the blurb request is bucky with a praise kink, that's it. 😃
I remember you wrote a fic abt the reader who's a tattoo artist and bucky a long long time ago and I can't find it but that still lives in my head rent free.
I think it'd be funny if the dynamic was smth like bucky who's on the field during a mission and the reader that's watching through the cameras doing whatever those types of characters do and just throwing bucky random compliments and praises haha. and she's smug about it.
Bucky Has a Praise Kink and You’re Smug About It
TW suggestive, praise kink
word count : 1.9k (More of a short story tbh)
Bucky Barnes with a praise kink was not something you discovered in conversation.
Normal people found out things about the person they were sleeping with by having tender conversations in bed. Normal people asked questions. Normal people communicated.
You and Bucky Barnes had been secretly hooking up in the Tower for months with the subtlety of two mongooses trapped in an air vent.
Nobody knew. Or at least, you liked to think nobody knew.
In reality, Yelena probably knew because Yelena had the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a nosy aunt. John didn’t know because John Walker could be standing in a room that was actively on fire and still ask, “Does anyone smell smoke?” So really, your secret was only safe because half the team was polite enough to pretend and the other half was John and Alexei.
But you and Bucky thought you were being slick.
He would barely look at you during briefings. He’d give you absolutely nothing except the occasional glance so sparingly it felt like being dragged into a dark hallway by the throat.
Then, an hour later, he would be in your room with his mouth on your neck, acting like he had been starving all day.
The praise thing happened when you were both supposed to be training, which was already a lie, because the second Bucky walked in wearing that stupid black compression shirt, all functional thought left your body.
You had sparred for maybe ten minutes before it stopped being sparring.
His knee was between yours, his human hand around your wrist. His hair falling forwards mouth parted like he was trying very hard not to do exactly what you both knew he was going to do.
You smiled up at him. “Are you going to let me up?”
Bucky stared at you. “No.”
And that was that.
You didn’t make it to his room. You didn’t even make it to your room, which was on the same floor as the gym.
You barely made it to the lockers before his hands were on you properly, before your back hit cold metal and the sound echoed through the showers and tiles. His mouth was hot against yours, hungry and rough in that way that made you want to laugh because he spent all day acting like he had self-control. He didn’t, at least not with you. Not when nobody else was around.
He made this main against your mouth, all restraint stripped off, and pressed closer until there was no space left between you and the lockers and him.
His mouth dragged down your neck, and you, half-dazed because he was so worked up already, breathed, “You’re so fucking good, Bucky.”
His whole body locked up against yours.
His vibranium hand tightened at your waist. His forehead dipped against your shoulder like he had just taken actual damage.
You blinked.
Oh?
You touched the back of his neck, nails light at his hairline, and said, “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Terrible liar. His ears were pink!
“Bucky,” you whispered, and you were already grinning from ear to ear because you were a sly little fucker and he had just handed you a loaded weapon. “Do you like that?”
He lifted his head, his mouth was swollen and his eyes dark. “Don’t.”
He said your name like a warning, but really, it was too late for that. It was more like damage control.
He was just standing there, six feet of muscle and tactical competence, realizing too late that you had found the button.
The secret button. The forbidden button. And because you were a menace, because you had never once in your life been normal about having power, you leaned in close enough that your mouth brushed his ear kept pressing. “Good boy.”
Bucky’s hand hit the locker beside your head, and the metal dented.
You had the audacity to chuckle. “Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun.”
His eyes closed, but the tent in his annoyingly still-on pants wasn’t fooling anyone.
Of course you became unbearable about it.
You knew that if Bucky got too smug during sparring, you could murmur, “Good job, baby,” and watch his entire form collapse. You knew that if he was staring into nothing in the kitchen, all you had to do was brush past him and say, “You did so well today,” and suddenly the man forgot how mugs worked. You knew that if he was kissing you too rough, too desperate, you could cup his face and tell him, “That’s it, you’re good,” and feel him melt like something in him had been waiting decades to hear it.
It was dangerous knowledge. So naturally, as the designated comms person of the New Avengers, you took it into the field.
The mission was supposed to be simple. Val’s favorite lie. You were in the control van, with your headset on, cameras up, drones feeding you grainy footage of Bucky, Yelena, and John moving through the compound.
Yelena was on the roof. John was in the east stairwell. Bucky was in the lower corridors, all black tac gear that made your brain start chewing through drywall.
And you were doing your job. “Barnes, two ahead,” you said over general comms. “Left one has a rifle.”
Bucky moved.
The first guard went down before the camera fully adjusted. The second tried to swing at him. Bucky caught his wrist, twisted, and put him on the floor.
H You stared at the screen.
And then a little mischievous gremlin whispered devilishly in your ear and gave you a wicked idea!
Your thumb flicked from the general to private the private channel, just to Bucky’s ears.
“Good job, baby.”
On screen, Bucky stopped for a fraction of a second. His shoulders went tight. His head angled down. His metal hand flexed once.
He didn’t reply.
He didn’t flirt back even though he wanted to. He didn’t scold you. He didn’t say, “Now is not the time,” even though now was very clearly not the time.
He just took it, like the good boy he is.
Oh, you were done for.
Because Bucky Barnes being mouthy would have been fun, sure, but Bucky Barnes silently absorbing praise like a kinky sponge while on a mission? Bucky Barnes trying to stay professional while you dripped sweetness into his private comm? Bucky Barnes obeying every instruction silently because he knew Yelena and John were on the other channel and he could not risk making a sound he so often made in private?
That was art.
So you switched back to general like nothing happened.
“Yelena, west balcony. John, stop breathing so loudly.”
John snapped, “That’s just how I breathe.”
Yelena said, “You breathe like police siren.”
Bucky said nothing. You smiled at Bucky’s monitor, then switched back to private. “Turn left for me, sweetheart”
He turned left immediately.
“Doing so well for me.”
His almost pathetically tripped on a raised platform.
You bit your lip.
“Oh, you’re so easy,” you whispered.
His head tilted toward the camera like he knew exactly where you were watching from.
Stop, no reply.
Back to general. “Three hostiles moving toward the east stairwell.”
John groaned. “How many guys does this place have?”
Back to private.
“Duck.”
Bucky ducked as a guard swung a pipe where his head had been.
“There you go,” you murmured. “So good.”
He put the guard down hard enough that the body slid halfway across the floor.
Your eyebrows lifted. “Careful, Sergeant.”
His shoulders rose once with a breath.
Back to general. “Drive room is second door on the right. Security grid is cycling every twelve seconds.”
Yelena said, “Control, why does Barnes red? His cheeks looks like apple.”
John said, “He always looks like that.”
Bucky’s head snapped toward the nearest camera.
“Focus on the mission,” you managed to choke out.
You switched to private so fast your thumb slipped.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you whispered, delighted and panicking at the same time.
He mouthed, we’re gonna get caught.
You grinned. “Oh, but I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you?”
Beautiful silence. He went back to his mission.
Then he opened the door you had marked.
He didn’t kick that obedient little show-off. He simply showed you with his human hand, that a twist could break a lock. You would expect that hand to pin you down later.
This was the cycle now. This was the bit.
General channel: professional handler.
Private channel: a menace.
General channel: “John, move to cover.”
Private channel: “Look at you listening so well.”
General channel: “Yelena, eyes on the west roof.”
Private channel: “That’s my good boy.”
General channel: mission logistics, team coordination, survival.
Private channel: psychological warfare against your secret super-soldier boyfriend’s praise kink.
And Bucky just took every word while clearing rooms and stealing drives and pretending his heartbeat was not climbing on your screen. Took it while his breathing got heavier for half a second before he forced it steady again. Took it because he liked it, because you both knew he liked it.
The problem was that you got cocky.
You always got cocky.
Bucky secured the drive from the server room, tucked it into his vest, and turned toward the exit.
You meant to switch to private. You really meant to.
In your defense, your hands were distracted by your own evil.
You leaned into the mic, voice warm and pleased and absolutely soaked in the kind of tone you used when Bucky had you pressed against cold locker metal, and said, “That’s it, baby. Good boy.”
The silence was immediate.
Horrific.
Holy. Fuck.
You looked down.
General channel.
GENERAL CHANNEL!!!
Yelena stopped moving on the roof. John stopped moving in the stairwell. Bucky stopped moving in the hallway.
For a terrible second, nobody said anything.
Then John said, “Uh.”
Yelena said, “Oh?”
You closed your eyes.
John again, slower this time, like his brain was buffering. “Did you just call Barnes baby?”
Yelena gasped, delighted. “No, no, no. She called him good boy.”
“Yelena,” you said, voice strangled. “It was a comms error.”
“Sounds like foreplay to me.”
Bucky made the fatal mistake of not denying it.
He just stood there on the monitor, drive in his vest, blood on his knuckles, looking rosy in his ears
John sounded physically pained. “Barnes?”
Bucky’s voice came through low and flat. “Extraction point.”
Yelena laughed so hard her audio crackled. “This explains so much.”
“It explains nothing,” you insisted.
Yelena winked at the drone “mmhm. Sure.”
Bucky just continued moving through the facility with grim, wounded dignity after being publicly exposed by his secret girlfriend calling him a good boy over comms.
And when they finally made it back to the van, you knew you were in trouble.
Bucky climbed in last.
Yelena was grinning like Christmas came early. John was staring out the window like eye contact might legally implicate him.
Bucky handed you the drive.
You took it.
His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up.
You tried to smile like you had not just told everyone he liked being praised
“Good mission,” you said weakly.
Bucky leaned down just enough that only you could hear him.
“That right, doll?” he murmured.
Your stomach dropped.
His voice stayed low. “You keep saying stuff like that in my ear, sweetheart, and I’m gonna start expecting it when we get home.”
And then he sat back like he had not just made you squeeze your thighs together in front of a former red room assassin and murder Cap.
Yelena, unfortunately, noticed.
She looked between you and Bucky, smiled slowly, and said, “I hate that I understand the appeal.”
John groaned. “I am begging everyone to stop talking.”
And honestly, the mission did go well. Yelena and John did well. Bucky did especially well.
You definitely told him that later. Privately. In his quarters. Several times.
—
Note: I see all your blurb requests from this post, and keep them coming!! I will try my best to write most of them over the next few days but I might pass on a couple simply because I’m blanking on them 😭
I’m lowkey struggling to finish the Star Wars AU I might sleep on it till the weekend 😔
pairing | Massage Therapist!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
summary | While on vacation, your best friend books a spa day for you to loosen up. A luxury spa, the hottest masseuse you've ever laid eyes on, and the slip of a sound lead to a very not normal massage. But in your defense...he had very good hands and a flexible definition of tension relief.
warnings | MDNI 18+ Barbies only, please | female reader, no use of y/n, vacation fling, porn with a sprinkle of plot, open ended, inappropriate use of towels + massage oils (literally don't...don't do this at home), fingering, dry humping, unprotected p in v, pussy pronouns, exactly one (1) clit smack, soft dom Bucky if you squint, slight Romanogers if you squint even further and hold the phone at the right angle, reader is briefly described as being smaller than Bucky (if I missed anything please let me know)
word count | 5.6k
phoenix chirps | Hi Barbies! It's time for my first installment for the Barbie collab put on by the @stantastic-association. It's been so fun watching this come together that I can almost hardly believe it's my turn to post. I don't have much to say about this one, except that I feel the need to remind you that this is fiction. Please don't engage with massage therapists in this manner out in the real world. Even if they do suspiciously look like Bucky Barnes.
dt | Literally everyone who had to listen to me bitch about needing to lock in since...January? Y'all know who you are, and I'm giving you all a big forehead kiss through the screen. I hope you can feel it. Though a very special dt to @miraclediviner who made sure the collab ran as smooth as butter and didn't let me slack off. You're a real one Mecca ❤️
"We should do a girls trip!"
A dreaded six word sentence among friend groups. It always felt like something elusive that would always get talked about, but never actually get planned. In the history of your particular circle, those words were carelessly thrown around during Pinterest searches or doom scrolls after too much wine more times than you could count, but never once made it out of the group chat.
That was until the self appointed leader of the group, Natasha Romanoff, decided that enough was enough. In her own words, she was tired of the drab concrete buildings in which you worked soul sucking desk jobs and wanted to explore. But she didn't want to go alone. So, she planned. She made itineraries that the group was excited about. A few helped narrow down the field to a destination of the Amalfi Coast. But somewhere between the planning stage and the plane taking off for a two week trip to Positano, only you and Natasha had actually managed to buy the airfare and split the cost of an ocean front hotel room in the picturesque town.
Arriving in a landscape dotted with colorful cliffhanging houses on the bluest waters you had ever laid eyes on should have been enough to decompress. Yet the first thing out of Nat's mouth when you had barely unpacked a bag in the small hotel room you would be sharing was: "You look like you need to relax." Evidently the charm of being in another country without having to think of emails and spreadsheets for two weeks was not enough to bring your shoulders down from where they had permanently bunched at your ears.
And that is how you found yourself herded to the five star spa attached to your hotel. The air was tinged more prominently with orange blossom and citrus oils here, mixing with the salt air of the sea that seeped in through the windows. There was a soft melody of instrumental music along with water bubbling from a few rock fountains that dotted the reception area, granting a relaxing atmosphere from the bustling of the hotel lobby just beyond the entrance.
You had been directed to a pair of plush armchairs by the receptionist and offered a glass of cucumber water along with a list of services that were outrageously priced, even for a tourist town. You supposed that the main focus of stepping into a place like this should have been the ease of which it was to relax. But what really wasn't relaxing were the prices on the laminated sheet.
"Nat I - " you began in a hushed tone, but were cut off by the wave of her hand.
"We're on vacation," she sighed taking a small sip of water. "Just charge everything to my card, and you can pay me back when you can. I need the miles anyway." It wasn't so much of an offer as it was a request to just treat yourself. Like innately, she knew that you would argue over spending an exorbitant amount of money on a ninety minute massage.
Slumping back in your chair, you knew it was futile to argue when Natasha put her mind to something. The receptionist approached shortly after, getting you both on the schedule. Her voice had a distinct charming Italian lilt that you supposed was meant to be calming, though it felt performative in a way; like everything in this over priced spa. Maybe that's how they were able to charge such high prices. If clients were lulled into a false sense of comfort at every turn, it hurt less when money changed hands.
Natasha's name was called first by a tall, muscular blonde man wearing dark blue scrubs. Before she disappeared behind the frosted glass doors flanked by two lemon trees, she gave a sly wink, her nose scrunching slightly. A secret girl code that loosely translated to her likely coming back out with her masseur's personal phone number.
Good for her, you thought. Though you dreaded if she actually did get it that you'd be spending the rest of the vacation playing tourist alone.
That left just you and the incessant dripping sound of water in the reception area, which truthfully wasn't all that relaxing when it had you debating if you had time for a bathroom break. In the middle of your deliberation, you heard your name called.
When your eyes lifted to see who your appointment was with, you now had a concrete reason as to why services here were so expensive. A six foot, broad shouldered muscular man with chestnut hair, and blue eyes that could rival that of the ocean waters of the coast was looking at you expectantly. Your gaze drifted down to the clipboard that held your assessment form you had filled out while waiting. And you were sure it was a normal sized clipboard, but it looked dwarfed being held in his hands. Hands that would soon be on your skin.
His smile was warm, and looked to be the most genuine form of soothing in the spa as you walked up to him on unsteady legs. "I'm Bucky, looks like I've got you for the next hour and a half," he introduced himself, and you immediately noticed he did not carry the same Italian accent of anyone you had encountered at the hotel.
He held the door open for you into a warmly lit hallway, with more greenery and a stronger scent of lemons. "Do you have any problem areas you'd like me to address?"
The only problem that came to the forefront of your mind - aside from your sore back muscles - was that your mind was now…blank.
And yet he patiently waited for an answer as he directed you to a small dim room. Likely having rendered so many women speechless, that this was just part of his routine when he introduced himself to someone new.
The room he showed you to only held a massage table, a small cart with various oils and towels, and the same plinking music that had been playing in reception could also be heard in here, albeit much softer. "Uh, my back kind of? It was a long plane ride," you said, finally finding your voice.
Bucky nodded, jotting something down on the clipboard he still held. "Taking care of yourself on vacation? Good girl, sitting that long can cause unneeded stress on your muscles."
The praise coming from his mouth seemed to slip out so naturally, your brain almost didn't register it. But the rest of your body sure did.
He's probably like this with everyone, he's just trying to get a bigger tip from you. You reminded yourself.
"If you'll just undress to your comfort level," he pulled the drape of the massage table back, "I'll be back in five minutes."
And with that, he was out of the room with the door closing behind him with a soft click. Truthfully your comfort level with a strange man in a foreign country should've been to add more clothes and walk out of here. Especially with the way your thoughts were racing as you pictured his hands on your body.
Perhaps you should go request a different masseuse. One that you didn't want to do things with he probably wasn't allowed to charge for. But with the way your back ached and the crick in your neck from an eight hour flight, you didn't want to wait for a different masseuse. Nor did you want to explain to Natasha why it was necessary and get teased relentlessly.
Deciding you'd like the full experience, you stripped bare and folded your clothes in a neat pile on the chair in the corner. Sliding into the cocoon of soft sheets on your stomach, you shifted the drape over your backside and as soon as you made yourself comfortable with your head on the rest, a knock sounded at the door.
"Alright sweet girl," Bucky's smooth voice reached your ears once more as he stepped into the room. "Let's see if we can't get you to relax."
This was already a bad idea, you surmised. Your body was reacting to the baritone of his voice in ways you hadn't even considered when Nat suggested a massage. Like it was reminding you of the dry spell you had currently been in with your dating life and that something or someone needed to rectify that soon.
He peeled the sheet away from your back to begin, the sudden rush of air hitting your nerves and sending a shiver down your spine,
"Cold?" He asked from somewhere above you, concern lacing his words.
"A little?" Your voice squeaked the lie piling on to your mortification. You weren't really cold, more like your nerve endings you long thought dormant were reacting to any form of provocations.
You heard the click of a button somewhere and a sudden wave of gentle heat flowed from a vent on the wall next to you. "There we go," he murmured. "I want you to be as comfortable as possible."
Some more shuffling occurred while you watched his shadow cast by the dim amber lights dance around the dark floor. A click of a cap being flicked open almost had you peaking over your shoulder to see what was going on, but eye contact would likely only heighten this one sided awkwardness you felt for the next ninety minutes.
A warm sensation dripped over your skin, and you felt goosebumps rise in its wake. Bucky's palms were on you next with a firm pressure that already had the tension floating from your body and into his palms. Deft fingers kneaded the muscles along your spine first, pausing to roll among your shoulders.
Sinking further into the table, it was almost easy to forget who was on the opposite end of the hands that you could describe as harbingers of magic. Your eyes slipped shut, finally letting out a deep breath you didn't remember inhaling.
"Good girl, keep letting go," Bucky whispered, knuckles digging into your shoulder blades and working your muscles loose. There was that praise again, made all the more intimate by the fact that you were now naked and his hands seemed to be working overtime to pull every bit of tension out of your body.
He made it so easy to relax. More so than anything out in the reception area. The aura around his person inviting and safe in a way that made it easy to let go. From the warmth of the room, the slide of his fingers, the gentle praise, a floaty kind of feeling rushed to your head. It was then he found a knot just to the right of your spine that was worked out with enough pressure for an involuntary moan to slip past the barricade you'd been carefully crafting.
And it really wasn't even something you could pass off as a momentary lapse of judgment, especially if he kept skillfully working your muscles out like he was.
But Bucky, professional as he was, never wavered even when he felt the tension rising back to your body like you had done something wrong. "Happens more often than you think," he reassured. "Make all the noise you need to, sweetheart. You don't need to hold back on my account," he said evenly, and you could hear the ghost of a satisfied smile in his tone.
With permission granted unlocking something in your brain, you sighed, letting whatever slightly pornographic sounds come out. It wasn't like you would see him again anyway to be embarrassed about it. And as you fully let go, both of Bucky's hands continued working lower now to where the drape covered the last bit of your decency.
"Your lower back is really tense…" he muttered, hands wrapping around your waist, your attention flaring to the point of contact. "Desk job?"
Your mind momentarily stuttered as you tried to get your mouth to form words that weren't 'you can bend me over a desk'. "Uhm, yeah, unfortunately. I try to stretch but…"
"I can put a towel under your hips if you'd like?" he interrupted whatever your thinly veiled excuse was going to be for not getting up and stretching for ten minutes every hour. "May help me work out some of this discomfort."
You spied him already rolling up a piece of fabric into a tight cylinder. His hands and fingers glistening in the low light looking like a sin you'd love to commit.
You nod in agreement, and shift so he can wedge the towel under your hips. In doing so, the drape covering your ass narrowed, now just barely keeping you concealed.
More oil was added to your skin and Bucky's hands returned to your lower back. You had to give it to him, the added cushion under your hips did help your spine stretch, and the oil was already seeping into your muscles, aiding in the relaxation. But now you had a different problem entirely. The towel had been placed in such a way it pressed right against your clit, the texture of terrycloth mixed with the oil dripping down providing a delicious friction you hadn't been expecting.
And just why had you decided it would be a fabulous idea to get naked? As if the heat pooling between your thighs the second you laid eyes on your masseuse wasn't bad enough, you now had to deal with the fact that every time his thumbs pushed from the swell of your ass to the middle of your spine he unknowingly rocked you just right to send sparks shooting through your limbs.
If you thought keeping your noises to a minimum before was a challenge, it was certainly about to be an even bigger struggle. Screwing your eyebrows together, your fingers gripped the face cradle harder, you dared to let out a much more breathy exhale than before. Slightly worried that if you held any further noises in, Bucky would catch on to the lewd activities happening under the drape.
It would be so embarrassing to come like this, you thought for a brief second, another airy moan traitorously leaving your lips.
That time, Bucky's hands did pause, ever so briefly, on their upward trajectory. Enough that it was obvious he noticed your sounds had changed. But he didn't draw attention to it verbally. Instead, he moved…slower.
His hands trailed down, past your hips to your thighs. Thumb digging just a touch more into your muscles as he moved with leisure.
You barely noticed the drape that had still been covering your ass was being pushed up, too focused on the way he seemed to know when to press on your lower back to get another inappropriate sound out of your mouth. On the next pass, Bucky's fingers grew bolder, dipping between your thighs and nudging your legs apart.
It eluded you that his thumbs were getting closer and closer to where you were now dripping on every pass. Rational thought had long since flown out the window with the way he was slowly rocking you against the towel.
At least…until he drifted experimentally. Two fingers slowly and precisely slipped directly between your thighs ever so slightly relieving the ache that had been building since you had put your body in his very capable hands. It was too deliberate, yet slightly timid to be considered an accident. Much like the soft moans he had elicited from you moments earlier.
Your eyes flew open, breath catching as he did it again. Two fingers mindfully stroking your clit like he was testing your reaction. "I can stop," he said easily once you met his piercing blue eyes over your shoulder, pausing his ministrations but not taking his fingers away. "But I am very good at my job."
You were aware that you could say no. Surely such a posh and highly rated establishment would not survive if such acts were being performed under duress.
You were also aware that while you could…you had absolutely no intention of asking him to stop. Much like when you gave yourself grace by letting your mouth fall open, moans flowing freely, you rationalized that you were on vacation. You were never going to see this man again, and your body was wordlessly begging your mouth to just say yes. Shifting to tilt your hips in a silent dare for him to keep going, you both performed a staring contest in the soft light. But you realized quite quickly that he wasn't going to move again until you said something verbally.
Letting out a shuddering breath, and throwing all caution to the wind along with the last of any rational thought, you imperceptibly shook your head and gave a shaky whisper of "don't stop."
A slow grin spread across his face, a spark of delight as he gingerly tossed the drape to the side. There was no use for it now, considering it had turned into a small sliver that covered nothing.
"Turn over for me, sweet girl, if we're doing this, let's do this right," he murmured, giving a slight tap to your clit before withdrawing, a gentle hand coming to your hip to help maneuver you to your back.
With shaky arms and his guidance, you adjusted. The towel you had been grinding against was also discarded quickly, all the better so you didn't see the mess you had likely caused. Bucky's hands were on you again, steady, but sure, working their way slowly back up your thighs like he was still giving you the chance to back out.
"Beautiful," you swore you heard him whisper above the low music that was still faintly playing in the background. Heat spread from your chest to your ears as you chanced a glance at him while his fingertips made their journey back between your thighs. But his eyes, dark and hooded, were fixated on the dance of his hand moving closer to your center.
You let out a small 'oh' the second he circled your clit, thighs parting further — an invitation to keep going while your fingertips dug into the table. Eyes falling closed, your body arched into the movement, rocking without abandon now that it wasn't something you were trying to hide.
He had not been over exaggerating, he was very good at his job. Executing just the right amount of pressure on the bundle of nerves, every so often dipping to gather the slick now freely dripping from your cunt and tease your entrance. Like he was a lover made just for you, and had learned every single way to provide the highest amount of pleasure to make your head spin.
"When's the last time she was taken care of, hmm?" his voice was closer than it had ever been, your eyes flew open again to see he had moved so his torso was hovering over yours, hand that wasn't performing magic between your thighs braced next to your head.
Fuck, his eyes were more disarming up close. Two shimmering pools of bright blue reflected what could only be described as starlight from the ambient lamps.
Did you really want to admit to a stranger how long it'd been since the last time anyone touched you like this?
"Uh…" you stammered, "haven't really…been awhile."
Real smooth. But what were you meant to say when words were drowning before they had a chance to form?
A gentle, compassionate look crossed his features. "Tsk, you can't neglect something as precious as this sweetheart."
With that, he finally pushed a long finger past your entrance, the stretch sudden causing a needy whine to travel up your throat.
"There you go. Just relax for me…" he whispered the command right against the skin of your cheek, and to your credit, you really did try. But the coil in your lower belly was tightening further and further.
Another unabashed moan slipped past your lips as he added a second finger, your jaw going slack from the sudden stretch while your fingertips dug further into the table to the point your knuckles ached. "I'm trying," you protested, though several parts of your body were continuously clenching.
Above you, a deep rumble vibrated from Bucky's chest. His hand that had been planted next to your head reached for yours, working your grip free of the table. Your fingers interwove with his creating a far more intimate connection than you had been braced for.
"Keep trying sweetheart, you can do it," he coaxed, leaning further in until his lips were right next to yours. While his hands and words were confident, there was a hesitation in the movement of his lips. Like he was a man who was afraid of pushing too many boundaries.
Your fingers squeezed his once his thumb pressed deliberately onto your clit, back bowing off the table while your thighs spread further, one ankle falling carelessly over the edge. "You're so close," he whispered, lips finally meeting the corner of yours. "Can feel it in the way she's squeezing me."
"Mhm," you managed to whine, lips chasing his automatically when he went to pull away.
There was barely a second of hesitation and his mouth was on yours, greedily drinking in the sounds of pleasure as he pushed you closer and closer to release. He tasted of bergamot, lemon and sea salt, like the personification of the small town itself.
It was like something snapped between you the second your lips collided. Something untamed finally being set free after being unfairly caged. Your hand flew to the nape of his neck, drawing him in closer, enough that with the angle, he had to withdraw his fingers from your cunt so he could steady himself above you.
You wanted to grumble at being denied, body clenching desperately around nothing. Until Bucky adjusted, knee finding the bare space of table between your legs. With a slight bounce, his large form soon eclipsed yours as he settled into a comfortable position. All the while, his lips never really ceased contact with yours. Exploring parts of you that you hoped he never dared venture with other clientele.
But any unfounded jealousy you may have stumbled upon exited your mind the second he pressed his hips to yours. The hard, throbbing ridge of his erection had your mind reeling. It hadn't really even occurred to you that he could be as affected as you were, needing his own form of tension relief. Perhaps the soft dark blue scrubs he wore were intentionally chosen to hide such things.
Your legs bent at the knees, drifting to either side of his torso until you cradled his lower body with yours. A sound came muffled from his throat, his teeth sinking into the plush flesh of your lower lip when your hips twitched upwards, bare pussy dragging across the outline of his cock that sent fire rushing through your belly.
Your free hand fisted into the hem of his top, thoughts running rampant of how you planned on daydreaming about ripping this very top off when you got back to your hotel room to now being able to experience the real thing. His hips moved in needy, urgent circles, the head of his cock catching your clit every so often causing your thighs to clench around his frame harder. His movements were so delicate, so restrained, you wondered if he was reconsidering.
Testing the already flimsy boundaries, your hand released his top, moving to rest on the warm skin of his abdomen. A shudder radiated from where your palm was placed as the weight of him sunk deeper onto you. Your hand explored further, your own hips canting up to meet his; soaking the front of his pants with your slick. Fingernails scratched into the hard wall of muscle, contracting like claws with each slow grind.
When you reached his shoulder, Bucky released his grip on your hand, yanking the fabric off and discarding it. It had been one thing to imagine what he looked like underneath the navy blue top. It was another thing in itself to see it in the ambient lighting of the massage room. The flickering candles on the shelves reflected shadows on every crevice that had to have been honed by hours in the gym. Both hands now moved of their own volition, traipsing up the dips until they smoothed over the light dusting of hair along his chest.
"Seems only fair I suppose," he chuckled softly, watching your hands explore. "That you get to feel me up now instead of the other way around."
You felt your cheeks heat once more, moving to withdraw your touch. But, Bucky moved quicker, gripping your wrist and placing a soft kiss to the delicate inside with a smirk.
"Knew you were going to be special the minute I laid eyes on you," he whispered, tugging your wrist until your hand landed at the nape of his neck again, your fingers carding into the soft hair.
"Bet you say that to every girl who walks in here," you mumbled, gaze darting to where his other hand was palming his erection through his pants that were slick from where you had been grinding against him.
A short laugh flitted from his lips, pulling the waist of his pants down further until his thick cock was freed. "I do, but none of them have ever gotten to do this though," he admitted gently, running the tip of his cock already leaking with precum through your folds.
The meaning behind his words barely registered when your eyes were still glued between your bodies. His large hand was wrapped around the thick shaft as he fucked into it, tip gliding through your aching pussy until it kissed your clit and withdrew again.
The motion continued, teasing away what little self restraint you had left with each dip that barely caught at your entrance. A frustrated exhale escaped your lips, looking back up to meet Bucky's eyes. "Can you just - " you huffed as he slid through even slower, like he had all the time in the world yet you knew the ninety minute session would have to end sooner or later.
The corner of his mouth pulled up again, head dipping so his nose brushed yours. "Patience sweet girl," he murmured against your lips. "Don't wanna rush this."
Your leg wrapped higher on his hips wondering if your strength could out match his. But his grip found your thigh, fingers digging into your flesh to keep you from using your muscles in an attempt to get what you want. His hand released his cock, letting it fall heavily onto your hip so he could cup your jaw.
"Breathe with me, okay? In," he inhaled, your lungs expanded on command, chest rising to meet his.
"And out," he exhaled, lips brushing yours intimately while your breaths mingled, his hips adjusting so you felt the nudge of his tip at your entrance.
You really should have expected him to press in the next time he coaxed you to inhale, yet the stretch of him finally filling you completely and slowly was something no amount of breathing exercises could've ever prepared you for.
A loud whimper tore through from your throat while you adjusted to his size, the hand at the base of his neck gripping a bit tighter to steady yourself. Bucky hiked your leg up further, hooking it around his hip — freeing up his other hand to completely cradle your face, elbows tucking under your shoulders while he settled his weight onto you. An intimate gesture you least expected, from someone who was a stranger a little more than an hour ago.
He hadn't even really moved yet, letting your bodies get acquainted; muscles clenching around his throbbing cock while his thumbs slowly brushed over your cheekbones. Every breath leaving your mouth was shallow, attempting to get air to your lungs while every other nerve ending was just concerned with pleasure.
Your fingernails found solace digging into the taut muscle of his bare back, clinging to reality as he finally buried every inch in. Eyes watered as you held his stare of concern marred behind feral need. "Breathe sweetheart," he reminded you once again, thumbs never ceasing the calming movement against your skin.
The table swayed gently with the start of his hips rocking. The ridges and veins of his cock massaging the most intimate and sacred parts of your body.
Needy deep grunts and soft breathless moans soon filled the room, articulated by the whisper of your skin connecting and the nature sounds that were once meant to be relaxing. They now only fueled a delirious fantasy, mixing with the heat rising. Where the room melted into something far more primal and less composed than anything the upscale spa had offered in their list of services.
His strong hands continued to keep your head tilted up. Every desperate thrust into your already fluttering pussy, still aching for the release he denied you earlier had your eyelids dropping. But his hypnotizing eyes that watched every flicker of pleasure on your features were hard to stay away from for long.
"Come on now, darling, let go of that last bit of tension," he breathed softly, head dipping to your collarbone so his lips were right next to your ear with another deep thrust that had stars bursting in your vision.
Words seemed fleeting, as much as you wanted to say for the umpteenth time that you really were trying, but the bliss washing over your body in waves was hard to release. Nothing would have made you more content than to stay in this haze of citrus scented oils.
"So stubborn." You swore you heard him huff, trailing a hand between your bodies where his thumb found your clit, massaging gently.
Entire body locking from the jolt caused a gasp to punch out from your lungs. Thighs and arms wrapped tighter around him, nails digging further into his skin until you were sure the half moons would become a permanent feature to his otherwise flawless body.
"There you are, now let it all go." Bucky's teeth grazed the column of your neck, thumb picking up speed in time with his pace that was becoming erratic. Pleasure finally crested through your nerve endings, flowing to every limb and ligament as you fell over the edge. Saliva pooled on your tongue, eyes finally falling closed to surrender to the sensations. His lips found yours again, an intimate gesture designed to bring you back to the present. He groaned deeply, a tremor rumbling through his entire body as you felt the throb of his own release flare into yours.
Bucky pulled back from the crook of your neck, hair that had been perfectly styled now fell in front of his wild eyes while realization crashed down on both of you. A sudden dawning of what just happened probably…should not have happened. Your limbs were still limp, muscles melting into the table in a sensation you had missed for too long.
"Am I - uh - going to have to pay extra for that?" you asked in an attempt to diffuse the situation, breath still ragged.
He laughed, low and genuine, brushing a piece of your hair back from your forehead. "Nah, we'll keep that off the books."
You giggled in response as he carefully maneuvered off of the table. You propped up on your elbows, accepting a clean sheet he handed in your direction, like he knew your body was already growing colder without his to keep you warm.
"When do you leave?" he asked sincerely, donning a fresh scrub top. Eyebrows drawn together in earnest.
You really hadn't been expecting him to all of a sudden seem so vulnerable, for someone who got you to the position you were currently in with such quiet confidence. "Oh, we're here for two weeks."
He nodded, looking now at a planner that was splayed open on the small counter. "Do you…want to come back tomorrow? I can take you to dinner first and then I can get you another…more appropriate session."
He tripped over his words as he asked, endearing in a truly charming way. "Yeah," you agreed easily, swinging your legs off the side of the table. "I'd like that."
Bucky's shoulders dropped, relief flooding over his features. "Great," he smiled, handing you a business card. "I've, unfortunately, got another appointment I need to get ready for, but I'm looking forward to it."
"Hope it's not one just like this?" you asked, turning the card around in your fingers to see what you assumed was his personal cell phone number scribbled in a margin.
"No," he chuckled again. "This was a…uh…first for me."
Natasha was already in the reception area when you drifted through the frosted glass doors. Everything that had first annoyed about the corporately saccharine decor was muted, the only thought on your mind was when you would get to see it again.
"So?" Natasha asked, a perfectly manicured eyebrow raised as she scrutinized your sudden glow. "How was it?"
You accepted another small glass of cucumber water, settling beside her. "Amazing. I'm coming back tomorrow."
The redhead's eyes narrowed at that, her tongue swiping over her bottom lip. "Is that so? And here I thought this was meant to be a girls trip?" she teased, nudging your foot with hers.
"Weren't you the one who said I needed to relax?" you shot back, briefly flashing the business card before tucking it back into your pocket with a playful smile. "Not my fault the relaxation method doesn't fit your definition of a girls trip."
After Chirps: Okay, maybe I did have more to say??? I hope you liked this one! But I'd be remiss if I didn't link the masterlist post for the collab, and let y'all know that along with all of the other scrumpdillyumptious fics coming, my veterinarian Bucky fic comes out in less than a week! As proud as I am of this one, that one is my baby and I can't wait to share it ❤️
Bucky receives mail dating from 1943 and decides to reply.
Words: 950
Warnings: None
Read it on AO3
Cryofreeze Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist
107th Infantry Regiment
Soldier Serial No. 32557038
c/o U.S. Army
May 3rd, 1943
Dear Soldier (I’m sorry, I only have your serial number),
They said on the radio that some of you boys don’t receive much mail, and that we ought to write. I thought I probably should.
Thank you for your service feels a bit trite, if I’m honest. I imagine you have bigger concerns than whether or not there’s a letter waiting for you.
Still, I didn’t like the idea of someone checking the post and finding nothing.
I don’t know where you’re from.
I’m from Queens. I live with my Mama and two brothers. She’s a nurse, and I’ve just started training as a bank teller.
You don’t have to write back. You’re probably very busy.
Sincerely,
A girl from Queens
~~~~
107th Infantry Regiment
Soldier Serial No. 32557038
c/o U.S. Army
August 18th, 1943
Dear Soldier,
I suppose by now you’ve either received my first letter. Or maybe you haven’t. I’m choosing to believe you did, and that you’ve been far too busy doing brave and impressive things to answer.
That sounds better than imagining it lost somewhere in the Atlantic.
Queens is very hot this summer. The ration lines feel longer when it’s warm.
Captain America’s touring show came through New York last week. We went to see it. He’s taller than I expected. Very heroic. I couldn’t help but wonder whether the rest of you look half so impressive, or if the Army keeps all the handsome ones for the stage.
If you are in fact terribly good looking, you’re welcome to confirm it in writing.
If not, I promise not to hold it against you.
I hope you are somewhere safe. Or as safe as one can be.
Yours sincerely,
A girl from Queens
~~~~
107th Infantry Regiment
Soldier Serial No. 32557038
c/o U.S. Army
October 28th, 1943
RETURN TO SENDER - UNDELIVERABLE
Recipient status: Missing in Action
~~~~
Personal Effects - James Buchanan Barnes
Items 4 and 5: Two civilian letters addressed to Soldier Serial No. 32557038
Unopened.
~~~~
From the desk of Congressman James Barnes
June 6th, 2027
Dear girl from Queens,
It's taken me eighty-four years to write this letter.
I only found yours last month. They were inside a box of personal effects that made its way to Brooklyn after being found in some museum in France. Then my office sent it on to me here in Washington. The box had been addressed properly, but never sent. The museum never even opened it.
I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.
You said you didn’t like the idea of someone not getting any mail.
I was lucky. My Ma and my sisters wrote often. Your letters didn’t make it to my bunk until September. I suppose that means you kept your promise after all - I just didn’t know it.
I was reported missing that October. For a long time after that, I was… elsewhere.
I've spent the last few years making amends for my actions. My therapist encouraged me to apologise.
So here I am.
You asked if I was terribly good looking. I don't know about that. I had dark hair and a bad attitude. My best friend got the heroic poster. I guess not a lot changed in eighty years.
I hope you met someone suitably handsome.
I hope Queens treated you kindly.
I hope you never stood at a mailbox and found it empty.
Sincerely,
James Buchanan Barnes
~~~~
Congressman Barnes Constituency Office
Brooklyn, NY
June 28th, 2027
Dear Congressman Barnes,
I hope you don’t mind me writing back.
Your letter arrived at my mother’s house last week, addressed to “A girl from Queens.” We nearly sent it back, but curiosity won.
My great-grandmother’s name was Maria.
She lived in this house until she passed in 1984, the year I was born. She stayed just about long enough to hold me.
She used to tell my mother that she once wrote to a soldier during the war. She said he never answered, but she hoped he made it home.
I suppose now we know you did. Eventually.
For what it’s worth, she did meet someone handsome. He was a mechanic and not nearly as tall as Captain America.
She had three children, eight grandchildren and eleven great-grandchildren.
She checked the mail every morning until she couldn’t manage the steps anymore.
I think she would have liked your letter very much.
If you ever find yourself in Queens, you're welcome to stop by.
Sincerely,
Another girl from Queens
~~~~
From the desk of Congressman James Barnes
July 12th, 2027
Dear another girl from Queens,
Thank you for writing back to a letter that was never meant for you.
I’m glad your great-grandmother met someone. I’m glad she had a loud and busy life. That feels like the right ending for her.
I’ve been thinking about what she wrote - about not liking the idea of someone checking the mail and finding nothing.
For a long time, I didn’t get to come home. Not to anything at all. Not a house, or a street. Not even a name that felt like mine.
It means more than I can properly explain that, all those years ago, someone in Queens decided I shouldn’t feel forgotten.
I’ll be in Brooklyn next month. If the offer of coffee still stands, I would very much like to come by.
I would love to show you her letters. I only have two. I can’t help wondering if there were more - what else I missed.
It would mean a lot to me if we could find that out together.
All my stories are R18. I write smut, and I may touch sensitive topics or topics that are not intended to be read by minors.
YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN CONTENT CONSUMPTIONS.
Series Masterlist
Previous | Next
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Word Count: ~4.6k
Warning/Tags: Trauma dump, big psychological inaccuracies, mention of Winter Soldier Past.
Summary: You start to realize the torture that Bucky faces day to day, taking a toll on the way you start to navigate your life next to him.
Author's Note: This is NO DOUBT my favorite favorite plot in the story. I was so excited while I wrote this part.
Always and always, thank you to my one and only @kileyking. And, good monday to everyone <3
A couple of hours later, his doorbell rang. You were asleep, curled up on the sofa.
He opened the door, and there were Steve and Natasha.
"I only called you." Bucky stared at Steve. Natasha smirked cynically, wrinkling her nose.
"Nat was with me and read that she was feeling down."
"Are you going to let me in or not?"
Bucky stepped aside.
"She's asleep."
Nat knelt at the edge of the couch and began stroking your hair to wake you up. You opened one eye and saw the redhead smiling.
"Hi, Nat," you murmured.
"Are you okay?" You shook your head, "Do you want to talk about it?" A second shook.
Steve and Bucky remained in the doorway, watching as Natasha leaned in to listen to you speak.
"Do you want us to call someone?" Natasha cocked her head at you.
“No, I'm fine. I'm just... tired."
Natasha frowned, tilting her head.
"I have a suggestion," Natasha whispered.
"What is it?"
"A testosterone-free night. Just you and me. Away from this apartment."
Bucky heard the proposal, and his body walked towards you. Steve stopped him with a hand on his chest.
"Didn't you tell me she hasn't been seeing her friend Lola?" Steve whispered. Bucky nodded and knitted his eyebrows in the middle.
"Natasha will take good care of her if she agrees to go out with her."
You stared at the bar in front of you, the bar seemingly trapped in time. The night was cold, but it helped cool the heat felt in your head.
When both of you entered, you understood why she liked it so much. It was a place with music at just the right volume: it didn't overwhelm, but it allowed for private talking. You sat at a booth that was almost hidden. Natasha left you at the table to bring two beers.
"What do you want to talk about?" Natasha asked before taking a sip from her bottle.
"Honestly, I feel like an idiot. I've yelled at more people in twenty-four hours than I've yelled at anyone in a month."
"Why is that?" You finished sipping your beer.
"First, my brothers..."
Natasha gestured, and you understood that you didn't have to explain so much.
"They come and want to judge Jamie for a fight that none of us fought."
You paused to look at your hands, which were trembling just at the memory.
“Then... something else happened, but Bucky doesn't know about it."
Natasha reached out to caress your hand, silently assuring you it would remain between the two of you.
"I found a box..." Natasha nodded. "It contained what I assume were the remains of his classified documents."
"Oh." Natasha could only say that, and you nodded.
"I saw photos of him in the cryogenic chamber, photos of him as a young man—and then some guys in the café treated him worse than a circus animal."
"And you exploded," Natasha replied.
"I yelled at them that they were morbid, that they had no idea what Jamie had been through."
"Jamie..." Natasha chuckled at the nickname.
"The point is..." You continued, trying to ignore the laugh, "I hate that people treat him like that. I think it's despicable."
“Barnes is used to it."
"He shouldn't be. It makes me angry that he's so calm about it. I don't even know why it hurts me so much."
Natasha smiled. "You know why it hurts."
You shook your head, your cheeks beginning to heat. Natasha smiled again, and you could see the mockery hidden behind the grin.
"No... I don't..." Your brow furrowed.
"Relax." She laughed. "I'm not saying you're in love with him, I'm just saying that... you care about him."
"Don't you all do the same?" You really tried to avoid the claim.
"Not like you do."
"Will that be a problem with him?" Natasha shook her head.
"Not if no one makes it a problem."
Natasha decided to change the subject. She could sense you starting to question things you perhaps didn't want to deep on them yet.
You started joking about other things. Natasha noticed how the weight on your shoulders was becoming less noticeable, your laughter beginning to flow more naturally. She could see you enjoying the beer, laughing at a silly joke, playing with the old seeds on a saucer in front of you.
Steve drank a beer on the couch while Bucky sat on one of the small chairs at his kitchen bar.
"She's fine," Steve said without even looking at him.
The elevator rang, Bucky tensed his shoulders, and Natasha opened the door without even knocking. She noticed Bucky's face darken when he didn't see you come in.
"It's okay, she went to her apartment to change clothes. She spilled beer on herself and hates the smell."
Bucky nodded.
"She's better." Natasha opened the refrigerator to get a beer. "We talked, she vented, she drank a lot of beer. She'll be fine in a few days."
You finally came in, closed the door carefully, noticed the glint of alcohol in your eyes, while your cheeks looked heated, and you smiled calmly at him. He allowed himself to feel that twinge in his chest as he watched you relax again.
Steve and Nat curled up on the couch. They watched them like spectators from afar—not really trying to interrupt whatever was going on between you two.
"How was it?" he said without moving from his chair, and you approached the bar.
"I had a good time. Nat... She's good."
Silence.
"Sorry about the coffee shop. It was reactive."
"Thanks for trying to defend the indefensible."
"You're not indefensible," you furrowed, "Not to me."
He sighed and nodded. It was a lost case to try to argue.
Steve and Nat said goodbye a couple of hours later, Bucky accompanied you to your apartment, and both of you could notice a change in the air without really knowing why.
Two days later, Lola came running into the hallway, rushing out of the elevator as if she had been thrown out of it. She didn't even notice Bucky leaving his apartment as she ran directly to your door without thinking.
‘Did she leave her door open again?’ Bucky thought. He decided not to worry about it—choosing to believe that you had left it open so that Lola could come in quickly.
You were already waiting for her with dinner, and she was carrying two bottles of wine in her hand.
"Were your brothers here?" Lola was flustered as she set things down on the coffee table; she looked like she had run a marathon.
"They saw Jamie face to face." You stroked your temple. Lola's jaw dropped to the floor.
"And what happened?" You denied with a gesture while serving the food.
"Nothing. I made my brothers leave, and Jamie go to his apartment."
"Boo, boring." She stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes.
"I wasn't interested in watching my brothers fight a super soldier."
She could see how hurt you were just by mentioning that scenario.
"It would have been interesting."
Lola tried to defuse the moment—and then she noticed your arm, examining the scars from the accident.
"And how are you healing your scars?"
"Better."
"And you said Bucky wouldn't change your life." You gloated in front of her.
"You're an idiot." You smiled when you thought of him.
"But I'm perceptive."
You sat down to dinner, playing with time, listening to music, and singing loudly. You felt a hint of normalcy after the days you had spent spiraling with all the situations.
That same night, in Sam's backyard, with a couple of beers and the cold night air, Bucky and Sam sat in a couple of folding chairs, saying nothing.
"You're quieter than usual, and that's saying a lot." Sam played with the bottle in his hand.
Bucky grunted.
"Steve?" He shook his head.
"Natasha?" He shook his head again. Sam leaned back on his knees, staring at him.
"The sweet neighbor...What’s her name?"
There was a long sigh. Sam let out a loud laugh. Bucky narrowed his eyes.
"Buck, it took me two seconds at that Gala to realize she was more than just a neighbor. And it was thrilling to see you on someone's arm and her looking so... confident." He faked shivers.
Bucky threw his head back, and Sam could see his Adam's apple moving in his neck from the tension.
"Well, is she okay?" Bucky shook his head.
"She had a discussion with her brothers for... being my friend?" He sighed, "It sounds ridiculous."
"What do you think?" Sam leaned toward him, and Bucky opened his eyes to look at him.
"I don't think my opinion should matter in this situation." He paused, "But if I had to give it—her brothers are right."
"Do you really believe that, or is that just your self-loathing talking?"
Bucky fixed his gaze on Sam, who was taking a long drink.
"I hate you."
"What I mean is..." Sam moved a little closer. "If you really care, tell her. Just do something."
They both fell silent. He hated talking with Sam, hated having to stay quiet so as not to prove him right. Which was a very frequent occurrence.
You walked along the sidewalk of the Smithsonian, the same you had ignored so many times. The Captain America exhibit had never interested you—until you found yourself wondering if you had feelings for Bucky, his friend of literally a lifetime.
As you entered, you looked at every image—every piece of Steve's history, his change after the serum, the little family history they were able to recover—or that he dared to tell.
Everything was fine until you found yourself in a different room.
"A fallen comrade."
"James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes."
You swallowed hard when you saw it. Your hands were sweating, your spine felt cold, and your throat was dry.
There were photos similar to the ones you had seen in the box at Bucky's house.
His smile. God, that smile made you tremble for a moment. His eyes were still full of the future, hope of changing the world.
There was a short video with Steve. They were both laughing. It wasn't a sad laugh, nor a sarcastic one. It was honest and sincere. And that hurt even more than seeing anything else.
You were in front of the memorial they had made for him before the whole world found out he was 'The Winter Soldier'.
"Born in 1917, Barnes grew up the oldest of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor..."
You began to read, and your heart sank as you read that distant date. 1917?
Did he even get to see anyone in his family while they were still alive? How lonely he felt when he snapped out of the programming? How did Steve help him go through that whole new world?
You sat down on a bench in front of the text. You repeated it over and over again, trying to wrap up your mind around all those words.
"Captured by Hydra troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation, and torture. But his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America."
Tortured? You couldn't even imagine the unspeakable and inhuman things he must had endured, even before they turned him into who he was forced to be for decades. You couldn't even try to think about how he was tortured—how his mind was taken and molded into what he was trapped in for decades.
Tears began to fall from your eyes as you saw more photos, more candid videos of him. You could portray him as a charming man—who probably had all the ladies at his feet.
That smile must have charmed half of Brooklyn.
That Bucky no longer existed; that man had died, been buried, brought back to life, destroyed in life, lost his body, his name, his will. That man was not there even when he lived in the same hallway as you did.
You felt something in your chest, a twinge that made a groan escape your lips. You felt like mourning the death of a man you had never met, yet he was only a few feet away from you every day.
You could understand why Steve had so much faith in him, why he protected him so much. He never saw the soldier; he saw the friend who protected him on and off the battlefield.
And then your gaze fell on the last line of the text.
"Bucky Barnes
1917 - 1944"
He was only twenty-seven when he was declared killed in action. He had been presumed dead at the age of twenty-seven. It felt so young, it couldn't even be put into perspective. You understood that he was a grown man, a trained soldier, but no human being should have had to live through what he did.
You walked away from the memorial, but it was impossible to completely escape the memory of Bucky. You sat down on a small bench where you could see the entire room, dozens of photos of Bucky in different places and moments.
And then you noticed a second part of the memorial. This was different. A bitter undertone could be felt.
"Winter Soldier: From Friend to Foe."
"…Accused of bombing the Vienna International Centre, claiming the lives of many innocent dignitaries..."
"A world-wide manhunt continued to track down the covert assassin, whose natural identity was revealed as James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes: lifelong friend of Captain Steve Rogers, believed to have been killed in action in 1944…"
You couldn't stop the feeling of burning in your eyes. You even remembered that whole disaster—your father really tried to keep you away from that. There, you understood why.
Bucky had been involved in that—and your father, ever the protective one, was trying to keep you from seeing it.
"Captain America himself led the effort to bring Barnes in, only to later aid in his escape from custody, having been convinced of his innocence."
"Steve's loyalty to his old friend, coupled with his refusal to sign the Sokovia Accords, led to the dissolution of the Avengers…"
A hurt but truthful smile was formed on your lips—you were still trying to comprehend how important they were to each other, but something was sure—Steve was the only thing he had left from his past life, and probably one of the few people who never stopped trusting in him.
"The current whereabouts of Barnes remains unknown, having been labeled a fugitive following his escape from custody…"
All of this was placed in front of a photo of him while he was still a soldier—while he was still Sergeant Barnes. The blue and white light from the memorial hurt your eyes, almost on purpose.
You felt cold, unsure if it was your body or if the room was really that cold. Your eyes were still wet, and your cheeks were flushed. You hugged your elbows to feign some warmth—your heart heaved while you tried to calm yourself down.
You couldn't stop repeating his age, couldn't erase the dates, couldn't stop thinking about that young man suffering that hell on earth. Being accused once and twice. Even when he was set free, he was still facing the consequences of actions he was not capable of doing in different circumstances.
You couldn't even stop crying, no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you told yourself that today that man was safe.
You didn't even notice it, but Steve entered the room and sat down quietly on one side.
He left enough space in case you needed privacy. You felt it immediately; when you turned around, you noticed the blond man with a baseball cap and a leather jacket. You smiled at him, trying to hide the fact that you had been crying for the past few minutes.
Steve cleared his throat. "He was my only friend for years." His gaze was fixed on the last sentence of the memorial. "He used to be first at everything, first to enter, first to accept."
Steve's words did not offer any comfort; they caused so much pain that you touched your chest to find some solace.
"He was a charmer; he had every woman in the neighborhood at his feet. His smile lit up every room he walked into."
You smiled at the mental image.
"Everyone thinks they know him from what they read, from what the news showed, but no one has any idea who Bucky was. Who my Bucky was. I’ve said it before, even when I had nothing, I always had him."
You swallowed hard. You couldn't believe everything that was taken from Bucky.
"You would have loved that Bucky."
You tried to smile, tried to pretend your chest didn't hurt.
"I'm sure that Bucky wouldn't even have looked my way with all the women he had around him."
You wanted to joke; you really needed to. You couldn't admit the pain you felt.
Steve laughed. "He would have been a gentleman to you."
"Do you come here often?" you asked, looking him straight in the eye, immediately changing the subject. You refused to dwell on that sentence.
"When they thawed me out, I used to come here often."
You really tried to imagine how difficult that first moment must have been for him.
"Then I found out he was alive, that the whole world feared him." He looked down, still hurting when he thought about it.
"When I was struggling to find him, I started coming every week."
You swallowed hard.
"Why does it say here that he has yet to be found?"
"They really tried to amend it, but Bucky was tired of his story being told from someone else's perspective… So it remains like this until he's ready to tell his story."
"It's sad that people come here and this is what they find—and yet… Bucky is walking not completely free, and is always being judged—" You stopped yourself from rambling.
Steve chuckled, "He will eventually come to peace with the idea of the rest of his life being told."
You bit your lip. You tried to understand him, but the idea of this whole thing being here telling utter lies, was aberrant for you.
"I hope so. He deserves to be seen…"
"As you and I see him?" The grin on his face caused something within you.
"And what does that have to do with me?" You raised your eyebrow.
"Buck told me what happened to your brothers. I figured that would make you pensive, and I wanted to see if you were okay."
You nodded.
"I'm fine… just… angry."
Steve looked at you, "I'm glad to know that he found a… friend, that sees him the way I see him."
A friend. That title lingered on your mind.
He said goodbye after a while, leaving you alone for a little longer, but he could see something in your face that he never thought he would see in someone else.
Someone else mourning a man who was still alive. Someone mourning Bucky.
It had become a habit for Steve to visit Bucky's apartment, checking in during the week to make sure he was okay. At least he did before you arrived.
While Steve took a sip of his coffee, looking out the window, Bucky was finishing his at the table.
Suddenly, a different knock on the door pulled them out of their thoughts. They both recognized your knock on the door and knew well you were still working. Bucky walked quietly to open the door.
There was Lola, with bright red hair, red lipstick, and huge eyes.
Technically, they didn't know each other. Technically, they had never been introduced, but they both knew each other. He had seen her a couple of times in the building, and she... She knew who he was.
"Lola?" Bucky tilted his head.
She pushed him inside, looking from side to side down the hallway. He was taken aback that someone as small as her didn't hesitate for a second to push him, as if he weren't who he was.
His body tensed; he wasn't used to someone invading his space so abruptly. However, all the courage she had in front of Bucky vanished when he saw Steve behind them.
Her cheeks turned red, her eyes grew twice their size, and her lips parted slightly. Steve smiled sideways, raising his hand in the air to wave.
"Sorry for the intrusion," Lola said, ,immediately removing her hands from Bucky's chest. "I didn't want her to see me if she came back early."
"Is she okay?" Steve approached, and Lola took a step back.
Bucky had heard countless stories about Lola's bravery, about how she had invited guys from the bar to her apartment, how she could look strangers straight in the eye and flirt without a shred of hesitation. But she acted as if Steve were the deadly weapon in the room. All her cocky behavior was nowhere to be seen now that she was in front of Steve.
"Yeah, she's fine, it's just that..." She paused for a moment to look up, trying to get her mind to agree with her mouth. "It's her birthday soon."
Bucky felt a weight in his chest. He sometimes forgot that things like birthdays were still important to the rest of the world. The rest of the world hadn't lived in anonymity for decades. The rest of the world hadn't been withdrawn from those kinds of things.
"When?" Bucky pressed his lips into a line.
"This weekend." She admitted, putting her hand behind her neck.
"And what do you need?" Steve interjected. "How can we help?"
"I'd like to organize something. She... isn't on good terms with her brothers, and... she hasn't mentioned doing anything that day. I can't allow that."
Steve stepped aside to offer her a seat, but noticing how it made her nervous, he decided to return to his original position at the window, moving as far away as possible.
"I can offer my house."
"Oh." That was the only sound that came out of Lola's lips.
"We'll buy the food, just take care of bringing her over and make sure the girl who bakes the best cookies in New York has a beautiful cake, okay?" Steve instructed the brunette, and she nodded slowly.
Bucky remained silent, tense, processing what had just happened. Steve understood perfectly well that Bucky didn't know how to react to the information given and decided to make the decisions while he navigated his thoughts.
Steve and Lola exchanged numbers and decided that Bucky would pretend he didn't know about her birthday and invite her to Steve's house to spend the day.
Bucky had ignored you for the rest of the week. He had followed orders for decades, faced enemies three times his size, but he couldn't stand in front of you without feeling guilty for not knowing about your birthday, for not remembering it from those times he read what Natasha helped him research. But back then, he didn't care about knowing your birthday.
Like every Saturday afternoon, you were about to leave your apartment to look for him. You had planned to stay at his apartment to prevent him from finding out about your birthday. However, for the first time, he asked you to go with him to Steve's house. You accepted without hesitation. At least that was two men who didn't even have the slightest idea that it was your birthday.
"Is Steve okay?" You asked, taking Bucky's hand to get off the motorcycle. He nodded.
"He got bored of my apartment," he lied.
You entered the apartment and immediately noticed that the blond man was nowhere to be found. Bucky noticed you looking everywhere and continued walking until you reached the kitchen. Upon entering the space, he swallowed hard. He couldn't believe he was feeling nervous.
When you opened the door, Lola ran in for a hug, practically throwing herself at you. Bucky stepped aside. He could see how you were starting to cry on Lola's shoulder. You were mumbling something to each other as both nodded. He could now notice the strong connection you two had. The way you melted in her arms without even thinking twice—how you started to cry with no shame as soon as she held you.
Natasha, Steve, Sam, and Sharon came over to congratulate you. Bucky felt out of place. He didn't even know if he should congratulate you. How should he do it? His mind was in a tailspin as he thought about what to do.
By the time the rest were done, you approached him. You knew he was hesitating, and he needed a bit of help. He could see your crystal-clear eyes, your huge smile, and your flushed cheeks.
You wrapped your arms around him, your hands connecting at his back, encircling his waist, and resting your head on his chest. His human arm wrapped around you after a couple of seconds; the metal one took a little longer to do so.
The rest of the people decided to pretend they didn't see the scene, except for Steve. He could see how Bucky buried his face in your hair, how he allowed himself to fill his lungs with your scent, and closed his eyes.
"Happy birthday," he murmured to you.
"Thank you for this." The vibration of your voice echoed in Bucky's chest.
When you detached, you finally became aware of everything around you and, for a moment, forgot that it was the first birthday of your whole life that you were away from your family.
Lola was holding your arm, and for the first time in your life, you saw her without a sarcastic comment, without a flirtatious smile. She felt inhibited around these people, and that was something new.
"Lola, please. I need to go to the bathroom," you pleaded. "I promise you, they're great people."
Lola refused with a shake. Steve noticed the exchange between you and came over to help you while Bucky was looking for beers in the kitchen.
"Everything okay?" Steve smiled as he approached. Lola's grip tightened on your arm.
"Could you entertain Lola while I go to the bathroom?"
You managed to break free from the grip and walked to the bathroom. Lola froze for a moment as she took a breath to try to regain some of the dignity she had lost over the last few days in front of Steve Rogers.
"So you've known her for a long time?" Steve tried to make conversation. She nodded.
"Yeah, it's been a few years." She breathed out a nervous laugh, "But not as long as you and Bucky."
"Almost impossible."
Silence.
"Steve—should I be worried?" she finally asked, Steve's posture changing slightly.
"About...?" He immediately realized what her question might imply.
"I'm sorry, don't get me wrong. I don't mean that he'll hurt her, or that he's a danger to her, but—"
In the years since Bucky had come back into his life, Steve never thought he'd find himself having a conversation with a girl about whether Bucky was someone trustworthy to have a relationship with.
"He has feelings for her too, he just... needs time to figure it out." She nodded as she swayed in her center.
"Let's hope it doesn't take too long."
They both nodded.
Next Part.
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"Grace Ryland is Rocky's dog" is such a funny fucking dynamic when you think about it
Eridians are further behind than humans technologically right? They dont have computers, relativity, quantum mechanics, etc. In fact, Eridians probably dont even know about the Big Bang because their atmosphere would filter out most of the cosmic microwave background radiation we use to detect it. On a human timeline, theyre anywhere between like early-mid 20th century. Rocky's basically a cosmonaut.
So the human civilization is pretty advanced from Rocky's perspective. Rationally he understands this. On a conceptual level he knows this to be true.
But at the same time... imagine youre one of the first ever cosmonauts to make it into space. Then you meet a 10 year old alien dog who cant do 2+2 without pulling out its calculator. It forgets everything constantly and has to keep notes everywhere, like it basically lives in Memento (2000). Also if it doesnt nap constantly it gets even stupider. And you somehow has to reconcile this with the fact that this dog has a better understanding of physics than your entire civilization does. Like the dog knows how the universe started.
Everything I do is out of love and chaos @misswhiddless - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
