pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x fem! reader.}
synopsis:: Bucky has been distant these past few days and you don't know how to deal with it anymore; you feel alone and he doesn't seem to notice.
sad, very sad one...
You and Bucky have been a couple for a year and a half. At first, it was wonderful. He was attentive and affectionate, which was unusual for James; he struggled to show affection. But with you, that had changed. He had learned to love. Honestly, you and Bucky made a great couple. You both knew it; there was love, and it was obvious. You would give anything for him, and he did the same for you. But since this isn't a fairy tale, things began to fade.
Since he started his career as a congressman, your relationship began to deteriorate. He would come home late, tired, and if he wasn't working, he would sleep. His sleep schedule had never been the best; you knew that—the nightmares, the crying, the sleepless nights spent supporting and comforting him. Then, the curt messages began. You would send him messages, and he would take hours to reply. You understood that he was a busy man—work, being an avenger—it was all so exhausting. But you began to feel abandoned, left out.
You hated to admit it, but you no longer knew if the waiting hurt more or the shame of waiting for him.
You had told him how you felt, you opened up to him, you told him that you truly loved him and that you didn't want it to end. He responded by saying that he completely understood, and that he felt the same way about you, but that this wasn't the easiest time for him with so much stress. You understood, of course, you always understood., But you'd also been busy with work lately, you couldn't take a break between plays, you were leaving rehearsals late, you had a super important play where you were the main star that premiered a few days ago, you wanted him to come to it, but he didn't… he didn't even read the messages you had sent him asking if he was going to see the play, It seemed like he didn't care, as if you were no longer relevant in his life.
He used to tell you he loved you every single day, without fail, and he didn't just say it, he showed it with his actions. You had never felt so loved, so protected, and at the same time so…vulnerable. But now, he wasn't shown in your play. You knew it was wrong, you knew you shouldn't waste any more time, but you couldn't stop crying. That same night, after the play, everyone noticed you were downcast. They didn't know what was wrong. You should have been happy; you were the star, and you had undoubtedly shone with your performance. Everyone gave you a standing ovation and congratulated you when you left. But none of that mattered to you. He wasn't there.
You were in the apartment you two shared. He wasn't there; you were alone with Alpine, his cat. You sat in the dark on the edge of the bed, listening to some melancholic song in the background, maybe something by Taylor Swift. In the dark, with your phone in your hands, the screen showed the chat was open.
The last message you had sent was, "Let me know if you're coming, I saved you a spot in the front row." It had been there for hours, still unread.
hours.
Too many hours.
"Why do I always end up here? Why am I getting used to waiting for him with my heart in my mouth? Why does something so small hurt so much?"
And then the idea appeared. Not as an impulse. Not as anger. But as weariness.
"What if I give up? What if I stop trying? What if this isn't supposed to hurt like this?"
Does love have to hurt like this? Why were we so used to suffering for love? All you could think about were memories: how he would cuddle you from behind while you slept, being the biggest spoon; how he made you breakfast; how he showed his admiration for your small achievements; your first date at that coffee; your trip to the beach—everything. But it was just that: memories.
Meanwhile, he was still in the office, with a stack of papers he couldn't yet organize, either in his head or on his desk, a now-cold cup of coffee, and his phone lying somewhere, vibrating silently.
He hadn't done it on purpose.
He swore he hadn't.
But time slipped away, between unfinished tasks, his jumbled mind, that feeling of wanting to give the perfect answer… and then not answering at all.
But there was something different, I knew I had forgotten something, there was a different silence, colder, stiller.
When he finally picked up his phone and opened the conversation, he found no complaints.
No anger.
just nothing....
And that nothing hit him like a ton of bricks.
“Hey, are you okay?” he wrote. Message not delivered.
He stared at that gray line as if it were a death sentence.
He felt the emptiness, felt her absence, and for the first time, something inside him tightened.
"It can't be that she's gone… Did I really lose her because I was an idiot? Did I really think I could leave her waiting forever?"
he jumped up. So he grabbed his keys, and even though he didn't know what he was going to say, he knew he had to see her. He was afraid. That fear that comes when you realize too late the value of what you were neglecting.
Suddenly, in the silence of the apartment, you hear the door. It's him. You know it's him.
He knocked.
Once
twice
three times.
At first, you didn't answer. You didn't know if you wanted to see him… or if you wanted him to keep trying.
“Please open the door, I really need to talk to you.” You noticed his voice was trembling, neither strong nor confident.
So you opened it and He was there, breathing rapidly, as if he had run.
His hair was a little disheveled, and his eyes were desperate.
“What are you doing here?” you said, in a low tone, as if any word could break her.
“You weren’t answering me.
And I thought you were tired of it. I thought you didn’t… that you didn’t love me like you used to.” You looked at him intently, with a sadness that wasn’t meant to hurt him, but it did anyway.
“I got tired of waiting, James.
I got tired of feeling like I’m not important to you.” And he lowered his gaze, his remorse evident.
And his fear.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said. "I’m an idiot,but I choose you, yn.
It’s just that sometimes… I don’t know how to show it...but I don’t want you to leave.”
You hesitated and looked at him.
You felt that pull in her chest, the one that wasn’t anger or pure love, but the painful mix of both.
“You made me feel alone.”
That was all you said.
He looked up, sad, and approached hesitantly and slowly, as if afraid you might back away.
"Forgive me, I don't want you to feel like this again… I love you, tell me how I can do it and I will, but…" He took your hand, you looked at him, surprised, and felt tears threatening to spill. "Don't leave me out of your life. Don't leave me without you."
You sighed, unsure what to do. You didn't know whether to forgive him or not because if you forgave him and he did the same thing again, you would hate yourself. But if you didn't forgive him and he truly changed… you would hate yourself too.
They stood there, in the dimness of the hallway, breathing the same air but with their hearts beating at different rhythms. He kept looking at you as if the mere thought of losing you would kill him, and you kept looking at him as if you wanted to embrace him… and push him away… at the same time.
A long silence fell between them, one of those silences that hurts because no one wants to be the first to break it.
“I don’t know what I want, James,” you said, after what seemed like an eternity of silence. But your voice was soft, as if it were a great effort to say it.
“I don’t know if I want to go on. I don’t know if I can go on… like this.”
He knew there wasn't a right answer. And he knew he couldn't pressure her, that it would only push her further away.
"Then let me take care of you," he said. "Let me show you that I can be there, which I want. But don't shut the door on me now… not like this..."
And at that moment your eyes filled with tears, not from sadness, but from confusion.
He took a step forward, worried, but still without touching her.
“If you want space, I’ll give it to you,” he said. “If you want me to leave and let you think, I’ll leave. if you want me to stay here, I’ll stay.
but I’m not goin to disappear. I’m not goin to do that to you, doll.”
“Tell me what you want to do,” he asked. And you let out a heavy sigh, tears still falling.
And you spoke the most honest truth you knew:
“I don’t know.” Your voice trembled. “I don’t know what I would choose.
I don’t know what I need… But I know it hurts.”
He closed his eyes for a second and nodded slowly.
“Then don’t make the decision today,” he said. You looked at him for a moment, surprised and not quite understanding. “Stay with me for a while, whether we talk or not… but don’t decide anything with your heart this broken.”
You hesitated, pondering his words for a few seconds, and then, without realizing it, you opened the door a little wider, letting him in.
He entered like someone who knows he's on the verge of losing something real and wants to stop being the source of that pain.
You both sat on the edge of the bed, not touching, not speaking yet.
And you still didn't know what I was going to choose.
But for the first time in days, you weren't alone in that uncertainty.
YOOOO, let me know if you want a part 2! Just a reminder that English isn't my first language, so I'm not very fluent. I'd really appreciate your support and reposts so this reaches more people. Thanks for reading!
𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙮 𝙉𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 part two- Bucky Barnes x actress!reader
Pairing: Thunderbolts! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Synopsis: Bucky has been distant these past few days, and you don't know how to deal with it anymore; you feel alone, and he doesn't seem to notice.
HII, and welcome to the part two of me being mean with u guys..hope you like it
She knew it was wrong, she knew she couldn't let him have her after disappearing like that, after not showing up at her play and never answering her calls or messages. But the temptation to have him, even for just one more night, was stronger than she could manage. Amidst the deathly silence and the palpable tension in the room, he gently stroked her back, as he always did. She just looked at him, and almost instinctively, they gave in to their desire for each other.
James's heavy breathing, along with her soft moans, made it seem as if there had never been a fight.
He positioned himself over her and began to shower her neck and breasts with wet kisses.
"Let me take care of you, doll…" he said in his usual deep voice, now even deeper with desire.
And in that moment, everything crumbled for her.
. . .
That same night, after their "reconciliation," after he told her, "Don't make this decision so hastily," she went ahead anyway.
It wasn't impulsive, of course not, but rather exhaustion.
She got up and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She saw only an object, felt used, saw the dark circles under her eyes, her sadness, her constant anxiety waiting for messages that took hours.
She saw everything she had posted, everything he hadn't seen in time.
She loved him so much that she forgot to love herself.
"I have to go," she finally said.
What surprised her most was…that he didn't try to stop her, he didn't even say a word. He just nodded, his eyes filled with fear, but he couldn't stop her. He had no right to hold her back after how much he had hurt her unintentionally.
She gave him one last look. a broken, shattered, weary look…but real.
She gathered her things, just a couple of them; she would come back for the rest the next morning, but for now she was going to sleep in her apartment that she had before moving in with him.
Two months had passed since her official breakup with Bucky. She moved on with her life, or at least she tried. She deleted her chat with him, stopped looking for him in the audience during the play, and had practically stopped thinking about him altogether.
Actually, her life had improved considerably. She had landed more important roles in Broadway productions, which had been her dream since she was a little kid, and she began to surround herself with people who were truly there for her, among them Bruno.
She met Bruno at one of the bars she frequented. He was the guitarist in a band that was just starting out, and she thought he was a really nice guy. They had the same taste in music, could talk about movies and video games, and laughed at the same silly jokes that any 13-year-old would.
Yeah, they were that kind of couple.
They started going out more often, attending concerts together, going out for drinks, and having a good time. Sometimes they would spend hours talking about music, sometimes they would kiss, and every now and then she would go to watch her band rehearse and he would do the same with her rehearsals for the theater.
But it wasn't love, it was company.
Three months after their breakup and his disappearance from her life, Bucky returned.
He simply appeared at her apartment door with a bouquet of flowers, hibiscus, her favorites. Without warning, as if he owned the place and could do whatever he pleased. She saw him standing there and felt her heart leap into her throat. For months she hadn't heard from him, and now, suddenly, he was at her doorstep. They stared at each other, he unable to believe she had opened the door, and her, unable to believe he had appeared so unexpectedly.
"Hey, it's been a while…" he said after a silence that seemed to last forever. His sly yet gentle smile made her feel like she was back when they were dating.
"Get out of here. I don't wanna know anything about you!" she replied, not giving him time to finish. He felt a lurch in his chest, and before he could respond, she slammed the door in his face. He leaned against the door and held back his tears as best she could. Bucky froze. He hadn't expected her to react that way. He knew her too well; he knew she could be tough, but he hadn't expected her to be like this with him. Although he understood, given how he had behaved.
The following days were quiet, but not in her mind
She heard his laughter again.
His protectiveness, his jokes, the way he said her name, the tenderness he possessed even without realizing it, the way he looked at her as if he truly saw her.
She started thinking about it everywhere: in the shower, at the supermarket, when she was stuck in traffic, and even when she went to see Bruno play with his band.
Suddenly, an unknown number sent a message. It was him.
"Can we meet? I have so much to say, and you know I hate texting."
That was the final straw. She decided she would see him, but only so he would stop bothering her. She didn't want him showing up when she was with Bruno.
The rain started slowly, like a soft murmur, but within minutes the sky opened up as if it had been waiting for that very day to break.
She was walking along the sidewalk, getting soaked without a care, her hood down and her gaze lost in thought.
For weeks she'd felt the weight of something in her chest that she couldn't name… until she saw him.
James. Standing in the middle of the water, without an umbrella, without a jacket, without anything. Just him.
His t-shirt clinging to his body and his hair disheveled by the storm.
When she stopped, he slowly raised his head.
And there it was, that look. That look she thought she'd forgotten, the look that had made her fall in love with him the first time.
The rain was making noise, but he wasn't. He approached slowly. She felt her heart beating so fast it was about to burst. And when he was close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body despite the cold, he spoke:
"I'm tired of running from you."
She frowned slightly, feeling her eyes slowly burning; resentment, hatred, sadness, love, and nostalgia all swirled together.
"Why did you come back?" she asked as best she could, with a lump in her throat.
And he smiled, not an ordinary smile, but a broken, sad one.
"Because all this time I thought it was best to let you go… But every day without you was worse."
She closed her eyes tightly, trying her best to hold back her insults and her tears. "You hurted me," she said, not as a complaint, but rather as a sad and harsh truth
He took another step; there was no distance between them anymore.
"I know, yn, and I tell myself that every day.” He touched her cheek with trembling fingers, as if afraid she would melt at his touch. “I thought you were better off without me.” A bitter laugh escaped him.
“And when you left… I swear I convinced myself it was the right thing to do. that I was taking care of you.”
Upon hearing that, she opened her eyes, and he saw her broken, completely. "That wasn't taking care of me, James. It was ceasing to choose me and love me."
He lowered his gaze and nodded. They remained silent for a while until Bucky spoke again.
"When I saw you with him, I knew… I knew I had lost you." She felt his voice crack as she spoke. "But I still missed you just the same. Every day, all the time, in everything."
She felt her lip tremble, she wanted to hug him, to forget everything, but she didn't want to fall into that again.
"I can't stop loving you, yn. Not even if I try,I can't live without you, I feel incomplete without you, I'm useless without you. The nightmares are getting worse…only you could calm them down. You're my girl…and you'll always be my girl."
She swallowed, looked into his eyes. Those eyes that had been refuge, complication, and destiny.
“Why now? Why are you showing up now that I'm dating him, and why didn't you when you had the chance? Why won't you let me be happy?” she finally asked.
The answer came out without thinking, unfiltered:
“Because this time I don’t want to be late for what I’ve loved most in my life.”
She felt something break inside her, as if all the months they had spent apart had fallen to the ground with the rain, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
He raised his hand, caressing her cheek, looking at her with those sad eyes, "If there's still at least 1% inside you that still loves me and still believes in me…please…"
And then she knew. It wasn't fear, it wasn't anxiety, and it wasn't confusion either.
It was love. The same love as before. The love that never left. The love she had tried to silence with other names, other people, other days.
She took a step toward him.
She cupped his face in her hands and looked at him, "I never stopped loving you, idiot…"
His lips trembled. “So… so can I come back.?”
She looked at him. And there, in that rain, her heart burning and her clothes soaked:
“I’ve been waiting for you for months.” He kissed her. Not gently, timidly, or quietly.
He kissed her as if it were the first time.
As if it were the last. As if all the lost time had accumulated in that exact moment.
Hello my loves. Well, just so you know, I was inspired to write this one-shot by my dumbass boyfriend (i love him btw but he was a jerk sometimes). hope yall liked it!
𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙮 𝙉𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 part two- Bucky Barnes x actress!reader
Pairing: Thunderbolts! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Synopsis: Bucky has been distant these past few days, and you don't know how to deal with it anymore; you feel alone, and he doesn't seem to notice.
HII, and welcome to the part two of me being mean with u guys..hope you like it
She knew it was wrong, she knew she couldn't let him have her after disappearing like that, after not showing up at her play and never answering her calls or messages. But the temptation to have him, even for just one more night, was stronger than she could manage. Amidst the deathly silence and the palpable tension in the room, he gently stroked her back, as he always did. She just looked at him, and almost instinctively, they gave in to their desire for each other.
James's heavy breathing, along with her soft moans, made it seem as if there had never been a fight.
He positioned himself over her and began to shower her neck and breasts with wet kisses.
"Let me take care of you, doll…" he said in his usual deep voice, now even deeper with desire.
And in that moment, everything crumbled for her.
. . .
That same night, after their "reconciliation," after he told her, "Don't make this decision so hastily," she went ahead anyway.
It wasn't impulsive, of course not, but rather exhaustion.
She got up and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She saw only an object, felt used, saw the dark circles under her eyes, her sadness, her constant anxiety waiting for messages that took hours.
She saw everything she had posted, everything he hadn't seen in time.
She loved him so much that she forgot to love herself.
"I have to go," she finally said.
What surprised her most was…that he didn't try to stop her, he didn't even say a word. He just nodded, his eyes filled with fear, but he couldn't stop her. He had no right to hold her back after how much he had hurt her unintentionally.
She gave him one last look. a broken, shattered, weary look…but real.
She gathered her things, just a couple of them; she would come back for the rest the next morning, but for now she was going to sleep in her apartment that she had before moving in with him.
Two months had passed since her official breakup with Bucky. She moved on with her life, or at least she tried. She deleted her chat with him, stopped looking for him in the audience during the play, and had practically stopped thinking about him altogether.
Actually, her life had improved considerably. She had landed more important roles in Broadway productions, which had been her dream since she was a little kid, and she began to surround herself with people who were truly there for her, among them Bruno.
She met Bruno at one of the bars she frequented. He was the guitarist in a band that was just starting out, and she thought he was a really nice guy. They had the same taste in music, could talk about movies and video games, and laughed at the same silly jokes that any 13-year-old would.
Yeah, they were that kind of couple.
They started going out more often, attending concerts together, going out for drinks, and having a good time. Sometimes they would spend hours talking about music, sometimes they would kiss, and every now and then she would go to watch her band rehearse and he would do the same with her rehearsals for the theater.
But it wasn't love, it was company.
Three months after their breakup and his disappearance from her life, Bucky returned.
He simply appeared at her apartment door with a bouquet of flowers, hibiscus, her favorites. Without warning, as if he owned the place and could do whatever he pleased. She saw him standing there and felt her heart leap into her throat. For months she hadn't heard from him, and now, suddenly, he was at her doorstep. They stared at each other, he unable to believe she had opened the door, and her, unable to believe he had appeared so unexpectedly.
"Hey, it's been a while…" he said after a silence that seemed to last forever. His sly yet gentle smile made her feel like she was back when they were dating.
"Get out of here. I don't wanna know anything about you!" she replied, not giving him time to finish. He felt a lurch in his chest, and before he could respond, she slammed the door in his face. He leaned against the door and held back his tears as best she could. Bucky froze. He hadn't expected her to react that way. He knew her too well; he knew she could be tough, but he hadn't expected her to be like this with him. Although he understood, given how he had behaved.
The following days were quiet, but not in her mind
She heard his laughter again.
His protectiveness, his jokes, the way he said her name, the tenderness he possessed even without realizing it, the way he looked at her as if he truly saw her.
She started thinking about it everywhere: in the shower, at the supermarket, when she was stuck in traffic, and even when she went to see Bruno play with his band.
Suddenly, an unknown number sent a message. It was him.
"Can we meet? I have so much to say, and you know I hate texting."
That was the final straw. She decided she would see him, but only so he would stop bothering her. She didn't want him showing up when she was with Bruno.
The rain started slowly, like a soft murmur, but within minutes the sky opened up as if it had been waiting for that very day to break.
She was walking along the sidewalk, getting soaked without a care, her hood down and her gaze lost in thought.
For weeks she'd felt the weight of something in her chest that she couldn't name… until she saw him.
James. Standing in the middle of the water, without an umbrella, without a jacket, without anything. Just him.
His t-shirt clinging to his body and his hair disheveled by the storm.
When she stopped, he slowly raised his head.
And there it was, that look. That look she thought she'd forgotten, the look that had made her fall in love with him the first time.
The rain was making noise, but he wasn't. He approached slowly. She felt her heart beating so fast it was about to burst. And when he was close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body despite the cold, he spoke:
"I'm tired of running from you."
She frowned slightly, feeling her eyes slowly burning; resentment, hatred, sadness, love, and nostalgia all swirled together.
"Why did you come back?" she asked as best she could, with a lump in her throat.
And he smiled, not an ordinary smile, but a broken, sad one.
"Because all this time I thought it was best to let you go… But every day without you was worse."
She closed her eyes tightly, trying her best to hold back her insults and her tears. "You hurted me," she said, not as a complaint, but rather as a sad and harsh truth
He took another step; there was no distance between them anymore.
"I know, yn, and I tell myself that every day.” He touched her cheek with trembling fingers, as if afraid she would melt at his touch. “I thought you were better off without me.” A bitter laugh escaped him.
“And when you left… I swear I convinced myself it was the right thing to do. that I was taking care of you.”
Upon hearing that, she opened her eyes, and he saw her broken, completely. "That wasn't taking care of me, James. It was ceasing to choose me and love me."
He lowered his gaze and nodded. They remained silent for a while until Bucky spoke again.
"When I saw you with him, I knew… I knew I had lost you." She felt his voice crack as she spoke. "But I still missed you just the same. Every day, all the time, in everything."
She felt her lip tremble, she wanted to hug him, to forget everything, but she didn't want to fall into that again.
"I can't stop loving you, yn. Not even if I try,I can't live without you, I feel incomplete without you, I'm useless without you. The nightmares are getting worse…only you could calm them down. You're my girl…and you'll always be my girl."
She swallowed, looked into his eyes. Those eyes that had been refuge, complication, and destiny.
“Why now? Why are you showing up now that I'm dating him, and why didn't you when you had the chance? Why won't you let me be happy?” she finally asked.
The answer came out without thinking, unfiltered:
“Because this time I don’t want to be late for what I’ve loved most in my life.”
She felt something break inside her, as if all the months they had spent apart had fallen to the ground with the rain, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
He raised his hand, caressing her cheek, looking at her with those sad eyes, "If there's still at least 1% inside you that still loves me and still believes in me…please…"
And then she knew. It wasn't fear, it wasn't anxiety, and it wasn't confusion either.
It was love. The same love as before. The love that never left. The love she had tried to silence with other names, other people, other days.
She took a step toward him.
She cupped his face in her hands and looked at him, "I never stopped loving you, idiot…"
His lips trembled. “So… so can I come back.?”
She looked at him. And there, in that rain, her heart burning and her clothes soaked:
“I’ve been waiting for you for months.” He kissed her. Not gently, timidly, or quietly.
He kissed her as if it were the first time.
As if it were the last. As if all the lost time had accumulated in that exact moment.
Hello my loves. Well, just so you know, I was inspired to write this one-shot by my dumbass boyfriend (i love him btw but he was a jerk sometimes). hope yall liked it!
pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x fem! reader.}
synopsis:: Bucky has been distant these past few days and you don't know how to deal with it anymore; you feel alone and he doesn't seem to notice.
sad, very sad one...
You and Bucky have been a couple for a year and a half. At first, it was wonderful. He was attentive and affectionate, which was unusual for James; he struggled to show affection. But with you, that had changed. He had learned to love. Honestly, you and Bucky made a great couple. You both knew it; there was love, and it was obvious. You would give anything for him, and he did the same for you. But since this isn't a fairy tale, things began to fade.
Since he started his career as a congressman, your relationship began to deteriorate. He would come home late, tired, and if he wasn't working, he would sleep. His sleep schedule had never been the best; you knew that—the nightmares, the crying, the sleepless nights spent supporting and comforting him. Then, the curt messages began. You would send him messages, and he would take hours to reply. You understood that he was a busy man—work, being an avenger—it was all so exhausting. But you began to feel abandoned, left out.
You hated to admit it, but you no longer knew if the waiting hurt more or the shame of waiting for him.
You had told him how you felt, you opened up to him, you told him that you truly loved him and that you didn't want it to end. He responded by saying that he completely understood, and that he felt the same way about you, but that this wasn't the easiest time for him with so much stress. You understood, of course, you always understood., But you'd also been busy with work lately, you couldn't take a break between plays, you were leaving rehearsals late, you had a super important play where you were the main star that premiered a few days ago, you wanted him to come to it, but he didn't… he didn't even read the messages you had sent him asking if he was going to see the play, It seemed like he didn't care, as if you were no longer relevant in his life.
He used to tell you he loved you every single day, without fail, and he didn't just say it, he showed it with his actions. You had never felt so loved, so protected, and at the same time so…vulnerable. But now, he wasn't shown in your play. You knew it was wrong, you knew you shouldn't waste any more time, but you couldn't stop crying. That same night, after the play, everyone noticed you were downcast. They didn't know what was wrong. You should have been happy; you were the star, and you had undoubtedly shone with your performance. Everyone gave you a standing ovation and congratulated you when you left. But none of that mattered to you. He wasn't there.
You were in the apartment you two shared. He wasn't there; you were alone with Alpine, his cat. You sat in the dark on the edge of the bed, listening to some melancholic song in the background, maybe something by Taylor Swift. In the dark, with your phone in your hands, the screen showed the chat was open.
The last message you had sent was, "Let me know if you're coming, I saved you a spot in the front row." It had been there for hours, still unread.
hours.
Too many hours.
"Why do I always end up here? Why am I getting used to waiting for him with my heart in my mouth? Why does something so small hurt so much?"
And then the idea appeared. Not as an impulse. Not as anger. But as weariness.
"What if I give up? What if I stop trying? What if this isn't supposed to hurt like this?"
Does love have to hurt like this? Why were we so used to suffering for love? All you could think about were memories: how he would cuddle you from behind while you slept, being the biggest spoon; how he made you breakfast; how he showed his admiration for your small achievements; your first date at that coffee; your trip to the beach—everything. But it was just that: memories.
Meanwhile, he was still in the office, with a stack of papers he couldn't yet organize, either in his head or on his desk, a now-cold cup of coffee, and his phone lying somewhere, vibrating silently.
He hadn't done it on purpose.
He swore he hadn't.
But time slipped away, between unfinished tasks, his jumbled mind, that feeling of wanting to give the perfect answer… and then not answering at all.
But there was something different, I knew I had forgotten something, there was a different silence, colder, stiller.
When he finally picked up his phone and opened the conversation, he found no complaints.
No anger.
just nothing....
And that nothing hit him like a ton of bricks.
“Hey, are you okay?” he wrote. Message not delivered.
He stared at that gray line as if it were a death sentence.
He felt the emptiness, felt her absence, and for the first time, something inside him tightened.
"It can't be that she's gone… Did I really lose her because I was an idiot? Did I really think I could leave her waiting forever?"
he jumped up. So he grabbed his keys, and even though he didn't know what he was going to say, he knew he had to see her. He was afraid. That fear that comes when you realize too late the value of what you were neglecting.
Suddenly, in the silence of the apartment, you hear the door. It's him. You know it's him.
He knocked.
Once
twice
three times.
At first, you didn't answer. You didn't know if you wanted to see him… or if you wanted him to keep trying.
“Please open the door, I really need to talk to you.” You noticed his voice was trembling, neither strong nor confident.
So you opened it and He was there, breathing rapidly, as if he had run.
His hair was a little disheveled, and his eyes were desperate.
“What are you doing here?” you said, in a low tone, as if any word could break her.
“You weren’t answering me.
And I thought you were tired of it. I thought you didn’t… that you didn’t love me like you used to.” You looked at him intently, with a sadness that wasn’t meant to hurt him, but it did anyway.
“I got tired of waiting, James.
I got tired of feeling like I’m not important to you.” And he lowered his gaze, his remorse evident.
And his fear.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said. "I’m an idiot,but I choose you, yn.
It’s just that sometimes… I don’t know how to show it...but I don’t want you to leave.”
You hesitated and looked at him.
You felt that pull in her chest, the one that wasn’t anger or pure love, but the painful mix of both.
“You made me feel alone.”
That was all you said.
He looked up, sad, and approached hesitantly and slowly, as if afraid you might back away.
"Forgive me, I don't want you to feel like this again… I love you, tell me how I can do it and I will, but…" He took your hand, you looked at him, surprised, and felt tears threatening to spill. "Don't leave me out of your life. Don't leave me without you."
You sighed, unsure what to do. You didn't know whether to forgive him or not because if you forgave him and he did the same thing again, you would hate yourself. But if you didn't forgive him and he truly changed… you would hate yourself too.
They stood there, in the dimness of the hallway, breathing the same air but with their hearts beating at different rhythms. He kept looking at you as if the mere thought of losing you would kill him, and you kept looking at him as if you wanted to embrace him… and push him away… at the same time.
A long silence fell between them, one of those silences that hurts because no one wants to be the first to break it.
“I don’t know what I want, James,” you said, after what seemed like an eternity of silence. But your voice was soft, as if it were a great effort to say it.
“I don’t know if I want to go on. I don’t know if I can go on… like this.”
He knew there wasn't a right answer. And he knew he couldn't pressure her, that it would only push her further away.
"Then let me take care of you," he said. "Let me show you that I can be there, which I want. But don't shut the door on me now… not like this..."
And at that moment your eyes filled with tears, not from sadness, but from confusion.
He took a step forward, worried, but still without touching her.
“If you want space, I’ll give it to you,” he said. “If you want me to leave and let you think, I’ll leave. if you want me to stay here, I’ll stay.
but I’m not goin to disappear. I’m not goin to do that to you, doll.”
“Tell me what you want to do,” he asked. And you let out a heavy sigh, tears still falling.
And you spoke the most honest truth you knew:
“I don’t know.” Your voice trembled. “I don’t know what I would choose.
I don’t know what I need… But I know it hurts.”
He closed his eyes for a second and nodded slowly.
“Then don’t make the decision today,” he said. You looked at him for a moment, surprised and not quite understanding. “Stay with me for a while, whether we talk or not… but don’t decide anything with your heart this broken.”
You hesitated, pondering his words for a few seconds, and then, without realizing it, you opened the door a little wider, letting him in.
He entered like someone who knows he's on the verge of losing something real and wants to stop being the source of that pain.
You both sat on the edge of the bed, not touching, not speaking yet.
And you still didn't know what I was going to choose.
But for the first time in days, you weren't alone in that uncertainty.
YOOOO, let me know if you want a part 2! Just a reminder that English isn't my first language, so I'm not very fluent. I'd really appreciate your support and reposts so this reaches more people. Thanks for reading!
tags: fluff and humour, established relationship (marriage), parenthood, girl dad bucky, the new avengers (post thunderbolts*), auntie yelena, alexei shenanigans… and bob is an ipad kid.
summary: yours and bucky’s toddler daughter visits avengers tower for the first time and immediately becomes everyone’s favorite. alexei is obsessed. yelena is chaotic aunt. bob is shy. bucky comes back from a mission and goes full soft dad mode. chaos and fluff ensue!!
word count: 2275
A/N: kinda inspired by this fic written by @buckysleftbicep (absolutely loved it) so everyone go check it out right now!! Posting fluff in celebration of reaching 1k followers!
The moment you step into Avengers Tower, your daughter’s tiny hand wrapped in yours and her beloved deer plush tucked under her arm, you brace yourself.
Not for an attack. Not for a mission.
But for them.
Yelena’s the first to spot you from across the lounge, sitting cross-legged on the couch with her boots on the coffee table, casually eating pickles out of the jar like it’s an Olympic sport. Her eyes light up instantly.
“You brought the gremlin,” she says, hopping over the back of the couch like it owes her money. “Finally.”
Your daughter perks up at the voice and lets go of your hand, wobble-running straight into Yelena’s legs. “Lena!”
Yelena scoops her up with practiced ease, already spinning her like a pizza. “You’re taller than last time. What are they feeding you, huh? Dinosaur nuggets? Uncrustables?”
You smile, brushing hair from your face. “Babysitter called in sick. Bucky’s off running recon with Ava and John. It was either bring her with me or let Alpine babysit.”
Yelena shrugs. “Cat would’ve done a decent job.”
But before you can respond, a voice bellows from across the room like thunder cracking through a storm.
“OH MY GOD.”
You freeze.
“THERE IS A CHILD.”
Alexei appears like a bear-sized ghost from around the corner, eyes wide, beard fluffed, hands halfway to the sky in pure dramatics.
“She is real! You made her!” he gasps, pointing between you and your daughter like he’s just discovered human biology. “You and Barnes! You spawned!”
Your daughter clutches tighter to Yelena’s neck, blinking slowly. “…Who’s that?”
“That’s Uncle Alexei, baby,” Yelena mutters, clearly second-guessing every life choice.
“Uncle?” Alexei gasps, one hand pressed to his heart. “She called me uncle? Did you hear that? She has taste.”
“She didn’t call you anything, actually,” you say dryly.
He ignores you, kneeling down like he’s approaching a skittish woodland creature. “Little one. What is your name?”
Your daughter snuggles further into Yelena’s shoulder, unsure.
Yelena whispers it to him.
Alexei lights up. “Beautiful. Like tiny ballerina-slash-assassin.”
Then he spots the plushie.
His jaw drops. “Is that… a deer?!”
She nods.
He gasps. “A baby deer,” he glances directly at you. “You brought Bambi to the Tower. Look at this! I will call her Bambi forever now. This is perfect.”
You groan. “Her name is not Bambi.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Alexei says with utter seriousness. “Her superhero name is Bambi now.” He looks at the plush deer again, as if he needs confirmation. “This is Bambi. Your child… she is Bambi.”
“Why are you like this?”
The elevator dings softly behind you. Bob steps out, hugging a datapad to his chest, eyes flicking up—and stopping cold at the sight of a tiny human standing in the middle of the room surrounded by chaos.
He freezes like he just walked into the wrong universe.
“Oh,” he says, voice soft. “Oh. Um. Hi.”
Alexei scoops your daughter’s plush out of her hands (gently, somehow) and holds it up like a prize. “The deer has arrived.”
Your daughter lets out a tiny, distressed “Nooo!” and Yelena sighs, prying it back and handing it to her. She immediately clutches it to her chest, pouting.
Alexei melts. “She loves it. Look at the loyalty. I respect it. She will be a warrior.”
“She’s three,” you say.
“And already wiser than John,” Bob mutters, sliding onto the couch and giving your daughter a gentle wave. “Hi… I’m Bob.”
Bob offers a cautious smile from his corner of the couch, clearly doing mental math on how to interact with a three-year-old while holding a fragile datapad full of intel. “Is that your deer?” he asks gently.
Your daughter nods, eyes wide but curious.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitates, glances at you, then whispers, “Bambi.”
You sigh. Yelena smirks. Alexei fist-pumps like his soul just ascended.
“Haha! See?! Bambi!”
“She only said that because you pressured her!” you argue.
Alexei ignores you completely, now crouching beside Bob like they’re co-conspirators. “This changes everything. We must get her a cape.”
Bob blinks. “Wait, for the deer or…?”
“Yes.”
Before you can intervene, your daughter climbs out of Yelena’s lap and toddles unsteadily across the rug, her tiny socks making her slide a little on the hardwood. She waddles straight up to Bob and shyly offers him the plush deer for inspection.
Bob stares, caught completely off-guard. Slowly, reverently, he reaches out and pokes it once, like he’s been offered something sacred.
“She trusts you,” Yelena says with a smirk. “You’ve been chosen.”
Alexei claps him on the back. “Welcome to the Uncle Club.”
Bob pales. “I—I didn’t sign up for that—”
“Too late,” Yelena and Alexei say in unison.
You step in before your daughter hands over her entire soul to the team. “Alright, Bambi’s gotta go with me to the debriefing room for a bit. She’s quiet during meetings, I swear.”
“Wait, she’s sitting in?” Bob asks, blinking.
“She can’t stay here,” you whisper. “He’s already planning her costume reveal.” You point at Alexei as you roll your eyes.
Alexei winks. “Tiny leather jacket. I know a guy.”
You hoist your daughter up, her head instantly finding your shoulder, deer tucked between you. She’s calm now, observing the chaos like she’s already used to it—which, to be fair, she probably is.
Yelena holds the elevator door open for you. “Want me to come with?”
You smile gratefully. “Please.”
Bob waves. “Bye, Bambi.”
Alexei bows. “We will train in the art of war when you return.”
As the elevator doors slide shut, you glance down at the sleepy toddler in your arms and murmur, “She kind of is ruling the tower right now.”
Yelena chuckles beside you, hands in her pockets. “Please. Alexei is probably already imagining her leading The New New Avengers.”
———
The common room is unusually quiet.
Which, considering who lives here, means there are only three simultaneous conversations instead of seven, and no one’s actively throwing knives at the wall.
You’re curled up on the far couch with a warm mug of coffee tucked in your hands, your legs folded under you, eyes tracking the scene in front of you with the kind of resigned affection that only comes from parenting amidst chaos.
Your daughter is sitting cross-legged on the rug, her beloved deer plush nestled in her lap, while Bob sits beside her like he’s attending a high-stakes diplomatic summit. His tablet is open, and he’s very seriously showing her a game where she gets to decorate cupcakes.
“Okay,” Bob says, voice calm and precise, “this one has rainbow sprinkles. That means it’s the most powerful one.”
Your daughter giggles, pointing at the screen. “That one’s Bucky’s!”
Bob raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Excellent choice. Very dangerous cupcake.”
Across the room, Alexei is sitting backward in an armchair—knees up, arms draped over the backrest like a golden retriever in a human body—just watching the entire interaction with rapt fascination.
“Look at her. Tactical decisions. Cupcake strategy. She is genius,” he murmurs, eyes wide. “You see this? She will rule us all.”
“Alexei, she decorates cupcakes,” you say tiredly.
“Exactly!” he says, like you’ve proved his point. “That is unpredictable. That is art.”
Bob glances up, sheepish but undeniably soft. “She’s really good at this. Like… scary good. She beat my high score.”
“She’s three,” you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time today.
“Exactly,” Bob echoes, completely serious.
Your daughter turns and beams at you, holding the tablet up in victory. “I made a cat cupcake!”
“You’re a creative genius, sweetheart,” you say with a smile, setting your mug down. “Now let Bob breathe before he has a full-blown cupcake identity crisis.”
“She beat me twice,” Bob mutters, looking at the screen with quiet betrayal.
Alexei grins. “You have been defeated. Welcome to the Bambi Era.”
That makes your daughter puff up with pride, hugging her deer closer. “I’m Bambi.”
You blink at her.
“Okay, okay. You’re Bambi.” you murmur, already accepting defeat.
Alexei makes a dramatic gasp and holds his hand to his heart. “The prophecy is fulfilled.”
And that’s when the elevator dings. The doors slide open with a mechanical hum, and your husband, Bucky steps out—followed closely by Ava, already pulling off her gloves, and John, still mid-complaint about something Ava definitely tuned out five floors ago.
All three look a little winded, mission dust still clinging to them, that sharp post-field energy still buzzing in their shoulders.
Bucky’s the first to clock you.
Then—his eyes land on the small deer-plush-carrying toddler sitting in the middle of the Avengers’ common room rug like she owns the place.
He stops cold.
“What is she doing here?” he asks, blinking like he’s not sure if he’s hallucinating from exhaustion.
Your daughter hears his voice—and immediately bolts to her feet, deer plush bouncing from her arms as she runs.
“Daddy!”
And just like that—everything about Bucky shifts.
The steel in his posture melts in real time. That hard edge in his jaw softens. His arms open like it’s instinct, like they were made just for this exact moment.
He drops his bag without looking. Drops everything.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he breathes, catching her in a sweeping hug and lifting her off the ground like she weighs nothing. “Hi, my girl. Did you miss me?”
She nods furiously, burying her face in his neck. “You were so gone.”
Bucky presses a kiss to her hair, eyes fluttering shut for a second, like the entire day fades away the second she touches him. “I’m here now, baby. I’m here.”
There’s a stunned silence behind him.
John looks like someone just hit him with a frying pan. Ava raises an eyebrow and mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “holy shit.”
Yelena grins, arms crossed. “Aww. The Winter Soldier has emotions. Someone write that down.”
Alexei is squinting, hand raised like he’s observing wildlife through binoculars.
“She called him Daddy and he went from Terminator to teddy bear in 0.2 seconds,” Bob whispers, genuinely fascinated.
You’re already walking over, arms crossed and smile threatening the edges of your mouth. “Glad to see she’s got you wrapped around her finger, too.”
“She owns me,” Bucky says simply, pressing one more kiss to her cheek. “You should know that by now.”
You snort. “Yeah, well, the rest of the team just found out.”
Bucky turns slightly, finally looking over at the stunned group of adult superheroes who just watched him transform into Dad of the Year.
“She get into any trouble while I was gone?”
“She beat me at tablet games and claimed her superhero name is Bambi,” Bob says numbly.
“She made Alexei cry,” Yelena adds.
“I did not cry,” Alexei huffs, wiping suspicious moisture from his eye. “I was emotionally impacted.”
Your daughter leans back in Bucky’s arms and holds up her deer plush proudly.
“Did you bring me a snack?”
“Your priorities are incredible,” Bucky mutters fondly, already walking toward the kitchen with her still on his hip. “Let’s go find you something good, huh, Bambi?”
She gasps. “You called me Bambi!”
You sigh.
———
Later that evening, the common room has finally quieted. Most of the team has dispersed, save for the ones still floating nearby with post-mission snacks or paperwork. The lights are dimmed, your coffee’s been reheated twice, and you’re curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, finally off your feet.
Across the room, Bucky is sitting on the couch with your daughter perched on his lap, her deer plush tucked snugly under one arm, the other animatedly waving in the air as she recounts—in painstaking detail—every single moment of her day.
“And then Lena spun me so fast, and Uncle Lexi said I was a ballerina, and Bob showed me a cupcake game but I BEAT HIM, and there were pickles but I didn’t want any ’cause they smell bad—Daddy, are you listening?”
She nods proudly. “And the couch is really squishy but not as squishy as ours. But this place has better snacks. And Lena let me jump on the beanbag on purpose. Can I come here always? Please?”
Bucky leans in, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll talk to Mama about it. Maybe not always. But often? I think we can arrange that.”
She beams. “Okay. Also I drew a picture of Bob. He looks like a jellybean.”
You stifle a laugh into your mug.
Yelena slides into the chair beside yours with a quiet flop, arms crossed and an amused glint in her eye as she watches your daughter still rattling off to Bucky like it’s a press conference.
“She is so her father’s daughter,” Yelena says.
You sigh, but you’re smiling. “Yup.”
“Talks like him. Bossy like him. Stubborn as hell.”
You raise your mug. “And weirdly good at knives for a toddler. We’re doomed.”
Yelena snorts. “And you love it.”
You look over at Bucky again—his eyes soft, his fingers gently braiding a bit of your daughter’s hair as she chatters on about Alexei’s beard and how “Lena said I could have a jet one day.”
Your chest swells with something warm and weightless. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I really, really do.”
⋆⁺₊✧ MASTERLIST
tags: @iamthatonefangirl (dm or comment If you wanna be added to my tag list)
no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor, to the toilet seat, from the dining room table, to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink, to the shower, from the front porch, to the balcony, vertically horizontally, quadratic, exponent, algorithmetic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, forward, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in a car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back aching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw-dropping, hair pulling teeth jitterbug, mind boggling, soul snatching, over stimulating, vile, sloppy, moan-inducing, heart-wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, blackhole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark-worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcanic erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, hip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail snatching, spectacular, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, malforming, heavenly, devil's tango. please.
going on a date with bucky barnes and it all goes so nicely, so sweetly, so smoothly. you both had so much fun, chemistry and a good time. he's charming, witty and he keeps flirting and complimenting you at every chance he gets. he held your hand all night long, neither of you even noticed it, it just happened naturally, your cheeks hurt from how much you're smiling and both of your hearts are at ease.. that's until the date comes to an end, it's time to pay and you ask him if he wants to go 50/50.
that would be the first time he lets go of your hand that night, it's unintentional just happened out of pure shock. "50... what.." the confusion on his face, you'd think he's an alien seeing earth the first time.
"you know.. 50/50.. we'll split the bill between us"
"split the bill?" he asks and you just nod, he'd blink at you, "50/50.. splitting the bill.. what is this about, i asked you on a date"
now it's your turn to be the alien seeing earth for the first time, "we are on a date, bucky. this is a date"
"no, it's not a date."
"it is a date"
"you're asking me to split the bill, this is not a date"
"oh my god sam was right, you can be such a drama queen." you laugh, he just stares at you, blankly. "it might've been a while since the last time you went on a date so let me break it down for you.. these days, people who go on dates split the bill, they go 50/50" you shrug, "it's normal"
"it's normal? you've done it before?"
you nod, "every date i've been on has been 50/50 yeah"
bucky nearly flips the table. bucky who spent all of his three dollars in the 1940's trying to win a teddybear for a girl he had a crush on, bucky who used to save up most of his income in an old shoe box underneath his bed so he can take his girl to a nice diner, bucky who went to the florist to get you a bouquet of roses and didn't even ask for the price just handed his credit card because to him your smile is priceless, bucky is about to have a stroke.
"you've never been on a date" he says, face still blank.
"yes i have"
"no you haven't. this is your first date." he says, "i'm your first time." he smirks and you blush at the possible implication. "50/50.." he scoffs under his breath, "what else are you gonna tell me next? i should walk on the inside of the sidewalk? keep my jacket on when you're cold? sleep further from the door? not open doors for you? jesus sweetheart what has the world come to?"
you hide your smile, you love it when he rambles like that, he's so calm yet so offended all at once somehow, it's funny and endearing. "what's wrong with walking on the inside of the sidewalk?" you joke and he rolls his eyes making you laugh, "so.. no 50/50? are you sure?" you ask one last time, hands on your purse on your lap.
he keeps his eyes on you as he pays the bill, glaring playfully, gets up and pulls out your chair before putting his black leather jacket on your shoulders, "no doll," he offers you his hand which you quickly hold, intertwining your fingers with his, and opens the door with his metal hand, "no 50/50."
Could I request a post credit Bucky x reader one shot, please? Doesn’t matter if it’s over a table, on the floor, pinned to a wall, etc. I just need him desperately.
have you ever tried this one? | bucky barnes
Summary: ^^ Request
Warning: 18+ Minors DNI | Possible Thunderbolts* Spoilers | Smut | Detailed Open Door | Dirty Talk | Exhibitionism | Praise Kink | Light Choking | Mirror | Rough | Undertones of CNC | Swearing | Unprotected Sex | Oral
Word Count: 1702
A/N: Oops. I posted earlier than expected because I could. I have no more words. I am worded out.
The watchtower was quiet. The halls were empty, and the fluorescent light felt cold. There were no meeting briefings or training sessions. The others were gone. Out on assignment. Somewhere across the Atlantic. Everyone except yourself and Bucky, that is.
You found him in the kitchen—shirtless, tac pants slung low on his hips, black and gold vibranium flexing as he poured himself a glass of juice. His hair was messy, falling over his cheekbones, looking like he’d just gotten out of bed.
“You know,” you said, stepping closer to him. Your hand sliding down his chest, over the soft trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. “We don’t get nights like this often.”
He hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. “Quiet? Alone?”
“Unsupervised,” you corrected with a shrug.
Bucky raised a brow. “You’re trouble.”
You stretched your neck, brushing your lips against his jaw. “Tell me something.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Have you ever tried fucking on a kitchen table?”
His smile faltered for a moment before his lips curled into a slow, feral smirk. Something dark flickered across his eyes. “Not yet.”
He didn’t waste time. He’d already lost enough of that.
Your back hit the table, and he pushed your legs apart. Your nightshirt bunched at your hips. He dropped to his knees. His metal hand wrapped around your thigh, thumb stroking circles along the inside as he pressed hungry, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, up to the crease.
“You’re already soaked, doll,” he muttered, his tongue dragging a long stripe through your folds. “Fuck.” he groaned at your taste.
You bucked your hips, arching into him, and tangled your fingers in his hair as he licked into you. Starting slowly, then suddenly, rough, sloppy, relentless—like he was starved. His tongue flicked against your nub, and he held you still.
“Keep ‘em open for me, doll,” he rasped. You hadn’t noticed your thighs trying to close around his head. “Let me eat.”
Before you knew it, your body shuddered and you came hard. But Bucky never stopped, you trembled against him, pleas spilling from your plumped lips in quick, breathy pants.
When he finally stopped, he stood. Shoving his pants just low enough to free his hard, aching cock—he lined himself up. You wrapped your legs around him, tight as he pushed into you with a grunt.
“So–fuck–tight,” his metal hand pressed to your chest, thumb grazing your throat as his began thrusting his hips at a steady pace. “I should’ve done this the first day I met you.”
Slam.
Deep and rought, he fucked into you.
Now, hard enough to make the table creak.
“B-Bucky—”
“Ask me another.”
Your gaze met his, daring blue eyes.
“H-have you ever t-tried… the balcony?” you stammered between moans.
You were bare to the whole of New York City, pressed against the metal railing. Your hips lifted, and arms braced, he rubbed himself over your soaked folds again.
“Buck–this is—” you panted. “Any-Anyone could see us—oh,”
“No one’s here,” he whispered, scraping his teeth along the skin of your neck. “Just me, just you.”
That thought, the thought of getting caught in such a compromised position, and with a teammate vanished as he slammed into you again. He kept one hand on your hips, the vibranium one slipping around to play with your clit. Cold metal teased you mercilessly.
You shook, clenching around him.
“Fuck doll, you feel—” he groaned a low growl, deep from his chest. “So good. Stretched out. Taking me.”
Another orgasm rippled through your body, your head falling back. Nothing but the night sky above you, and the sounds of New York City under. Your legs became weak, grasping onto him as he fucked you through it.
“Again,” he demanded, teeth nipping your collarbone.
You lifted your head, half-laughing in a daze. “Have-Have you ever tried–” you caught a breath before continuing. “The El-Elevator?”
The heel of his hand slammed the emergency stop button, and the doors enclosing behind you. He was on you before you had time to gasp for anything. Hands gripped your hips, spinning you around. He pressed your chest against the mirrored wall. You whimpered at the cold contrast hitting your hardened nipples.
His arm curled around one of your thighs, lifting you slightly as his free hand wrapped around your throat—forcing you to make eye contact with his reflection.
“You sure?” he rasped, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “Can you take more?”
You swallowed hard, nodding despite the anticipation that knotted in your stomach. “Please, Bucky.”
Inch by thick, stretching inch, Bucky sank into your again. The new position hits spots you had never felt before. His forehead pressed to your shoulder as you whimpered, fists curling around the handrail.
“Not a single drop of serum in you, and yet you’re keeping up with me so well. Such a good girl.”
You could barely breathe. Your back arched against him, pressing your chest further into the glass. The mirror walls reflected everything. You watched your lips part, the way his hips slammed against your ass, the raw heat between you, and then, you watched as his hand curled around your stomach.
He pressed down, sending a new shivering sensation down to your core. “You feel that?” he whispered. “How deep I am?” He slowed his pace. Deep, deliberate strokes left you gasping. “You gonna come for me, again?” he grunted.
Your breath hitched.
You were so close.
Your clit throbbed, sensitive from his touch.
“Come on, doll. Give it to me.”
He shifted slightly, angling his hips just right. And you cried out. Your forehead pressed against the mirror, legs trembling, barely supporting your weight.
“There it is,” he soothed, brushing your hair to the side and kissing your shoulder. “Has the newest Avengers got it in her for one more?”
“H-h-have you e-ever tried it—” you nodded, giving yourself another moment to find the words. Trying not to focus on his still hard cock filling you up. “T-tried it in the t-training room?”
You watched his reaction in the reflection. He had stilled, his hot breath fanning against your neck. A hungry, dangerous glint returned full force in his eyes. As if you had just challenged him in a sparring match, one he had every intention of winning.
A dark chuckle, low and breathless, rippled from his chest. He pulled out of you slowly, making you feel every inch of him drag against your walls. Your knees gave out. But he caught you. “Easy, doll, we’re not done yet.” He held you up, placing a soft kiss against your temple.
A hiss of hydraulics filled your ears as the elevator jolted back to life. He turned you around once again, a hand cupping your cheek and pulling your face closer to him. He was intoxicating. The way his lips molded against yours, sucking and biting. How were you ever going to go back to normal in the morning after this?
You made it down to the training floor. Lights dimmed, and silence filled the serialised room. The wide mat space was empty, with more mirrored walls. You could move around the room with your eyes closed by now, all muscle memory. But this was different. You weren’t in your usual state of mind.
The second the glass door slid shut behind you, Bucky shoved you against the padded, soundproof wall. His mouth crashed against yours again. Desperately, as if he were claiming you. He didn’t need to. The way your head spun for him tonight, he already had you. His tongue reached deep, swallowing your breath, your moans.
“This memory is going to haunt me,” he gritted through his teeth, pulling you off the wall toward the sparring mats. Your back hit the mat with a thud. “You, on your back for me. Under me. A pretty little mess.” He spread your legs as he crawled over you.
He didn’t bother taking it slow with you this time. He plunged into you with one sharp, hard thrust.
“Buck—fuck—Bucky!” you gasped, back arched off the mat.
His vibranium hand slid under your ass, driving deeper into you as he tilted your hips. Your wrists were pinned above your head, nails digging into the palms of your hands. The sensations sent pins and needles shooting up your thighs, and your vision blurring.
“Fuck—moaning my name,” he grunted. “You want more? Say it.”
“More—Please, Bucky—More!”
He thrusts harder, and you scream for him. He fucked you like you were his mission. That mission being your absolute destruction.
Your body felt like molten, trembling beneath him. You were unsure of how you were still moving, working with him. Still breathing under him. Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry as he pushed you over the edge for the fourth time that night.
As you came down from the high, you noticed his chest heaving above you, ragged breathing against your neck, and his rhythm faltering. “Beg.” he groaned, his words nearly a plea themselves. “Beg for me.”
You whimpered, nodding slightly. “Please,” you whispered. “Please, Bucky.”
That was all he needed.
A pathetic little please.
He let your legs fall, pulling out of you slowly. Only for him to gently shift your body again, but this time with more purpose. Guiding you up onto your knees, his hand steadying you.
You looked up at him, your heart thundering, lips parted, and your eyes glassy with need. Need for him.
His thumb stroked your cheek. “Look at you,” he smirked, moving his thumb down to your bottom lip and pulling it down. “So fucking perfect.”
You took the hint. Opening your mouth for him, like the good fucking girl he turned you into. And then, you took the blunt head of his cock into your mouth.
He growled your name, a low and broken growl—sending a shiver down your spine. He held the back of your head, his movements reverent—blue eyes locked onto you.
And when he finally let go, he whispered your name like a curse, like you were a religion, and it was only you he’d ever believe in.
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