Synopsis: As you settle into your new role as the teamβs βgirl in the chair,β helping Sam and Bucky with their missions, you find yourself increasingly drawn to Bucky's intense presence. His brooding silence is matched only by his watchful eyes, and despite his gruff exterior, your kindness begins to chip away at his walls. When Bucky insists on walking you home one night, clyou chalk it up to his old-fashioned sense of duty and think nothing of it. But as the night unfolds, you realize thereβs far more behind his actions than just good manners, and your growing feelings for him may not be as hidden as you think.
A/N: This was supposed to be something else ENTIRELY. But it just unravelled and here we are! Please, feel free to let me know your thoughts about it! B xx
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Your relationship with Bucky hadnβt started with fireworks or dramatic confessionsβit began like any other normal relationship: after drinks and a movie.
It was a quiet evening, the kind that felt heavier after long hours at your desk. You were finally wrapping up for the night, shrugging on your coat and slinging your purse over a shoulder. The clock had just ticked past 10 p.m., though it hardly felt late to you. Still, your shoulders sagged under the tension of the dayβhours spent poring over intel, trying to uncover scraps of information that might help Sam and Bucky on their next mission.
βYou shouldnβt be walking home alone.β
You looked up to find Bucky leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed. His voice was gruff but not unkind, his blue eyes shadowed but steady.
βItβs just a few blocks,β you replied, already bracing for the argument.
His jaw tightenedβa subtle shift, but one youβd come to recognize as the start of his infamous stubborn streak. βDoesnβt matter. My ma would haunt me if I let you.β
That earned him a laugh. βYour 'ma' sounds like quite the character.β
βShe was,β he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared as quickly as it came. βCβmon, grab your stuff. Iβll walk you.β
You didnβt argue further, mostly because you were too tired to win, and partly because there was something oddly comforting about his protectiveness, even if it came wrapped in brooding silences and sharp glances.
Being around Bucky had taken some getting used to. You knew about him, of courseβwho didnβt? But nothing had prepared you for the sheer intensity of James Buchanan Barnes up close. His unrelenting stares, his quiet presence that somehow filled a room, and the way he seemed to carry the weight of entire worlds on his shoulders.
When youβd first joined their team as the βgirl in the chairβ (a term Sam insisted on despite your repeated protests that you were, in fact, a woman), you hadnβt known what to expect. Your days as a research journalist had been left behind in favor of a role that felt more like a sidekick to two superheroes. Never the hero, always the support.
βItβs not nothing, though,β Sam had told you once, catching you mid-eye-roll during a particularly grueling debrief. βYouβre saving lives too, yβknow. Every name, every address you dig up? Thatβs someone elseβs tomorrow youβre protecting.β
Still, the job came with its own toll: exhaustion, migraines, and a constant ache in your wrists from hours of typing. But it also came with a quiet sense of purposeβand Buckyβs occasional company.
At first, his silences had been intimidating, his brooding presence almost oppressive. But you met him with unwavering kindnessβbringing him coffee when he looked like he needed it, or letting him retreat into your office to escape Samβs chatter. Slowly, the silences grew shorter, and the stares softened into something more watchful.
Now, walking beside him under the soft glow of streetlights, the quiet felt less like distance and more like understanding.
βSo,β you said, breaking the silence, βis this a one-time chivalry thing, or do I get an official escort service from now on?β
Bucky snorted. βYouβre assuming Iβm doing this for you.β
βOh, really?β you teased, grinning. βWho else is benefitting from my safe arrival home?β
He glanced at you, a spark of humor flickering in his eyes. βSamβll never let me hear the end of it if something happens to you. Man loves his lectures.β
βAh,β you said, mock-serious. βSo Iβm saving you from Samβs wrath. Got it.β
He didnβt answer right away, but his pace slowed slightly, his hand brushing the base of your spine as you turned a corner, like he was directing towards home. βMaybe I just like making sure youβre okay,β he muttered.
Your heart stuttered at his words, a quiet ache blooming in your chest, but you didnβt dare press him further. Hope was a dangerous thing, a fragile spark that had burned you one too many times before. It was safer to tuck it away, to pretend his words meant nothing more than what heβd saidβa simple gesture of kindness, nothing deeper.
You were friends, after all... right? Or at least, friendly. He was kind to you, yes, but Bucky Barnes was kind in a way that felt carefully measured, like a soldier fulfilling his duty. He was a gentleman through and through, the kind whoβd been raised to believe it was his responsibility to make sure no lady faced the dangers of the night alone.
βHis mah wouldβve expected nothing less,β you thought wryly, your lips tugging into a faint smile.
He was a man out of time, after all. Decades removed from the era he was born into, yet somehow still anchored there, even now. You wouldnβt have been surprised if the rules he followed were the same ones ingrained into him all those years ago. And maybe, just maybe, it was easier to believe that than to let yourself hope he cared for any reason beyond habit or honor.
βAlmost there,β he said, his voice breaking through your thoughts. His hand hovered near your elbow, steady and sure, as if ready to catch you should you stumble.
The steps to your door loomed far too quickly for your aching heart, bringing an abrupt end to your time with the brooding soldier. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if your body was reluctant to leave his quiet, steady presence.
You paused on the final step, its height almost eliminating the difference between you and Bucky. It gave you just enough courage to look up at him, your fingers nervously twisting around the strap of your purse.
βThank you, Bucky,β you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
He dipped his head in a single nod, his icy blue eyes flickering down to meet yours. His expression, as always, was unreadable, cast in shadows under the dim streetlamp. βAnytime.β
The simplicity of his reply made your chest tighten. You nodded in return, swallowing hard as your heart hammered in your throat. Turning away from him, you fixed your gaze on your front door, willing yourself to move forward, to end the moment before it unraveled you completely.
Friends. Thatβs all this was. It had to be.
So why did it feel so wrong to turn your back on him? Why did it feel like you were forcing yourself to betray something deeper, something unspoken, simply by walking away?
Your hand was on the doorknob before you realized youβd stopped moving, the quiet war between your heart and your mind reaching a fever pitch. You squeezed your eyes shut, battling the urge that rose in you like a wave.
Donβt do it. Just go inside. Let him leave.
But the battle was already lost. Before you could stop yourselfβbefore logic could wrestle control away from the reckless beating of your heartβyou turned. Your feet moved without permission, carrying you back down the steps toward him.
It wasnβt a decision so much as a pull, steady and undeniable, the words slipping from your lips as if carried on a tide of longing you couldnβt resist.
βWould you like to come up for a drink?β
The words tumbled out unbidden, your voice trembling just enough to betray how desperately you wanted him to say yes.
His reaction couldnβt have been more Bucky if he tried. His eyes shifted, and you swore you could see every emotion flash through themβsurprise, hesitation, something a lot like longingβbefore they settled back into the stoic mask he always wore. Quiet. Unimpressed. Broody. And yetβ¦
βI wouldnβt mind a beer.β
A laugh bubbled up in your chest, shaky with relief, and you motioned toward your door. βWell, come on then. Iβve got a six-pack thatβs been waiting for some company.β
His presence filled the small apartment in a way that made your breath catch, the air somehow heavier, more electric. How many times had your silly, stubborn heart conjured up this exact scenario? Late at night, Bucky standing just inside your door, peeling off his worn leather jacket and tugging off the gloves that shielded both metal and flesh. Then, as if heβd done it a thousand times, heβd settle into a corner of your couch, legs spread, shoulders sinking back into the soft fabric like he belonged there.
βThere's Heineken, Bud, and Corona,β you said, your voice only slightly betraying your nerves as you toed off your shoes and dropped your keys and purse by the door. βI think I might even have some whiskey stashed away somewhere. Whatβs your poison?β
He hesitated for a moment, his gaze trailing lazily around the room before settling back on you. βIβll have what youβre having.β
Your stomach flipped, and you nodded, biting back the grin threatening to stretch across your face. βSure thing,β you said casually, though you were certain the flush creeping up your neck gave you away.
You turned toward the kitchen, your heart doing an embarrassing little leap as you busied yourself rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. The clink of bottles felt absurdly loud in the quiet apartment, every moment stretching with the weight of his presence just beyond your line of sight.
βNice place,β he called from the living room, his tone casual but laced with something warmer.
βThanks,β you replied, grabbing two beers and popping the caps off with practiced ease. βIβd say make yourself at home, but it looks like youβve already got that covered.β
When you re-entered the room, there he wasβexactly as youβd imagined so many times before. His jacket was draped over the back of the couch, his gloves neatly set beside it, and Bucky himself sprawled out comfortably. His metal hand rested casually on his knee, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes met yours.
βHere you go, Mr. Barnes,β you said, forcing a steady smile as you handed him the green bottle.
βTo your first visit,β you began, raising your own bottle in a toast. You couldnβt help the way your gaze lingered, taking in the sight of his broad frame on your couch, the casual way he sat, the sheer presence of him filling the space. Warmth pooled low in your belly, and before you could stop yourself, you added, βMay it be the first of many.β
His smirk deepened at that, a flicker of amusement flashing across his features. He raised his bottle silently, going for a sipβbut you stopped him, your hand darting out to rest on his.
βWait!β you blurted, your palm lightly pressing against his larger one.
His frown was slight, his gaze shifting between your hands before settling on your face. βWhy?β
βYou have to look at me when we cheers,β you explained, your voice a little breathless, a little unsure of what you were doing but too far in to back out now.
His brow arched. βAnd whyβs that?β
βBad luck if you donβt. Years of it.β You shrugged, suddenly feeling the ridiculousness of your own words but refusing to back down. βI mean, I canβt even count how many years... Probably best not to risk it.β
For a second, you thought he might argue. But then he chuckled, a soft sound that sent a flutter straight to your chest. βGod knows Iβve had enough of that already, havenβt I?β
You giggled, your laughter bubbling out, light and carefree. The fact that he played along felt like a victory, a small but monumental crack in his stoic armor.
With a glint of something softer in his eyes, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze locking with yours. βAlright, doll,β he said, his voice quieter now, warmer. βLetβs do it properly.β
Eyes steady on yours, he clinked his bottle against yours, the sound sharp and satisfying in the quiet room. And then, he didnβt look awayβnot for a secondβas he took a slow sip.
You followed suit, the contact between your eyes and his making your heart race so fast you thought it might burst. The heat in his gaze was steady, grounding, and yet it sent a thrilling, electric charge through you that made your knees nearly buckle.
βBetter?β he asked, his voice low, the faintest curve to his lips as he lowered his bottle.
βMuch,β you replied, somehow managing to keep your voice steady, even as your pulse thundered in your ears.
The air between you seemed to shift then, heavier but no less comfortingβa new tension that simmered beneath the surface. If Bucky noticed the way your gaze lingered on him, the way your breath hitched every time his hand grazed your knee as he reached for another beer, he never said a thing.
He was the perfect gentleman, as always. Even when you slid closer on the couch, settling beside him on the plush cushions - even though there were a whole three other seats available to you. Even when you turned toward him, resting your head on your palm, your eyes tracing the strong lines of his face while you rambled about the mission reports piling up on your desk. He didnβt even glance at your neckline when you leaned over him to grab the remote, though you couldnβt help but steal a quiet inhale of his scentβclean, warm, unmistakably him.
βAlright,β you said, breaking the quiet. βI feel like Iβm torturing you by making you listen to all this. Do you feel like watching something?β Your tone was cheery, light, but your heart raced at the thought of sharing something as simple and intimate as watching a film together.
With your eyes fixed on the TV, you missed the brief hesitation in his expressionβthe flicker of doubt that crossed his face and quickly vanished. Yet, neither the guilt, the fear, nor the pain that lingered in his soul seemed strong enough to stop him from embracing what you offered so openly: a chance to simply be. For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky seemed just a little less burdened by the shadows of his past, a ghost of his old self and a lot of his new one urging him to give in.
βWhatβs on Netflix?β he asked, his voice low and casual.
Your head whipped around so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash. βHow do you know what Netflix is?β
His lips quirked into a rare, genuinely amused smile, the kind that made your stomach flip. βIβm old, but Iβm not that old, doll.β
βYouβre 106,β you shot back, arching a brow.
βAnd yet, I still know what streaming is,β he countered, the smile growing. βIβm not living under a rock.β
βWell, I am impressed, Mr. Barnes,β you teased, settling back into the cushions. βWhat else do you know about modern technology? Please tell me youβve at least heard of TikTok.β
His expression shifted into something closer to a scowl, but the playful glint in his eye betrayed him. βI know about TikTok,β he said, sounding almost offended. βAnd dating apps. God, the horrors,β he added, shaking his head dramatically as he glanced at his phone like it was some sort of ancient relic.
You couldnβt help but laugh, the sound warm and genuine, filling the cozy space between you. But beneath the humor, your stomach twisted with an unexpected knot. Dating apps?
βWhat about dating apps?β you asked, trying to sound casual, but the curiosity in your voice was hard to hide.
Bucky groaned, slouching deeper into the couch as though the thought of them physically pained him. βI donβt know, doll. They just seem... unnatural. All these profiles and swiping left or right, like youβre picking a product instead of a person. Not my thing.β His voice held a certain distaste, and the casual way he said it made you wonder if he was speaking from experienceβor just his own strong sense of principle.
You bit your lip, trying to suppress the questions bubbling up inside you. Had he ever used them? Was he speaking from personal experience, or just from watching the chaos unfold around him? Your thoughts shifted uncomfortably, and you tried to steer the conversation back to safer waters.
βI get it,β you said, trying to sound nonchalant. βItβs... kind of weird, honestly. Itβs like shopping for a date, but with less... quality control.β You shot him a teasing grin, but the tightness in your chest was hard to ignore.
Bucky chuckled, the sound a low rumble that was soothing, even though it didnβt quite reach his eyes. βExactly. I mean, if Iβm gonna meet someone, Iβd rather it be... I donβt know, real? Not behind a screen.β
For some reason, his comment made your heart stumble, a traitorous beat skipping out of rhythm. You quickly dropped your gaze to your beer, hoping the reaction wasnβt written all over your face. Was he hinting that he preferred real, in-person connections? That heβd rather... meet someone like that?
You cleared your throat, feigning casual interest to mask the swarm of uncertainty rising inside. βSo, how would you go about it? Finding a date, I mean. Is Sam your wingman?β
Bucky nearly choked on his beer, shaking his head vehemently. βGod, no! Can you imagine? Heβs too busy being Captain America to care about my love life... except when heβs accusing me of flirting with his sister.β
The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, and your chest tightened with something sharp and unwelcome. Jealousy. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to chase it away. βI didnβt know you liked Sarah,β you said, and to your horror, the disappointment in your voice was impossible to hide.
Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the shift in your tone. βSheβs great,β he said with a thoughtful nod. Then his lips curved knowingly. βBut not like that.β
The heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks was impossible to ignore, and Buckyβs sly grin told you heβd noticed. Your relief collided with your curiosity, the two tangling into a dangerous need to know more. βOh,β you started hesitantly. βSo... if not her, then who?β
He took another sip of his beer, the pause deliberate. βHad one date with the waitress from that Asian place we always order from. Itβ¦ didnβt go well.β
Your brows furrowed. βAnd you havenβt tried again since then?β
βNot really.β He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, the movement deceptively casual. βYou know how it is these daysβapps, algorithms, everyone judging you by a couple of photos and a bio. And whoβs lining up to date a former assassin, huh? People know too much, too soon. Real connections donβt happen that way.β
The self-deprecating edge in his voice made your heart ache. You tilted your head, studying the way his vibranium fingers tapped lightly against the beer bottle. βMaybe,β you said softly, your voice steady despite the nervous thrum beneath your skin, βyouβre looking in the wrong places.β
His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and searching. βOh yeah?β he asked, voice low, almost daring. βAnd where do you think I should look?β
You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his question, his attention. βMaybe a little closer to home,β you murmured, eyes resolutely fixed on the beer bottle in your own hands.
The silence that followed was electric, charged with unspoken possibilities that hung in the air like static. His gaze lingered on you, steady and intense, and you could feel it even without looking up. It made your pulse race in a way you didnβt dare acknowledge.
The truth was, you werenβt sure if you were just caught up in the momentβor if there was something more lingering in his words, in the way he was looking at you now.
You wanted to ask. The question burned on the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken. But a part of you hesitated, afraid of the answer. What if this was nothing more than friendly banter? What if pushing further shattered the comfortable connection youβd built?
βCloser to home, huh?β Buckyβs voice was a low rumble, breaking the silence but not the tension. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, and for a moment, it felt like he was closing the space between you. βAnd what does that mean, exactly? You got someone in mind for me, doll?β
There it wasβthat nickname. The one you pretended to hate but secretly adored. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the corner of your mouth twitch, betraying the smile you tried to suppress. His voice was so close it warmed you from head to toe.
βIβm just saying,β you replied, forcing your tone to stay neutral, βmaybe youβre overthinking it. Sometimes the best things are right in front of you.β
His lips quirked, his expression softening as if heβd caught onto something unsaid. βYou think so?β Bucky asked, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.
You dared to turn your head and glance at him, and the way his blue eyes locked onto yours stole whatever breath you had left. βYeah,β you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. βI know so.β
The moment stretched between you, fragile and heavy with unspoken words. You swore he was leaning closer, his gaze flickering briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. And suddenly, the question burning in your chest felt inevitable.
βBuckyβ¦β you began, voice trembling slightly, unsure of what you were about to sayβor what he might say back.
βYeah, doll?β Buckyβs voice was gentle, a thread of warmth in the charged air between you.
You hesitated, but the weight of your emotions was too much to carry any longer. βIs this a date?β you finally blurted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.
For a moment, his expression didnβt change, and then he shook his head slowly. βItβs not,β he said, his voice steady but quiet.
Your chest tightened, and the disappointment hit hard, like a blow you hadnβt braced for. You tried to mask it, but your face betrayed you, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the rejection. The ache in your heart grew with every second of silence that followed, the room feeling colder with each passing beat.
What you missed was the storm raging behind his steel-blue eyesβthe internal battle he fought against his demons, the ones that screamed he wasnβt good enough for you. Wasnβt good enough for anyone. Heβd carried those ghosts for too long to ignore them now. But he wasnβt blind.
Heβd noticed the way your smile softened when it was meant for him, brighter and warmer than it ever was for anyone else. Heβd seen how you fretted over him after missions, your hands fluttering with concern even at the smallest scratch on his skin. And heβd felt the hope radiating from you tonight when youβd invited him over, your words laced with a vulnerability you rarely showed.
Bucky knew. Heβd known for a while. And that knowledge both terrified and thrilled him. Love, in any form, was fragileβheβd learned that the hard way. But tonight, sitting here with you, he realized he couldnβt keep running from the possibility of it.
He wanted you. Your laughter, your kindness, your stubbornness, your touch. He craved all of it. And maybe he didnβt deserve it, but for once in his long life, he wanted to try.
Bucky set his beer down, his movements deliberate, and leaned closer. His flesh hand brushed against the back of your arm and the touch sent a shiver up your arm.Β
βItβs not a date,β he repeated, voice low but filled with a quiet resolve that made your breath catch, hurt twisting at your heart.
Your brow furrowed, the downturn of your lips impossible to hide. βHeard you the first timeβ¦β
βThis isnβt a date,β he pressed on. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, he added, βBut it could be.β
Your heart skipped, his words hanging in the air like a lifeline. βBuckyβ¦β
Cutting through your hesitation, his gaze locked onto yours, unflinching, steady. βIf you want thisβ¦ if you want me, Iβm yours. I want to try.β
The vulnerability in his voice left you breathless, stealing any coherent thought you might have had. For the first time in what felt like forever, hope blossomed in your chest, warm and radiant. You didnβt hesitate this time, your lips curving into a soft, trembling smile.
βIs this because youβre afraid of the apps?β you teased, the quip breaking the intensity just enough for you to breathe. But your voice wavered slightly, and your eyes glistened with the tears threatening to spill. βArenβt you afraid Iβll steal your virtue?β
Bucky chuckled, low and genuine, the sound sending warmth curling in your chest. βIβm not a damsel in distress, doll,β he said, his tone playful as his fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The simple touch sent shivers down your spine, and you leaned into it instinctively.
βAnd youβre also not the big bad wolf you think you are,β you countered softly, your voice tinged with both affection and defiance.
βWell, technicallyβ¦β His lips quirked into a lopsided grin. βI am the White Wolf.β
You rolled your eyes, the tension breaking into something lighter, something safe. βHe jokes,β you said, shaking your head. βHe could be kissing insteadβ¦β
His grin softened, and for a beat, he just looked at you, his hand still lingering near your face. Then, as if your words had given him permission, he leaned in, closing the space between you in a way that felt both inevitable and extraordinary.
βGuess Iβll take your advice for once, doll,β he murmured, his breath brushing against your lips.
The moment his lips touched yours, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. His kiss was gentle at first, a question rather than an assumption, as though he wanted to be sure this was what you truly wanted. His warm hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your cheekbone, while his vibranium hand rested lightly on your knee, grounding him in the moment.
You sighed into the kiss, your hand instinctively reaching up to thread through the short hair at the nape of his neck. The movement drew him closer, and he obliged, deepening the kiss with a soft groan that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips were soft yet firm, moving against yours in a way that spoke of patience and restrained hunger, like he was savoring every second of this moment.
His vibranium hand finally moved, finding your waist with surprising tenderness. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the heat of his other hand through the fabric of your shirt, but it pulled you to the reality of himβboth the man he was and the one heβd fought so hard to become.
When you parted briefly for air, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths mingling with yours in the small space between you. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and brimming with emotions he didnβt have to say out loud.
βDollβ¦β he whispered, his voice rough and full of awe, like he couldnβt quite believe what had just happened.
But you werenβt done. You werenβt ready to let the moment slip away. Sliding your hand from his neck to his jaw, you tilted his face back toward yours, brushing your lips against his again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him. He responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as his mouth moved against yours with more certainty, more passion.
The kiss deepened, growing warmer, more insistent. Your bodies angled closer together, his presence consuming your senses. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong, and the faint rasp of his stubble as it brushed against your skin only made the experience more intoxicating.
You werenβt sure how it happenedβone moment you were pressed against the back of your couch, his hands and lips demanding your full attention, and the next, you were straddling his thighs. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your harsh breaths mingled, the taste of his tongue intoxicating and impossible to resist.
For all his claims of being a man out of his time, Bucky Barnes knew exactly how to touch a woman. His hands were a perfect dichotomy: one warm and strong, the other cool and unyielding, but both equally firm and commanding. His touch left no room for doubt or hesitation, responding to every unspoken plea you hadnβt yet found the words for.
And his kiss? God, his kiss. You could write sonnets about the way his lips moved against yours, the way his tongue teased and claimed you, coaxing a need from you that you hadnβt known you were capable of. None of your wildest fantasies could compare to the reality of him, his body pressed against yours, solid and capable. The things it could doβwhat it was doing, what it promised to doβset your whole body alight with yearning.
You kissed him harder, deeper, needier, your hips moving instinctively against his. His groan rumbled low in his chest, a sound that only made you crave him more. But just as your movements grew more desperate, his vibranium hand clamped firmly on your hips, halting your rhythm. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, gentle but insistent, forcing you to break the kiss.
βDollβ¦β His voice was rough, laced with a warning that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.
You blinked at him, still dazed, heat crawling under your skin as you realized what youβd done. βYes, Iβm sorry, I knowβIβm sorry,β you stammered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.
His breaths came heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours as his steel-blue eyes bore into yours. The hunger there mirrored your own, and the restraint in his grip only made you want him more.
Your lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, your own need warring with the desire to break the tension. βSeems like I really am trying to steal your virtue, huh?β you joked, your voice light but shaky as you turned your head to press a soft kiss to his palm.
His lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through the hunger. βYouβre gonna be the death of me,β he muttered, his hand slipping from your jaw to trail gently along your cheek, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips.
Your free hand wrapped around his vibranium one, your thumb tracing the grooves of the metal. βWouldnβt dream of it,β you murmured, your voice soft but laced with promise as you leaned in, resting your forehead against his.
For a moment, neither of you moved, the charged silence stretching as his hands anchored you, holding you steady but never pushing. His restraint was palpable, and you knew without a doubtβif you wanted more, he would give it to you willingly. But only if you asked.
You wouldnβt, though. Not tonight.
Instead, you leaned in, brushing soft, sweet kisses against his lips, your movements unhurried and tender. Each kiss felt like a promise, an unspoken assurance that there was no rush, no need for anything more than this moment. It took superhuman strengthβthe kind he hadβnot to let it escalate.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling and your cheeks warm. His eyes searched yours, and the way he looked at youβlike you were the most precious thing in the worldβmade your heart swell. His thumb grazed your cheek, his smile soft and genuine.
βHow about that movie?β he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes betrayed a depth of emotion that made your breath catch.
You laughed, the sound breaking the last remnants of tension and filling the cozy space around you. βAlright, fine. Letβs find something to watch, then. Any preferences?β
βAnything but those baking shows Sam keeps trying to get me into,β he muttered, his lips quirking in faint exasperation.
A giggle bubbled out of you at the mental image of Sam dragging Bucky into a world of frosting, sprinkles, and delicate pastries. The idea was so absurd yet so perfectly Sam that you couldnβt help yourself. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips lingering just long enough to feel the faint rasp of stubble. βDeal. No baking shows.β
As the two of you settled back onto the couch, scrolling through movie options, the tension between you shifted againβthis time, it was softer, lighter, wrapped in a warmth that felt safe and steady.
Bucky stretched his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers absently brushing against your shoulder as you leaned into him, your body naturally seeking his. And for the first time in a long time, you noticed something different about him. The shadows that usually haunted his expression seemed to have lifted, replaced by something quieter, something calmer.
Here, with you, Bucky wasnβt the broken soldier or the ex-assassin haunted by his past. He was justβ¦ himself. And in that moment, you realized thatβs all youβd ever wanted him to be.
Summary:Β Javier and you had been best friends since Kindergarten, and youβd been secretly in love with him for years. The night before his wedding to Lorraine, you sleep together, sparking him to leave Lorraine, and you. Ten years later Javier returns home before leaving again for Cali and tries to fix the mess he left. But, passions run high and alcohol flows and you canβt resist falling back in to bed with him, the only thing you didnβt plan was ending up married to him.
This story is told in a series of Flashbacks and follows the events of Season 3 of Narcos when Javi returns to Colombia to take down the Cali Cartel.Β Β
Moodboard made by my darling friend/amazing writer @ghostwiththemostbitchβΒ
You would not have survived the dark ages. A webring would spell great peril. There was no search. And the dark things lurked out in the open in those days.
My dad hit me with the info that there was an option to turn it off... the sound... the whole time. But he didn't want to tell me. Or to stop me from the, presumably character building, ritual of struggling to smother it to death with a pillow at 12:30am so I could be on the Forbidden Web and not wake my parents.
Happy pride month everyone always remember that the sinkhole has an ecosystem large enough to house not only insects but likely several species of small birds or mammals
do not forget the patron saint of these weeks that we celebrate ourselves proudly and openly in the streets
her name was Marsha P Johnson, and we have her to thank for so much.
remember, the first Pride was a riot, and she was one of the brave souls who endured it to help carve the path which so many of us walk today. she helped found several activist groups regarding LGBT safety and wellbeing. and she was absolutely radiant, too.
i like how leverage throws in random details that are never elaborated on. hardison gets himself a front row seat at the oscars each year, but we only see that in a single throwaway flashback. parker broke a guy's fingers for touching her and it wasn't even a plot point, it was just one in a series of memories of stabbings and so forth. eliot continually knows extremely specific information which implies some extremely specific scenarios he's been in. the more we find out about sophie's backstory, the more questions it raises about what the hell is wrong with her. and the more we find out about nate's backstory, the more questions it raises about what the hell is wrong with him.
