, and you let out a sound you’d never heard before—the stretch of him sending you to another world. He started off with slow thrusts, letting you adjust to his size.
“More,” you moaned against his mouth. He picked up the pace, hitting the spot that had your back arching and stars forming behind your eyes. You clenched down on him hard, his hips stuttering and head dropping onto your chest at the feeling.
“Christ, shit—I’m not gonna last long.” He whimpered, his thrusts starting to lose rhythm. He moved his hand to your centre, finding your throbbing bundle of nerves and rubbing firm circles. Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, the fire in your core spreading through your veins.
Bucky thrusted a few more times before coming, your name slipping from his lips in a half moan, half whimper. He continued thrusting into you, his release long and overwhelming. He doubled his efforts on your clit, sending you over the edge with a sharp gasp of his name. It wasn’t an all-consuming, white hot pleasure but it was good. Warm, like golden sun rays spreading through your body.
He laid his head on your chest, the both of you panting after your releases. You raked a hand through his hair, rubbing soothing circles on his scalp. He shuddered at the feeling, tears slipping from his eyes and wetting your chest.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For making me feel human.”
You woke up before six the next morning, finding cold sheets next to you where Bucky once was. Sitting on the small kitchen table was your stolen headphones, a ripped piece of paper with chicken scratch handwriting next to them.
You were right
- Bucky
A week later you were at your parents place in Philly, sitting on the floor in their lounge sorting their stuff into boxes for donation or storage. Your mom turned the TV up louder, drawing your attention to the breaking news story. There on the screen was a video of the man officials suspected bombed the United Nations—James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Bucky.
Oh, shit.
Present day - Brooklyn, New York
The referee’s whistle shrieked loudly, piercing your ears and signalling the end of the soccer game. You had little time to prepare for the blur of messy dark braids and mud sprinting towards you, colliding with your legs and making you stumble back.
“I did it, mama! I didn’t let a single goal in!”
“I saw, peanut—I am so proud of you!” You squatted down and hugged your daughter tightly. “Did you have fun?”
She bounced in your arms, nodding vigorously. You pulled back, seeing the beaming grin on her face—proudly displaying the small gap in her top front teeth. She lost her first tooth the week before and she was ecstatic when the tooth fairy visited her—she tried to stay up two hours past her bedtime to ‘catch’ the tooth fairy, but fortunately for you she was out like a log long before you went to sleep.
“Can we get ice cream? Pretty please?” She asked, her blue eyes wide and bottom lip jutted out in a small pout—the puppy dog expression pulling on your heart strings.
You stood up, combing the loose strands back from her face and wiping a smudge of mud off her forehead.
“Hmm, how about we go home first and get cleaned up?” The both of you headed towards the field’s exit, waving goodbye to her teammates and their parents.
She rolled her eyes. “But home is far away, the ice cream store is closer!” Where she got her attitude from, you had no idea. Well, you did—while she was the spitting image of her father, her personality was a mirror of your own.
“You have a great point, Jamie. But—” you leaned towards her and took an audible sniff of her hair, dramatically taking a big step back and holding your nose. “—you’re stinky. We need to get you cleaned up for the public’s sake.”
She let out a high-pitched giggle, a familiar smile gracing your face at the sound. It was the most beautiful sound—your daughters joy was all that mattered to you. It meant you were doing something right.
“Okay,” she dragged out. “Does that mean I get two scoops?”
“What?! Two scoops? You won’t be able to sleep after that, bug.”
The two of you made your way down the street, walking the normal ten minute route back home. She continued to try her luck, trying to guilt trip you into giving her more sugar and you were close to breaking once—when her big eyes glistened with tears—but you held strong even when your heart tugged. God, what you would do for those baby blues.
You were halfway home when a group of men in suits stepped out of the cafe ten metres ahead of you. They were taking up the whole sidewalk, laughing obnoxiously and all exuding alpha male energy. You pulled Jamie closer to you out of instinct, your eyes scanning for an open gap in the group of men when something—someone—caught your eye.
He looked…older, more refined. His hair was slightly shorter, the once styled strands tousled—likely from him running his hands through his hair. His suit was tailored to him perfectly, the faded blue and dark grey combination making his heavy stubble stand out. He held his head high, his shoulders rolled back in a quietly domineering stance. He looked confident, comfortable even.
You stopped in your tracks, your heart beating wildly in your chest. The world around you faded, your attention focused solely on him as he shook his head with a small laugh, a faint smile curving his lips.
Bucky Barnes, in the flesh.
Shit. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Jamie’s little hand tugged on yours, confused as to why you stopped walking.
“Mama?”
You sucked in a sharp breath, reality crashing down on you—along with a bucket of anxiety and fear.
You tightened your grip on her hand, spinning the both of you around and hurrying in the direction you came from.
“What’s wrong? Where are we going?” Jamie asked in her sweet small voice.
You brushed a hand over her head, tucking loose strands behind her hair. “Nothing’s wrong, peanut. I just—you were right, it makes sense to get ice cream now!”
She instantly perked up, her little feet walking faster than you—dragging you towards the store.
“Finally! Can I get two scoops?”
You nodded in a daze, your mind racing. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, honey.”
Had he seen you? Had he seen Jamie?
You spent countless sleepless nights tossing and turning over the past five years, playing out millions of different scenarios. You had numerous scripts drafted in your head, what you would say to him—how you would tell him he had a child, a daughter. But seeing him a few feet away from you, alive and well—and so fucking handsome—your mind went blank.
It wasn’t the right time, you told yourself. Other people were around—you couldn’t put Jamie in that situation.
Trying to get a sugar crazed Jamie to bathe was like trying to tame a sticky-fingered tornado. She jumped over furniture, slid between your legs, and slipped through crevices like she was boneless. You were starting to regret enrolling her in taekwondo classes.
“The hell? How are you moving like that?” You flopped on the couch in defeat, the pounding in your head exacerbated from chasing her around the apartment.
You blinked and suddenly a jar was shoved in your face, half full of crumpled dollar notes, glittery pink and purple letters spelling out ‘swear jar’ on the white label.
“You said a swear word!”
You pounced on her, securing your arms around her waist and pulling her tight against you. You blew raspberries on her face and neck, holding her tighter as she squirmed.
“Let me go!” She squealed through giggles, trying to wriggle out of your arms.
“Not a chance, peanut.”
After her bedtime routine that took twice as long with the sugar in her system, you sunk into the couch with a glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other.
Your phone shook slightly in your grip, anxiety pinching your chest. The last time you looked up Bucky on the internet was over a year ago; you found out he was saving the world alongside Captain America and had been pardoned of his crimes from when he was the Winter Soldier. It was hard to process—that the gentle man you had spent a tender night with in Bucharest, the man that was Jamie’s father, was off saving the world when the world had been anything but kind to him.
But now, you knew he was in the same city—the same borough—as you, and you couldn’t keep running from the truth.
Ever since that night you’ve felt an ache in your bones, like you had left a part of yourself behind in that shitty apartment. You missed him, but you were so confused. After the UN bombing you tried to find out everything you could about him, and when the two pink lines appeared clear as day on the pregnancy test you knew you had to tell him. But, he had disappeared—gone off the face of the earth and you had no ways to contact him. You thought he had died.
Then the blip happened. Jamie and you came back to find a world that had changed—that had forgotten about you. Your apartment in Philly had new residents, all your belongings gone—you had taken Jamie for a walk in the park and then suddenly five years had passed when you blinked. You moved to Brooklyn to live with your parents while you rebuilt your life, and keeping Jamie safe in a world that was torn apart was all that mattered. The Avengers had brought back half of the world, and that’s when you found out Bucky was alive—his face plastered on the TV screen along with dozens of other superheroes. You didn’t know how to reach out and you didn’t know if you wanted to—you and Jamie were just finding your footing and you didn’t want anything to jeopardise that. And truthfully, you were scared.
When Jamie asked about her dad you told her that you had lost contact when the blip happened, and that you were looking for him. You told her he was once in the army and fought for your country, that he took down bad guys like it was nothing. She occasionally asked, “have you found daddy yet?” and your heart broke every time you looked into her bright, hopeful eyes—the exact same shade of blue that you had fallen for over plum pie.
Taking a long swig of wine, you typed his name into google—your thumb shaking as you hit the search button.
And there he was.
Congressman James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Representative for Brooklyn.
A memory from two weeks prior surfaced, when you were slumped over your home desk—trying not to panic over the next months budget. Jamie had begged to join a swim club, even with her already busy schedule of school, soccer, and taekwondo. You were starting to struggle on your teacher’s salary, but you couldn’t say no to her. You wanted to provide her with everything she wanted and more.
You were barely paying attention to your mom on the phone, gossiping about brunch with her book club friends earlier that day.
“You’ll never guess who we saw—that new Congressman, the handsome one. You know, I heard that he’s single…”
You sighed at her tone, knowing what she was suggesting. “Great, I’ll make sure to tell dad he’s got competition.”
“Oh, hush! That’s not what I was implying and you know it.” You dropped your head onto the desk with a groan. “It’s about time you put yourself out there, give dating a go again. You never know who you’ll meet.”
“Mom, I’m busy—“
“We’re worried about you, honey. All you do is work and take care of Jamie—who takes care of you?”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me, thank you very much. Jamie and I are happy on our own.” You mumbled, a headache starting to pound against your temple.
There was a pause on her end, and you braced yourself for what was coming.
“…Have you—has there been any updates on Jamie’s father?”
“No—look, sorry, I’m busy with school stuff. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” You ended the call without waiting for your mom’s goodbye, guilt gripping your chest like it always does when someone brings him up.
Little did you both know, the congressman she was gushing about was Jamie’s father.
You gulped down the rest of your wine, saving the number for his office in your phone.
“What the fuck.” You muttered, your voice echoing in the quiet apartment. You had no clue what you were going to do.
Jamie’s giggles could be heard from across the grocery store, bringing an unconscious smile to your face. She was with your mom in the bakery section, giving her opinion on what her grandpa’s birthday cake should be. You could already picture the awestruck expression on her face—no doubt her nose was pressed against the glass with wide eyes taking in all the baked goods.
You were in the fruit and vegetables section, gathering ingredients for your plum pie. It had become a tradition without meaning to—baking the pie for your loved ones on special occasions, or even when they just needed comfort. It was a staple in your kitchen now, you had even altered the recipe throughout the years, truly making it your own.
In the weeks after you left Bucharest, you would find yourself making it when you missed him. When you couldn’t get to sleep at night, the sounds of his nightmares echoing in your mind, you were in the kitchen making the goddamn pie. And then when your pregnancy cravings kicked in, all you wanted was that stupid pie. And him. But you couldn’t have him, so the sugar filled pastry would have to do.
Walking through the section, you felt your phone sitting heavy in your pocket, weighed down by the numerous email drafts in your inbox and his office number in your contacts.
You were focused on selecting the right apples—Jamie was seriously picky with them—when a deep voice called out your name. A low, gravelly, familiar voice—one that you hadn’t heard in years.
You turned around and there he was, standing a few feet away, wearing a similar suit to when you saw him outside the cafe. His hair was just as messy, dark strands swooping on his cheeks, making his blue eyes look even more electric, intense. You watched as they widened in surprise, an awed smile overtaking his face. He took a small step towards you and you resisted the urge to take one back, your brain struggling to comprehend that Bucky was right in front of you.
“It really is you.” He spoke softly, dazed.
You blinked.
This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. You were meant to meet at a cafe, or a park—a safe, common ground. Not at your local grocery store after five pm on a Friday, your hair frizzy from a long day at work and running around after your daughter.
“Bucky, hi,” you mumbled, still in shock.
“You—you look great, beautiful.” He shook his head as if in disbelief, his eyes trailing up and down your figure.
Your nerves lit up in response, your body begging you to step closer—to close the gap between you and the man you had spent the past five years yearning for.
“How are you? Are you still teaching?” Your breath caught in your throat—he remembered. He remembered you, and he remembered the brief conversation you’d had about teaching during your gap year.
Then, as if fate had orchestrated this whole interaction, your daughter came skipping over, a big giddy grin on her face.
“Look, mama! Nana said I could get Pop the Captain America cake for his birthday!”
Bucky watched closely as Jamie crashed into your legs, your hand instinctively rubbing her back in soothing circles—more for you than her. You watched his eyes drift over her, starting at her messy dark braids, then taking in her taekwondo uniform, finally ending on her crocs—covered in princess and Captain America charms.
She peered into the basket in your hands. “Oooh! Are you making plum pie tonight?!” You think the whole store heard her yell.
Bucky’s eyes shot up to yours, a stunned and confused expression on his face. He looked speechless.
Jamie turned around, finally noticing the other adult in front of her. You watched the infectious grin take over her face, proudly showing off her missing tooth. She waved to Bucky. “Hi!”
You had taught her the importance of stranger danger—well, as much as you could teach a five year old—but her kindness was built into her DNA, she couldn’t help smiling at and greeting every stranger she met.
Bucky was still speechless, his wide eyes looking into your daughters—seeing the same blue you imagined he saw in the mirror. He let out a stunned breath, his body swaying slightly like the rug had been pulled out from under him—because it had. You knew he knew.
“Sorry, hun. I don’t know what you feed her, but I’ve never seen a kid run that fast.” Your mom panted as she joined the accidental family reunion, the Captain America cake in her hands. She looked at the man in front of you, doing a visual double take as she recognised him.
“Oh! Congressman Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stuck her hand out to Bucky, shooting you a side-eye that screamed “what the fuck aren’t you telling me.” Bucky shook her hand absentmindedly, his eyes not leaving Jamie for a split second.
You were stood frozen, unable to think. Both your mom’s and Jamie’s eyes were watching you curiously. Why weren’t you saying anything?
Bucky finally looked away from Jamie, his confused yet hopeful eyes meeting your panicked ones. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, at a loss for words. He licked them nervously then tried again.
“…Is she—“
His voice brought you back to earth, back to your body.
“It was really great seeing you, Bucky—I hope you’re well! We’re running late—like super late, so we need to get going.” You grabbed one of Jamie’s hands tightly, using it to pull her with you and to ground yourself. Your mom hesitantly followed, her eyes darting between you and Bucky—suspicion written clearly on her face. “We’ll—I’ll see you later!” You said to him over your shoulder, scurrying towards the checkout as fast as you could.
Your hands shook as you bagged your groceries, barely noticing that you had only gotten half of what was on your list. You took in a deep lungful of air once the three of you were outside.
Your mom called your name softly yet sternly. “What was that in there? How do you know—did you call him Bucky?”
You sighed, exasperated. “Mom, it’s nothing—“
“No, that was not nothing! You’re acting strange—what’s going on?”
“Please, just drop it!” You nodded towards Jamie next to you, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. “We’ll talk about it later, promise.”
She narrowed her eyes at you but ultimately let it go.
The next morning you were rushing around the lounge, struggling to get Jamie into her soccer kit as she zoomed through the apartment.
“Jesus—just sit still, peanut. Don’t you wanna go play with your friends?” She nodded eagerly, stopping her mad dash around the place so you could get her shirt on. She didn’t stay still for long though, running back into her room with one sock on. “How do you always have so much energy?” You muttered to yourself.
Three heavy raps sounded against your front door. You knew who it was immediately—who else would be knocking at your door before nine am on a Saturday.
Your heartbeat hammered in your throat as you walked to the door slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. You took a deep breath in and grasped the doorknob, stopping for a second to collect yourself.
You opened the door and were greeted by the sight of Bucky, looking devastatingly handsome in a blue t-shirt and black leather jacket. It should be criminal to look that good so early in the morning. His eyes met yours and you could see the emotion swirling in them—hope, determination, and something that looked too close to hurt for your liking. Shit.
You opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it.
“We need to talk.”
“Bucky, hi—how do you know where I live?”
“I have my ways.”
He looked over your shoulder, straining his neck to see into your apartment behind you.
“Look, I agree we need to talk—“
“Why did you run off?”
And yup, there it was—the hurt crystal clear in his voice.
You closed your eyes briefly, the familiar clench of guilt overwhelming your chest.
“I—it wasn’t my intention to…run off, I just—“ You stopped, suddenly at a loss for words. He looked at you expectantly, the exhaustion from a sleepless night evident on his face.
“You what? Were you ever gonna tell me?”
The accusation in his tone slapped you across the face.
“Bucky, that’s not fair—you don’t even know—“
And, like usual, your daughters timing was impeccable.
“We’re gonna be late!” She barrelled towards you, knocking you off balance as she slammed into the backs of your legs.
Bucky instinctively grabbed your upper arms, holding you steady as you regained your balance. Your nerves buzzed alive under his hands and you couldn’t help but notice—no gloves, he wasn’t wearing gloves anymore.
He stepped back from you just as quick, and your body felt the loss of his touch immediately. Goddamn traitor.
He squatted down to Jamie’s level, smiling at her with the softest look you’ve ever seen on the man.
“Hi, I’m Bucky.”
You were suddenly annoyed with him. Coming to talk to you unannounced was one thing, but introducing himself to your daughter when you hadn’t had a chance to place boundaries—yeah, that pissed you off.
“Hi, I’m Jamie!”
The look he shot you had some of your anger dulling, the guilt you were so familiar with clouding over. You both knew the name Jamie was no mistake, and the flurry of emotions that crossed his face showed what the name meant to him.
“Jamie?” His voice wavered. “That’s a great name.”
She beamed brightly at him and you felt the world shift beneath the three of you. There was no going back now.
“Are you coming to my soccer game?”
That shocked both of you.
“Only if your mom wants me there.” And then two pairs of blue eyes are staring at you—one pleading, the other just waiting, letting you know the ball is in your court. And it’s not fair.
“Jamie, we need to talk about you inviting strangers out with us.” Bucky visibly flinched at the word ‘strangers’—it hit like a punch to your gut. “But, sure. Bucky can come with us.”
The ten minute walk to the soccer field was…nice. Bucky fit in like the missing puzzle piece, and it was doing complicated things to your heart. To be fair, Jamie talked the whole time. She was excited to tell someone new all her stories from school, yapping his ear off about everything she could think of. And Bucky was lapping it up. He had a soft smile permanently plastered on his face, his eyes on Jamie the whole time. From the second you stepped outside of your building, he positioned himself to be on the car side of the street, angling his body to protect Jamie—making your heart flip in your chest even more, and waking up something dangerous in your core.
There was no missing the looks sent your way from the other parents when you arrived—especially the looks your fellow soccer moms shot Bucky. Great, the last thing you wanted was Jamie to be stuck in the middle of their rumour mill.
Jamie sprinted towards her friends already warming up for their game, leaving you and Bucky alone for the first time. You drifted towards the other side of the field, putting distance between you and the gossip hungry parents. No one else needed to be privy of your conversation.
The air around you and Bucky grew heavy, neither of you speaking for a few minutes as you watched Jamie hug her friend after they fell, asking if they were okay. An overwhelming sense of pride took over you, tears warming your eyes at the sight of your daughter being so kind, so caring.
Bucky cleared his throat softly.
“She’s…happy,” he said wistfully.
“Yeah,” you mumbled softly. “Means I’m doing something right.”
He looked at you then, his eyes scanning your face as you kept your attention trained on Jamie. You couldn’t look at him. The exhaustion from the last few years was weighing heavily on you, and you knew one glance at Bucky would have you breaking.
He turned back, watching Jamie put her oversized goalie gloves on, chuckling softly as they dwarfed her hands.
“She looks like my sister.”
That had you looking away from your daughter, focusing on the man next to you offering more information about himself. You didn’t know he had a sister.
“Becca was full of energy at that age, too. We both were,” he shook his head with a small laugh. “Ma used to say our house was tornado central with all the damage we caused.”
You let out an amused huff. “I figured she got her energy from you—I was more on the reserved side as a kid. She’s now in three different after school sports activities, but I think they just make her more energised.”
He made eye contact with you briefly. “Three, huh? That’s…a lot.”
You both grew silent again, watching Jamie dive for a ball and successfully defending the goal.
Bucky let out a heavy sigh, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.
“Were you gonna tell me?” He asked again, no accusation in his voice this time—a pensive sadness in its place. It only made you feel worse, the tears from earlier blurring your eyes.
“Bucky, I—“ you took in a deep breath, trying to control your emotions. “I was planning to, I swear.” You kept your eyes on Jamie, her smile bringing you some comfort.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I tried looking for you—I really tried. But, you just vanished…I thought you were dead.”
He sucked in a sharp breath at that, looking down at the ground.
“I didn’t want to go through the pregnancy alone, I was fucking terrified. Then, Jamie was born and she became my whole world—I would do anything for her.” Your throat grew tight and a single tear slid down your cheek.
“After the blip, I could only focus on her, on building a better life for her. And then I found out you were alive, that you had helped save the world, and I was…scared. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, and Jamie’s father—you—being a superhero, putting your life in danger…it was a risk I didn’t want to take. I didn’t want you in our lives if you were just going to be…ripped away from us. It would break Jamie—it would break me.”
Your voice cracked and Bucky lifted his head, looking at you with concern. You brushed the tears off your cheeks and continued.
“Plus, I don’t know if you know this, but getting in contact with the Avengers when you’re a civilian…it’s pretty fucking hard.”
He let out a small laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah, that tracks.”
“I thought about reaching out last year, when I saw you were fighting alongside Captain America—who Jamie is obsessed with, by the way—but I just couldn’t get past that fear. It was easier to…live without you than potentially have you torn from us. Well, that’s what I tried to tell myself.”
You both watched as Jamie hit the ground, hard. Bucky stepped forward instinctively, like he was about to run to her side. She recovered quickly, jumping back up with a giggle.
“She’s tough,” he mumbled with a small smile.
He turned to you, determination and longing shining in his eyes.
“I get that. I get why you didn’t reach out, you were putting Jamie’s safety, her happiness, first.” He let out a humourless chuckle, “it’s a fucking complicated position to be in, I’ll give you that.”
“I want to be in her life, in your life—if you’ll have me.”
You looked back at Jamie in time to see her waving at you, at both of you.
“Yeah,” you muttered softly. “I don’t think she would let you leave, even if you tried.”
“Good.”
You both settled in to a comfortable silence, before you couldn’t resist asking what you’ve wanted to know for the last five years.
“Where were you—“
“What does she know—“
You both laughed softly. You tipped your head towards him. “You go first.”
“What does she know…about me?”
Yeah, you were expecting that.
“I told her you were in the army, that you fought bad guys…that we lost contact after the blip. She asks for updates, wanting to know where her daddy is.”
His brows pinched, his mouth trembling slightly like he was holding back tears. He cleared his throat twice.
“How do we tell her?”
There it was, the question you had been dreading—because you had no fucking clue.
“…I don’t know—hope she figures it out herself?”
The look he shot you was deadly.
You sighed. “Fine, I’ll sit her down one night, tell her gently.”
“I want to be there.”
Of course he does. Of course he just walks back into your life and wants to be involved in everything. Half of you is fucking thrilled he’s here and wanting to be part of your lives, but the other half is terrified he’ll think it’s too much and leave you both—or worse, die and leave you broken.
His eyes watched you carefully and you knew he could sense your internal battle.
“I’m not going to leave, I promise.”
And, because it was the reason you suffered many restless nights, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.
“What happened to you? After Bucharest?”
He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a breath.
“I was in Wakanda. I…couldn’t trust my mind, and they helped me. Brought me a bit of peace.”
You could see it, how different he was to the man who once lived across from you. He was still gentle, soft, but more sure of himself—more confident in who he was. He no longer walked around like he was ashamed to be alive.
“And now…you’re a Congressman? I’ll admit I’m a little shocked, it’s quite the difference to the guy who could barely make eye contact with me.” You teased lightly.
He scoffed, shaking his head with a small smirk.
“Trust me, speaking in front of Congress is much easier than talking to the pretty girl across the hall.”
Your body flushed with warmth. Was he seriously flirting with you?
You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your emotions in check. You were not going to crumble for him that quickly.
“We need to set ground rules, if we want this to work. For Jamie’s sake.”
He nodded solemnly, catching the seriousness in your tone.
“No showing up unannounced—we have a routine, and Jamie can get easily distracted.”
“Noted.”
“Communication is important, okay? Let me know if you want to see her, or if you have to cancel last minute. We have to be honest with each other—you need to tell me if it’s too much. If we’re too much.”
“Not gonna happen,” Bucky muttered.
“And absolutely no funny business—I’m serious, Bucky. I’m not jeopardising her relationship with you because we couldn’t keep it in our pants.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped, but he nodded regardless.
“Whatever you say, doll.”
You glared at him when he said ‘doll’—that was not helping.
“Should I come ‘round tonight to tell her? I can bring dinner.” Bucky was rocking back and forth on his feet, barely containing his eagerness. You bit your lip to suppress a smile.
“No, not tonight. She has a playdate this afternoon and she’s always a nightmare to calm down afterwards.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
You rolled your eyes, the smile breaking out across your face.
“Fine.”
“…Any chance you can make that plum pie?”
Jamie was lying on the couch, her head hanging off the side when Bucky knocked on the door the next evening. You had told her earlier that he was coming around for dinner and she had barely sat still since. It was a pain in the ass, if you were being honest. She clung to your torso like a koala as you tried to vacuum the apartment, making the chore take twice as long. Her crayons and toys covered the dining table—you had already put them back in her room three times that afternoon but she kept on bringing them back out. And there was a purple stain on her chin—which you were fairly certain was a bit of plum pie mixture she had swiped when you turned your back.
“I’ll get the door!” She all but screamed as she ran towards it.
“I hope you like burgers,” came Bucky’s deep voice from behind you. You turned to find Jamie giving him a tour of the apartment, starting with the small kitchen you were standing in.
She gasped, delighted. “They’re my favourite!”
“Thank you,” you said, taking the bags from his hands and putting them on the counter.
“Of course,” Bucky replied, his eyes traveling down your body before meeting your eyes. You tried to not let that affect you, busying yourself with gathering plates and napkins.
“Peanut, can you please grab your stuff off the table?” You asked Jamie. “Don’t forget to wash your hands, too.”
Jamie grumbled her objections but did as you asked, huffing as she gathered her mess of toys.
You turned to Bucky. “Sorry for the mess, I cleaned earlier but…”
Bucky nodded, a small smile on his face. “Tornado central.”
You grinned at him. “Exactly.”
Jamie ran back to the kitchen, grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him towards the lounge. “C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.” She was no match for his super soldier strength yet he let her drag him around with no complaint.
You put the finishing touches on the plum pie, sticking it in the oven before setting the dining table for dinner—all while listening to Jamie show Bucky your quaint apartment.
“And finally, this is mommy’s room—“
“Peanut, I don’t think he needs to see that.” You raised your voice slightly, rushing down the hallway to see them already in your doorway. You did not need Bucky in your room—that would just open pandora’s box and you were not prepared to deal with that.
“Your mom’s right, I don’t need to see her room,” Bucky said, though the small smirk on his face said something else entirely. You really hoped he didn’t catch the bra hanging from the laundry basket.
“Let’s eat before it get’s cold, yeah?” Jamie didn’t need to be told twice, forgetting her tour and sprinting down the hallway.
You and Bucky followed behind her, and he was an inch too close for your liking.
“Red, huh?” He muttered lowly. Your body went hot—he definitely saw the bra.
The burgers were good, like really good, and you weren’t afraid to tell him.
“Where did you get these? I think they’re the best I’ve had in Brooklyn—wait, no, in the city.” You practically moaned.
Bucky’s smirk was bright and smug. “It’s a small hole-in-the-wall near my office. I can take you there sometime.”
Jamie was bouncing in her chair, happily nibbling away at her food—unaware that her life was about to change in a second. You made eye contact with Bucky, both your faces falling serious. It was time.
“Hey, Jamie? There’s something I—we—need to talk to you about.” You spoke to her gently, putting your burger down and wiping your hands. Her bright eyes met yours and you knew you had her attention.
“You know how I said I was looking for your dad?” She nodded eagerly, her eyes briefly flicking to Bucky. She was a smart kid, you could practically see the gears in her brain turning.
“Well, I—uh,” you stuttered. Now that you were here, your mind had gone blank. How the hell do you tell your daughter her dad is sitting right next to her?
Bucky placed a hand on yours, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. He shot you a look saying “I’ve got this” before turning to Jamie fully.
He sucked in a breath. “I’m…I’m your dad, Jamie. And I would love to be in your life, if you’re okay with that.”
Bucky had barely finished his sentence before Jamie lunged, wrapping her little arms tight around his neck—no doubt smearing sauce on his shirt and hair.
He was taken aback for a quick second before returning her hug, his hands gently cradling her back. And that’s when you noticed it—his arm, the left one. You had seen it in pictures, on TV, but never in the flesh. His vibranium thumb was rubbing soft circles on her back, soothing her as sobs wracked through her—her little frame overcome with emotion. A tear slipped down your cheek as you watched them—overwhelmed with guilt from keeping them apart for so long, and something else warm blooming in your chest.
Bucky pressed a kiss to her head, closing his eyes tightly like he was fighting back tears. He pulled back slightly, his hands moving to brush away the tears on Jamie’s cheeks.
“Does this mean you’re moving in?” Jamie asked sweetly.
He let out a watery chuckle. “No, no I’ll be staying at my place. It’s not far from here.” His eyes shot up to yours quickly before continuing. “But, I’ll come ‘round as much as I can. And, I’ll be at all your soccer games—promise.”
By this point she had fully crawled onto his lap, bouncing happily in his arms. “What about taekwondo and swimming? Will you be there?”
“If I don’t have to be away for work.”
She pouted at him, opening her mouth to argue when the oven’s timer went off. She jumped off his lap, running the short distance to the kitchen. “Plum pie!” She squealed, excited.
You put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered. He looked at you with glassy eyes that you were sure mirrored your own.
“Get the pie, I’ll clean this up.” He nodded towards the mess of burgers and napkins.
You shooed Jamie away from the oven and she climbed back onto Bucky’s lap—natural, like it was where she belonged. You put your hands on the counter, dipping your head down and taking a few breaths. This was going better than you imagined, but it was also dangerously twisting your heart.
“You’ve got no idea how much I missed this,” Bucky muttered, looking at the pie in your hands. His eyes dragged up your body, meeting your own with a darkened gaze—it was obvious he was not just talking about the pie.
Your hands shook imperceptibly as you plated up three slices. Bucky was the first to dive in, letting out a low moan as he tasted the pie for the first time in five years. Jamie giggled at him from her place in his lap.
And you? You were frozen in your chair, a warmth spreading in your core from his moan. It was fucking sinful, and he had no right to make a noise like that at your dining table—even if it was him showing his appreciation for your baking. It felt like it was more than that.
You were in the kitchen cleaning up while Jamie had convinced Bucky to sit on the lounge floor with her, showing him her favourite toys. You looked over your shoulder, catching her holding his vibranium arm in her little hands—gazing at it in wonder.
Then you watched the realisation hit her.
“…You know Captain America.” It wasn’t a question.
“Sam? Yeah, I know him.”
And then she was shrieking, hugging the arm tightly.
“Can I meet him? Please, please, pretty please?!”
Bucky laughed loudly at her excitement. “Yeah, princess. I’ll see what I can do.”
You watched as he stood up slowly with Jamie hanging from his arm. She swung on it, giggling nonstop. A smile spread across your face, despite the way your ovaries were screaming at the sight. The ‘no funny business’ boundary you set was looking a lot less appealing now, and it had barely been twenty-four hours.
The three of you were stood at your front door, Jamie clinging onto Bucky’s leg like her life depended on it. You and Bucky had your phones out, syncing your calendars so you were aware of each others schedules, routines.
“You weren’t joking,” Bucky muttered, looking at the colour coded schedule you had for all of Jamie’s activities. You rolled your eyes—you took your schedule very seriously, there was no joking when it came to having your daughter’s life prepared.
Bucky squatted down, pulling Jamie into a hug. “I’ve gotta go now, angel. You be good for your mom.” He tried to pull back but she held on tighter, her little fists clenching his jacket.
“No,” she whined. “Please don’t go.”
“The sugar crash, right on schedule.” You mumbled, gently prying her hands off of him. She let out a cry as you gathered her in your arms, her little hands reaching for Bucky. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. He gave you a small smile and shake of his head, stepping forward to kiss Jamie’s forehead.
You were exhausted by the time you tucked Jamie into bed. She cried for half an hour after Bucky left, and it fucking broke your heart. You weren’t expecting her to get attached to him so quickly, but that was your daughter—she loved with her whole heart. And you couldn’t blame her, you felt like crying after he left too. All your feelings for him came rushing back as you watched him with your daughter—his daughter.
This was not going to be easy on your heart.
A few weeks passed and everything felt so right. Bucky kept true to his promise—he didn’t miss a single one of her games and came to her taekwondo and swimming classes when he wasn’t needed at the Capitol. He spoiled her with gifts—even when you told him not to—and he had started spoiling you too. You tried to brush him off with an eye roll every time, but the flush on your cheeks gave you away.
First, it was a nice bottle of wine, one you would never buy for yourself. Next, a box of expensive chocolates he had been “gifted” and didn’t want—you called bullshit. Then, it was a massage voucher—when you tried to refuse it, he promptly said “it’s either this or I give you one myself, doll” and you snatched it out of his hands before he could see the deep red crawling up your neck. The more he did for you and Jamie, the harder it was for you to ignore the way your heart tugged towards him—the way your body lit up every time he threw you that secret smirk. You were growing more frustrated each day and it was starting to show.
You were sitting in the break room at work, half paying attention to the geography teacher who was gossiping about one of her sophomore classes—apparently two of her students had a cute back and forth and she was coming up with a plan to push them together.
She called your name, looking at you expectantly.
“Huh? Sorry, bit out of it today,” you muttered, your cheeks growing warm.
“I was talking about Sophie and Ben—they’re in your third period English class, right? Don’t you think they would be cute together?” She all but squealed.
You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed them. I don’t know if we should be meddling in our students relationships, though. Besides, it’d just make me feel depressed about my lacking love life…” You trailed off, your mind already wandering to Bucky and the look on his face when Jamie called him ‘daddy’ the night before.
Your colleague dropped into the chair next to you, chin in her hand as she peered at you in interest. “Oh? Are you looking to date?” You were about to shake your head, but she continued. “My cousin just moved here and I think you would be perfect for each other! You’re definitely his type.”
You rolled your eyes, the last thing you wanted was to be set up on a blind date. “No, I’m not dating. It’s fine, really—“
But she was already grabbing your unlocked phone, pulling up your calendar and looking for a free slot. She found one—next Saturday, when Jamie would be staying the night at Bucky’s for the first time. She typed on your phone, setting up an appointment for eight pm—“Date with Michael!”
“I’ll text you his details!”
There was no way in hell you were going to text him to arrange a date. You already had a date scheduled that night—your bath, a bottle of red Bucky had given you, and the toy you hadn’t unboxed yet.
Later that night, Bucky was in your kitchen drying dishes slowly, a faraway look on his face. You had just tucked Jamie in for the night, and he didn’t notice when you returned to the kitchen.
“Hey,” you started. “You okay?”
“Who’s Michael?” He asked gruffly, his eyes boring into yours.
You furrowed your brows at him, very confused. “Michael? I don’t know a Michael.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning the screen to show you an appointment in your synced calendar—the appointment you had forgotten to delete.
You let out a breathy chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Oh, that. My coworker was trying to set me up with her cousin, she put that in my calendar.” You shrugged.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” He looked pissed.
“Tell you what, Bucky? I’m not going.”
“I think I have a right to know if you’re dating, doll.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at you. Fuck, he looked hot.
“I’m not dating, Buck.” He leaned against the counter behind him, still staring at you intensely.
“But, you would tell me if you were?” You were starting to get aggravated, this felt like an interrogation.
“What does it matter to you?” You said, voice louder than intended.
“We have a child together. I should know if you’re bringing random guys home.”
Now you were mad. He made it sound like you were out hooking up with any guy that showed you attention.
You stepped towards him, pressing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest. “For your information,” you seethed, glaring into his darkened eyes. “I haven’t slept with anyone since Bucharest. Don’t you dare imply I’m hooking up with randoms.”
You watched as his pupils dilated, his eyes turning almost black. His vibranium arm whirred as he clenched the counter behind him.
“You haven’t been with anyone else?” He asked, voice dangerously low.
You hadn’t meant to let that slip, to tell him that he was the last guy you slept with.
You took a step back, dropping your hand and putting much needed space between you two. When did it get so hot in here?
“It’s a bit hard to find time for yourself when you’re raising a kid solo.” You were sick of the focus being on your nonexistent sex life.
“What about you, Bucky? Now that Jamie is going to be staying at yours, I have a right to know who you’re dating.” You were only asking for Jamie’s sake. It had nothing to do with the twisting in your gut at the thought of Bucky with anyone else.
He stepped forward, crowding you against the counter behind you. His eyes did a slow drag up your body, lingering on your lips for a few seconds.
“I’ve got all I need right in front of me.”
Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your breath hitching. This was not the Bucky you knew in Bucharest, he was never this forward.
“No funny business,” you whispered, though there was no heat to it.
“It’s not funny business, it’s the truth. Thought you wanted me to be honest, doll.”
You glared at him. How dare he use your words against you.
You pushed at his chest and he took a step back, giving you some much needed breathing room.
You went back to cleaning up the kitchen, Bucky falling in step beside you after a minute.
There was a buzz in the air between you and Bucky, your body hyperaware every time he shifted next to you—slowly closing the gap.
“Do you have photos?” Bucky suddenly asked.
“Photos of what?”
“When you were pregnant.”
You whipped your head to him, staring at him with wide eyes.
“What? Why…why are you asking me that?”
He shrugged like it was a normal thing to ask someone.
“I want to see.”
“Bucky, I’ve already sent you photos of when Jamie was a baby.”
“I’m not asking for those.”
You shook your head at him. “You’re weird, you know that?” He just stared at you blankly. “Fine, whatever. I’ll send you some later.”
The side of his mouth twitched, a faint smirk ghosting his lips.
“Good girl.”
Every time Bucky looked at you all you could think about was those two stupid words. On their own they’re completely acceptable, harmless. Put them together and they’re a totally normal praise to say to a child. But when he said them to you in that low voice? There was nothing harmless or normal about your body’s reaction.
And you knew he knew what he was doing to you. There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes raked over you, and the gifts he kept on getting you? They were not for the sake of co-parenting or whatever bullshit half-excuse he used.
The bouquet of flowers he turned up with the other night? “Something nice for you and Jamie to look at.”
The gift voucher for your favourite clothing store? “Can’t have the mother of my child wearing old clothes.” That was a bullshit excuse and you both knew it.
“You use that massage voucher, doll?” He asked when he came to pick up Jamie for their first sleepover.
You woke up feeling hot and flustered, with a notification on your phone telling you that you were ovulating. The heat lingered all day, your clothes irritating your skin every time you breathed. Now Bucky was standing in front of you with that half-smirk, asking about whether you used his gift, and it was not fucking helping.
“You look…tense, it might help.” He stepped closer, your back pressing against the doorframe.
“Gotta make sure you take care of yourself, sweetheart.”
Oh. That was new. He hadn’t called you that before.
He raised his vibranium hand slowly, running a cold fingertip along the heat blooming on your neck. “Got any plans tonight?”
You shuddered at the feeling, your brain going blank as the dull ache in your core amplified.
“…What are you doing?” You asked, voice barely a whisper.
“Jus’ making sure Jamie’s mom is looking after herself, taking care of her needs.”
Jamie came running from her room, her backpack unzipped and overflowing—even though you had already packed it and double-checked it had everything she needed.
Bucky took a step back, clearing his throat before turning and catching Jamie with ease. Your ovaries started a war inside you, your core cramping with need watching Bucky interact with your daughter.
“Bye Mama!” Jamie kissed your forehead, her spot in Bucky’s arms making her taller than you.
“Have a good night, sweetheart.” Bucky mumbled with a wink, grinning at your cheeks flushing even more red.
Bucky brought Jamie back early the next evening, her body slumped in his arms with little snores escaping her.
“How the hell did you get her to sleep?” You whispered, astonished that she was passed out so early.
He shrugged like it was nothing. “We did some soccer drills at the park, I let her try out some taekwondo moves on me. Helps that the serum gives me a high stamina.”
He walked Jamie to her room, tucking her into bed like it was second nature. He came back to the lounge to find you stood frozen, your mind still reeling over high stamina.
Blame it on your smart mouth, or on your ovulation obliterating your filter, but you opened your mouth without thinking.
“High stamina? Where was that in Bucharest?”
Your wide eyes gave you away—you had clearly not meant to say that. You weren’t disappointed with the sex you and Bucky had, god no, but you wouldn’t say it was a good example of super soldier stamina.
A devilish smirk spread across his face, stalking towards you like he was a predator and you were his prey.
“Cut a guy some slack, doll. You were the first woman I’d touched since the 1940s. I’m surprised I lasted as long as I did.”
He was right in front of you now, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear—his hungry eyes latched on your lips.
“You want a redo? Want me to show you how long I can really go for?”
Your pulse jumped in your neck, a breath getting lodged in your throat, the ache from the day before hitting your core at full force.
“…Bucky, we—we said no funny business.”
His hand moved to your chin, gripping it gently and tilting your head up. There was a fire blazing in his eyes as he stared into your soul.
“No, you said that.” His vibranium hand rested lightly against your hip, testing. You gasped at the cold seeping through your clothes, relieving some of the heat and making your core clench with need at the same time.
He dropped his head, brushing his nose against yours.
“Did you take care of yourself last night, sweetheart?” His voice was low, husky.
Your body flushed even hotter. His proximity had your brain short-circuiting and butterflies raging in your stomach, the smell of his aftershave and something uniquely him overwhelming your senses with every shuddering breath you took.
“I asked you a question,” he gripped your chin tighter, his tone bordering on demanding.
“I…had a bath, drank some wine…” the vibranium hand on your hip slipped higher, cupping your waist and pulling you closer. A tiny gasp got caught in your throat.
“Did you touch yourself?” His nose brushed across your cheek, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.
“You—you can’t ask me that, Bucky.” Your voice shook. Your hand clutched his shoulder, the vibranium cold against your palm even through his shirt. The ground beneath you felt unsteady, your body swaying towards him for support.
“Sure I can, your wellbeing is important to me. Answer the question.” The hand on your chin moved, a calloused thumb brushing your bottom lip.
The touch had your mind blanking, tingles erupting beneath his thumb and travelling through your body, gathering in the pit of your belly. Your head felt fuzzy and the world narrowed to him, only him.
“Yes,” you whispered.
He hummed, satisfied.
“Good girl.”
Your thighs clenched at the praise, the warmth in your core begging for relief. You watched his tongue swipe along his bottom lip, leaving them glistening and looking so fucking tempting.
“It wasn’t enough though, was it?” He walked you backwards slowly, a small gasp escaping you as your back hit the wall. “No, I think you need more.”
His head dropped to the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching your sensitive skin. You sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to moan. It had been so long since someone had touched you—since Bucky touched you—and the need pulsing through you was making you delirious.
Both Bucky’s hands dropped to your hips, squeezing tight as he stepped closer. One of his thighs slotted between your legs, the pressure against your core making you whimper.
“You need to be more careful about what you put in your calendar, doll.”
You struggled to understand what he was saying, too overwhelmed by his closeness and the dizziness it was causing.
He pressed a faint kiss to your throat, right where your pulse was beating wildly. He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against your skin.
“God, I’ve been hard ever since I saw that notification yesterday.”
That had you reeling, a fraction of reality slipping through the haze. What was he talking about?
You found your voice, although meek and small. “What notification?”
His vibranium hand slipped from your waist to your back, pulling you into him until your back arched, your core shifting against his thigh. The slight friction made your body thrum, your hips instinctively rolling to chase the feeling.
“The one letting you—me—know that you’re ovulating.”
You gasped, horror running through your body. You didn’t even think about how your tracking app was linked to your calendar.
“I can smell it, sweetheart. How fucking needy you are.” His words had the horror dissolving into liquid honey, the need he was talking about dripping from your core.
His right hand gripped your hip tighter, his fingers digging in as he moved your hips, dragging you back and forth on his jean-clad thigh.
“I wanna take care of you. Let me make you feel good.” He whispered, his mouth hot against your ear.
Any worries you had about crossing boundaries, about ruining Jamie’s relationship with her father disappeared, replaced by a blazing fire.
“Please,” you whispered desperately.
Bucky didn’t waste a second, his lips finding yours in a bruising kiss. His hands pulled you tighter against him, your hips flush with his. Your hands found their place in his hair, tugging the soft strands and making him moan into your mouth.
His tongue slipped past your lips with no resistance, meeting yours in a battle for dominance that you had no intention of winning. He bit your bottom lip, tugging it as he pulled back. He dropped his forehead to yours, both of you panting heavily from the kiss.
“You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, pressing small kisses to your lips like he couldn’t help himself.
You whined when he stepped back, missing his warmth and the friction between your legs.
“Patience, doll.”
And then he was dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up the sides of your thighs and gripping the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down torturously slow. He groaned low at the sight of your panties, the dark wet patch exposing your need for him.
He pressed a quick kiss to the patch, making your head hit the wall with a thud. He chuckled at you, his eyes filled with a possessive hunger.
“So responsive.”
He placed one of you thighs over his shoulder, peppering your inner knee and thigh with soft kisses. He stopped at your mid thigh, turning his head to lavish your other leg with the same attention. Your breathing grew heavy at the teasing, the need in your core growing unbearable the more he avoided where you needed him most.
“Bucky, please, stop teasing,” you whined, your voice echoing in the apartment.
He chuckled darkly, looking up at you like you were a feast he couldn’t wait to devour.
“Gotta be quiet, doll. Don’t wanna wake Jamie up now, do you?” His tone was mocking and you wanted to slap the smirk off his face.
He relented his teasing, rising to his full height and gripping your hips. His mouth found yours again, softer this time but still just as hungry. Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as you tried to grind your core against the bulge in his jeans. He let out a small broken moan, leaving your lips to kiss along your jaw and neck.
“Jump,” he muttered into your neck. You did as he said, your legs wrapping around his waist as he hoisted you up in his arms like you weighed nothing. His hands grasped your ass, rolling your hips against him harder. He spun you around, walking towards your room with his face still buried in your neck, biting and tugging your sensitive skin.
He closed the door behind him softly, dropping you gently onto your bed. He stood at the end, quiet as his eyes raked over your half-dressed body. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He dipped down to kiss you passionately.
His hands grasped the hem of your top, dragging it up your body and over your head. He stopped momentarily, staring at your naked breasts in awe.
“I didn’t worship you like you deserved, sweetheart. I’m not making that mistake again.”
Then he dropped his head, kissing a path down your neck and across your collarbones. He ran his tongue along your skin, biting the soft swell of your breast gently, avoiding your nipple. Your hips bucked under him, desperate for more. His hands tightened on your hips, pushing them into the bed to stop your squirming. He finally took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently and grazing his teeth against it. You let out a sharp gasp, your hands clutching his shoulders. His flesh hand came up to palm your neglected breast, pulling and twisting the nipple between his fingers, eliciting more debauched gasps from your lips.
“So fucking pretty,” he mumbled, switching his mouth to the other breast to give it the same attention. His vibranium arm whirred as your hips tried to buck more, holding you down with ease.
His flesh hand stayed palming your breasts as his mouth descended, his stubble scratching the soft skin of your stomach. He stopped, pulling back slightly as his eyes focused intently on your skin—more specifically, on the stretch marks covering your lower belly.
He let out a low moan, pressing his forehead against your stomach like he was collecting himself. His hand on your breast trailed down, calloused fingertips reverently tracing the jagged lines your pregnancy left behind.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured absentmindedly, like he was in a trance. “You’re always beautiful, but seeing those photos of you pregnant with my child.” He let out a dark chuckle. “You don’t know what that did to me, doll.” His dark eyes met yours. “I’ve fucked my fist every night looking at them. Seeing you big and round with my baby—shit, doll.” He closed his eyes and groaned. “Makes me wanna get you pregnant again.”
He dropped his mouth to your skin, his lips kissing your stretch marks with a tenderness that had your heart clenching painfully. He took his time, worshiping every scar with his lips. Your underwear was soaked, his actions and words making you so overwhelming needy that it hurt.
You pushed on his shoulders, trying to get him to move down to your core—to offer you some relief. He relented his soft kisses, grabbing your panties and pulling them down your thighs. He moaned, watching the way the fabric clung to your wet pussy—a line of slick keeping them tethered. He stuffed your panties into his back pocket once he removed them, throwing you a wink.
“A souvenir,” he muttered before diving in.
His mouth was hot on your core, his tongue dragging a line up your slit before latching onto your clit. He sucked greedily, a hum sounding in the back of his throat. Your hands flew to his hair, grasping the strands and pushing him further into your core. He switched between sucking your clit and fucking you with his tongue, listening to your moans and whines to see what you liked. His flesh hand splayed against your stomach, stroking the marks there as he held you down. It was both tender and dirty, and it had the heat in your core spreading like wildfire. His vibranium hand trailed along the top of your thighs, making you gasp and shiver.
He lifted his mouth off you, your slick glistening on his lips and beard—you almost came from the sight alone. He watched you closely as his hand inched higher, a cold finger brushing against your lower lips. You gave him a quick nod, muttering “please” and he didn’t waste any time.
He dipped a finger into your entrance, moaning at the wet heat and little resistance. He pumped it slowly, sucking your clit back into his mouth—making your back arch and hands tug harder, pulling at his scalp and making him moan into you. The noise had you preening, the ball in your core tightening. He inserted another cold finger, curling against the spot that had your legs shaking. You let out a long moan, your breath coming quick as you climbed higher.
“Come for me, sweetheart.” He mumbled, his voice vibrating against your core. A third finger joined in and the stretch had tears brimming your eyes, the pleasure he was unleashing on your body too much. You came with a cry, your body tensing and shaking under him. He slowed down slightly, dragging your pleasure out until you were whimpering and pushing his head away from the overstimulation.
He crawled up your body, peppering more kisses on your skin as you struggled to catch your breath, coming down from your high slowly. You giggled as his stubbled tickled your stomach. He brushed your cheeks gently, wiping away the few tears that escaped from your pleasure. He looked at you with what looked like love in his eyes, causing your cheeks to flush and heart to beat harder.
He kissed you deeply, the taste of you on his tongue turning you on more. You returned the kiss with fervour, wrapping your legs around his clothed waist and grinding your hips against his bulge.
He moaned at the feeling, his arms on either side of your head shaking with restraint.
“Can I fuck you, doll?” You responded with an eager nod.
“Will you let me fill you up?” You continued nodding, a little whine and pleads leaving your lips.
He removed himself from you, ripping his clothes off in a hurry. He dropped on top of you and you relished at the feeling of his bare chest against yours. Your hands found his shoulders as he rubbed his cock along your dripping slit. You both let out matching moans.
“Wanna give Jamie a little sibling.” It wasn’t a question.
You nodded deliriously, your breath hitching as his tip caught your entrance. He pushed in achingly slow, kissing you as a high pitched moan escaped your throat. He grabbed your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he plunged deeper—a deep groan rumbling in his chest. You whimpered at the stretch of him. He thrusted slow and gentle at first, closing his eyes and savouring the feel of your tight walls hugging him. He picked up the pace, hitting your sweet spot—sharp gasps escaping you with every thrust. Your hands clutched his back tighter, your nails digging into the flesh slightly. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, your breathy pants and gasps, and his low moans filled the room.
His hand moved from your hip to your core, rubbing circles on your clit in time with his thrusts. You were still sensitive from your first orgasm and you could feel the fire spreading from your belly at record speed.
“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” Bucky muttered against your lips. You clenched around him tightly, the praise adding more fuel to the fire. “You like that? You like when I call you a good girl?” You nodded, babbling incoherently as everything became too much and you seized below him. A harsh gasp escaped you as you came a second time, your nails scratching along his back and drawing blood.
“Fuck—squeezing me so tight, sweetheart. Shit,” he grumbled out as he continued to fuck you through your high, only slowing down when you let out a sob.
He cradled your face in his hands, brushing away tears with a concerned look on his face. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Just breathe,” he cooed softly, pushing hair back from your face. His eyes roamed over your features as you collected yourself, gasping in small breaths as your mind came back to your body.
“You still with me?” You nodded shakily. “Wanna keep going?”
“Please, need you to come inside me.” You whispered, a shaky hand grabbing his jaw and kissing him softly.
He groaned into your mouth, his cock dragging inside you slowly—making you whine.
“You got any idea what you do to me, doll? Fucking begging me to breed you,” he gave a harsh thrust and you let out a broken sob.
He shushed you, moving his flesh hand to your mouth as he continued to thrust mercilessly.
“You’re gonna wake Jamie up.” You moaned behind his mouth, your eyes rolling back and your body feeling weightless.
He pulled out suddenly, making you let out a pained cry at the loss of him. “No, no, please, don’t stop.” You babbled, your hands grabbing his arms trying to get him back inside you.
He chuckled at your desperation before grasping your hips and flipping you over, positioning you on your hands and knees. You had little time to adjust to the new position before he was slamming into you, his cock pounding your walls at a relentless speed. Your moans were muffled by the pillow beneath your head, the fabric getting soaked in your drool and tears.
“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby,” he moaned, clutching your ass cheek before bringing his palm down in a harsh slap. Your body jumped forward, pain radiating from his slap and morphing into pleasure. You clenched down on him in a vice like grip, his hips stuttering in response.
“You want another baby, doll? Want me to get you pregnant again?”
You nodded your head vigorously, mumbling out “yes” and “please” like they were the only words you knew.
He slapped your ass two more times and you let out a broken sob, tears flowing down your cheeks as the pleasure became too much. You could feel Bucky getting close, his thrusts losing rhythm and his grunts increasing in volume.
“God, you’re gonna look breathtaking, not gonna be able to keep my hands off you.” He muttered out, cursing as you gripped him even tighter. His hand moved from your hip to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. Your back bowed from the oversensitivity, trying to escape his touch but needing it at the same time. You bit the pillow below you as you came for a third time, your wail ringing out in the dark room. Bucky thrusted three more times before stilling, coming inside you with a long drawn out groan. He kept pumping inside you, his warm seed filling you completely. You sighed at the feeling, bliss running through your veins. Bucky caught you as your body collapsed, all your strength leaving you. You felt completely ruined.
Bucky pulled out with a groan, gently rolling you over so you were laying on his chest. His hand trailed up and down your back in soothing patterns, the both of you quiet as you came down. He pressed a kiss to your head, breathing you in deeply. You traced a pattern on his sweaty chest, sleep pulling at the corners of your eyes.
“We should probably talk,” you mumbled.
“Later,” another kiss to your head. “Wanna enjoy you in my arms a little longer.”
More tears pricked at your eyes and you hugged him tighter. You took in a shaky breath as you prepared yourself to say what’s been on your mind since Bucharest.
“I…I think I love you, Bucky.”
Bucky’s chest shook with a trembling exhale below you.
currently re-watching the entire Marvel cinematic universe and all I’m saying is people better start writing 2019 era marvel fics again and they better be on my desk in 2 to 3 business days
Like yes, I grew up in Hydra
yes I got injured and now Bruce is patching me up in the lab
yes Bucky just moved into the tower and he’s shy and has a crush on me
⟡˙˖ ıl. pairing. sugar daddy bucky x female reader
⤷ ⟡˙˖ ıl. synopsis. you have been feeling neglected and undesired for the past couple months due to your sugar daddy being called in for work multiple times a day—in solution, you offered a festive ultimatum: "be here, with me, or else i’ll have to remind myself that i have options."
⟡˙˖ ıl. content warning. 18+ MDNI smut (multiple sex scenes. unprotected p in v, teehee shower sex, hair pulling, creampie, fingering, oral - m & f receiving, breeding kink if u squint) porn with a dash of plot, age gap (early twenties reader and mid forties bucky), no use of y/n, lower-case intended. reader is def dickmatized but who wouldn’t be? & bucky is downbad + bucky has a metal arm but this is a modern au (i just have a kink for that metal arm, man. sorry not sorry xx) BDB (big dick bucky heehehhehe)
⟡˙˖ ıl. from lovie. coincidentally, @houseofhyde and i had the same idea for “buy me presents” and decided to write sugar-daddy!bucky. totally different plots, though, so don’t come for me. go check out her hyde-mas masterlist!
to quote what hyde told me, “maybe sugar daddy bucky will be our joshua basset, aka the man that connects us <3” livbrina stans, we rise! insert that low-resolution, zoomed-in photo of sabrina and olivia hugging at the 2025 grammys. (it was monumental.)
main masterlist ⊹ ࣪ ˖ winter masterlist
you met bucky barnes by accident. not the cinematic kind—no spilled drinks, no knowing glances across a room. just you, killing time in a hotel bar you didn’t belong in, wearing something too soft for somewhere that expensive, wondering if you could justify ordering a second drink on someone else’s card.
it started when your supposed date didn’t show up. or maybe he decided he didn’t want to—that part becomes irrelevant the longer you stare at the empty seat across from you.
the plan was simple. nothing fancy, nothing that required effort beyond showing up. that’s why you wore a hoodie, a jacket layered over it to keep the cold from settling into your bones. sweats, your everyday shoes. practical and comfortable.
the diner smelled like coffee and grease. a bell chimed when you slid into the booth, the vinyl was cool against the back of your legs. you set your phone on the table, face-up.
minutes passed. then more.
the waitress refilled your water without asking, her eyes flicking briefly to the empty seat across from you.
then your phone buzzed.
can’t go, sorry lol.
that was it. no explanation. no apology worth the word. just a lazy little lol, tossed in like it might soften the blow. like it might turn embarrassment into something laughable.
you order a drink you don’t really want, just to justify sitting there a little longer. when it comes, you tip the waitress generously because she smiles like she knows you’ve been stood up.
outside, the cold air of december bites through the fabric and straight into your chest. you walk without direction, hands shoved into your pockets, and breath fogging in front of you, until the warm glow of a nearby hotel pulls you in like gravity.
the bar is dim and polished, all low lighting and murmured conversations. you take a seat and immediately order something strong. men notice you quickly—they all offered to buy you a drink but you declined them all politely.
you’re not here to be picked up.
until one businessman manages to break through the blur.
he stops beside the empty stool and asks if the seat next to you is taken. his voice is low, the kind that doesn’t need to compete with the noise of the bar to be heard. it slides in easy (wink wink), almost hypnotic, and you feel yourself straighten up without meaning to.
you tell him no, though it technically is. reserved for your dignity, which you misplaced somewhere between the first sip and the halfway mark of your second drink.
“i’m james barnes,” he says, and instead of immediately sitting, he offers his hand.
you tilt your head, studying him. men who introduce themselves like that usually want something more than a quick night. as attractive as he is—and he is—you’re not here to be impulsive. not tonight.
still, you take his hand. “and i’m married.” you say, flashing him a smile that’s sweet on the surface and unmistakably sarcastic underneath.
he laughs softly, clearly picking up on the tone—and just as clearly taking your words at face value. “you look pretty young to be married, no?”
his eyes sweep the room in an exaggerated, almost theatrical search, scanning nearby tables and passing faces. “i don’t see your husband anywhere.”
“marriage problems, s’why i’m drinking tonight.” you reply easily, lifting your glass and taking a slow sip, letting the lie settle comfortably on your tongue.
“like what? he had an affair?” he signals the bartender for a drink with two fingers.
his gaze never leaves you—not in a way that feels invasive, but attentive. definitely not like the other men who looked at you and immediately started imagining where you’d fit into their night. his gaze lingered, thoughtful.
“look, mr. barnes,” you begin, turning fully toward him this time. “i was lying about being married. i just wanted you to leave me alone.”
he doesn’t interrupt. he watches you with quiet focus, as if weighing the confession rather than reacting to it. then his mouth curves and a low chuckle slips out.
“tell me to leave,” he says. “and i will.”
everything sensible inside you screams to nod, to murmur a polite thanks, retreat back into yourself and finish your drink alone.
but he hasn’t looked away. hasn’t shifted or filled the silence. he’s still there, patient, waiting like he’s got nowhere else he needs to be.
“fuck it,” you whisper, barely louder than your breath, the words tasting reckless as they leave your mouth.
you lean in closer, close enough that the warmth of him seeps into your space, he tilts his head just slightly to hear you over the murmur of the bar.
“stay.” you say softly.
the night moves forward in a way that feels unplanned, shaped by shared glances and the slow warmth of alcohol.
for a while, the two of you sit beside each other without speaking. it isn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar, like you’re both aware of the space you’re sharing and waiting to see who will cross it first.
the music hums low in the background, glasses leaving damp rings on the bar as minutes slip by.
eventually, the alcohol settles in enough to loosen your nerves. conversation finds its way back easily, as if it had only stepped aside for a moment.
“i don’t mean to be offensive,” you say, pausing when your words start to blur together. “but how old are you?” the question comes out softer than you intend.
he turns toward you with a quiet laugh, clearly amused. “how old d’ya think i am, sweetheart?” he asks, leaning closer so his voice doesn’t have to compete with the noise around you.
you look away, fixing your attention on the bar instead. even through the haze, you catch the intent behind his tone. he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he isn’t trying to hide it.
“no offense—again,” you add quickly, lifting your glass for a sip. “i’d guess… mid-thirties?”
his laughter comes, deeper this time, like the answer genuinely entertained him. “try older.” you glance back at him, brows lifting despite yourself. “older how?”
he takes a moment before answering, studying you with an expression that feels measured rather than guarded. “old enough to know what i want,” he says. after a brief pause, “and old enough not to pretend otherwise.”
something about the certainty in his words settles into your chest. there’s no embarrassment there, no need to explain or justify himself. just confidence shaped by time and experience.
you turn your glass slowly between your fingers. “and does that usually work?” you ask, attempting to sound casual.
his gaze shifts to you, steady and unmistakably focused. “depends,” he replies. “is it working on you?”
you don’t answer him right away. instead, you turn your head and look toward the bar, letting the moment pass without filling it.
the quiet settles between the two of you again until it fades into the background with every drink you both keep ordering.
after a while, you glance back at him, brow lifting as the thought returns. “it’s a reach if i go past mid thirties?” you ask, voice steadier now that you’ve decided to revisit the topic.
he hums in response and lifts his glass of bourbon, taking a measured sip before shrugging. “i’m flattered.” when he sets the glass down, his attention settles on you again. he looks at you longer than necessary, not in a way that makes you uncomfortable, but with a kind of focus that makes you aware of yourself.
you meet his gaze without looking away, letting it linger right back. the moment stretches until the band hits a louder note, the sudden swell of jazz pulling both of you out of it at once.
you clear your throat, using the interruption to shift things. “can you guess me?” you ask, raising your glass and taking another sip.
he looks at you with mild confusion. “your age?”
you nod, swallowing the sharp taste of your drink. you straighten your posture slightly, pushing your shoulders back as if it might give him a better view to identify how old your features are. you angle your face toward him, silently daring him to get it wrong.
he studies you for a few seconds, his gaze moving over you before dropping back to his glass. “early twenties,” he says, like the answer came easily.
your mouth curves into a wider smile immediately. “ding ding ding,” you reply, playfully, imitating a bell on a game show. “how did you guess that so fast?”
he tilts his head just a bit and clicks his tongue once before answering. “intuition, i guess.”
you watch him for a moment after that, the word settling in your mind. intuition. the way he says it makes it sound like he trusts it. like he’s used to reading people and being right about them. and sitting there beside him, feeling the warmth of alcohol and attention wrapped together, you get the strange sense that he already sees more of you than you meant to show tonight.
and instead of making you pull back, it makes you stay.
silence settles between you again. you busy yourself with your drink, tracing the rim of the glass with your thumb, letting the noise of the bar fill the space instead.
this time, he’s the one who breaks it.
“what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice laced with curiousness. his gaze moves over you, starting at your face and drifting down to your shoes.
it isn’t judgmental. there’s no disapproval in it. if anything, he looks puzzled, like he’s trying to understand how someone dressed like you ended up in a hotel bar filled with tailored suits and polished heels.
you catch on immediately to what he’s asking.
“ah,” you say first, buying yourself a second as you take a sip. the alcohol gives you just enough courage to talk about it.
“a friend set me up with this guy. told me to dress casual.” you let out a small breath, eyes dropping to the bar. “then he bailed when i finally reached the designated spot. didn’t even bother with an explanation.”
your cheeks feel warm, and you keep your gaze fixed anywhere but on him. it isn’t just the outfit that makes you self-conscious. it’s the fact that you got stood up. that you’re sitting here alone, dressed wrong for the room, pretending it doesn’t bother you.
still, you tell yourself it’s better than being overdressed.
“i’m sorry,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing nor flirtiness in his voice. just understanding.
“don’t be,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “he was an ass over text anyway. i don’t even know why i agreed in the first place.” you huff out a small laugh and take another sip. “dating’s really hard these days.”
he nods, lifting his glass in quiet agreement before taking a slow drink. “tell me about it.”
the way he says it makes you think he means it. like he’s been through it too. and suddenly, sitting here with him, the night doesn’t feel like a loss anymore. it feels like it went exactly where it was supposed to.
as the night stretches on—and as drunk as you allow yourself to get—the flirting stops pretending to be subtle.
you lean closer without thinking, the space between you dissolving drink by drink. your palms slide up to the back of your neck, rubbing at the nape as if to ground yourself.
somewhere between shared laughter and the kind of silence that feels companionable rather than awkward, he settles both your tabs without saying a word.
you only notice when the bartender gives a polite nod in his direction and moves on, already wiping down the counter as if the decision had been expected.
it shouldn’t mean anything. it’s just a gesture. still, it makes your cheeks and chest warm.
you glance at your phone, more out of habit than necessity, and decide this is your cue.
you open your mouth to excuse yourself, already lining up the usual reasons. that it’s late. that you have somewhere to be early the next morning. that you really should go. all the polite exits you’ve perfected over time.
but before the words can leave you, his gaze lifts to yours and holds. he sees it immediately. the shift in your posture, the way you’re already halfway out the door in your head.
the corner of his mouth curves upward as he lets out a soft chuckle. “so soon?” he asks, clicking his tongue once, the sound easy and accepting. there’s no disappointment in it, no attempt to change your mind. just acknowledgment.
he stands from his seat and turns toward you, extending his hands again like he did earlier. polite. a goodbye made to look like a formality.
something about that does it.
you find yourself silently grateful for whatever impulse dragged you into this bar tonight, grateful you didn’t go straight home. before you have time to think better of it, your fingers curl around his tie. you tug him down just enough to meet you, and your lips collide with his.
he stills for a brief moment, caught off guard. surprise flickers across his face. he responds without hesitation, hands settling firmly at your hips, grounding and sure, pulling you closer as if it comes naturally to him.
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you don’t remember the night clearly after that. the details blur together, softened by intoxication and the way everything seemed to move too fast and not fast enough at the same time.
what you do remember comes in fragments.
bucky’s veiny, hard shaft stands upwards, tip leaning against your pussy. slowly, he pushes his whole length inside you. he takes a moment, letting your tight cunt adjust to his size before he starts to slide in and out.
“fuck… hmphh—“ you moan out, eyes closed shut as your nails dig and scratch on his shoulders, whimpering. his pace deliberately starts to fasten. his metal hand—which you had just noticed—squeezed your round tits, moulding them ruthlessly like he owns them.
the bed creaks under as bucky continuously thurst his throbbing cock in and out of you, whispering incoherent sweet nothings into your ear.
your moans were muffled by some fabric—the hotel’s comforter, maybe—as he brings his metal hand that was once placed on your left bosom down to your clit, rubbing the bud.
the feeling of overstimulation washes over you as you scream, hard, onto the pillow. “fuck—james…” you moan but before you could utter another word out, he presses both your lips together, swallowing your moans.
he pulls back, his thrusts sloppy but deliberate. “bucky…” his name leaves his mouth in a breathless whisper. he exhales hard at the sound, close enough that you feel it. you would’ve tilted your head in confusion if the sensation he’s giving you hadn’t already stolen your balance. “call me bucky.”
his palms slowly starts to wander around until it falls upon your thigh, he pins your legs on your shoulders as his thrust starts to fasten, reaching for both your highs.
within a minute, he pours his warm load inside, earning a loud moan from you. “f–fuck! bucky…” his thurst doesn’t stop, he continues to jerk his hip to fill you to the brim of his every drop.
a blink, and you’re standing beneath the spray of a shower, warmth sliding down your skin before disappearing against the tile. the water pours over your back, warm and steady—until you feel him step closer behind you, his presence unmistakable even before he touches you.
his cold metal hand contrasts with the warmth of the water tracing your body, making you shiver at the unexpected chill of his touch. you feel him pressing his body against your back, his lips slightly kissing your shoulder as his big, rough and calloused hands start to roam on your curves.
your breath catches when you feel his cock, already hard, press between your thighs, his lips press soft, gentle kisses on the curve of your shoulder.
his metal hand that was once placed on your hip to ground you slowly slides up, cupping your breast, his thumb circling your nipple, slow and torturous. you press back against him, moaning.
you feel his flesh hand grip on your hip before it leaves to guide his hardened cock between your folds. he slides it through your slick heat, letting the water and where your flush of desire gather.
he groans like he's been holding back for too long, and then he slams into you. you cry out, pulling away from his chest as your forehead hits the wet tiles, softly,
your arms are braced against the wall as he starts thrusting hard, relentlessly driving into you with the sound of water as skin and moans echoing all around.
“fuck, you feel so good like this,” he pants against your neck, one hand on your waist, the other sliding around to rub your clit in rough little circles. “s’fucking tight, sweetheart.” he groans.
you feel the pressure building fast as his cock hits deep and perfect, brushing over your spot over and over again. bucky then grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so your back arches just for him.
“look at you,” he growls, fucking you harder, deeper. “y’gonna come for me in this shower? make a mess all over my cock while the water washes it down the drain?”
you nod furiously, “shit—yes!” you screamed, nails scratching on the glass barrier, your breasts are pressed against the wall. a small, subtle smirk forms at his lips when he feels your walls clench around him.
your body intensifies as your climax shatters. your legs start to tremble, voice breaking as your orgasm crashes through you, waves of heat pulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, chasing his own release.
“fuck baby, i’m g-gonna fill you up.” another more brutal thrust, he groans, spilling inside you, filling you to the brim as the water keeps pouring down your bodies.
────────────────────────
it didn’t start as an arrangement. not officially. it began quietly. dinners that stretched late into the night. one meal turned into another, then into weekends away where time seemed to loosen its grip on both of you.
weekends turned into small, careful gestures. envelopes slipped into your bag “for convenience,” always phrased like an afterthought, never framed as obligation. gifts followed, expensive but considered, chosen with enough attention that they felt personal rather than transactional.
he never said the word sugar. neither did you.
you liked how steady he was. how he never seemed in a hurry to define things, to rush toward labels or expectations. he moved with certainty, like he already knew where he stood and didn’t need to prove it. being with him felt grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you were missing.
he never asked you to be his girlfriend.
and strangely, that never bothered you.
the relationship stayed unlabeled, floating somewhere between companionship and something deeper. you didn’t need a title to understand what it was. the way he spoiled you without hesitation, the way he paid attention to the small details of your days, the way he made space for you in his life without making it feel like a negotiation. it all spoke louder than any label ever could.
you already knew what it was, even if no one said it out loud. and for a long time, that was more than enough.
one night, during one of your date nights—the seventh, if you were counting—he takes you somewhere romantic, a table tucked in a quiet corner for just the two of you.
amid shared laughter and stolen bites from each other’s plates, the evening takes on a softness you don’t quite know what to do with. candlelight reflects in his glass, in the careful way he watches you like he’s memorizing the moment.
at some point, he reaches across the table. not abruptly. not like he’s about to make a grand declaration. his hand comes to rest near yours, close enough that you feel the warmth of him.
his voice stays steady, calm, but there’s intention behind it. his eyes don’t wander. they stay on you.
he tells you he wants you to move in with him.
the words land heavier than you expect, tightening something in your chest. not with fear, but with the weight of being chosen so plainly. there’s no dramatic buildup, no pressure in his tone. it feels like an offer he’s already thought through, one he wouldn’t make unless he meant it.
the answer comes easily, instinctively, before doubt has a chance to creep in.
you say yes.
the relief that crosses his face is subtle, but you catch it. his thumb brushes against your fingers. and in that quiet exchange, it feels like something shifts.
by the next day, boxes are stacked neatly around his house, your favorite things already finding corners and shelves as if they’d always belonged there.
you stand outside, watching as the movers carry box after box into his sprawling home. the sound of wood scraping against the porch and the faint hum of conversation from the movers fills the space between you, but it feels distant, like background noise to everything else.
he’s behind you. arms wrapped around your waist, firm and warm, sliding down until his palms settle casually tucked in the back pockets of your jeans.
he turns just enough to greet the movers with a polite smile. you notice the neighbors peeking from behind curtains and over fences. judging, no doubt, silently questioning what a girl your age is doing moving in with a man like him.
and yes, bucky isn’t exactly young. far from it, actually. his crow’s feet become visible when he smiles, and the salt-and-pepper streaks in his beard have grown long enough to remind anyone who looks that he isn’t getting any younger.
but that’s exactly what you like about him. the way he carries himself—not frantic, not chaotic. bucky’s relaxed, more intentional than most men your age, who wake up at five in the afternoon just to hit the club, chase fleeting highs, or pretend they have their lives together.
bucky doesn’t need to prove anything, and somehow, that makes him irresistible. you rest your head briefly against his chest, inhale the faint scent of his cologne mixed with leather and old books, and feel a rare, quiet kind of contentment settle over you.
the first night you stay over properly, you wander through the cabin barefoot, touching things like you’re cataloging them. the place smells like cedar and coffee and something faintly metallic, like winter air trapped inside wood. it’s too big for one person, you think.
bucky watches you from the doorway, arms crossed. he doesn’t hover, he just lets you exist in the space, lets the place learn you.
you stop in front of a bookshelf that takes up an entire wall. hardcovers, spines worn, margins bent and annotated. nothing decorative, everything looked used.
“you’ve read all of these?” you ask, glancing back at him.
“most,” he says. then, after a beat, “some more than once.” he shifts his weight slightly, pushing off the table with his hip. his gaze never leaves yours as he walks over toward where you’re standing.
you hum, running a finger along the spines. “that explains a lot.” he arches a brow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“you don’t talk like a guy who lives on energy drinks and podcasts,” you reply lightly. he laughs under his breath, shaking his head.
“is that the bar now?” bucky takes a careful step closer. the space between you shrinks until you’re well within his reach, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him, the quiet steadiness of his presence.
his arm slips around your waist, drawing you back against him until your breasts meets his chest. his hand settles at your side, thumb brushing lightly as if to anchor you.
“for men my age?” you glance up at him, chin tipping just enough to meet his eyes. he raises a brow in response, the corner of his mouth twitching as the unspoken question hangs between you—“are you calling me old?”
you laugh softly. fingers trail over his chest, following the solid line of him like you’re proving a point. “absolutely,”
your fingers drift lower, brushing against the edge of his pants, a teasing touch you can’t seem to stop. without a word, bucky leans in.
his lips meet yours. your body instinctively leans into his, the press of him against you warm and steady. his hands find your waist, holding you closer, and for a heartbeat, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
he pulls back slightly, just enough that he can study your expression, and silence settles between you. it isn’t heavy or uncomfortable, but it hangs in the air, expectant.
his eyes roam over your face slowly, slipping from your eyes to your lips and back again.
“doll,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his arms that circle around you, pulls you closer. it’s not possessive; it’s steady, grounding. the press of his chest against yours feels like an anchor, tethering you to the moment and to him.
your palms rise to rest lightly against his chest, tracing the fabric of his shirt as if for reassurance. you tilt your head upward toward him, letting out a soft hum in response.
“remind me,” he says, voice low, carrying a weight that pulls your attention fully to him.
you raise a brow, a small, confused smile tugging at your lips. “bucky… what are you talking about?” you ask, curiosity laced behind your tone.
he doesn’t answer immediately. instead, he studies you, his gaze patient, like he’s weighing how much to reveal, or maybe just savoring the anticipation.
“that night,” he starts, voice softer now. “when we both were drunk.”
something clicks in your mind. the memory surfaces, hazy at first, like smoke curling in the air, then sharpening. you know exactly what he’s talking about.
you shift slightly, still pressed against him, your head brushing his chest, and you let out a small, soft sigh. he tightens his hold just a fraction.
that night in the hotel bar feels both like yesterday and a lifetime ago. the drinks blurred the edges of everything. and the next morning, you woke up to the quiet weight of him beside you, the sheets tangled around both of you, bodies bare and pressed together.
as much as you cherished how that one night had shifted the course of your life, you sometimes regretted being drunk enough to forget. not the act itself—you had no complaints there—but the details, the little fragments of touch, of words, of laughter lost to the haze of alcohol.
since that night, no matter how many dates you had gone on, how many weekend trips or long months spent in each other’s company, that night remained the first and only time you had slept together. not that you minded. you liked that he had been careful—a gentleman in every sense, even when everything else had been reckless.
“i don’t know,” you admit softly, tracing lazy circles on his chest with your fingertips, “i don’t remember half of what happened.” the words come out slow, a little unsure.
“all i know is that i enjoyed myself with you.” you tilt your head, meeting his eyes briefly before letting them fall, offering reassurance.
he doesn’t look away. his gaze holds steady, fixed on you. “i want you sober,” he says, voice low, insistent but gentle. “i want to remember all of it.”
“we can make a new memory of that night, if that’s what you want,” you murmur, letting a suggestive, teasing smile curl at the corner of your lips. it’s subtle enough to catch his attention, enough to pull a similar response from him.
his own lips twitch in amusement, that small, knowing smile that always seems to promise something more than words ever could.
then he leans in, pressing his mouth to yours. the kiss starts soft and you respond in kind, meeting him halfway.
his hands, which had once rested at your waist, slide down, wrapping under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. your arms instinctively loop around his neck, fingers tangling in the strands of his hair as your legs bend slightly, molding your weight against his body.
he doesn’t break the kiss. he deepens it slowly, lips moving against yours with patient intensity, letting the moment build.
he presses your back gently against the wall. your bare feet press against the cold marble floor. bucky’s warmth radiates from his body pressing against you.
his metal hand moves slowly, deliberately, rising to cup your face. the coolness of the metal contrasts with the heat of his touch, sending a shiver through you.
he pulls you in closer, closer than you could have imagined, until your foreheads almost touch and the world around you feels distant.
he pulls back just slightly, giving both of you a moment to catch your breath from the kiss. both your chests rise and fall rapidly, breaths heavy and uneven, as your eyes lock.
his gaze is intent, questioning almost, the kind of look that asks for your consent without words, his doe eyes asks if this is still what you want.
you don’t hesitate. you nod, letting him know that yes, this is what you want. yes, he has permission, even if it feels like he’s asking just to be certain.
he leans down again, slower this time, letting the moment linger. his lips brush yours briefly before moving lower, and you feel the warmth of him against your neck.
his teeth graze slightly, teasing, before settling into a more insistent press, lips and tongue tracing your skin in a way that makes your head tilt back instinctively.
the wall behind you holds you in place, your hands find their way to his shoulders, then his hair, as your body reacts to the steady motion of his touch.
reflexively, you let out a moan when bucky’s lips start to suck on your collarbone, leaving behind red marks that you know for sure will darken overtime.
his tongue traces over your bruised skin, almost comforting, before his knees start to bend down. finally, he kneels in front of you as he holds straight and steady eye contact.
your hands never leaves his hair, fingers tangling along while he stares at you with complete admiration. his hands move lower along with his body, until it stops to tug at the waistband of your pajama pants.
again, his eyes asks for consent to which you unspokenly respond to by the second time. you nod. and immediately, without hesitation, bucky pulls your pants down, exposing your lace panties and bare thighs to his greedy, lustful gaze.
he places his palm in your inner thigh, gesturing you to open wider for him to which you undoubtedly obliged. his hands slowly crawls upward to your pulsing heat.
he pushes your panties aside as his fingers work their magic on your clit. “fuck… you’re so wet.” he says, his fingers—two, to be exact—slowly slides inside of your hole.
he pulls his digits away as fast as he enters you. immediately, in response, you whine. “bucky…fuck—what? are you kidding me?”
he doesn’t give you time to even utter another sentence out, he pulls your panties down and takes your leg, one by one, placing it each on his shoulders.
all your weight shifted to his upper body and bucky—strong and steady as ever—hasn’t so much as flinched nor has complained.
he latches his lips on your clit and immediately, almost as if on instinct, you throw your head back, moaning, as your eyes roll backwards caused by the immense pleasure of his tongue.
his metal hand move from your thighs down to the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling it down as he frees his throbbing cock. his length sprung out, hitting his abs in the process, your take a glance down, and a gasp leaves your mouth.
sure, you’d been drunk that night—but you definitely didn’t expect, nor remember, him being that big. bucky’s lips twitch into a knowing smirk the moment he hears a sharp gasp leave your lips.
he pulls back, looking at you with the softest, almost puppy-like eyes he can manage—like whatever he’s doing is completely innocent, which only makes the irony of it all worse.
he takes his large cock in his hands, stroking it up and down gently as he maintains soft, steady eye contact with you. “that’s gonna stretch your pussy open, baby.”
he guides your right leg back down until your foot meets the carpet. your knees nearly give out when you realize they don’t quite work the way they did before. you would’ve fallen if not for bucky’s arms catching you just in time, steady and firm around you.
“careful now, honey,” he murmurs.
he lowers your left foot to the carpet as he slowly straightens, his flesh hand lingering, tracing the familiar lines of your curves. now you’re face to face with him—almost. you still have to tilt your chin up, just a little, to meet his gaze.
bucky teases his large tip to your entrance as you whine, rocking your hips, desperate and searching for any type of friction. “shit—bucky… bucky, please.” you beg, needy for the stretch.
“oh, honey. there’s no need to beg.” without giving you much space to respond, he thrusts his hip so quick that you didn’t even have the time to adjust to his size. your newly painted nails dig on his back as he continues to fuck himself into you.
“b-buck…” his pace fastens, his large cock slides in and out of you easily. he leans over, colliding both your lips together as he swallows your moans. “fuck…” he groans, biting your lower lip before dipping down to press a trail of wet kisses down your collarbone.
his metal hand grabs ahold of your bosom, squeezing onto them, thumbs flicking across your perky nipples as he makes use of his mouth. as you throw your head back, he takes it as an opportunity to make your body his own canvas.
“remind me—fuck—remind me how hard i came that night because of you.” he thrusts harder. his words were so explicit but you could still hear a gentle sweetness behind his tone. and as much as you want to answer him, you can’t help it—soft moaning sounds slip past your lips before you can even stop them.
“i’m gonna—” the words leave you unfinished, breathless, but he understands anyway.
“yes, baby. that’s right,” bucky murmurs softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “let it out f’me, hm?” his metal fingers glide over your skin, a gentle encouragement, like he’s guiding you all the way through it.
his flesh hand cups your face, caressing it as if to help you reach your climax. it wasn’t long before you a wave of pleasure washes over you when you reached your high.
bucky, though, hasn’t stopped fucking himself into you while he chases for his climax making your knees weaken, barely holding you upright as you cling to his muscular arms, relying on him to keep you steady.
he pulls out when he finally feels that he’s only a couple strokes left to finish. he holds onto you, grounding you to stay up while he jerks his cock, lining it up to your stomach as he spills his hot load to your skin.
“fuck, look at you.” he says with the most admiring expression. “y’gonna have to clean up,” he murmurs before pressing his lips onto yours for a quick peck.
“you’re not tired, are you?” he asks softly, searching your face when he notices how close you are to slipping away from reality and straight into dream land—eyes heavy, grip loose, barely anchored to the moment. you manage a small shake of your head in response.
“good,” he murmurs, a faint smile playing on his lips. “let’s take a shower… and recreate that night.”
for someone you’d half-jokingly expected to be slowed down by age, bucky’s stamina completely caught you off guard.
that night left you pleasantly sore and thoroughly spent, to the point where morning came with stiff movements and a slow, careful waddle from one end of the room to the other.
he trailed after you the entire time, apologizing under his breath, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure whether to help or admire—though the fond amusement in his eyes gave him away.
still, guilt won out. by the time you were fully awake, bucky was there with flowers in hand, your favorite breakfast laid out neatly, and that apologetic smile he only ever wore for you.
he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, like he was making a quiet promise to take better care of you—at least until next time.
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it’s been months since you moved in. long enough that his place no longer feels like a hotel you’re visiting, but not long enough to forget that it was his long before it was yours.
at first, it was fun. waking up in his bed, barefoot mornings in a kitchen with his shirts finding their way into your laundry without either of you acknowledging it.
you liked how easy it felt. how everything just appeared where you needed it. groceries stocked. gas tank full. your card already linked to his accounts.
you didn’t even notice when his attention started splitting. not at first.
it happens on a quiet afternoon. you’re stretched out on the couch, legs draped over his lap while he scrolls through his phone with one hand, the other resting loosely on your thigh. it’s absent, casual, like you’re something he’s used to touching without thinking.
then his phone buzzes. once. twice. and the third time earns an eye roll from you.
you feel it before you see it. the shift in him. the way his jaw tightens slightly and the way his thumb stills against your skin. “work,” he says, already halfway gone.
you hum in response, pretending not to care how his hand slips away as he stands. you tell yourself you’re not that person—the jealous one—you’ve never needed to compete for attention before.
still, when he comes back, phone tucked away like nothing happened, you don’t move your legs back into his lap right away.
and then work started calling more often. you tried to fill the gaps, the hours he was gone, with distractions that looked beautiful from its exterior. long shopping trips where the weight of bags did nothing to fill the emptiness inside.
dinners in softly lit restaurants where the wine tasted sweet, but conversation didn’t quite reach your heart. the quiet of the home, once comforting with him there, now felt hollow, even if every corner still smelled just faintly like him.
you kept busy, told yourself it was normal, told yourself he would return. and for a while, it worked.
until the days grew shorter, and the calendar flipped to late november, and you realized how long it had been since he’d been fully present—not just physically, but fully there, the way he always used to be.
and then december came faster than you expected. the season of giving, of warmth and cheer, of expectation wrapped up in shiny paper and ribbons.
everywhere you looked, lights blinked, bells jingled, and every corner of the city seemed to promise togetherness.
yet here you were, counting the hours, watching the calendar tick forward, feeling the absence more than ever.
it wasn’t that you wanted gifts, not really. it was the reminder that even as the world celebrated togetherness, you were waiting. and you had options.
now, that unlabeled relationship you had with bucky started to gnaw at your mood. it wasn’t that he didn’t care—it was that the absence, the uncertainty that begun to settle into your chest like a quiet weight.
you sighed, curling deeper into the throw blanket on the couch, letting it envelop you like a shield against the emptiness.
your fingers scrolled mindlessly over your phone, until the screen lit up with his contact photo. for a moment, your chest tightened, and then a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.
without hesitation, your thumbs slid over the screen, tapping accept before the third ring even finished.
his face appeared, slightly grainy through the video, framed by the dim light of the hotel room he was staying in for the meantime.
tired, yes—but still devastatingly handsome, the way he always seemed to be even at the end of a long, exhausting day.
“hi, pretty,” he said, his voice low and warm. his eyes, heavy with fatigue, held yours through the screen, and your gaze lingered.
the white shirt he wore clung slightly to his chest, the buttons straining just a touch, and his tie was loosened, lying casually around his neck. he was sitting on the floor as it seems, laptop propped up on a small table, and the sight of him made your stomach flutter in a way you hadn’t expected.
“hey,” you whispered back, wishing more than anything that you could reach through the screen and pull him into your arms. “busy day?”
“yeah,” he admitted, running a hand through the disheveled hair at the back of his neck. “sorry i didn’t call sooner.”
you forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “it’s fine. i get it… work’s been… work.”
he nodded, his gaze never leaving yours, but you could see it—etched into the lines of his face, the slight slump of his shoulders. the weight of stress pressed on him, and despite all your attempts to stay busy, to distract yourself with shopping trips and dinners and meaningless errands, a wave of longing swept over you.
you missed him. missed his laugh, the low rumble that always made you grin. missed the way his arm would find its way around your shoulders, holding you close without a word. missed how even the most ordinary days, when shared with him, felt somehow extraordinary.
“i was, uh… i was about to eat dinner,” you tell him, holding up the wooden spatula you’d been using to cook so it appeared in the frame.
his eyes widen slightly—not in surprise, but with that quiet interest he always had, the way he seemed curious about the smallest details of your life, as if he wanted to watch everything you did, even something as simple as eating, through the screen.
“what’re you having?” he asks, leaning a little closer to the camera, as if he could somehow peer past it. you shrug, letting your shoulders relax, and reply, “oh, just some veggies.”
he sighs, a low sound that carries more than just longing. “fuck, i missed your homecooked meals,” he mutters, the words soft but heavy, carrying a quiet weight of nostalgia and desire.
you stab a vegetable with your fork, lifting it slowly to your mouth and chew. the mundane motion somehow feels intimate now, shared across distance. “better come home soon,” you joke lightly, but even as the words leave your lips, there’s an undercurrent of truth neither of you needs to say out loud.
he watches you, eyes attentive, jaw slackening just slightly at the sight, and in the quiet that follows, you both feel the weight of the missing pieces in your days.
a small, playful thought nudged at the edge of your mind. maybe he just needed a little reminder. you leaned closer to the screen, tilting your head in that way you knew made him pause, smile threatening at the corner of your lips.
“bucky…” you began, teasing, letting the word linger just long enough to catch his attention. “it’s december… the season of giving gifts.”
he raised a brow. “yeah?” he asked, his voice lazy but amused, warm enough to make your chest tighten.
you leaned closer to the camera, letting the light catch the curve of your cheek, the small, sly smirk that formed unbidden.
“when are you gonna buy me presents?” you asked, words laced with playful mock seriousness, though neither of you needed to pretend. you didn’t need presents—not really. what you needed was him, just him.
“you have my card, doll,” he said, chin resting on his palm as he leaned toward the camera, the dim light casting shadows that made his tired eyes look sharper, intent. “you can spend as much as you’d like.”
you forced a casual shrug, pressing your lips together as if to hide the flicker of disappointment, shoving another vegetable into your mouth.
“right,” you muttered, chewing slowly, trying to seem indifferent.
you swallowed, glancing up at him, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the two of you, his smile faint but knowing, and the unspoken understanding that what you truly wanted wasn’t something wrapped in paper. it was him.
“when will you be coming home?” you ask, trying to keep your tone casual, though there’s a tightness in your chest you can’t hide.
“soon,” he replies, voice calm, measured.
“soon?” you echo, but this time the word is edged with frustration.
it’s not just the hours he’s spent away—it’s the accumulation of weeks, of vague timelines, of an unlabeled relationship that’s been hovering over you for a year.
maybe it’s because you miss him. maybe it’s because the ambiguity of it all gnaws at your nerves. maybe it’s because he has this way of keeping everything vague enough that your mind can’t stop wandering down paths it knows it shouldn’t.
as much as you trust bucky—and you do, more than anyone—you can’t help it. the doubts creep in, tiny at first, then growing.
what if he’s cheating? what if he’s… married? had kids? the thought is absurd, impossible even, yet your mind insists on entertaining it. the unspoken lack of labels only gives these fears fuel.
bucky’s face on the screen shifts slightly, his brow furrowing as he tilts his head, perceptive even through a call. “y’mad at me, doll?” he asks, voice gentle, unaware of just how sharp your irritation has grown.
you let out a short, bitter laugh, pressing your palms to your face for a moment before pulling them down. “i don’t know… just—just come home. soon.” you emphasize the word soon, dragging it out like a warning, a plea, and a demand all at once.
before he can respond, before you can hear the soft reassurance you know he’d offer, you hang up. the screen goes black, and the quiet hits you in full force.
and even though your chest aches and the frustration still lingers, you can’t deny the truth underneath it all: you just want him. not excuses, not explanations—just him.
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the fight from that night was resolved when you woke up the next morning to a knock at the door instead of an apology in person—a massive and excessive arrangement of flowers delivered straight to the house, petals still cold from the morning air. tucked between them was a simple card, written in his familiar handwriting.
i’ll make it up to you.
and he did.
calls came more often after that. gifts—expensive ones at that—started appearing where arguments used to sit. it was his way of smoothing things over, of fixing without ever quite naming what had gone wrong.
by the time he finally returned from the business trip, jet-lagged and smelling like his usual expensive cologne, that’s when the thought crossed your mind.
an ultimatum—petty? maybe. selfish? definitely.
but who could blame you, when you were expected to share him with work like it was another person in the relationship?
at this point, you would even consider this “relationship” a three-way.
he drops his bag by the door as he loosens his tie, walking in, his eyes are already scanning the room until they land on you. you’re seated comfortably, legs crossed, drink in hand—a red wine, to be exact—watching him like you have all the time in the world.
“miss me?” he asks, voice warm and teasing.
you hum noncommittally, taking a slow sip. “maybe.”
he smirks, taking a deliberate step closer, his hand stretching toward you but you shift just enough, and his fingers meet nothing but air—not rejection, just a subtle claim of control.
his smirk falters for the briefest second as he pauses, studying you, noticing the small defiance in your movement.
“what’s that look for, doll?”
you tilt your head, eyes flicking to the still-packed bag, then back to him. “nothing,” you say, believably sweet but there’s a pause that betrays you. “just thinking.”
he knows better than to push. instead, he shrugs off his jacket, rolls his sleeves up, lets them fall just right, and sinks into the space like he owns it. like he owns you. the faint scent of him fills the room, close enough that your skin prickles.
maybe that’s exactly what sparks it—his calm confidence, the way he moves without asking, the way he expects you to notice and not resist.
you hadn’t meant to become that person. the one who watches the clock. the one who feels irritation bloom when his phone lights up. but somehow, somewhere between silk sheets and shared closets, you did.
tonight is no different.
he’s halfway through loosening his cufflinks when the phone buzzes. without even glancing at the screen, he lets out a low sigh and shakes his head.
“they need me,” he mutters, already reaching for his coat, the motion practiced, habitual.
you don’t respond immediately. instead, you take your time swirling the last bit of your drink in the glass—like an overdramatic villain in some silly movie—letting the amber liquid catch the light. your eyes follow him with a slow, deliberate intensity, noting the slight crease between his brows, the way his shirt clings to his chest beneath the tailored jacket.
“of course they do,” you say lightly, voice calm, casual as you let the words hang just long enough to catch him off guard.
he pauses, hand frozen on the coat, glancing back at you. “i’ll be quick,” he says, tone soft and apologetic, like he assumes he’s already forgiven before you’ve even spoken.
a smile tugs at your lips, but it isn’t warm, and it certainly isn’t sweet. it’s edged with mischief and a pinch of irritation you don’t bother hiding. “you always are,” you reply, watching the faint flicker of recognition—or is it guilt?—cross his face.
he hesitates again, suspiciously watching your careful movements and your slightly condescending undertone.
the phone in his hand, the weight of it heavy against his palm as you let the silence stretch, letting him feel it, letting him wonder how long you’ll let him get away with it this time.
the unspoken ultimatum hangs thick in the air. he can feel it, just as clearly as you do, and there’s a flicker in his eyes—curiosity, maybe caution—but mostly, he knows exactly what’s coming, and for once, he’s powerless to stop it.
he stops in his tracks. his brows knit together as he turns to face you fully. “what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, the edge in his voice betraying that he’s already feeling a mix of anticipation and apprehension.
it’s not that you want him to put you before his work, but his constant comings and goings have started to feel like more absence than presence. the stretches of time he’s gone outnumber the moments he actually stays, and you can’t help but notice, counting the hours and the empty space he leaves behind.
you set your glass down with slow precision, the faint clink punctuating the tension. standing, you move with unhurried confidence, heels clicking softly against the floor in measured rhythm.
each step closes the distance between you until the space separating you is negligible.
“it means,” you murmur, letting your fingers slide over the fabric of his chest, smoothing the jacket he’s about to leave in, straightening the lines as if correcting more than just fabric, “that you’re very good at disappearing.”
his jaw tightens, a flicker of irritation crossing his otherwise calm features. “doll—” he begins, but you stop him effortlessly with a single, soft tap to his tie, a corrective motion that feels casual yet commanding.
“no,” you say, “let me finish.”
and he does. because he knows better than to interrupt when the tension in your tone carries authority, when your presence alone demands attention.
he lets you, eyes darkening with curiosity and something far more instinctive, as if he already senses that this moment has shifted. that whatever control he thought he had is slipping right through his fingers.
you step closer. not enough to touch him—just enough that he can smell your perfume, feel the warmth of your body in his space. it’s intentional. you want him aware. you want him focused.
“i moved into your house,” you continue, voice calm in a way that makes the words sharper. “i wear your clothes. i sleep in your bed. i get spoiled, taken out, bought things without asking.”
your fingers trail down the front of his jacket, slow, almost idle, tracing the line of his torso like you’re inventorying what’s yours.
“but lately?” you pause, looking up at him through your lashes. “i feel like a very well-kept inconvenience.”
that lands exactly where you want it to.
his shoulders drop just a fraction, the smallest crack in his composure.
his jaw tightens. “that’s not fair,” he says, but there’s no real conviction behind it.
you tilt your head, studying him. “isn’t it?”
silence stretches between you. then his phone buzzes again, intrusive. you glance down at it pointedly, then back up at him, unimpressed.
“here’s the thing,” you say, tone bordering on bored, like this conversation is almost beneath you. “i’m not asking for labels. i’m not asking for you to buy me presents. i’m asking for presence.”
he exhales through his nose, eyes never leaving yours. “and if i can’t?” he asks, testing you.
you smile then, condescendingly, letting the sharp curve of your lips linger just long enough to make him uneasy.
“then i’ll remind myself that i have options.” there it was—the ultimatum.
and that does it.
his hand rises slowly, hovering at your waist, just shy of touching, as if testing the air between you.
the heat radiating off him, the subtle brush of his presence—it’s all deliberate. “you threatening me?” he asks, his voice low but threaded with a tension you can hear, feel, even through his calm tone.
“no,” you answer softly, letting the words stretch. “i’m informing you.”
another pause stretches between you, longer this time, thick with unspoken challenges and anticipation.
your eyes lock on his, watching the subtle shift in his expression—bucky’s tightening at his jaw, the almost imperceptible hitch of his breath, the way his chest rises just a little faster.
every fraction of a movement is magnified, a silent admission that he knows exactly what you mean and exactly what’s at stake.
his phone buzzes again, a faint vibration on the table, and you let your eyes flick to it.
a small smirk tugs at your lips. you let the moment linger, the power dynamics twisting between the two of you like a slow dance. the world outside ceases to exist: the phone, the work, the obligations—it’s all secondary to this precise, taut moment.
finally, with a careful exhale, he reaches for the table. his hand moves over the surface, brushing the phone before he sets it face down.
the click echoes softly, disproportionately loud in the quiet room. and just like that, he’s fully present, if only by intention, leaving the distractions behind the buzzing world outside, his attention’s left only to you and the unspoken challenge between you.
he’s yours now, entirely aware of it—and entirely helpless against the pull you’ve set in motion.
“i’m sorry,” he says at last. no dramatics. no excuses. just the truth, laid bare between you. “i got comfortable.”
you hum softly, the sound slow and pleased, like you’d been waiting for him to say exactly that. “you did.”
bucky steps closer, closing the space you’d left between you. this time, there’s no hesitation. his hand settles at your waist, firm, as if he’s grounding you.
his thumb pressing in just enough to remind you how easily he can hold you there. “won’t happen again,” he adds.
you tilt your head up to look at him through your lashes, letting the silence stretch. “and tonight?” you ask lightly, as if you’re only half-interested in the answer.
he doesn’t miss a beat. he leans in, close enough that his breath brushes your lips, his voice dropping into something private, intimate. “work can wait.”
“good.” you murmur.
his grip tightens just slightly at your waist. his other hand—the metal one—comes up, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your face just enough to keep your attention where he wants it.
whatever came next was no longer about work, or waiting, or options. it was about him making it up to you.
and whatever apology he owes you next, he clearly plans on delivering it without words.
but first, a thought crosses his mind. he pauses, letting his gaze linger on you, taking in the subtle rise of your brow, the soft curve of your lips, the way your hair falls around your shoulders.
for a moment, he just watches, quietly. “tell you what,” he says finally. “i’ll take you somewhere tonight.”
you raise an eyebrow, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “oh?” you murmur, letting your curiosity show, letting him feel that little flicker of anticipation he’s always so good at stirring in you.
“it’s still early in the night,” he adds, lifting his flesh arm to check his wristwatch. “6 pm,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before pulling you closer into his hug.
the heat of his chest pressing against you as his hands settle at the small of your back, firm and warm, and you can feel the weight of him there.
“m’sure there are still stores open,” he teases, his voice low and playful, carrying just the right hint of a challenge. “come on—let’s go spend all that hard-earned money.”
you hum softly in response, nodding, feeling a rush of something that’s equal parts satisfaction and longing.
you don’t actually need to spend anything, not really—you both know that—but indulging in a little retail therapy feels like claiming a piece of him that’s been absent too long.
it feels like reclaiming some control, too, letting the space of the house, the long stretches of empty hours, finally bend in your favor.
“maybe some christmas lights?” you suggest, letting your hand brush over the fabric of his jacket as he draws you even closer.
“whatever you want, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to the crown of your head, enough to remind you of the warmth and power he carries, even in casual gestures.
you let your own words continue, ignoring the sweetness for now. “this place could use a little lights. i haven’t gotten around to decorating it yet.”
he pulls back just enough to study your face, a mock frown forming that’s more amused than anything. “then what have you been doing all day while i’m gone?”
you tilt your head, pretending to think, letting your smirk widen. “other than being an online tutor… sulking,” your fingers trace the edge of his tie, a small gesture that makes his chest tighten slightly under your touch.
he lets out a low, rumbling laugh, a sound that vibrates against your side as he holds you a fraction closer.
────────────────────────
you both end up spending far more than you’d intended, but it isn’t mindless or careless. each purchase is deliberate—presents for your nieces and nephews, small decorative touches to make the house festive.
what you don’t notice, though, is the quiet mischief bucky slips in. when you linger over a glittering ornament, indecisive between two styles, he murmurs something about excusing himself and vanishes to the “bathroom.”
what you assume is a mundane errand is anything but. somewhere nearby, bucky barnes moves with the precision you’ve come to expect, selecting a small, sleek box. black silk peeks from the corner as he smiles to himself.
it’s intimate and entirely him: a black lingerie set, chosen not at random but with an intent that leaves no room for misunderstanding.
you’re standing in the kitchen, your newly bought items carefully lined up on the counter, slowly unpacking them, ready to be used—excluding the gifts meant for friends and family, of course.
you had immediately changed into something comfortable the moment you got home, shedding the layers of the day, and so had bucky. somewhere in the bedroom, he was swapping his suit and tie for the casual clothes you rarely see him in.
then you hear heavy footsteps approaching. your attention shifts instinctively, and when you glance up, you catch sight of him. gray sweatpants hug his hips, nothing on top. the sharp lines of his chiseled abs, the curve of his broad shoulders, and the defined sculpt of his biceps immediately draw your gaze, leaving you momentarily breathless.
a slow, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.
reflexively, you glance away, pretending not to notice him, though your pulse betrays your awareness. he steps closer, two feet away, his presence pressing against yours in a way that’s impossible to ignore.
as you carefully pull the decorations from their plastic packaging, untangling the strings of lights and fluffing small ornaments, bucky suddenly places a small, neatly wrapped gift in front of you.
you glance at the gift, then at him, then back again, curiosity prickling at your skin. “what’s this?” you ask, lifting the box from the kitchen counter.
your hands are still dusted with the glitter from the ornaments. you’ve been unpacking the christmas lights, both of you promising that tonight would be about decorating, about being together—and now this unexpected addition catches you off guard.
his eyes glint with amusement—something tells you he’s thought about this longer than you realize. he leans closer, voice low and teasing. “go on, princess. open it.”
you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow, letting your gaze linger on him for a moment before returning to the box. “when did you find the time to buy this?” you ask, voice light but tinged with disbelief.
your fingers brush over the wrapping paper, running along the edges slowly as though savoring the mystery.
his grin widens, that rare, almost boyish look he gets when he’s pleased with himself and knows exactly how much attention he’s caught.
“when i went to the ‘bathroom,’” he replies, as if the explanation is perfectly reasonable, though the slight twitch at the corner of his lips betrays the mischief behind it.
you laugh playfully scoffing, shaking your head. “you’re so full of excuses.”
finally, shifting your gaze back to the box, you tear at the wrapping paper with impatience, letting the crinkle of the paper fill the space between you.
as it falls away, your fingers brush against the smooth black silk inside, and your breath catches ever so slightly.
he watches you like a kid giving their crush a secret santa gift. you notice the way he shifts, he way his jaw flexes as he observes your reaction.
when you finally see what the box contains, your fingers brushing over the silky fabric. you lift the lingerie out of the box, letting it fall back into the packaging and then catching his eyes again. there’s a quiet tension now, a mix of anticipation and playful control.
you glance back up at him, a teasing lilt in your voice. “a lingerie?”
he nods as he takes a step closer, he reaches for your wrist, his touch gentle but firm, tugging you just enough to close the space between you. “is this you… apologizing?” you ask.
he raises an eyebrow, letting the question hang as you step closer. without another word, he takes the lead, guiding you toward your shared bedroom.
“change for me, will ya, honey?” he murmurs as he settles onto the soft bed, his legs manspreading comfortably, eyes locked on you as you stand holding the lingerie in your hands.
there’s a playful gleam in his gaze, a silent command wrapped in warmth, letting you know exactly how he wants this moment to unfold.
“i hope you don’t think this isn’t your christmas present for me,” you state, teasing laced in your tone.
from the bed, you hear him murmur, “no?”—but you choose to ignore it, letting the small, pointed question hang in the air.
with a slow sway of your hips, you walk toward the walk-in closet, knowing exactly how much of his attention you have. the silky fabric of the lingerie in your hands feels heavy with promise, and the anticipation coils in your stomach.
the soft click of the closet door behind you marks the space you take for yourself, even as the tension between you two hangs thick in the air.
the moment you step out, his eyes widen, darkening with a mix of adoration and lust. he rises from the bed, closing the distance between you, drawn to you like gravity.
“don’t ‘ya look more pretty than the mannequin they use to display this,” he murmurs as his gaze roams you in appreciative, slow sweeps.
you can’t help but chuckle softly at his compliment, but before another word can leave your lips, he dips down, pressing his mouth to yours.
the kiss is firm leaving no room for hesitation. his hands find your hips instantly, pulling you closer, and you feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, every inch of him focused entirely on you.
his metal hand cups your cheek as it slowly moves its way to your chin, urging you to slightly open your mouth. and when you did, bucky wastes no time inserting his tongue inside your mouth.
your teeth grazes his tongue to which he grunts from. he swirls it as both your tongues collide, mixing both your salivas together.
his metal hand grips your waist firmly, guiding you as he steps backward without once breaking the connection of your lips. your eyes remain closed, hearts and breaths mingling, each step relying entirely on instinct.
you move slowly, carefully, blindly following him as he leads you toward the bed.
the playful tension from earlier melts seamlessly into something deeper, charged, a slow escalation that leaves no doubt who’s leading this moment—and who’s utterly captivated.
he stumbles slightly but eventually manages to guide you both safely onto the bed—careful, never once breaking the connection between both of your lips.
only when you’re both settled does he finally pull back, just enough to catch his breath. his gaze drifts from your eyes to your swollen lips, then back up again, filled with desire.
he murmurs a small, almost incoherent compliment, the words muffled but heavy with intent, before diving back in.
this time, his kisses trace a slow path—first along your jaw, lingering at the curve, then down the column of your neck, finally brushing against the sensitive skin of your collarbone.
the weight of his body against yours, the heat radiating from him, and the way his hands roam carefully over your waist and hips—all of it builds a tension that coils tighter with every second.
your grip tightens on his shoulder as he sucks on your skin, creating a promised purple mark. his tongue grazes over your skin, soothing the area his mouth bruised.
a soft moan escapes your chest, when you feel his trail of hickeys slowly, deliberately, travels downwards to where your breasts lies.
he pulls back only to whisper a compliment. “damn, princess… ‘ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in this lingerie,” his voice slurs, the words vibrating against your skin, leaving a shiver in their wake.
before you can even respond with a moan, he’s back on your skin—his lips trailing down the curve of your breast, nipping lightly, teasing, then pressing against the sensitive skin of your nipples.
his hands roam with purpose, sliding along your waist, cupping your hips, pulling you impossibly close.
suddenly, you press your palms against his chest in a silent motion for him to stop. he hesitates, eyes questioning, searching your gaze for a hint of what you want.
without a word, you shift abruptly, rising onto your knees. the bed creaks beneath you, a soft reminder of your movement. his eyes follow you as he adjusts instinctively, now leaning back against the headboard, letting you take the lead.
he watches you, every subtle motion, every sway, the heat in his eyes unhidden. you gather your hair with your hands, twisting it into a messy ponytail and holding it up for him.
bucky, ever the gentleman, doesn’t hesitate. his fingers move quickly, sliding through your strands as he fashions a makeshift hair tie.
he leans in close, eyes flicking to your neck and the curve of your shoulders, he murmurs, “looks good… but i think i like it even better when i do it myself.”
you lean down, moving with grace, and bucky watches you with undeniable admiration. he exhales softly, not from frustration, but from the quiet awe of having someone as stunning as you in front of him, completely in his presence, licking his toned abs.
“you’re so busy these past few months…” you start out, pressing soft, gentle kisses on his rock-hard abs as you slowly sink downward, every movement unhurried. bucky’s gaze never leaves you. his metal fingers cradle your hair, cool against the skin of your skull, guiding you just enough to keep you close—letting him take in every second, every expression, like it’s something he wants to memorize.
you continue. “i want a gift on behalf of you being busy,” bucky nods without hesitation, already ready to spend however much your heart desires but you shake your head.
your fingers slowly make their way to the waistband of his pants. bucky only then realizes what you’re implying, a teasing smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “ah?” he hums, drawn-out and knowing.
“yeah,” he adds, voice steadier now, more sure of itself. confident. “i’ve got a big gift for you, honey.”
his flesh hand cups your cheeks, gently tilting your jaw upwards to face him. “you think you deserve a big gift, baby?” he asks, tone almost condensing. still, you nod anyway.
your hands slip down through the waistband, and with his help, it’s immediately discarded, thrown to god knows where. his throbbing length springs out, already leaking with pre-cum. he does a small gesture before speaking up, “go ahead, honey.”
you lean closer, your lips wrap around his tip. you hollow your mouth as you slowly take him, inch by inch. your tongue darts out, licking and tracing the veins of his throbbing cock and you watch him throw his head back to the headboard from the pleasure.
unfortunately, your gag reflex works to humble you, you pull away, coughing as your lungs steal as much air as it could.
“t—too big,” you whine, the sound only seeming to feed his already massive ego. bucky’s mouth curves into a slow smirk, his gaze dropping to you with deliberate, almost condescending ease.
“aww, c’mon, baby,” he says, tone coaxing and smug all at once. “you can do it.”
his metal fingers slide into your hair, adjusting before curling more firmly than before. he doesn’t force you—never that. instead, he guides you gently, matching your the pace your comfortable with, lets you set it, because that’s the kind of man bucky is.
you take his cock again, gagging as he thrust his hips when he finally notices you adjust to the pace. his metal arm holds a different angle, pushing your head up and down.
“you’re so fuckin’ pretty.” bucky couldn’t help but to compliment as he watches you bop your head up and down with the help of his prosthetic arm.
“fuckin’ perfect.” he says, thrusting into your throat, causing you to suck in, hollowing the hole of your mouth, squeezing his length making him groan in response.
his body shivers when a wave of pleasure washes over him, demanding a release. as much as he wants to spill his release inside your mouth, watch as you have trouble swallowing before flashing him your tongue for proof that you did, he wants to savor this moment with you.
he pulls your hair, mouth leaving his tip with a loud “pop” noise. his gaze watches as you lick your lips, seductively.
“biggest christmas present ‘ya ever gotten?” he asks, teasing. to which all you can do is nod in response, your throat too overwhelmed and used to manage even the faintest sound.
“ride your present, honey.” and you obeyed. deliberately slow, you started crawling over to him, legs already spread, pressed against each side of his thighs, you straddle him.
he takes his cock to his flesh hand, stroking on it for a couple of times before he finally aligns himself to your entrance, pushing the thin fabric of the lingerie aside.
you slowly sink down, your head dipping, pressing on his chest as your warm walls slowly adjust to the stretch of his huge cock.
“fu… fuck, bucky… c-cant.” you moan, his large size almost stifling you. bucky’s hips grinds in a desperate attempt to search for friction as your tight walls swallow his cock deliberately slow.
“you can take it, baby.” he says, flesh hand placed on your hip as if to ground you. “shit,” he lets out, whispering more to himself when he feels you squeeze around him.
you mewled his name out when you finally take his cock whole. you stay there for a moment, catching your breath, chest rising and falling as bucky gently brushes a couple of strands of hair from your face, soothing and unhurried.
when you finally adjust to his size, you slowly bounce on his length. a loud moan escapes your chest just as a loud groan escapes his when the tip of his cock hits your g-spot repeatedly. his hips ruts into you, feeling your walls wrap around his cock almost so perfectly.
his hand—the metal one—makes itself useful as he places them on your bosom, squeezing your breasts while his flesh hand roams to trace every curve of your body.
“and i fuckin’,” he thrusts harder, cock almost slipping itself out of you if not for his gigantic size that makes a home of your sweet cunt.
“chose work,” he continues, “over you—this… fuuuuuck.”
his flesh hand that roamed around found its way to your back as his fingers casually, deliberately unties the strings of the lingerie, letting the thin strands of the undergarment detach from your body, giving his left hand more access to your tits.
your nails dig onto his biceps, leaving a red patch of scratches onto his skin as he completely rails you.
your mouth hangs open, ready to let out a couple of words for him puzzle together but as if he could read you already, he brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, “fuck, yeah, cum for me.”
your walls clench around his shaft and after a couple more thrust, you finally reach your climax, releasing all over him.
it takes bucky a few more strokes before he also reaches his peak, making him spill his orgasm inside of you, filling you up to the brim. you dramatically collapse against his chest, and his arms come around you instantly, like muscle memory kicking in.
“fuck… i’m tired,” you whine, pushing yourself up with your knee—moaning when his cock slips out of you—before finally settling down beside him on the bed, exhaustion sinking in as you relax against the mattress.
he takes a glance at you, smiling proudly, then pushes his fingers inside your cunt, smearing every last bit of his cum inside you, while you let out the loudest moan due to the sensitivity from the post-orgasm.
⟡˙˖ ıl. from lovie. merry christmas, happy hanukkah, or whatever you celebrate! i hope this season brings you warmth, comfort, and moments of joy. wishing you all rest, peace, and lots of love this holiday season. <33333
ཻུ synopsis: your husband has a demanding job. being a CEO for a multi million dollar company is not easy. so yes of course, he’s always on his phone taking calls. of course, he spends some of his free time in his office catching up on emails or even having zoom meetings. and of course some times he works overtime and comes home late, but what isn’t normal is when you go to his office to drop off lunch that he forgot and walk into his office seeing something you never thought you’d see. based on this request.
cw: angst, hurt/comfort, bucky gets accused of cheating, huge misunderstanding, bucky’s assistant tries to seduce him, bucky is completely obsessed with his wife, reader takes absolutely no bullshit, no use of y/n, small mention of murder, reallyyyy small hint at the end of bucky being a bit dark? happy ending
wc: 1.9k
bucky barnes masterlist ༻ navi
bucky sighs, raking a hand through his already tousled hair.
this new merge that he plans to do with another big company is becoming too much for him to handle.
he just can't understand how something that sounds so simple to do eats up all of his time.
not only does he have to attend more meetings than usual which discusses the costs and benefits of the merge, but he also has to read and sign tons of paperwork which leads to him spending long days at the office and not getting home until you're already asleep.
he misses you.
and he can't fucking wait until this merge is finalised so he can go back to being the normal working husband who is able to be at home in time for dinner.
a knock at his door followed by a high pitched "mr barnes!" breaks him out of his stressed filled haze.
"come in." bucky grunts, his lip curling in annoyance when his assistant strolls into his room.
she plops herself in the chair across from him, dumping the piles of paperwork she had in her hands all over his desk.
for a moment there’s silence, just her biting her lip staring deep into bucky’s soul and bucky just staring back at her in utter annoyance.
he’s been so busy with his company’s future that he’s never even realised how much of a nuisance his assistant is.
she does absolutely nothing useful, and always tries to subtly flirt with him. not enough for him to fire her for inappropriate work behaviour but just enough for him to always make sure his wedding band is on show and that the picture of you and him on his desk is always facing towards the door so that anyone who comes in his office knows that he’s happily married.
“do you need something?” bucky grunts, leaning back in his chair and crossing his hands over his lap.
she stays silent, popping her gum confidently like she’s planning something.
“well?” bucky urges with his hand. “im a busy man so if you have no important information to give me, get out of my office.” and with that, he starts jotting down his signature back down on the several papers in front of him.
"your wife called." bucky's head snaps up, his pen freezing in place at the mention of you. "she said she's on her way to the office. something about you forgetting your lunch when you left this morning."
bucky puts his pen down, leaning back in his chair. "so my wife called and you never thought to redirect the call to me?"
“i was going to.” she starts, pushing herself forward so her breasts are nearly popping out of her blouse. “but you did tell me not to disturb you with certain matters, especially when your busy.”
bucky closes his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose with anger. “and why on earth would i be too busy for my wife?”
she shrugs, standing up and making her way around his desk until she’s standing right over him.
“what are you doing?” bucky asks, his brows furrowing in confusion.
her hands move to the top button of her blouse, unbuttoning the first one and then the second one.
“get out.” bucky rises from his chair, already towering over her despite the four inch heels she’s wearing.
“ive always wondered what it’ll be like with you. tall frame, fitted suit,” she blows out a breath completely ignoring bucky’s words. “your wife must be a lucky woman.”
“get. out.” bucky grits his teeth, “i don’t want to see you back here again. you’re done, you’re fired. how fucking dare you come in my office to try and seduce me, are you fucking insane?” with every word that spills out of bucky’s mouth, his tone gets more sharper, his voice getting louder to the point he sees a small flinch on his now ex assistants face. but he doesn’t give a fuck. where’s her morals, her respect?
“so you haven’t thought of doing me just once?” bucky has never in his entire life thought of dragging a woman by her hair before but at this moment he is definitely considering it.
bucky clenches his jaw, trying to suppress the anger that is slowly overtaking his body. he is tired, overworked and misses his fucking wife and now he has this bullshit to deal with.
“get the fuck out of my building.” bucky snarls, grabbing her arm so he can manoeuvre her towards the door, but just as his hand touches her, the door swings open.
“hey baby, i just wanted to…” your words drift off, the big smile that you had on your face upon entering, falling at the scene you have in front of you.
bucky's whole world freezes.
the utter heartbreak on your face makes his heart squeeze.
he understands how this looks.
his hand tightly wrapped around his assistants arm, her blouse undone making her bra show. his face close to hers, but this whole scene is so misleading that it makes bucky’s head hurt.
“doll—” you shake your head quickly at his attempt to try and explain himself.
how dare he even try and talk to you right now after you can clearly see what was happening.
you turn on your heel, speed walking down the long hallway, trying to get away from your cheating husband.
you hear heavy footsteps and your name leaving bucky’s mouth behind you but you don’t dare look back. you can’t look back. not with the way your heart is squeezing so tight in your chest.
you feel your arm getting yanked back, making your steps falter and your body fall back straight into bucky’s chest.
“please.” you can feel the quickness of his heart beat on your back, “baby please let me explain it’s not what you think.”
your head snaps in his direction so fast, “what the fuck do you mean? i saw it with my own eyes. i just probably interrupted you both until you got to actually fucking.”
bucky looks around at his employees that have stopped at the scene of you accusing him of cheating. without saying a word, he steers you towards a door at the end of the corridor that should be an empty meeting room.
“let go of me!” you yell. “what? you don’t want your staff to know that you’re fucking your assistant?” bucky slams the door shut stopping you from spewing out any more words out of anger.
“im not sleeping with her.” bucky grits his teeth, annoyed that you’ll even think that of him.
"get off of me!" you yank your arm out of his grasp.
“baby.” bucky attempts to calm you down by placing his hand on your shoulder but stops himself when he sees your body slightly flinch at his upcoming touch. “i need you to calm down and listen to me—”
“what do you mean calm down—” your yells are cut off abruptly when bucky grabs you by your shoulders and pushes you gently against the closed door so his face is close to yours. at this point he’s angry. angry that you even thought that he’d want anyone else but you. after years of love and affection that he’s shown you and you really thought he’d do something so absurd.
“listen. to. me.” you clamp your lips shut, your chest rising and falling with anger. but also hurt, you’re so hurt that even though you’ve been yelling at him, that’s just you putting on a brave front. all you really want to do is go home and cry.
“do you know how much i fucking love you? have i not shown you how much i love you? every tiring moment that i am at work, away from you all i fucking do is count down the hours until i come home to you. you. no one else. and yet you doubt me. you doubt me so much that you thought i would ever cheat on you?”
you turn your face away so he can’t see the tears that are forming.
“that in there,” bucky points, “was me firing her. that was me holding her accountable for trying to sleep with me. for attempting to make me desire her when i made it abundantly clear that im a happily married man. and since she was refusing to leave i was just about to chuck her out my damn self, so im sorry that it looked like it was something else but it wasn’t. and im offended that you even thought it was.”
you stay silent, your lip trembling with the urge to burst into tears. you feel angry at yourself for making such a scene out of something so small. god, now your husband is going to have to explain to all his employees that overheard your yelling that he wasn’t having an affair and it was all a misunderstanding but it still won’t stop the gossiping that will be floating around the office before the workday is over. bucky’s reputation just may be ruined all because of you.
“baby, please look at me.” your eyes snap to his at the utter softness of his voice, completely different from the harsh tone he just used on you which you can’t fault him for. you did technically blame him for something he never even did. that will make anyone break character, no matter how calm of an individual they are.
and yes your husband may not be the most patient man, and yes he’s almost always grumpy but never with you. he’s never even raised his voice at you before, hes always treated you with tenderness and affection and you had the audacity to accuse him of cheating?
gosh you feel sick.
“im sorry.” you whisper, your voice hoarse and scratchy from all the screaming you did.
his hand comes up to palm the side of your face, his head leaning down so you’re both eye to eye. “i know, doll. it’s okay. look why don’t you go sit down in my office while i deal with a few things and then we can go home together?”
you sniff, wiping away the stray tears that must of fell. “i don’t want to go back out there, it’ll be embarrassing.” you wince, hiding your face in his chest.
bucky lets out a small chuckle, despite the situation. “baby, if anyone’s going to be embarrassed it’ll be me.”
“i said i was sorry!” you whine, clutching his shirt tighter. “also now that i found out she tried to seduce you, i have the urge to go out there and beat her ass.”
“now as much as that’ll be extremely satisfying, ill hate to have my beautiful wife go to jail for attempted murder.” you shrug in reply, placing a sweet kiss on your husbands lips.
“well then let’s hope that when we get to your office, she’ll already be out of the building.”
“oh she will be.” bucky grunts, his jaw clenching at the mere thought of his ex assistant still wandering the halls of his building.
she better hope that bucky never sees her again, because after what she did today, how she made you feel, she’s lucky that she even got to keep both of the hands that she used to touch him.
authors note: IM BACKKKKK AHHHHH. ugh it feels like ive been gone for so long!!!!
Now see, she’s better than me. I would’ve asked for the CCTV footage if there is one. Maybe seduce Bucky in that CCTV room and have some filthy fuck
Or maybe I’ll ask Bucky fuck me while she’s forced to watch or listen to me being cracked so good that I am so so loud. (video?? Liveeee??) but all she can hear and/or see is me, I will never give her the satisfaction of even seeing or hearing him in that state. Only time I will let her hear him is when he’s professing his undying unconditional love for me and his need for me to have his babies and be the mother of his children, no one else
ㅤㅤ. . . Despite what anyone might say, your relationship was still fragile, passing through those first months when everyone expected the inevitable collapse once the honeymoon phase wore off.
You, however, knew Bucky was something steady and permanent. Your chivalrous boyfriend seemed like he hadn’t touched a girl since the ’40s. Ever since you started dating, his touches had been delicate, that almost fragile way he handled you charming—and, sometimes, honestly exhausting.
Things in the bedroom were no different.
Maybe that was why your lower belly still burned while your breathing slowly evened out, lying there with Bucky’s arm around your shoulders and his body still warm beside yours beneath the sheets. That night the sex had been as sweet as ever, his lips lingering on your skin only as long as they absolutely had to, his whispered words of adoration brushing against your neck.
Nothing calmed the heat in your pussy.
“Bucky?” you murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw that made him shiver briefly, just like he always did whenever your lips touched his skin.
And still he wouldn’t let you use your mouth to please him, you thought bitterly.
Even so, you didn’t let the thought discourage you.
His time would come.
Bucky only hummed faintly in acknowledgment, his body still loose and relaxed, his thumb stroking along your ribs. Not too high. Not brushing your bare breasts or the hardened peaks reaching toward him, begging for his mouth. Your lips pursed before you continued.
“I want to try something new.”
Your words clearly caught him off guard.
“Something… new?” he repeated, brow furrowing, head tilting like a curious puppy. It might have been cute if you weren’t already wet enough to make patience impossible. “New like… here, in bed? Or do you mean…?”
You barely let him finish before answering.
“I want to sit on your face. Fuck me with your tongue, Buck.”
The curse that slipped from Bucky’s mouth only made your cunt grow wetter, already clenching around nothing while a few drops of his semen still slid slowly between your thighs.
“Jesus, sweetheart. Why would you say—? What the hell…?” he huffed, chest rising fast as his arm tightened around your shoulders while you bit your lip and looked at him with those doe eyes that always made him give in. “We’ve never done that. I mean, I don’t think… that wouldn’t be good, and I—”
“Bucky, Buck, please,” you pleaded, lips already pouting as your leg shifted over his thigh, the friction of his bare skin against your center sending another wave of wetness through your folds. Bucky’s grip tightened even more. “I want to do it. You’re sweet and very chivalrous, but I need more. Please, please, my love. Just this once, and if it’s not good then we’ll never do it again for the rest of our lives, okay? I want to feel your tongue. Please, James.”
His name on your lips was enough to make his pupils expand like a predator’s, the feeling of his still-warm, soft cock against your thigh beginning to harden again. Bucky had never been a strong man when it came to you and your pleading.
“Climb onto my chest, sweetheart. Hands on the headboard.”
It was the only thing he said, in that rough tone that made heat coil deep in your stomach and wetness surge between your legs.
Excitement filled your chest at his words. You left a quick kiss on his lips before sliding your leg fully over his waist, dragging your wetness along the path of his abs until your ass settled on his bare chest. His hands moved down to grip your waist as if you were a doll made of clay beneath his touch. Your knees framed his head while Bucky silently examined the slick shine of your folds barely brushing his skin.
A low growl rumbled in his chest.
“Fuck, look at that. I just filled you and you’re already asking for more stuffing in that cunt, huh?” he muttered almost to himself, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip as he pulled your hips forward, his nose brushing your trembling thigh. “And how thoughtful. Still dripping my cum. Dirty little thing.”
“Buck, stop—oh, fuck.”
Bucky’s tongue dove between your folds before you could finish complaining. His lips wrapped around your clit with a gentle tug that made you gasp and whimper. He ate you like you were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, his tongue circling your clit while his nose brushed the start of your slit. Your eyes nearly rolled back as the wet sounds of his mouth filled the room.
“Oh, I—Buck, Bucky, please…” you moaned instinctively, your hips trying to roll to chase the sensation of his lips. Bucky growled low, pulling away with one last suck on your swollen clit, the pop echoing like your final sentence. You could have cried from frustration, looking down at him as your hands smacked the headboard.
“No! No, no… please don’t—don’t stop, I need it… I want—please…”
The teasing smile that left his lips would have earned him a slap if the heat twisting in your stomach weren’t so overwhelming.
“You asked for this, sweetheart. You begged for it,” he replied coolly, guiding your hips in a slow roll, his rough stubble dragging deliciously across your trembling folds. The sound that left your mouth was anything but dignified, but Bucky only kept smiling, lips swollen and wet. “So be a good girl, yeah? Stay still and I’ll give you a nice reward. But if you even try to move your hands off the headboard, I swear I’ll suck your pussy without giving you a single fucking orgasm. Understood?”
Your whimper came out faster than expected.
“Understood, understood! Please, just go back to—”
Before you could finish, his mouth was between your legs again. Your lips parted in a trembling sigh, your head falling boneless against the headboard while your nails dug crescent shapes into the fabric until it began to tear under the pressure. Bucky’s hands stayed anchored to your hips while his lips alternated between greedy sucks and kitten licks that made your head spin.
“Fuck, James! Don’t stop, please, don’t stop, don’t you dare—”
The words spilled out of you faster than your mind could process them. But Bucky kept that arrogant air as you sat on his face, the lower half of it buried between your thighs and his eyes shut in pleasure. Low groans vibrated against your pussy between every suck, his words muffled against your wet folds.
“So fucking good, baby… best meal I’ve ever had,” he breathed against the slick heat between your legs, his nose hooked against your clit while his tongue moved side to side in a furious lick that sent fire straight to your womb. “I can feel how much this pussy wants something inside it. Fuck, my girl can’t get enough of my tongue, huh? So wet, so damn ready for my tongue and my cock.”
His words only stoked the fire in your stomach, your breath catching in your throat when Bucky’s tongue slid between your folds, sucking at your entrance like he was eating a glazed donut from the inside out. Your forehead dropped against your forearm on the headboard as the knot in your belly snapped and your orgasm crashed through you, flooding Bucky’s mouth and dripping down his chin like melting ice cream.
“Shit, yeah, give it to me, give me everything. I want every last drop, baby. That’s it. My strong girl, so fucking sweet,” he groaned, sucking down your release in obscenely loud noises, his hands pressing your hips firmly onto his face until the curve of your ass settled fully against his wet chin. “More… I’m not full yet. Give me another, sweetheart. Give me another and then I’ll give you my cock.”
The frustrated moan that left your lips broke into a sob while his tongue returned to its assault, your body still shaking and your thighs weak against his cheeks.
“I can’t, Buck. Please, no. I can’t, I don’t have another one,” you pleaded to deaf ears while Bucky kept sucking through the aftershocks of your orgasm and the tremors wracking your muscles. “Jamie, please, Buck…”
“Give me another, sweetheart,” was all he said.
Your eyes filled with tears while Bucky guided your hips back and forth over his face, your slick soaking his bronzed skin. His tongue chased the salty taste of the drops of your orgasm his mouth had missed, sucking them up in quick, confident pulls that made tears run down your cheeks and your toes curl beside his shoulders.
“Buck, I can’t anymore! I can’t, please, it’s too much, too much!”
“Never enough,” he replied, the words nearly lost in the friction of his tongue against your folds as he licked up the pearly drops of wetness still pooling between them despite your pleas.
A sob tore from your chest as your thighs relaxed around his head. Bucky made a pleased sound, eyes shut tight and brows drawn together while he guided your hips, bouncing you against his hungry tongue. One of his hands left your waist, sliding like a snake beneath your stretched arm, his thumb brushing your nipple in slow vicious circles that made the knot in your stomach ache and tighten.
“I feel you getting close… give it to me, please, fuck, give me everything,” Bucky panted between increasingly fierce sucks that left your folds tingling and made your back arch. His thumb and forefinger pinched your nipple just enough for pain and pleasure to blur together—and for the second time that night, the pressure in your lower belly broke as your orgasm spilled in soft drops across his face.
Your sobs softened while Bucky licked and cleaned your release from between your legs for what felt like forever. His fingers left your nipple and settled back on your waist, his once fierce grip loosening until you felt his calloused but gentle fingers tracing soothing circles along your skin. Your muscles felt like jelly by the time his licking slowed, his hands guiding you back until you were once again sitting on his chest.
A hiccup caught in your throat as you looked down at his still-dilated blue eyes and the stains of your release smeared across the lower half of his face like a permanent mark of your claim.
He barely managed a breath before speaking again.
“I swear to God, sweetheart, I hope you like having a new seat, because we’re doing this every day.”
Summary : Your hot CEO husband needs a break and what better way to do it than fucking him in his office.
Word Count : 2.5k
Warnings : 18+ MDNI, smut, semi public sex, oral (m rec.), dick pronouns (if you squint), Sub bucky, dirty talk, tie kink? (Is that even a thing?)
Please let me know if I've missed adding anything in the warnings
Surprising your CEO husband at his office in the middle of a busy day and wearing a rather seducing outfit for the said surprise is by far your favourite thing to do.
The thing about James Barnes is that he works hard. Too hard. And sometimes he doesn't know when to take a break. So you have your ways to get him to do it. You're a good wife, after all. You're always worried about his well-being.
You dab the pink lip gloss on your lips that you know is his favourite. He'll lick it right off of you after all.
Perfect.
Checking yourself in the car mirror one last time, you make your way upstairs to your husband's office.
Your stilletos click against the expensive hardwood floor as you greet the receptionist and his assistant before strutting towards his cabin.
You don't ask if he's in a meeting or if he's busy. He might be the boss here, but you have an authority on him at all times, that you don't need any permission to walk into his office and interrupt whatever important work he's in midst of doing.
You don't knock on the door, clicking it open with a flick of your wrist and entering the room with a charming smile on your face.
He doesn't look up “jenna I would like another black coffee, please. I really need to get this client's paperwork done by today”
“You don't need any more coffee sir” you coax your voice into a sweeter tone, imitating jenna, his assistant “What you need is a good fuck”
His eyes perk up at that. Finding you where he expected jenna to be and the tension in his body loosens ever so slightly.
You walk towards the desk with more of a sway in your hips than normal and his gaze drops immediately. He shifts in his seat, just as you make your way around his desk and settle down on his lap like its your assigned seat.
He doesn't startle, or stop you. Instead his hands find your waist on their own. Fingers curling around the silky fabric of your dress “Wasn't expecting you today”
“I wanted to surprise you” your hands smooth their way up his shirt until they rest just below the knot of his tie.
He gulps “Well I'm surprised”
You grin, eyes finding his and coaxing the truth out of him as you say “So…what's got you all hot and bothered today sir”
He sighs, exhausted “I have to get this paperwork done by tomorrow and there's these reconciliation statements that need to be reviewed before Monday and a creditor’s payment is due so I'll have to—fuck”
A curse slips out of him as you grind down on the growing bulge in his pants.
“Honey I don't think this is the right time” he mutters, eyes pinching closed as he tries to keep his composure
“You need a break Mr. Barnes” your voice is sweet poison. Luring him in without knowing what's waiting for him.
“Yeah no shit” he attempts to joke but you cut him off “I mean it” the gravity of your voice tells him he's not getting out of this unscathed.
“Honey I don't think—”
“Shhh you don't have to think. You just have to be. Let me do the work bucky. You just relax.” You rock forward before drawing your hips back again, rutting onto his cock in a slow, teasing rhythm.
“Baby—ah fuck that's…” words are lost to him. He doesn't know how to describe this feeling. You sitting on him with that fucking gorgeous dress that he loves and looking down at him with wicked glint in your eyes
“Yeah?” You draw him out of his thoughts “Feel good bucky?”
“Yes, fuck—so good” he leans forward slightly and you envelope his mouth in a kiss that is meant to overwhelm. You let him fall into you. All his senses answering to you as you find his eyes looking into yours, mouth moaning your name, ears tinged red from your teasing voice, the sweet scent of your perfume filling his cabin as his hands try desperately to feel your skin on them.
One of your hands leaves its resting place in his hair and finds his metal palm trying to sneak under your dress before grasping it your hand and bringing it back up.
“Did I say you could do that?” You raise an eyebrow.
He shakes his head, obedient, it makes you smile “Then be a good boy and do as I say, okay” you peck his lips before moving from his lap and sinking onto your knees in front of him.
His palm comes to rest on your head, fingers curling around the hair as he brushes it away from your face.
You work at his fly with nimble fingers, tugging the zipper down and freeing his cock from the entrapment of his boxers.
It greets you just the way you knew it would. Hard and flushed pink all over, the tip of him glistening and tinged a shade of pink darker as it remains neglected.
You press a kiss on his shaft, and his hand tightens in your hair making you grin against him “So greedy, James. Thought you didn't want this?”
“I always want this” his voice is breathy, cracking at the edges.
“Yeah? You'll be a good boy for me won't you, then? Let me play with it nice and proper?” You look up at him from under your lashes.
“Yes please” he nods.
You take your time working him. Teasing licks on the length of him, tongue grazing the sensitive underside every so often as you ignore his forlorn tip even more.
All the while muttering filthy things under your breath, riling him up even more “Look how happy he is to see me, Bucky. All wet and pink and so fucking hard” you tap the head of him with a finger, barest of touch, but his whole body jerks in response.
“Baby, please” he whimpers when your tongue traces the shaft again, withdrawing before it grazes the tip.
“Please what, bucky?” You smirk, wicked and amused.
“Please, just—” his face burns redder with the moment, not wanting to say it out loud but knowing you're doing this on purpose to tease him.
“Say it, honey. What do you want?” you graze a single fingernail down the underside of his cock and he shudders.
“Do you want me here?” you kiss your way up his length
“Or here?” You press open-mouthed kisses on his frenulum and his cock twitches against your cheek.
You smile, mouth finding his balls and taking one in your mouth, “or maybe here?” You withdraw your mouth abruptly, giving him just enough of your touch to tease.
“Uh..” he groans, frustrated and waiting “baby please don't be like that”
“Like what?” You feign innocence.
“C'mon baby, tell me where do you want me” you push him further toward confessing his desires and he succumbs.
“Suck the tip, angel. Just a little, plea—aah fuck” he curses when your mouth closes over the head of him. Suckling slowly as your tongue swirls across the tip, delving into the slit, tasting the salt of him.
He moans, loud and unfiltered.
“yeah? Like that baby?” You pull away just to tease him with your words.
“Fuck yeah, just—ughh—like that.” He grunts
You work him slowly, almost teasingly. Taking him in little by little until he hits the back of your throat and his voice chokes on a moan at the feeling.
You hollow your cheeks, a hand going to play with his balls meanwhile. You cup them in your palm, tugging lightly and he whines “Harder please”
You can feel he's close in the way the muscles in his thighs tighten and his eyes pinch shut. And you, menace that you are, pull away completely.
His eyes open and find you looking up at him with the most innocent expression ever. The kind that doesn't say in the least of how you've edged him right now.
“Why would you do that?” His eyes have gone glassy with how pent up he is.
“You tell me. Why do you think you deserve to come bucky? You haven't been a good boy lately, have you?”
He tries to pull you back up onto his lap disregarding your words but your fingers grasp his jaw, making him look at you.
You feel the stubble scratch at your fingers, as you hold his gaze.
“You work too hard. Come home late. Have no time for me ‘cause you're overtired. And you still think you've been good?”
“I'm sorry” you hear him say. And the way he's looking at you tells him the apology is genuine. As much mad as you might be at him for not giving you the time for past few days, you know its not his fault. His work takes too much out of him and he's just as dedicated to it as he's to you.
You accept his apology in a sweet, chaste kiss. The kind that he feels in his bones. He moans into the kiss when he feels you settle above him.
He feels the warmth of your core, snuggle his cock. And he realises you were probably bare under that dress the entire time.
His cock twitches under you at the realisation and you grin tells him you're acknowledging it.
Your hands find the buttons of his shirt, opening them one by one before pushing his shirt off his shoulders.
His fingers move from your waist to his tie, loosening the knot but your hand comes to stop him “The tie stays on”
You tug at the fabric like a leash, pulling him in until his mouth rests on yours.
The kiss is heated. More tongue than lips, teeth clacking against each other until you're both breathless.
You rock forward, your warm core on his bare cock, sending shock waves through your veins. His tip nudges at your clit with every involuntary thrust of his hips and you both moan into the kiss.
And before you know it, you're sitting up and sinking down on him, walls clenching as you adjust to the sheer size of him. No matter how many times you take him. He hardly ever fails to take your breath away with how big he is.
But with how wet you have been since the moment you saw him, it doesn't take much resistance. He slides in right away, your walls snug around him as he revels in the feeling of you.
Home.
You grind down on him, rocking forward experimentally before pushing yourself up until just the head remains inside you and sinking down. Hard.
The moan he lets out is loud enough to summon all the staff working on that floor. And you’ve never been more grateful for the soundproofing in his cabin.
You set a pace almost instantly. Its nothing like the teasing way you had worked him in your mouth. It's brutal. Hard and fast that is meant to drive him towards his release.
Your hands grip his shoulders tightly as you bounce on him with practised rhythm. The kind that comes from doing the same thing over and over again.
His palm comes up to cup your breast through your dress, fondling it, and a high-pitched sound leaves you involuntarily.
The tip of him hits your cervix every time you sink down on him again, making him grunt
“Fuck. Baby, slow down. I'm not gonna last” he warns, trying to hold himself together and you want anything but. You want him to lose himself in you.
“You can fuck me slow later on, bucky.” You remind him “I want you to come now.”
“And when you come home early today, I'll be waiting for you in bed.” You feel him thrust up into you, noticing how close he is, you amp up your teasing, knowing he needs to hear your filthy words to climax.
“I'll even wear that lingerie you like. The pink one, you got me on your birthday. You'd love it, won't you?”
“Yes.” He pants against you “Fuck yes”
“And I'll let you do whatever you want. You can taste me if you want or have me on all fours. Like the time we did on our anniversary.”
The room reeks of sweat and sex now. The only sound is that of your skin slapping against each other as his thrusts grow erratic.
“You can even come inside. Give me all your babies. You'd be such a good dad, you know. They'd love you so much”
“Fuck—don't say that if you don't mean it” his voice is raspy, barely holding himself together.
“I mean it. Give it to me, bucky. Let me make you a daddy” he loses it at that. Burying himself to the hilt one last time before spilling into you with a loud curse.
You can feel the warmth of his release trickle down his shaft and your legs but none of you have it in yourself to care.
He's slumped back in his chair now. Chest heaving, eyes hooded, there's a dewy glow on his face that you only ever get to see on him after sex.
You smile despite yourself. Hand coming up to brush sweat slick strands of his hair back from his forehead.
He looks wrecked, coiffed hair messed up from your fingers in them, shirt rumpled from the way you were clutching it. Pants soiled and tie half undone.
You lean in, pressing soft pecks on his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose. He chuckles, coming down from the high.
“You did so good for me” you cup his face in your palms and feel his cheeks burn under your skin at the praise.
“Shut up” He hides his face in your chest, but you can feel him smile against you.
You stay like that for a few moments before attempting to stand up from his lap. But his arms come around you immediately.
“Wait.” His eyes soften “I haven't—you didn't come”
“I didn't need to. I came here for you, sweetheart. This wasn’t about me.” you reply, voice sweet and even, “But I'm holding you to your promise of coming home early.” you wink, already moving to smooth your dress down from where it's bunched at your waist.
But bucky, gentleman that he is, doesn't take compromises like that when it comes to you.
So just as you're about to turn away toward the door, his hand comes around your wrist pulling you back into him.
“You're not going anywhere until I have returned the favour”
pairing: rockstar!Bucky Barnes x groupie girlfriend!reader
summary: When the world finally notices you, Bucky can't decide if he's proud or ready to lose his mind.
word count: 2.1k
warnings: +18 MDNI explicit sexual content, semi-public sex (bathroom), unprotected p in v, praise kink, established relationship. | english is not my first language so I'm sorry about any mystypos / grammar mistake
a/n: this was a request by the lovely @jai200700 𖹭 been sitting in my inbox for almost two months, I finally was able to complete it and bring it to life. This is situated post SINSA, so they're an established couple by this moment of the story! (I hope I did it good idk how to write without angst and also I know Bucky has a lot to make up for! but it was a relief to not write him being a jerk) Got a few requests more but I'll be answering them on the asks for the next weeks and we're pretty much done with this series. Thank you for all the support ๋ ࣭ ⭑ | dividers by @uzmacchiato
read on AO3
"Babe, have you seen this?"
You look up from your coffee to see Bucky staring at his phone, grinning.
"Seen what?"
He turns his phone around. It's an article from Vogue: "The Woman Who Stole Bucky Barnes' Heart: An Exclusive Look at Music's Hottest New Couple."
Your stomach flips. "Oh god."
"This is amazing," he says, scrolling through. "Look at these photos of you."
The article is full of professional shots—you and Bucky at events, but also solo candid photos of you that some photographer must have taken recently. You look… good. Really good.
"They're calling you a style icon," Bucky says. "And there's already fan accounts dedicated to you. Look—" He shows you Instagram. Multiple accounts tracking your outfits, your hair, your makeup.
"This is insane."
"This is awesome." He pulls you clos. "Everyone's finally seeing what I see, that you're gorgeous and cool and way out of my league."
"I'm not out of your league—"
"You absolutely are, and I love that everyone knows it now." He kisses your temple. "We have that album launch party tonight, you ready to be the most photographed woman there?"
“Is that what’s happening?”
"Oh, definitely. You're the hot new girlfriend everyone wants to know about." He's practically beaming. "I'm going to spend all night showing you off."
"Then I'm not going," you tease him, earning a poke on your side.
The album launch party is massive—a celebration for some indie band's major label debut. The venue is packed with musicians, producers, journalists and photographers.
The second you arrive, cameras flash in your direction.
"Over here! Bucky, look this way! Who's that pretty woman you that came with you?"
Bucky's hand is on your waist and he's smiling like it's Christmas morning. "This is my girlfriend," he announces to anyone who'll listen, giving your name. "Isn't she stunning?"
And he means it. You can tell by the way he looks at you and the pride in his voice.
Inside, it continues. He introduces you to everyone he can—producers, musicians, label executives.
"Have you met my girlfriend? She's incredible." "This is the woman I was telling you about." "Yeah, I'm the luckiest guy here, look at her."
You're getting attention like never before. Photographers asking for solo shots, journalists wanting to know your story. Someone from Harper's Bazaar asking if you'd be interested in being photographed for their next issue.
And Bucky is eating it up.
"You should do it," he tells you. "You'd be amazing."
"You're not worried about me getting too much attention?"
"Are you kidding? I want everyone to see how incredible you are." He pulls you closer and kisses you in front of everyone. "I want the whole world to know how perfect my girl is."
The first hour is perfect. You're laughing, glowing, and Bucky is right there beside you.
Then you meet Brian Clarke. He is an A-list actor, devastatingly handsome, charming. He's talking to a group near the bar when you an Bucky approach.
"Bucky Barnes," Brian says with a hint of recognition on his voice. "Great show in New York last month."
"Thanks, man. This is my girlfriend—"
"I know who she is." Brian's eyes are on you, warm and interested, it's like Bucky's not even a part of this conversation anymore. "I've seen the articles, the pictures don't do you justice."
"Thank you," you say politely.
"I mean it. You're stunning." He's not even trying to be subtle. "What do you do? Are you in the industry?"
"No, I—"
"She's incredible at everything," Bucky interjects smiling, but you feel his hand tightening slightly on your waist.
But Brian isn't looking at Bucky, he's looking at you.
"We should talk," Brian says. "I'm producing a film that shoots this summer and we're looking for fresh faces. Someone with your look—" He hands you a business card. "Call me, let's set up a meeting."
"Oh, I'm not an actress—"
"You could be." His smile is warm. "You've got the presence for it, and the camera clearly loves you."
Bucky's jaw is tight now.
"Think about it," then he turns to greet someone else.
You look at Bucky. His expression has shifted, he's still smiling, but there's tension in his eyes now.
"That was weird," you say.
"He wants to fuck you."
"What? No, he was just being nice—"
"Babe, I know that look. He wants to fuck you." Bucky's voice is low. "And he's not the only one."
You follow his gaze around the room and realize he might be a little right. Multiple guys are looking at you, some of them in a pretty obvious way, while others are more subtle about it. The way women usually look at Bucky when he's on stage.
"Come on, it's not that big of a deal."
But Bucky's watching a photographer asking you to pose for a solo shot, watching the journalist from earlier come back with more questions… and Brian glancing over at you again.
"Everyone wants you," Bucky says quietly.
"So? Everyone wants you, all the time. I deal with it."
"This is different."
"How?"
He doesn't answer, but you know him. He's still proud of you but now he feels threatened. Now other men see what he sees, other men want what he wants.
The next hour is torture for him.
You can feel Bucky getting more tense beside you. His hand on your waist gets tighter, his smile gets more forced.
When a music producer asks if you'd be interested in being in a music video, Bucky practically growls. When a model asks where you got your dress and compliments your figure, Bucky pulls you closer. When Brian comes back and asks you if you want to dance, Bucky steps between you.
"She's good," he says.
"Bucky—"
"We need to go," he mumbles before taking your hand.
"But the party just started—"
"I don't care," his eyes are dark. "I need to—come with me, now."
He doesn't take you to the exit, he pulls you down a hallway, past the bathrooms, finds a single-stall bathroom and pulls you inside, locking the door.
"Bucky, what—"
He kisses you, it's not soft like the ones he gave you when you first arrived. This time is hard and desperate.
"You belong with me, you're mine." He whispers between kisses, his lips traveling down your jaw and throat.
"I know—"
"Do you? Because every fucking guy out there is looking at you like they have a chance, like you're available."
"They know I'm with you—"
"Not well enough." His hands are on your dress hiking it up. "I need—I need them to know. Need you to look thoroughly fucked when you walk back out there."
"Bucky—"
"Tell me to stop and I'll do it if it's too much for you." He's already undoing his pants and you're already turned on, already reaching for him.
"Don't stop," you breathe.
He lifts you onto the counter, pushes your panties aside, and fucks into you in one hard thrust. You gasp, grabbing his shoulders.
"That's right," he groans. "Don't hold back, let everyone know who's making you feel this good."
The music is too loud for anyone to hear you, but you won't be the one breaking it to him, specially not when he's truly invested in making you feel this good. You moan, louder than you normally would, and his eyes darken.
"I love that sound," he sets a brutal pace, one hand gripping your hip, the other braced on the counter beside you. "Love knowing I'm the only one who gets to hear you like this. Tell me who makes you feel this good."
"You," you cry out as he hits deep. "Only you."
"That's my girl." He captures your mouth in a kiss swallowing your moans. You're so close already, the way he's fucking you pushing you right to the edge. He gets his hand between you, his thumb finds your clit and rubs rough circles. "Come for me, let me hear how good I make you feel. No one out there can hear you, just me."
You come with a cry, clenching around him and he groans. His rhythm falters and he comes with his face buried in your neck. For a moment, you both just breathe. Then he's pulling out carefully, helping you clean up with paper towels, fixing your dress.
"Your hair," he says, and helps smooth it down, but then he musses it a little. "Perfect, now everyone will know."
"Know what?"
"That you're thoroughly fucked, that you're mine." He says it with so much pride.
Your legs re shaky when you stand, your dress is wrinkled and your hair is messy despite his attempt to fix it. You look exactly like what you are: freshly fucked.
"I think we should—"
"Come on," he takes your hand, interlacing your fingers. "Let's go say goodbye."
Walking back into the party is surreal. Your legs are wobbly and you're holding onto Bucky's arm for support. Your hair is messed up, and you're pretty sure everyone can tell what just happened.
Bucky's radiating satisfaction at this point. He finds the label executives, the event organizer and some producers on your way out, parading you around with pride. You're flushed and a little embarrassed, but also kind of love it.
Brian catches you on the way out. "Leaving so soon?"
"Yeah," Bucky says, hand tight on your waist. "Got better things to do."
Brian's eyes flick to your messed hair, your flushed face and he smiles. "I'm sure you do, It was nice meeting you both."
"You too," you manage.
In the car, Bucky finally relaxes, pulling you close.
"I can't believe you did that," you say.
"Did what?"
"Paraded me around to everyone in our way out, you said goodbye to like fifteen people, even to the ones you said were annoying."
"I had to be polite," he grins. "Did you see their faces? They all knew exactly what we just did."
"Bucky!"
"What? I'm proud. Sue me." He kisses your temple. "You're my girlfriend and I want everyone to know it."
"You certainly made that clear."
Back at the house, Bucky is quieter. He helps you out of your dress and hangs it up carefully.
"I'm sorry," he says as he's running you a bath.
"For what?"
"For acting like a caveman back there." He sits on the edge of the tub, testing the water temperature. "The bathroom thing, parading you around… I know it was a lot."
"I didn't mind—"
"I know, but I still should've had more control." He looks at you seriously. "I'm trying to be better about the jealousy thing, but tonight when I saw Brian and those other guys… I lost it a little."
"A little?" you tease gently.
"Okay, maybe a lot." He smiles sheepishly. "But I'm working on it, I promise. I want to be the guy who can handle you getting attention without needing to drag you to a bathroom and—"
"I liked it," you interrupt him. "I liked that you wanted me that badly."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You step into the bath and he immediately starts washing your hair, gentle fingers massaging your scalp. "You're allowed to be jealous sometimes, Bucky. You're allowed to want people to know I'm yours, as long as you trust me."
"I do trust you." His hands are so gentle in your hair. "It's them I don't trust."
"Well, they can see, but I'm not available."
He rinses your hair carefully with a smile on his face. "That's right, you're mine."
"I love when you say that."
"Good because I'm going to say it a lot." He helps you out of the bath, wrapping you in a towel. "I have a lot of time to make up for, all those months I should've been calling you my girlfriend and didn't."
He pulls you close, still damp from the bath and kisses you softly. "I love you."
"I love you too."
The kiss deepens, his hands slide under the towel, warm on your skin. You reach for him, pulling him closer. He lifts you easily, carries you to bed and lays you down gently. The towel falls away and he's looking at you like you're everything.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, hovering over you. "How did I get so lucky?"
"I'm the lucky one."
He kisses you again, slow and deep, and it's different from the party's bathroom. There's no desperation, no need to prove anything, just him showing how much he loves you.
He makes love to you slowly, thoroughly, whispering how much he loves you, how beautiful you are, how he's never letting you go.
When you both finish, you're curled up together in bed.
"Thank you for being patient while I figure out how to be a good boyfriend and for understanding when I get jealous and insecure." He kisses your forehead. "You're it for me, you know that?"
you belong with me has such a big difference from you belong to me 👏👏
And I love that while we all acknowledge that that was hot, he also knows it ain’t the best and healthiest way to go abt it. That’s a man who wants to be better (and I hope he does!)
But also, can I say that it makes sense for him to be jealous and possessive of her? He spent the earlier parts of their relationship hiding and denying her. Suppressing his feelings. I’m sure he’s bound to feel or think, “is this how she felt when she saw me with xyz?” “What if she realizes and decides that she could do better? Because she does.” Etc. etc.
And I like that he’s not jealous or mad at her getting attention and/or recognized more than him. We love a king who supports his queen even when she shines brighter (THE BAR IS LOW YALL)
so so love this AU!!
Excessive Daydreamer @justsebstan - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
