pairing Avenger!bucky barnes x avenger!reader
word count 1.5k
summary you've caught bucky's heart a while ago, unaware that you love him too, but he's too scared to tell you. However, bucky knows that the bar closed at eleven, so he doesn't have a lot of time to tell you how much he loves you.
enjoy loviess!!
⤷masterlist here
Hell is warmer than this place.
It’s suffocating, and it feels like the place is narrowing down at them. And since most of the Avengers Team don’t have a responsibility outside the compound like a wife or family. You could find them in a local pub owned by an old woman, after a rough mission, who had snowy hair that fell to her shoulder and a graceful smile that shows she was a heartbreaker when she was younger.
Everyone was there except for Tony, who was stuck to Pepper tonight, and Clint who was visiting his family that you met during the rise of Ultron. Peggy, unfortunately, had passed away two months ago, so that meant Steve didn’t have anyone else to visit.
That’s how all of you found yourself crammed in that bar. Personally, you didn’t want to go, but Natasha had slowly manipulated you into going with her spy tactics. If that wasn’t weird enough, it didn’t take for you long until you were dolled up and in front of the pub’s door with your arm laced with Wanda’s and Natasha’s.
Bucky had also not wanted to go, thinking it was stupid and too loud for his liking, but all it took was Steve begging and placing his hands on Bucky’s shoulder for Bucky to finally agree.
That’s how he found himself staring at your form on the dancefloor from the table he was sitting on like a creepy man. He was admiring you, but if you looked at him, you’d find a scowl on his face with eyebrows drawn downward. It was almost like he wanted to murder you in cold blood. He really needs to fix his expression, and he also needs to fix what he was saying, since last time he was interviewed he had used the word ‘worrying’ three times in a row. Embarrassing.
Sam beams when he follows the direction of Bucky’s sight, “looks like loverboy has a crush!” He places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder in which Bucky responds by slapping his hand off, “don’t touch me.”
That doesn’t wipe the grin off of Sam’s face, instead it makes it widen in an eerie way. All of the avengers, yes all of the avengers, knew Bucky’s childish crush on you except you. You were completely oblivious to Bucky’s hints. Hell, even Natasha had told you to your face that Bucky likes you, and you brushed her off that both of you were just friends.
Natasha had seen and talked to both sides and it was slowly killing her the way both of you were oblivious. Poison is less painful than watching both of you.
She’d seen your side, in which you cried in her room when you found out he went on a date with Sharon, throwing pillows around. She’d seen how broken you were the next time that you’d skipped sparring and when Steve caught her eyes she just shrugged. She’d seen how you stared at Bucky for ten minutes straight while he was in the gyms in which you quoted that he ‘had big guns’. She’d seen how you cornered her in her room and pulled your phone, claiming Bucky had made a new account and you needed to stalk him on the internet to see if he follows any girls. Mind you, he doesn’t even follow anyone, but you still left with a frown on your face. You called it ‘feminine intuition’ because you had a vision of you and Bucky standing together, side by side in the bathroom making it out, though you never told her because you were sure it was her last straw before she burnt the whole place down.
She’d seen how you described him with dreamy eyes, claiming he looked ‘like an angel on the walls of Versailles’. Maybe Shakespeare isn’t dead. She just raised her eyebrows in response, thinking you were ridiculous.
She’d seen how Bucky panicked when she cornered him in the hallways and asked if he liked you because you were fawning over him like a teenage girl, and he’d said yes because lying to Natasha was like lying to a lie detector. She had a knack of managing to find out every single secret lie.
She’d also seen Bucky stare at you from across the kitchen while you made him your favourite dish. Everybody around knows not to eat your food because you are awful at making food but Bucky still waited and smiled when he tasted the food even though it was probably garbage.
So here she is, trying to convince you to go to talk to Bucky because everytime a man hits on you he looks like a kicked puppy.
Now, Bucky knows the bar closes at eleven and he doesn’t have much time to talk to you. He really wants to confess to you after Natasha angrily pointed her finger at him and threatened to obliterate his future bloodline if he didn’t turn you down or even talk to you because she was getting tired of watching you swoon over him.
You, on the other hand, hope Bucky never finishes his beer because you finally have the courage to talk to him after hours of debating yourself in the mirror and whether to confess or not. And tonight, you feel the most alive you’ve ever been, and if you manage to kiss Bucky tonight, you might drop dead.
Right now, you’ve had so much to drink that you feel like you might throw up. It feels like someone gave you a left hook and then a right punch to the gut. You’re starting to feel dizzy until your eyes land on Bucky. He’s so pretty you feel paranoid that you made him up with his long beautiful lashes and soft blue eyes.
You would love it if Bucky walked you home. Only if he walks slowly. You imagine the scene perfectly in your mind. You’d chew on a bubblegum and offer him one, he’d accept. Then, you’d romantically get to know him, asking him multiple questions.
You’d ask him if he’s ever been to France, because you have. It was for a mission, and it was breath-taking. You’ve also been to Japan, but that was self-indulgent, a choice of your own.
You also imagine him holding your hand the whole way there to the compound, and then you could probably make out under a streetlight like reckless teenagers, your back against the streetlight.
While standing next to Natasha and Wanda, confetti flying above your heads. When Wanda pulls Nat to the miniature bar to bring you guys some drinks, a very, very extremely attractive man appears in front of you. He licks his lip, which makes you grimace. He’s hot, but that’s definitely a big red flag.
He smiles, white teeth showing underneath. His eyes drink in your outfit, his eyes staring at your legs longer than you liked; it was making you extremely off, but you will just ignore him and he’ll go away.
You turn around, hoping he’d get the hint and leave you alone, but that upsets him. You feel a strong hold around your wrist. Oh, this man wants to be punched in the face, doesn’t he? Turning around to look at him, you tell him to back off but that just makes him smile ever harder.
Bucky catches the scene unfolding in front of him. It doesn’t take him a while to get there, but before he could even react and tell the man to back off, your leg meets with the soft spot between the man’s legs, making him groan. Bucky winces, and thinks ‘that must’ve hurt’.
Bucky notices the sweat accumulating on your forehead and the way you were gagging, so he placed a gentle hand on your back and led you outside to catch your breath, ignoring the way Sam wiggled his eyebrows from inside.
“Breathe, sweetheart. I’m here.” He coos, beaming when you open your eyes and blink at him with your beautiful eyes of yours. “Want me to take you home? I’m sure you’re tired.”
“Can you?” You ask, hope glinting in your eyes. You almost drop dead when Bucky nods, agreeing to walk you home.
The walk home is the way you exactly envisioned it. His steps are slow and steady, hand around your waist when you wobble on your feet. You take out a bubblegum out of your bag, handing him one too. He accepts it without a second thought. You ask him if he's ever been to Japan and he looks at you like he grew two heads. You laugh and ask if he’s been to France.
You always had a vision of both of you like this, walking at night together with his arm wrapped around your waist.
And when it finally happens, Bucky’s lips are on yours, sweet and steady, your back against one of the streetlights. Both of you are extremely different, but when he’s kissing you under the moonlight, you know that both of you go really well with each other.
The way he kisses you makes you giddy and weak in the knees, his lips move from your mouth to your jawline to your neck.
And that night, he sleeps over at your apartment on your bed and all you want is for him to stay forever.
Summary: After a couple years together, reader finds out she needs glasses, but is worried Bucky won’t think they are pretty on her. She couldn’t be more wrong if she tried.
Contains: DOMESTIC FLUFF. ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP. No smut but like… pg-13 at the end (making out, heavy petting, mentions of Bucky being hard). reader described as feminine, ‘my girl’ as a term of endearment, reader having skin-care adjacent hobbies, reader has hair that is (in one line) described as being able to run a brush through. Bucky’s past mentioned. Bucky’s a certified lover boy and apparently has a glasses kink.
Needed to get back to my roots and churn out some un-proof read, unedited, purely self indulgent marvel fan fiction
Using this gif for formatting purposes by I personally wrote this with like… post Civil War, Infinity War era Bucky. Or rather, I just like the long hair. It’s implied he’s living a normal-ish life in New York, no mentions of senator Bucky of the New Avengers.
“Buck! I’m home!” You called into the apartment, shuffling all the bags in before dutifully re-locking at four deadbolts and the chain so that your overly-but-validly paranoid boyfriend didn’t nag you about it later.
From deeper in the house, you could hear things shuffling before footsteps plodded out to you. Bucky Barnes looked unfairly handsome with his five o’ clock shadow and hair just long enough that he’s swept it out of his face. He greeted you, as always, with a kiss and then a frown down at the bags.
“You carried those all day?” He rose an eyebrow as he tsk’d at you, scooping up the heaviest two before you could bend down to retrieve them.
“Groceries were the last thing on my list.” You shook your head, checking your pockets for coins to drop in the hallway bowl and then depositing your keys on the hook by the door. “The store is like maybe 2 blocks away.”
“Should’ve called, doll.” He called from the kitchen while he set the bag down. It was always amusing to you what Bucky chose to be “old fashioned” about. Sleeping together on the second date? Perfectly fine. All the political and social issues you thought would be a problem when dating a white guy from the 40s? Bucky was surprisingly ‘woke’. But letting you carry heavy bags? Hard no. “I would’ve met you there, or you could’ve left a list and I would’ve just gone for you.”
“I was already out.” You shrugged, bringing the last reusable bag back to the kitchen and pressing a drive-by kiss to his cheek as you passed him, “besides, last time I sent you for produce and you came back with all canned stuff-“
“They last a long time, they are cheaper, and they taste the same. It’s more cost effective-“ he immediately argued, defensive of his grocery choices even if there was no real heat there. Canned produce and meats were another weird habit left over from his depression era childhood, and you’d spied the canning supplies on the shared Amazon wish list. You rolled your eyes, throwing a crumpled up receipt at his head which he caught without even looking, and immediately returned fire by throwing it as your ass.
“Well, you’ve effectively lost independent grocery store privileges.” You snarked back, unpacking the reusable shopping bags as he started putting cold stuff in the fridge. “Asked for salmon and you brought back canned shredded tuna from the discount aisle. Alpine wouldn’t even touch the stuff-“
“That’s cause you spoiled that cat. He ate whatever I gave him before you came along.” He caught you by the waist, pressing a kiss to your hair and holding you close like you’d been gone for a week instead of a day of errands, “Hey, what did the eye doctor say, anyways?”
Bucky’s cat gave a chirp as his name was called, but you took it as a sign of agreement. Bucky rolled his eyes, having heard that argument plenty since the fish incident.
Ah, yes. The optometrist. That had been your first appointment of the day, on Bucky’s insistence when he found out you hadn’t been in 3 years. He’d noticed you squinting at screens, struggling with your road signs, and misreading small printed directions on products. You tensed in a way that would be imperceptible to most people. But, Bucky wasn’t most people.
“Perfect 20/20,” you lied, turning in his arms so you could look up at him, “told you, worried bout nothing.”
Bucky looked down at you skeptically, his arms caging you against the counter, “sweetheart, you thought you saw a rat the other day. It was Mrs. McCully’s chihuahua that she’s had for 8 years.”
“And it gets more rat-like every year-“ you hummed, which wasn’t untrue, but the incident definitely wasn’t helping your case. Truthfully, in the bottom of your purse was the brand new pair of glasses your eye doctor had prescribed.
He’d said, and quote, “Truthfully, I should report the fact you’ve been driving like this…”
So Bucky had been right. You were blinder than a bat, you needed glasses. But, As you were trying on different pairs in different colors and lens shapes, none of the pairs felt right. None of them seemed like you. None of them made you feel… pretty.
You’d started to take selfies in different options, intending to get Bucky’s feedback and opinions on what looked best. But the moment you’d clicked on your phone, you’d gotten a glimpse of your lockscreen. A picture you’d snapped of Bucky and Alpine last month, and of course, your boyfriend was… unfortunately, stupidly handsome. He’d been pretty boy handsome back in the 40’s, then he’d been tall, dark, and scary handsome when you’d first met him, and, after lots of therapy and a loving relationship, he’d settled into a sort of rugged urban lumberjack handsome.
Tall and built like a tank on legs, thick dark hair that made those bright blue eyes seem to glow in the right light. Those same baby-blues were enough for any person with working sight to go a little weak in the knees. The man switched between stoic glares for most of the world, and cheesy, crooked smiles mostly for you that even after multiple years together still turned butterflies into the swarming bees in your stomach. Of course, any warmblooded person would admit it didn’t hurt that Bucky could lift a car over his head without breaking a sweat.
Handsome. Unfairly so. Impossibly so.
As you sat in the reception gallery of glasses, a pair of security tagged chanel glasses on your nose, you were reminded of all the times he’d turned the heads of heros, celebrities, and civilians on the streets on New York. He wasn’t on social media, but fans reached out to him through your online presence. Really beautiful fans, and the occasional really mean fan as well. Bucky had been on the list of most eligible Avenger bachelors. Bucky had high schoolers who made thirst trap edits of him to slowed and reverb music. Bucky had shampoo companies wanting to sponsor him because of his dark, luscious hair. And you were… you. A perfectly normal, perfectly average you.
And had Bucky ever once made you feel insecure in the relationship? No. You weren’t sure if it was the era he was from, or just him, but you’d never once seen him look twice at anyone but you. He was constantly calling you gorgeous like it was your name, calling you a plethora of other sweet nicknames, leaving flowers on the counter for you, fucking you like the human race depended on it, and giving all your other friends reasons to be jealous of you.
But, the longer you stared at that lockscreen, catching your spectacled reflection in the dark contrast of Bucky’s hair and leather jacket. The glasses you had on looked juvenile. And then the next pair made you feel like an old lady. The third pair was a weird color that washed you out, and the fourth pair had weirdly small lenses that made you look like the scientist muppet. Next, was the Clark Kent frames, and then the Harry Potter glasses, and even the bright red horn rimmed glasses like they wore in Grease. Every pair earned rave reviews from the receptionist, who after the fourth pair, mostly just wanted you to leave. The classics were too plain and the quirkier ones were too eccentric, the small frames sat weird and the large ones felt cartoonish.
You didn’t feel gorgeous, beautiful, or sexy. You didn’t feel like the woman Bucky called Doll or sweetheart. You couldn’t imagine Bucky see them on your face and liking it, couldn’t even imagine trying to kiss your boyfriend with them on. So, you’d picked the least offensive pair, picked out a case, and then promptly started a contact lens subscription….
Back in the moment, you slipped your hands into his back pockets, holding yourself against his chest with a touch that was partially meant to distract him away from more eye doctor questions, and moreover just to touch him. In the back pocket of his jeans you found a couple loose screws. Between the physical touch and the taunt, you figured you could get him to forget the conversation all together, "Buck, you’ve always got a few screws loose, but these feel like they should be a part of the bed frame you said you finished two hours ago. The bedframe that you broke to begin with-"
You watched his breath hitch up, his mouth opening to defend his handiwork skills and the how ‘he knew better carpentry than the ikea manuals!’ and how ‘I didn’t break the bed by myself, you did that thing with-‘ and the subject was dropped. For a while at least.
——-
For a month, the contacts had worked perfectly. Annoyingly, Bucky had been right, you’d been operating the world half blind. Not that you would tell him this. It was amazing that you could see individual leaves on sidewalk trees from the apartment window. Easier to navigate when you could read road signs, and your boxed banana bread recipe turned out much better when you could read the measurements without holding the box to your nose to read it.
But then, the email came in. Due to contamination risk in our manufacturing facility, this month’s shipment of contact lenses has been cancelled. We appreciate your understanding as there might be delays in reestablishing a routine shipment. We suggest wearing your usual prescription glasses, and if you have further questions please contact your optometrist.
Well shit.
For the next week you managed to ration the remaining contacts, still keeping your boyfriend with his perfect super-soldier-eyesight-so-good-he-could-practically-see-in-the-dark eyes nonethewiser. Alas, you’d gotten used to wearing them while you were working, so eventually you did run out, but you’d gotten another email saying your prescription would resume shipping in the next two weeks. You could make it that long, right? Wrong.
It was a Thursday night when Bucky came back from some Avengers business, two hours earlier than he was supposed to. You weren’t in the ‘wait for him in full hair, makeup, and outfit’ stage of dating anymore. However, if you had seen the ‘heading home’ text, you would shoved the glasses back in their case where they lived in the bottom of your nightstand. And perhaps run a brush through your hair, ok and maybe you wouldn’t have put on the bright pink, jelly eyepatches that tik tok swore fixed under-eye bags or the glow in the dark star shaped pimple patches.
"What are you wearing?" Bucky’s sudden voice startled you up from the book you’d been reading on the couch, one hand holding it open, the other idly scratching Alpine’s ears as he dozed in a squeeze-treat-coma on your lap. The resulting jump did irritate the feline enough to make him rumble and then scurry off. Sometimes, because of how large he was and how much he worked not to startle you, sometimes you forgot how scarily silent he could move. Truthfully, because they made your sight so much better, you didn’t immediately remember that you had your glasses on.
"Geez, Buck, why are you sneaking around?" You hissed, relieved you hadn’t knocked off your precariously balanced mug of tea. As you moved the mug to the coffee table instead of the couch arm, you assumed he meant the bright pink, slimy half moons under each eye, or the tiny stars on your chin and forehead because even when he let you pamper him, it wasn’t without confusion or grumbles about the seemingly endless amount of products that lived under your cabinet. Immediately, you peeled one of the pimple patches off, "I’m breaking out a little, one of my friends gave me-"
" ‘m not sneaking around, doll. I thought you might be asleep, didn’t want to wake you, and-" He shrugged off the first bit, coming in closer and taking his usual seat next to you on the couch, dragging your legs over his lap, and then leaning in close to get a better look, nudging your hand away from your face as he did, "I’m not talking ‘bout your stickers."
The cool metal of his hand brushed against the to top corner of a frame, reminding you that you had your glasses on instead of your contacts. And suddenly, all of those insecurities from the optometrist and 80’s films where the girl was only pretty enough for the jock after they’d taken her glasses off fluttered back up. Your cheeks heated and you tried to look away, already lifting a hand to take off the spectacles, but once again, he nudged your hand away, his other, flesh hand gently cupping your chin to keep your face towards him.
"Fine, fine- you were right, I’m almost legally blind, and the eye doctor threatened to report my driver’s license if I didn’t buy a pair of glasses. I’ve been wearing contacts for the past few weeks, but they got backordered-" You shrugged with a huff, staring down at the silver dog tags on his chest instead of up into his eyes. The rambling eventually died off, replaced with a sigh, "I didn’t know you’d be home early."
"Meaning… if I’d been on time, I wouldn’t have seen these." He raised an eye brow, and when you finally met his eyes again. They weren’t the veiled disappointment you’d expected, or the uninterested look of someone looking at something bland or no longer pretty. They were dark. Intense.
"I don’t like how they look-" You tried to reason, nose scrunching when he very gently pushed the glasses back up your nose so they were perfectly in place over your eyes, "These were the least… ugly."
"Doll, we could put Winston Churchill glasses on you, and you’d still be gorgeous. Kinda hard to put ‘you’ and ‘ugly’ in the same category," He snorted, trailing a finger down the long temple pieces that crossed your head before resting behind the shell of your ear, "Why didn’t you tell me, pretty girl?"
As he asked that question, he was already moving. Master of multitasking, he’d moved his hands to your hips so he could tug you down into a more horizontal position, keeping himself posted above you chest to chest, pulled back just far enough to look at you. More heat flooded your cheeks, and it was hard not to look sheepish. All the reasons for your insecurities felt more juvenile than the pair of glasses you’d accidentally tried on from the ‘junior’ section. Especially, when he was looking at you the way he was, and he was rubbing those circles into the softest part of your hip.
"Because you’re… you, and you’re so… perfect-" You started, a fruitless effort to search for the right words when he was being so damn distracting. A perfect interrogation technique from the former assassin, "And I didn’t think you’d like them-"
"Didn’t think I’d like them?" He snorted, shaking his head, appreciative eyes noting how the frames had shifted a little crooked when your head had moved down the couch cushion. He took great care in righting them, and then tracing a finger over the apple of your cheek where the glasses sat, "Sweetheart, I think perfect is a little generous considering I spent the vast majority of my too long life as an assassin for HYDRA-"
"James- we aren’t talking about that and you know it-" You clipped, squirmed under him, seeking more contact and a way to make him stop teasing you and actually do something. He just laughed lowly again, one arm snaking down and so easily pinning you immobile against the couch cushion.
"That’s right. We’re talking about you. And your glasses. That I was right about." Bucky nodded slowly, "And how apparently, I don’t love on my girl enough if she thought I wouldn’t like them-"
"I look like the before picture of a makeover." You huffed, trying to hold on to all your reasonings, but those circles on your hips had turned into circles on your thighs, "I look all nerdy and like a teenager-"
"You look smart- too smart to be saying all these silly things." He corrected, leaning in to cut off your words with a kiss, "You look mature."
"So now you’re saying I look old?" You deadpanned up at him, nose scrunched in a way that made him want to give you a reason to pout at him. But for now, he gave you an exasperated huff and glare.
"No, you brat. If you’re gonna put words in my mouth, I’m gonna put something else in yours." He warned, blue eyes warm and dark with promise that made half of you want to squeak a sorry just to go back to the soft and gentle kisses. The other part of you lit up neon, wanting to push and prod just to see if he’d follow through. You knew he would. He never failed to follow through. But, for the moment, you stilled, and cocked your head, showing him you were really listening. So, he continued, eyes softening as he went, fingers gingerly peeled the jelly patches from under your eyes and then gently rubbed in the excess product, "You don’t look like you did when we met. Because we’ve been together for a while. We’ve gotten older together, and changed together. For such a long time, I didn’t get to change, or get to be different. I was always on ice. So.. I like that I get to see you become different."
Well. Shit. What a sap. Your sap. Of course he could go from threatening to fuck you silent to heartbreaking, tender confession.
"Good different, then?" You asked quietly, meeting his eyes with the same warm, loving look he was giving you, silently conveying that you heard him, you were there with him, and you weren’t going any where.
"Really good." He nodded, losing some of the intensity as a crooked grin stretched his lips before he stole another kiss, "Really, really good. Still my gorgeous girl. Maybe even prettier now."
Finally, a giggle escaped, while he peppered kisses all over your face, including the lenses of your glasses since he could press the little kisses to your eyelids like usual. Once more you reached up to remove the glasses, so you could toss them aside and kiss him as deeply as you wanted to, but he stopped you once more interrupting his efforts to untie the drawstrings of your sweats.
"I have glow in the dark stars on my pimples-" You giggled, a hand to his chest like you could possibly push him off. Muscles flexed under your touch, "Bucky, lemme take off the glasses so we can continue this-"
"Leave ‘em on." He grunted, only breaking away to start tugging the soft sweat pants down you thighs exposing, not one of your prettier sexier lacy panties, but just a regular cotton pair, printed with little cartoon watermelon slices from a 10 for 35$ sale a few months ago. Regardless of your own perceived attractiveness of your underwear, Bucky groaned as he ran hands down now bare thighs, his lips returning to your chest, and then up your neck to your jaw. His movements were growing more fervent with every kiss, "Fuck, sweetheart, you don’t get it, do you? This- this right here? This is my favorite version of you- when you look like my girl in my house, y’look like you aren’t going anywhere-"
"You are ridiculous-" You accused with a squeal, as he suddenly hauled you up off the couch. He’d done this move before, and your body reacted without thought, wrapping your legs around him where something hard pressed up against your thigh. The super soldier groaned, resting his head in the curve of your shoulder, warm breath against your neck.
"Feel that? What this does t’ me, pretty girl?" He rasped, nosing against your jaw before meeting your eyes once more, "That feel ridiculous to you?"
"Ok- well- at least let me take off the glasses so we don’t break them-" You reasoned, catching his lips in a placating kiss, like a ‘Ok, fine, the glasses are pretty, can we move on?’ Gesture. He reached up adjusting the frames once more, as if he was considering it. Then, he squeezed your hips as he stood suddenly, so easily baring the weight of another human it should be illegal, and started moving back towards the bedroom.
"If we break them, I’ll buy you news ones. I buy you five new pairs." He decided, with the seriousness of someone pulling a trigger. His eyes roamed his face, and he scoffed a laugh, still half irritated and half amused you’d thought he’d find the glasses unattractive, and resolved to prove the notion wrong. When he got to the bedroom, and tossed you onto the bed, there was a bit of dark pleasure in how the frames were knocked askew, "Just- leave ‘em on for me, doll."
summary: bucky isn’t your biggest fan, but when you have car trouble and need his help he shows he might care more than he usually lets on.
warnings: i didn’t proofread and im scared
———————————————————————
It had been a rough day. The kind of day where your shirt gets caught on the door handle and then you consider banging your head against the wall. The kind of day where nothing goes right and you start to question if you’ve ever felt joy before. Dramatic? Yes, but it’s one of those days.
So after this day full of little things just piling up, you decide to treat yourself. You took a bath, put on some pjs, and hopped in your car to go get that milkshake you had been craving.
You felt lighter. The windows down letting in the cool night air, good music playing through the speakers, finally escaping the weight of anxiety that had been on your chest all day.
But then…
Your heart drops when you feel the car stutter. No… no, no, no.
“Whoa, what the-“ You get cut off by a loud thunk coming from the engine. Then smoke. “Holy crap.” You quickly pull off into some grass—barely making it as the car keeps stuttering.
Immediately, you turn off the car and just stare in shock at the smoke slipping through the seams of the hood. “This can’t be happening right now.”
Everyone is out of town. The whole team is either on missions or visiting family, well except Bucky. He’s still at the compound with you, but it’s pretty much like you’re there alone.
You’re close with the whole team, but you two have a certain dynamic. Bucky is a distant guy and you’re… you. You make jokes and he rolls his eyes with a grumble, even though he thinks you’re funny. He purposely pushes your buttons and you push his back. You two are frenemies, for lack of better words. He never gave you a chance to be friends. He’s not really sure why—maybe it’s just his subconscious knowing he’d care for you more than he’s ready for.
After googling, crying into the steering wheel from being defeated by this day, and thinking about just walking home—you call him. You had no other choice. The car can’t be driven like this.
———————
Bucky is in his room reading, when he hears his phone going off. He assumed it was Steve calling from his mission, or maybe Sam calling just to annoy him. When he sees your name on the screen his eyebrows pull together, weren’t you just right down the hall?, he answers with a gruff, “Hello?” He could swear he heard you sigh in relief.
“Hey um… are you busy?” Bucky doesn’t miss the slight rasp in your voice when you speak.
“What’s wrong?” He automatically sits up in concern, especially because why would you call him of all people?
“My car starting stuttering and then kinda… well no, definitely started smoking. So, I-I pulled over and I just was wondering if you could come pick me up? I’m like ten minutes from the compound. I’m really sorry, you’re just the only one home.” The words just tumble out. There is a beat of silence as Bucky processes, then he hears a small sniffle that snaps him in gear.
Just as you start to speak again—worried he’s annoyed—he hops out of bed like a man on a mission. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.” He says as he grabs his shoes.
The sound of you sighing in relief makes his chest feel tight, did you think he wouldn’t come help you?
“Thank you, Bucky” You say gratefully. More than ready to be saved from this cherry on top of this hell of a day.
“Just stay put and lock the doors.” He directs before he hangs up and slides on a black hoodie over his shirt.
—————————
Bucky is there in less than ten minutes—the compound is kinda in the middle of nowhere so he floored it. He sees your car pulled over into the grass. Your car is older, chipped paint, faded stickers, obviously loved.
When you see Bucky pull up you quickly look in the mirror to see if it looks like you’ve been crying… it does. Maybe he won’t notice.
As you both get put of your cars he takes in your appearance—baggy shorts with the penguins on it, a faded shirt that says ‘I ❤️ NYC’, and mix matched socks under sandals. A lethal combination.
“Hey” You say with a small apologetic smile, shoulders slightly hunched in defeat from the day.
“Where were you going?” Bucky asks in confusion at the time of night plus your appearance.
The constant state of grumpy is on his face which makes you sink further into yourself. Normally you can take it. Push his buttons as a way to charm him. Tonight, however, you don’t have that in you.
“I wanted a milkshake.” If the puffiness of your face and shine in your eyes wasn’t enough evidence you had been crying, the rasp in your voice confirmed it.
It was so minuscule you are unsure if it actually happened, but you could’ve swore his face softened. You knew that he knew you’d been crying, but he doesn’t mention it.
He just says, “Pop the hood”, as he moves over to the front of your car.
You wave a dismissive hand. “You don’t have to look at it. I’m just gonna use a truck from the compound and tow it home in the morning.” You clear your throat after—trying to rid the rasp from your voice.
He says your name plainly with an almost annoyed look that says ‘just do it’. You look at him for a moment—as if trying to gauge how irritated he is—then you just nod once and pull the lever to pop the hood.
Trapped smoke swirls into the air that’s illuminated by the headlights of his car pointing towards us. You step over to peer into the car, close enough to see where he points his flashlight but giving him space to look.
“How bad is it?” You ask, voice soft and small.
Bucky has never heard your voice like that and he wants to make it go away. He’s so used to you being all smiley, voice a little too loud, always with a joke to punctuate a conversation. Sure, you frustrate him sometimes, make him roll his eyes more times than not when talking to you. But he’d rather you be loud and pushing his buttons, than you quiet and sad like you are now.
Bucky finally looks over at you after a few more moments of investigating. His eyes look over you face—the fading red splotches, puffy features, the lack of light in your eyes. He notices the way your arms are wrapped around yourself—either to comfort yourself or guard yourself from the night breeze that’s growing brisk. He ignores the urge to bring you into the safety of his arms.
“Um, I’m not sure yet. It could be a couple of things.” He replies, making you let out a small sigh of nerve and relief. “Crank the car for me.” Bucky nods to drivers seat while peering back into the engine.
You nod and climb in without a word. You listen to his commands through the open door—turning the car off and on, revving the engine when told. Cringing at the concerning sounds your car makes.
After he tells you to shut it off one last time, he walks over to your open door. Looking down at you, your shoulders slumped and face still showing faint signs you had cried.
He swallows away the feeling in his throat, then says, “We’re gonna have to tow it.” Almost baiting you to quip at him. Maybe a little ‘no shit, sherlock’ or ‘nothing gets past you’, but instead you just take a shaky breath and nod.
You knew you were gonna have to tow it. It was already planned in your head—tow it in the morning and have Tony fix it when he gets back in town. But for some reason, Bucky saying it needs to be towed makes your eyes begin to water.
You nod quickly and turn away from him to grab your bag—and really just collect your emotions. “Yep, ok cool, just one second.” Your throat tightens.
Bucky watches your shoulders shake as you put your dashboard knickknacks into your bag. Before he could think, he says your name softly.
“I’m coming. I’m just grabbing a few things.” You dismiss with a light crackle in your throat. He watches the random little figurines be tossed into your bag. Such a silly thing that makes him frown.
His frown deepens as he watches you climb out of your car, making sure to keep your head down as you double check it’s locked. He opens the passenger door to his car for you—chest tightening at your small ‘thank you’.
You exhale shakily to yourself for the few moments you’re alone as he walks around to the drivers side. You don’t look at him when he climbs in, but after a few moments pass of him not starting the car you look over.
Bucky is already looking at you.
“What?” You ask softly, eyebrows pulling together lightly.
“Are you okay?” Bucky asks. His voice gruff in its usual way, but underlying care softens the edges.
It feels like his eyes were peering into your soul. You advert your gaze and chew on your cheek in an attempt to stop the emotion. “It’s just been a day.” You answer softly, hoping that is enough of an answer.
You assume the answer sufficed when he started the car—but the car sat still.
Bucky sees the way you continue to hug yourself, as you stare out the window waiting for the car to move. He can’t take it anymore. He wants to provide some sort of comfort—but he’s not good with words.
You hear a soft rustle—just as you turn your head towards him he sets his hoodie carefully on you lap. You look down at the black fabric, then up to meet his eyes as his slowly retreats.
A wave of something drifts through your eyes—confusion, sadness, appreciation? Neither of you speak for a moment.
“You looked cold.” Bucky explains simply.
“I’m o-“ You start, but he cuts you off. “You can throw it in the back if you don’t want it.” He says, calling you bluff.
He shifts the car into drive and pulls onto the road. You sit there for a beat trying to process the moment. You glance back to your car left in the grass, then to Bucky focused on the road.
Finally, you pull the hoodie over your head. Automatically a wave of comfort rushes over you, like warm water flushing through your veins. It’s like a shield from the day. It’s huge on you, the fabric is worn out just right, and it smells good… it smells like him.
“Thank you.” You say as you slowly sit back in your seat—feeling a little awkward.
Bucky just nods once in response. He keeps his eyes on the road—hands gripping the wheel a little tighter as he fights the thoughts in his head.
Throughout the quiet ride, he steals glances towards you—your gaze lazily out the window. You look so small and cozy in his hoodie. It makes his chest ache.
“Do you think my car will be okay? Like, you don’t think anyone is gonna do something to it, right?” You break the silence. You know it’s highly doubtful that someone is gonna steal your broken down car in the middle of the night, but still you seek reassurance.
Bucky glances over at you, then back to the road. You see him swallow before he speaks, “It’ll be fine,” then adds, “it won’t get far if anyone tries something.” He lightly pokes fun in his dry gruff tone—trying to get the normal you out.
You chuckle half heartedly. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.”
That brings a tiny tug to the corner of his mouth. After a few beats of silence, he looks back over to you. You’re staring out the window—seemingly lost in thought—chewing on the inside of your cheek.
“Hey,” his low voice pulls you out of your thoughts. The soft vulnerability in your eyes, the way you’re wearing his hoodie like a safety blanket—it makes his heart ache. “It’ll be fine.” He says soft and sure. Hoping his words smooth the worry crease in your brow.
The weight of his genuine reassurance makes you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Tears prick the corners of your eyes despite your best efforts. You can’t help it on days like this—emotionally exhausted from simply existing.
“I know.” Your voice just above a whisper. “Thank you.” You sniffle and turn to face out the window as the car approaches the compound.
You try your hardest to breathe through the emotion in your chest, blink away the welling tears. You wanna smack yourself and say ‘get a grip’ for being worked up over nothing in the grand scheme.
As he pulls into his parking spot, you feel relief that you are closer to your escape to cry in peace. However, you won’t let yourself escape without doubling down on your gratitude.
“I really can’t thank you enough.” You say, making sure to keep your face downturned as you unbuckle and exit the car.
Seeing you like this feels like someone is slowly chiseling away at him. Each quiet word from you is a hairline fracture to his bones. He tries to keep his feelings locked away. He tries not to care, cause he knows if he lets himself care just a little bit he won’t be able to stop it growing.
When you get to the doors of the compound you want to exhale in relief, so close to being alone to cry in peace. However this day isn’t done being against you. You dig through your bag hoping to unlock the doors before Bucky catches up to you, but you can’t find your key card.
That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Your shoulders sag as your head drops forward—pressing against the door in defeat. You don’t care if this is embarrassing. You don’t care this gives him easy ammo to tease you later on.
“I forgot my key.” Your voice breaks pitifully.
That’s what does it for Bucky.
It’s like his body moves on its own. He gently grabs your shoulder to steer you in his arms. He inhales sharply, shocked at himself for doing this.
Your brain trying to process what the hell is happening. He’s tense. You’re tense. He’s just about to pull away and curse himself for doing this, when your shoulders ease. You melt into him, arms snaking around his torso, you let out a shaky cry against his chest. He hold you closer and more surely.
Now that the dam is broken the tears just keep flowing. His hand rubs soothing circles on your back—cooing softly “it’s okay.” Bucky doesn’t know if it’s your car or something else making you so upset, but he knows he’ll do everything he can to make it better.
The comfort you feel is almost intoxicating. Bucky’s broad build engulfs—feeling like shelter from a storm. You seek more of that feeling by tightening your arms around him, curling your face further against him.
Bucky’s heart feels like it may burst at the feeling. His flesh hand comes up to protectively hold the back of your head.
“What happened, doll?” His voice is tender in a way that makes your heart skip.
“It’s just been a bad day.” You know you’ll be embarrassed by this when you feel better, but right now you couldn’t care less. Your tired crying resumes.
Bucky’s arm tightens around you. He thinks for a moment and then he makes a plan. “I know what might help.”
Your brows draw together as you lift your head to look at him. He looks down at you with a soft determination. “Let’s get you inside.” He keeps one arm wrapped around you, while the other grabs his key. You let him lead you inside—staying tucked under his arm.
Once in the living area, he uses a hand on your back to guide you to the couch. “Stay here. I’m making you a milkshake.” He says while handing you a blanket from the back of the couch.
You look back in bewilderment as he’s already moving to the kitchen. “Huh?”
“You didn’t get to get one.” He replies simply, opening the freezer. “Do you want chocolate or vanilla?”
You look over the back of the couch to see him in the kitchen. “What? Bucky, no. Don’t do that.”
“You said you were going to get one, so you’re getting one.” He says while getting out the ingredients.
“You don’t have to-“ You start, but he cuts off your protest to ask you again, “Chocolate or vanilla?”.
You look at him for a few moments until you realize he is not taking no for an answer. “Chocolate please.” You say softly.
Bucky just nods and gets to work. You settle back into the couch—still snuggled up in his hoodie—waiting in awe.
He makes a perfectly thick chocolate shake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. He grabs a yellow straw cause yellow is cheerful, duh.
“I know it’s not what you were hoping for, but i hope it’s good enough.” Bucky says, as he hands you the glass, and sits on the other side of the couch.
Seeing the milkshake makes you smile. “I can’t believe you made me this.” You chuckle, voice still stuffy. “Thank you, Bucky.”
Bucky feels his chest tighten when you look at him. Although your face still shows the effects from recent tears, your smile shines for him.
He mumbles a small, “it’s nothing”.
The first sip causes you to hum in delight. “Oh my gosh dude it’s so good.”
A few semi-awkward moments of silence pass. Then you break it, “I’m sorry for this,” you say gesturing to the proof of tears on your face, “I don’t know why I got so worked up.”
“Is everything really okay, or did you just say that?” Bucky asks, eyes searching your expression.
You look down at the glass. “That’s why i’m extra embarrassed over this, cause everything is fine.” You meet his eyes again, then continue. “It’s just been a stressful day. Felt like everything was going wrong. Nothing massive, well my car is a big thing, but yeah everything just kinda piled on top of each other.”
He nods in understanding. “Well, the milkshake hasn’t made you cry, so I think you’re making progress.” That makes you chuckle—some of the normal shine in your eyes comes back. The corners of his mouth twitch at being the cause of that.
As you drink your shake, you two just talk. Well mainly you talk and he listens. You ramble about all the things that went wrong today. He adds little comments here and there. He sees how the red splotches on your face slowly fade with time.
You slurp up the bottom of the shake. “You are now obligated to make me a milkshake every time I have a bad day.”
He takes your empty glass and sets it on the table for you. “I’m not agreeing to that.” He chuckles lightly.
A beat of comfortable silence passes.
“I must’ve seemed really pitiful if you’re being this nice to me.” Your chuckle is dry and self deprecating. Your words make his expression slip into a small frown.
“What?” You ask, wondering what that face is for.
“I don’t like seeing you like that.”
You hold his gaze while searching for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Instead he takes a deep breath and says, “So are you feeling better?”
You nod while taking in his expression—soaking in this rare moment for you two. “Thank you for everything, Buck.” Your voice soft and genuine.
“It’s nothing.”
“You saved me from the side of the road, dealt with my breakdown, and made me a milkshake. That’s not nothing” You swear you see his cheeks turn pink.
“You needed help.”
“Yeah, but you did more than just help.”
A beat passes of unspoken words. You can’t keep up with his unwavering eye contact, so you look away. Bucky keeps looking at you—so small in his hoodie.
You finally turn to him again—heart fluttering when you realize he hadn’t looked away. “You don’t have to sit here with me. I swear I’m not gonna have another breakdown.” You say with a soft crooked smile.
“I don’t mind.” He replies. You’re taken aback by his sincereness.
“Don’t mind sitting with me or me having another breakdown?” You joke.
Bucky rolls his eyes in response. “I’ll stay with you.”
You smile softly. A smile he’s never gotten from you. It’s not big or teasing, but sweet, almost shy. You two talk for a while—nothing in particular. It’s easy, simple.
Once you yawn, Bucky decides it’s time to call it a night. “It’s getting late. You should get some sleep.”
You yawn again. “Yeah… probably, but I don’t wanna get up.” You say sleepily, laying your head against the cushion.
A small smile grows on his lips. “Sounds like you’re training sessions.” He stands and offers you his flesh hand. You sigh and let him pull you up. His hand is warm, rough yet soft, and completely envelopes yours. You miss the feeling as soon as he lets go.
Bucky walks you to your room, “Just gotta make sure you don’t start crying again.” He uses teasing to cover up the care.
At your door you turn to tell him goodnight. You should probably give him his hoodie back, but you pretend you forgot you have it on. He’s a couple steps away from you with hands in his pockets.
“I hope you know you made this sucky day much better.” You say.
Bucky looks at you for a beat, like he’s fighting what he really wants to say. “Get some rest.” His voice is soft, like he’s afraid to be any louder.
“Goodnight, Bucky.”
—————————————
In the morning you have to force yourself out of bed. You wash your face, brush your teeth, tie your hair up. You throw on some shorts but you stay in Bucky’s hoodie.
You grab your bag from where you left it in the living room, and head to the garage to borrow a truck. You have no idea how to tow a car—you’re just gonna google it and hope for the best.
You drag your feet out of the elevator, and into the garage—dreading having to do this. You halt when you see your car already back, with Bucky under the hood. You gasp and he whips his head around.
He’s wearing black gym shorts and a dark blue tee that is fitted just perfectly.
“Morning.” Bucky says casually. He takes note that you’re still wearing his hoodie. He tries to ignore the way it makes him feel.
“You got my car?!” You say in surprise.
“I didn’t have anything else to do.” He shrugs, while wiping grease from his hands. Really he knew you were worried about it. Plus, he didn’t want you going to try and tow it alone. He can just imagine some weirdo pulling over trying to ‘help’.
“Dude, I could kiss you.” You exhale with a big smile—walking over to look at your car. His brain short-circuits at that. He knows you were just being dramatically grateful, but still. You can’t just say that to him. He is happy your normal self if back, compared to how sad and quiet you were last night.
You look up at to him with a bright smile. “Thank you so much, Bucky.”
Bucky loves being on the receiving end of your smile. “It’s nothing. Figured you didn’t know how to tow it anyways.” He teases.
“Oh, I absolutely was just gonna wing it.” You laugh.
“Sounds about right.” He crosses his arms over his chest. He nods to the car. “Your spark plugs were fried.”
“Is that what messed it up last night?”
“Yeah, so found some in Tony’s garage. I’m almost done changing them out.”
“What? Bucky, you didn’t have to do that.” You look at him in appreciation.
“Had nothing else to do.” He says again, but you both know that’s not true.
“Sure. You totally didn’t do it cause you’re a secret sweetheart.”
“Don’t push it. I can take those spark plugs right out.” He threatens.
“Shut up.” You lightly shove him.
He smiles and shakes his head. “Mouthy for a girl I’m helping.”
“You say you’re helping. Maybe you’re secretly sabotaging my car.”
He scoffs lightly, nodding to the elevator. “Go back inside. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
“Let me help you with the last one.”
“It’s a one man job.”
“Let me keep you company?”
Bucky looks at you for a moment, then sighs. “Okay.”
“So where’d you learn how to do this?” You ask, sitting crisscross on the ground.
“Uh, my Pops was a mechanic.” He never really talks about life before, especially not his family.
“Ah so he taught you his ways.” He just hums in reply. “Hopefully he was a good one.” You joke. He blows air from his nose in amusement.
————————
“Alright.” Bucky huffs, wiping his hands on a rag. “Crank it.”
You hop into the drivers seat and turn the key. The car grumbles to life. You pop your head out with a smile. “It sounds good!”
“Hop out. I’m gonna take it for a test drive.” He walks over to the door.
“Well I’m coming with.” You climb over the console, plopping into the passenger seat.
———————————————————————
hiya! i had this in the drafts, and decided i think i like this lol. could be a cute little two parter? let me know what you guys think.
also i just want to thank everyone so so much for the reception my first story got! everyone is so kind and im happy people enjoyed it!
tags: female reader, friends to lovers, mutual yearning, porn with a plot, except not really because it’s like 1.3k words of plot which gets kinda forgotten during the 4k words of porn, oral sex (m receiving), praise, getting freaky in front of the mirror, fingering, sex with feelings, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), Bucky has a big dick, writing this made me feel single, length of bucky’s hair unspecified so feel free to imagine your fave era (im partial to tfatws hair)
a/n: edited, but by that i mean i wrote the whole thing in present tense then went back and changed it all to past. if i’ve left any mistakes in, please let me know
Bucky had been coming to your lab with a new request aevery week since he moved into the compound a few months ago. They were usually trivial — nothing that really required your engineering expertise. He just got on better with you than anyone else. He’d rather die than ask Tony how to work the printer, or to explain what a WiFi password was.
There was a knock at your door. An unnecessary one, since your door was propped open. You looked up to see Bucky stood in the doorway. ‘You got a minute?’ he asked sheepishly.
You chuckled. ‘What can I fix for ya?’
‘I broke the coffee machine again… I don’t get why there are so many handles! And buttons! God forbid a man wants a cup of coffee.’
God bless Bucky. Precious, clueless, Bucky. ‘I’ll be down in 5.’ you assured him.
‘Sorry. I know this is like the fourth time this month. You want me to go and find an iced latte for you nearby? Y’know, to fuel you whilst you work.’
He was sweet, too. Maybe not to everyone, but certainly to you. He always demonstrated those 1940s manners of his — holding doors, bringing you coffee, carrying your heavy equipment.
You placed your hand on you heart. ‘You’re my hero.’
Exchanges like this happened two or three times a week now. You were glad for it, too. It got lonely in your lab. At least the weapons engineers worked collaboratively in a large open space. You were an extra hire, in your private lab, entrusted with engineering the team’s tech to do the least damage possible to local infrastructure when they use it on missions.
Alongside this, you’d been working on shock absorbers for buildings in high-crime areas. Your intention was to neutralise the damage caused by enhanced people in battle. Prevent buildings from crumbling left right and centre. Nobody knew that except Bucky, because you weren’t completely confident in your idea. He’d seen every stage of the prototype you’d been building for the last couple months. Even used his super strength to help you test it on a small scale. Unintentionally, the two of you had formed a strange little bond. Your friendship may have been transactional in the beginning, but you had a sneaking suspicion he sometimes broke things as an excuse to talk to you. Particularly since the visits had grown more frequent — but it wasn’t like he had many other friends anyway. The next knock at your door was just two days later.
‘Are you busy?’ Bucky poked his head through the door.
‘For you? Never. What’s up?’
He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. ‘My arm’s feeling a little stiff. I know you don’t like to work with weapons, but I don’t really feel comfortable asking anyone else to look at it.’
That tugged at your heartstrings a little. You didn’t see him as a weapon, and you wished he didn’t see himself that way. Bucky was a hell of a lot nicer than people gave him credit for. You were about the only one that noticed how he would always restock the fruit bowl with fresh produce from the farmers market. Or how he never refused a request for a sparring partner — even if it was his fourth sparring session and he’d been in the gym all day. The thing you found most endearing was how he genuinely took every media recommendation given to him, no matter how stupid. Sam recommending he listen to Marvin Gaye somewhat made sense, but you’d never in a million years have expected he would actually listen to the Spice Girls record you lent him.
‘Bucky, your arm isn’t a weapon.’
‘Well, it kinda is. Objectively speaking.’
‘I disagree. Sit down, I’ll take a look.’
He beamed at you and sat down obediently. ‘You’re a doll.’
You couldn’t deny the feeling of butterflies in your stomach after that comment. It was unrealistic to think you could just carry on being friends when you had such a stupid crush on him. You could only hope your cheeks hadn’t turned beet red at the pet name.
You cleared your throat. ‘What’s the problem? Is it with your range of motion?’
‘Yeah.’ he nodded.
‘Anywhere in particular? Shoulder? Elbow?’
‘No, uh, more like my wrist and fist.’
‘Oh.’
You physically felt yourself blush this time, and you cursed your own dirty mind. There were plenty of reasonable explanations for why he’d suddenly noticed his fine motor skills devolving. Besides, he was right handed. He wouldn’t even use his metal arm for…that.
‘Let me take a look. Can’t throw punches with stiff knuckles.’
He let out a forced laugh. ‘Yeah.’
It was an easy fix, luckily. You were too embarrassed to even meet his gaze as you fixed it. You couldn’t even look at him long enough to bid him a proper goodbye. Your flushed face aside, it was becoming painful to stare into his beautiful eyes platonically. He was so perfect it almost hurt.
It was apparent to anyone with eyes that he was physically perfect. With his biceps the size of your head and his ridiculously chiseled abs. Not to mention his boyish smile that only came out when was genuinely happy. Or the way his eyes lit up when someone acknowledges his good efforts. Or even just his existence.
Fuck, you were in love with him.
You’d convinced yourself nothing could ever come of your little crush. Outside of this lab, you were worlds apart. For one, he had about eighty years on you. He had his own section in the Smithsonian for gods sake. Then there was the fact that he was a fucking superhero and you were a glorified mechanic.
Which is why you were torturing yourself being his friend and dropping everything to help him whenever he did something stupid, like accidentally change the language of his phone to Mandarin. Not that that was even much of an issue, considering he can speak Mandarin. No wonder he didn’t raise the issue with you for almost two weeks, until you questioned whether he’d done it on purpose.
Your intentions were (mostly) pure. You daydreamed about being his girlfriend, and being held by someone as buff as him. You longed to spend your days with him, not just minutes and hours. Talking, laughing, going on dates. Then of course there was the other thing: you were crazy horny for him. It wasn’t even just because you’d been really sexually frustrated since you got this demanding job. He just looked so damn sexy. Like, all the time. Without even trying. It was almost annoying.
Your crush was so exhausting that you had half a mind to turn him away when he came knocking on your lab door late one night.
‘Thank god you’re here.’ he sighed in relief as he collapsed in your chair.
‘Bucky?’ You said, surprised. ‘What are you doing up?
He exhaled though his nose in amusement. ‘I could ask you the same thing.’
‘This paperwork won’t complete itself.’
‘Bummer.’
‘Yeah.’
He silently fidgeted in your chair awkwardly for a couple minutes before you asked, ‘Do you need something?’
‘I, uh… no, it’s stupid.‘ He got up to leave. ‘Don’t work too late, doll.’
‘Wait, I’m sure it’s not stupid. What’s wrong? Can I fix something?’
‘Well, um…’ Bucky cleared his throat.
His nervousness was making you nervous. ‘Spit it out, Buck.’
‘D’you reckon you could fix me?’
Your mind was running a mile a minute trying to figure out what he could possibly mean. Sure, he had a lot of trauma, but you couldn’t exactly see him coming to you for a therapy session.
‘Is your arm stiff again?’ you asked.
‘No, my arm’s fine.’
‘Okay, well I don’t really understand what you’re asking me here, Bucky.’
‘I think I’m broken.’
‘Broken… how?’
He ran an exasperated hand over his face. ‘I can’t— fuck, how do I even say this and keep my dignity?’
‘Just say it, it’s only me.’
‘I can’t, uh, finish.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah…’
‘Like, by yourself?’
‘Yeah. But I also haven’t had sex in eighty years so I don’t know whether it’s solely a solo problem.’
‘You haven’t hooked up with anyone since you got here?’ You tried not to sound surprised. It was just, well, surprising, since every girl in his path was normally throwing themselves at him.
‘Who would I hook up with round here?’
‘You tell me.’
‘I’ve only really got eyes for one girl nowadays.’ Bucky admitted, and you swore your heart skipped a beat.
He continued. ‘The Nazis didn’t touch my dick, doll. They didn’t break me. You did.’
‘I did?’
‘You did. You with your cute little hands all over my arm. And your pretty eyes that are always watching me. Not to mention your body… fuck, I pride myself on being respectful and a gentleman but the thoughts I have about you…they’re filthy.’
Fuck. The man you were literally in love with was finally telling you everything you wanted to hear. That he appreciated you. That he saw you. Not to mention he was as horny for you as you were for him. Arguably even more so.
Still, you were a little confused. ‘I’m still not entirely sure what you’re asking me…’
‘I don’t wanna ask you anything 'cause I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable. I’m just sorta… telling you how bad I want you on the off chance you want me too. But if not, it’s fine. I still wanna be your friend. You’re kinda the only thing keeping me sane.’
The hopeful smile on his face was contagious; you couldn’t help but mirror it. You walked round to his side of the table and hoisted yourself up on to it, so were sitting in front of him. Closer than you’ve ever been, your legs between his.
‘You’re seriously telling me you’ve never noticed my big fat embarrassing crush on you?’
‘You— what?’
‘Oh come off it, Buck. You’ve definitely caught me staring at your arms. Or noticed me blushing whenever you come close to me. Don’t pretend you haven’t.’
‘I seriously haven’t.’
‘Oh.’
Well fuck. You could’ve had the upper hand here. Nonchalantly agreed to go home with him and never told him how many hours you’d spent daydreaming about him. Except nothing about you and your feelings for Bucky were nonchalant.
‘I guess all those times I felt my face heat up I wasn’t actually blushing.’
Bucky chuckled. ‘Oh, you were blushing. You were redder than a tomato. I thought you were scared of me.’
‘Scared of you? I was thinking about you naked.’
‘Charming, doll.’
‘Did I say that out loud?’
‘Yup.’
You tried to bury your face in your hands, but bucky grabbed your forearms and gently guided them back to your sides. He wanted to watch you blush when he said what he was about to say.
‘Don’t be shy, baby. I already confessed I think about you naked all the time.’
God, you swore he was trying to kill you. He tentatively placed a hand on your thigh and caressed it with his thumb, eyes burning with desire.
‘My lab door doesn’t lock…’ you mumbled, eyeing the doorway cautiously.
‘Good job I live right down the hall, then.’
As you followed Bucky to his room you mentally tried to recall what underwear you’d put on that morning. Not that you expected it to last long when he got his hands on you. He was clutching your hand and striding back to his room like a man on a mission, with you practically running to keep up with him. It was almost like he noticed and took pity on you, because he abruptly stopped and threw you over his shoulder.
‘Bucky!’ you laughed. ‘Put me down!’
‘Shh let me have this, doll. I’ve been waiting to hold you for a very long time.’
You complied and let him carry you in that mildly humiliating position back to his bedroom. You silently prayed everyone else in the compound was asleep, because you were face down ass up for any passers by to see. Not that they’d have said anything once they saw Bucky’s metal hand resting on your ass, as if he was warning other predators away from his freshly caught prey.
He finally put you down when it was time to unlock his door. Before he could, he turned to you and searched your eyes for any flicker of doubt.
‘You definitely want this? 'cause don’t have to do it just for me. I shouldn’t have even come to you with my issues.’
You grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled him down to your level before kissing him passionately.
‘You have no idea how bad I want this.’
‘You have no idea how happy that makes me, doll, but I feel like I oughta warn ya. I may be out of practice, but once I get inside your sweet little pussy I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to control myself.’
You looked around you and made sure you had your back to the nearest security camera. You began unbuttoning your fitted shirt whilst holding his gaze, giving him a glimpse of the white lace bra you were relieved you put on that morning. His eyes widened, and within seconds he’d pushed you through his door and got you pinned up against the other side of it.
Within the safe confines of his bedroom, he helped you push your shirt off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor. ‘Careful, baby. Let’s keep this pretty bra for my eyes only.’
‘It’ll look even prettier on your floor.’
‘Fuck, are you trying to kill me?’
‘No. But I am gonna make you come.’
‘I have no doubts.’
You shimmied out of your trousers, revealing your matching white panties. As you watched Bucky’s jaw drop, you mentally thanked your past self for picking them out. It’s like she knew.
He shamelessly gawked at your ass whilst you took his hand and led him to his own bed. He raised his hands to touch you, but before he could, you pushed him back onto the bed and sank to your knees in front of him. The light was low, but at eye level you could finally see the outline of his erection — and it was big.
‘You don’t gotta do that, doll.’
‘Shh let me have this.’ you echoed his words from earlier, and you swore you saw his cock twitch.
He cupped your face and ran his thumb over your lips. ‘It’s all yours, baby.’
You eagerly unzipped his pants and freed him from his underwear. His cock sprung up and hit his stomach, and your mouth instantly watered at his size. ‘Fuck.’ you mumbled, mostly to yourself, wondering what the hell you’d signed up for.
You pushed all your nerves away and grabbed Bucky’s cock with both hands, spitting on it as gracefully as possible. You pumped it a couple of times before flattening your tongue licking from the base to the tip, taking your time. Swirling your tongue around the tip, you looked up to find his gaze fixed on you. The fire in his eyes gave you confidence to take more of him in your mouth, using your now free hand to massage his balls.
The pressure made him groan. ‘Fuck, doll, you look so perfect with my cock down your throat.’
The praise made you even more determined to finish him off. You bobbed your head up and down, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time. He was by far the biggest you’d ever had, and you knew there was no chance of you throating his entire length. Your pussy was dripping at just the feel of it in your mouth, and you found yourself selfishly willing him to finish quickly so you could get some relief. That, and you were eager to taste him.
You took him deeper, triggering your gag reflex but not pulling away, because you liked the sounds of pleasure leaving his lips. When your eyes started to water, you felt him grab you by the hair and gently pull you off him.
‘You okay down there?’
‘I’m fine, just determined to get you off.’
He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. ‘Baby, I’m close to nutting right now just from looking at you. Don’t worry about taking more than you can handle.’
You wiped some drool off your chin. ‘I’m not as fragile as you think, Bucky. Trust me.’
With that, you sunk your head down once more, getting as close to the base as you could, making him choke out a moan. The sound then made you moan, an act that made your entire throat vibrate.
Bucky liked that.
‘Fuck, I’m already close. I feel like a fucking horny teenager.’
You lifted off him, a trail of saliva connecting his tip to your lips which you used as lube to stroke him with both hands. ‘Come for me, Buck.’ You stuck out your tongue and continued to pump his thick cock.
His head involuntarily rolled back in pleasure, but he forced himself to straighten up and behold the sight of you waiting patiently for his load. A sight he’d waited goddamn months to see.
‘Fuck, baby.’
He finally let go, releasing all over your tongue. His aim was pretty good, but he came so thick and fast that some inevitably got on your lips. That didn’t bother you though, you just licked them and gave him a smug little smile. You hummed in victory, proud of yourself for ‘fixing’ him, when really you’d have happily choked on his cock even if he wasn’t broken. If you were crude enough to have a sex bucket list, making Bucky Barnes come would’ve been on it.
You wiped your watery eyes and found yourself mentally preparing for him to politely kick you out.
As if he read your mind, Bucky picked you up off the floor and placed you in his lap, wrapping his arms around you. His flesh hand found the back of your neck and he pulled you in for a long kiss, his cool metal hand caressing your lower back.
‘Are you sure you’re just an engineer?’ He asked when you finally separated for air. ‘Not a witch or some shit?’
‘Nope. My only power is physics.’
‘Well you’ve definitely got a magic tongue. Fuck, I’m gonna be daydreaming about your tongue 'til I get to feel it again.’
You tried to fight the smile that crept up onto your face. You weren’t certain before, but you’d just received verbal confirmation that this wasn’t just a one-time thing.
‘Again?’
‘If you’re up for it, doll. I’ve never been one for hookups, I don’t wanna start now. Besides, you fixed me. Got me off with nothin' but your tight little throat and soft hands. I’m attached now.’
‘I did, didn’t I?’ you said, pleased with yourself.
‘Yeah ya did. I ought to return the favour.’ He held your gaze whilst his flesh hand fiddled with the waistband of your underwear.
‘Another time. Just please, fuck me.’ You fidgeted in his lap, feeling him getting hard again beneath you. ‘I’ll come if you fuck me.’
He shook his head. ‘I need you to come before I fuck you.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m just… I’m a lot bigger than you that’s all. Don’t want it to hurt.’
You raised an eyebrow at him.
‘That, and I wanna settle the score.’ He admitted. ‘You’re always doin' shit for me, baby. Let me make you feel good.’
Well shit, who were you to turn down a free orgasm?
You nodded, giving him permission to slide his hand inside your lacy underwear, but he didn’t move. ‘Need to hear you say it, doll.’
‘Make me feel good, Bucky.’
‘Atta girl.’
He surprised you by flipping you around so your back was pressed against his chest, and you gasped when your eyes met your own reflection. There was a mirror opposite his bed, one you hadn’t noticed before. It was only then that you realised you were in your underwear whilst he was fully clothed. Something that you hadn’t realised you were into, but was only making you wetter. Bucky could tell, too, since your white underwear was practically transparent by now.
‘Look at you, so desperate for me to touch you.’ He fondled your tits over your bra. ‘If I’d’ve known you wanted me this bad I’d have brought you home a long time ago.’ He moved his hand back to unclip your bra, and you tossed it to the floor, revealing your bare chest to him. ‘Shit, baby. I’ve been torturing myself trying to get off to the thought of you, but turns out you’re even hotter than I imagined. I didn’t even know that was possible.’
He held his breath as he slid your underwear down your legs, revealing how soaked you were for him. ‘Jesus. All this mess for me?’
‘All yours,’ you nodded, ‘now please just— please touch me.’ you whined.
‘Well, since you asked so nicely.’
Bucky tore his gaze away from your glistening pussy to meet your eyes in the mirror — his had a mischievous glint in them, one that made you a little nervous. What was he about to do to you?
He plunged the middle finger of his right hand inside you with no warning, making you cry out. Your head fell back on his shoulder, and he brought his metal hand to your neck, choking you lightly. ‘Fuck, you’re soaked. So fucking tight, too. God, I gotta get inside of you.’
He pumped his finger in and out a couple times, holding you still and making you watch. It was filthy, but you loved it. You moved one of your hands towards your clit, but he swatted it away. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’
He brought his metal hand to your clit and began rubbing it in a circular motion. The cool sensation of the metal combined with the overwhelming pleasure made you incoherent, unable to do anything but moan and whine for him.
‘Bucky…’
‘You like that?’
You nodded, not trusting your words in that moment.
He stilled his movements. ‘What was that, doll? I didn’t hear you.’
You pouted at the loss of friction. ‘I like it. Need you to carry on. Please.’
It was obvious on his face that he wanted to tease you a little, but he was also desperate to see what you looked like coming undone on his fingers. The latter must’ve outweighed the former because he obliged and continued to fingerfuck you, only faster. He wanted to watch your eyes roll back in your head and hear you scream his name. ‘Shit, Bucky, I’m gonna—‘
‘C'mon doll, let go.’
And you did. You cried out his name and could’ve sworn you saw stars whilst he guided you through the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced. ‘Good girl. Don’t hold back, baby. Want to hear you.’
His deep voice and dirty words were exactly what you needed to tip you over the edge. Your legs were shaking and your eyes were watering, and your hands had found their way to his hair. You grasped onto it like you were going to float away if you didn’t.
‘That was…’
‘Incredible.’ he finished for you. ‘You were incredible.’
Bucky licked his fingers clean and groaned. ‘So fucking sweet. I might just have to keep you in here forever.’
He shuffled the two of you back so you were laid on his bed, limbs tangled. Your eyes had closed but his stayed fixed on your face, as if you were going to disappear if he looked away. You looked so peaceful and fucked-out — despite the fact that the two of you hadn’t actually fucked yet — that he ignored the way his dick was throbbing. The erotic sight of you coming undone had made him rock hard, but he decided to let you rest. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, he stood up to take off his t-shirt and pants — just for comfort.
As he got undressed, your eyes fluttered open and landed on the bulge in his pants. You hadn’t been asleep. You were tired, sure, but not sleepy. How could you be? It turned out that you’d both been fantasising about this night for a long time and you’d be damned if you were gonna let him cut it short.
He got back on the bed and was surprised when you climbed on top of him.
‘Hi handsome.’
‘Hi there.’ he replied, very aware of your position on top of his erection.
‘I’ve been waiting for you to fuck me all night.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s a good idea…’
You rocked back and forth in frustration. ‘I had an earth-shattering orgasm less than ten minutes ago. And you know that 'cause you made it happen. I couldn’t be more ready for this.’
He pushed back on your argument gently. ‘Well, I hardly stretched you out, doll. I made you come with nothin but my middle finger. You really think you can handle being stuffed full of my cock?’
You frowned at his doubt of you. ‘Yes.’
Bucky actually looked like he was going to accept your answer, but you saw a frustrated realisation hit him. ‘Wait, fuck, I don’t have a condom.’
You waved your hand dismissively. ‘Doesn’t matter. I’m clean and on birth control.’
Visible relief rushed over Bucky, who immediately flipped you over so you were on your back and quickly kicked off his boxers. ‘I’m not gonna go easy on ya.’
He gave your sensitive pussy a light slap and pushed his middle and ring fingers inside you, as if he was testing the waters. Maybe he was right, you already felt full taking a couple of his digits, how the fuck were you going to take his the entire length of his thick dick?
Regardless, you wanted to try. You decided to feign confidence so he wouldn’t take pity on you and call it off. ‘I can handle you.’
‘Famous last words, baby.’ he smirked before pushing inside you, making you gasp.
‘Oh my god.’ You gasped, not expecting the stretch. If this was how you died, at least he’d already made you come once, and you’d go out with that post-orgasm glow. ‘Too big.’ You mumbled, momentarily forgetting how hard you’d begged for him.
‘Oh sweetheart,’ he said condescendingly, ‘that’s just the tip. You can take more though, can’t you? You assured me you could.’
You bit down on your lip hard to try suppress your uncontrollable noises whilst you nodded.
Bucky pushed deeper. ‘Feeling shy? You were talking big game a minute ago.’ He suddenly pulled out of you completely, and you immediately missed the feeling of him filling you. ‘I guess it was just talk.’
‘No! Wait…’ you clawed at his back trying to bring him closer. ‘I want it. All of it.’ You pleaded. That was all he needed to hear to bury himself to the hilt inside you.
‘Fuckkk.’ he furrowed his brows. ‘You’re gonna have to stop squeezing me like that doll or I’m not gonna last very long.’
He eased out of you and watched your face relax a little before he slammed back in, your face contorting in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
‘So full, ohmygod.’ you whined. It was the truth. You’d never felt so full, or such intense pleasure from just penetration. He was hitting that spot deep inside of you effortlessly.
His pace only quickened once he felt satisfied that you were feeling more pleasure than pain. Once he found a rhythm that suited you both, he started to focus on the rest of your body. When he brought his thumb to your clit you almost lost it, crying out his name and making him moan at the sound. You quickly shut up when he moved his other hand to your throat and applied light pressure, making you feel lightheaded in the most euphoric way.
Your nails were digging into his back so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d drawn blood, but Bucky didn’t seem to notice. He was too fixated on the sight of his own cock sliding in and out of the girl he’d spent months fantasising about. Not to mention the sweet sounds of your rough fucking. Your pretty moans, the slapping sound of skin to skin contact, the squeaking of the bed. He was quietly committing the entire experience to memory — y’know, just in case you changed your mind and didn’t want to do it again.
He really hoped you did.
If he wasn’t so obsessed with you, he’d probably have flipped you onto your hands and knees already. Maybe he would do that next time. For now, he was too hypnotised by your eyes — even if they were rolling back in your head.
‘Bu-Bucky?’
‘Yes, gorgeous?’
‘I-‘ You were cut off by one of your own moans as he hit that spot inside of you once more.
‘You what, baby? Use your words for me.’
‘I’m gonna…’
‘Gonna come?’
‘S-so close. Right there.’
Bucky’s strokes got harder and deeper as he felt you clenching around him. He moved his hand from your throat to your chest, toying with your hard nipples. ‘I’ve got you, doll.’
That was enough to finish you off. This orgasm was a thousand times more intense than your last. Partly because you were extra sensitive before you even started, but mostly because you couldn’t even squirm — not with someone as beefy as Bucky pinning you down. You sorta just had to lie there and take it. To surrender to the pleasure he was giving you. He wasn’t going easy on you, but in his defence, he warned you he wouldn’t. He just kept drilling into you whilst you screamed his name. If anything, it made him fuck you harder.
You could tell he wasn’t far behind you though, because his movements got sloppy. When his thrusts got so erratic that his cock slipped out of you, he groaned in frustration. ‘Fuck, baby. I’m close. Need to fill you up.’
You were too overstimulated to respond, so you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. It was funny, you’d spent the night having the filthiest sex of your life and you’d only actually kissed a couple times. There was plenty of time for that later, though. For now, you were both driven by a primal lust.
Bucky moaned loudly into your mouth, his movements slowing. If you hadn’t felt him spill his thick load inside of you, the look of pleasure on his face would’ve been an indicator he was finishing. You’d never seen something so hot in your life, and mentally you took a little polaroid of the sight. He pumped into you a couple more times before pulling out and collapsing on his bed beside you.
You both laid there for a minute catching your breath, drenched in sweat and reeking of sex. Bucky was on his back and you on your side, tracing the outline of his abs with your finger.
‘Are you sure you needed fixing?’ you giggled.
He placed a hand on his heart. ‘Honest. Couldn’t finish without you. Thought my cock was broken.’
‘I can confirm your cock works fine.’
‘Just fine?’ he feigned offence.
‘More than fine. I’m officially dickmatized.’
‘You’re what?’
You sighed. ‘I’m not even gonna try to explain. Let’s just say you’ve ruined me for anyone else.’
His eyes raked over you, from your pussy dripping with his cum, to your perfect tits, to your flushed face. How did he get so lucky? He wondered, but couldn’t come up with an answer in his exhausted state. It was safe to say you’d ruined him for anyone else too.
Tags: soft!bucky, fem!reader, fluff, established relationship, reader is drunk, no use of yn, petnames, reader wears makeup, loverboy bucky, both of them are down horrendous
Summary: It’s hard to conceal your affections when you’re drunk. Luckily, your boyfriend is just as afflicted.
Word count: 0.7k
── .✦
There's a big, beautiful man leaning over you, and he's got his warm paw of a hand cupped to your cheek.
His eyes are so blue. Like a slice of the sky, ringed by thick lashes—piercing. Focused. Your bones turn to noodles, palms slipping on the sheets, your back meeting the stack of pillows behind you.
Bucky's brows gather into a frown, but it's not a serious one. It easily collapses, wrinkles giving way to the smallest upward tick of his mouth.
"'S'the matter, Sergeant?" You slur, wriggling your legs around until you can get them around his hips, knees pressed to either side of his waist.
Bucky lets out a small breath, half sigh as he grabs one of your thighs. "Stay still, I need you to stay still. Can you stay still?"
"I dunno, can I?" You laugh. You don't really know what's funny. He's just too pretty and the cotton pad he's pressing to your cheek is too cold and you're too drunk and oh, he's just… dreamy. Yours. You swoon, a flush warming your face as you tilt your chin up and tug him down, closer, to brush your lips against his.
Soft. The prickle of his stubble sends shivers all over your spine, goosebumps littering your skin. Bucky rubs a soothing hand over them.
"Doll," he murmurs, flush against your mouth, "let me just finish this."
"Why?" You mumble.
"'Cause you'll be real fucking mad at me in the morning if I let you sleep with your makeup on. Come on, it'll just take a second, yeah?"
You huff but close your eyes nonetheless.
"Good girl," he murmurs, "thank you."
Heat bubbles through you. Bucky starts swiping the cotton pad over your eye, gently rubbing off your makeup; a cool brush of metal sweeps absently over your waist, through your clothes. All of it pools in your stomach, a burst of butterflies sweeping through, making you squirm back onto the pillows. You can feel the soft puffs of his breath on your face.
"You can't be like this," you say lamentingly.
"Like what?"
"Pretty." You sigh. "And polite and perfect and—"
"Wow, that's an alliteration." You can hear the dry smile in his voice. He laughs, and it wafts over your cheekbone. "Impressive. Go on, sweetheart."
Your eyes flutter open, disturbing his work. So close, he's so close. Barely, you manage to stumble out, "P-annoying."
Bucky shakes his head, tiny smile tugging at his mouth. "Now that's a lie," he says, saccharine sweet, drawled low next to your ear. God almighty. You melt.
It's unfair it's unfair it's unfair—
"James," you mumble, half sigh.
He perks up, dog with a bone, always when you say his name. The skin beside his eyes goes wrinkly, crows feet digging in. "Yeah, hon."
"I like you too much."
Your only salvation is his small, shyish smile, a flash of red darting over his cheeks and ears. The color deepens as he ducks his head, and something tumbles in your chest, an aching, aching fondness.
You're a desperately weak human being.
James manages to compose himself. It thrills you more than you can admit; his hand trails up your side, squeezes, then he's back to swiping the makeup off your face.
You're starting to regret all the glitter.
"I like you too much," he says softly, "so we're in the same boat, I think." You sit in the quiet dark for a little, then: "How much is too much?"
Your lips tug. "Now you're just fishing, Barnes."
"No," he promises, and it's so close to your mouth that he takes it, presses a slow, sweet kiss that has your knees skirting up his sides. He's hard and firm against you, all heat, and you feel like a helpless feather blown away in a breeze. "I'm just trying to figure out if I'm in any danger."
Your fingers tangle in his hair. "I think you are, Sarge," you whisper, matching his tone. His stubble grazes your cheek, and you nuzzle a kiss onto his scruffy jaw. "Think I am, too."
"'S'not so bad, is it?"
His voice rumbles through your skin, low, honey poured over gravel. You tug at the silky strands between your fingers, use them to bring his cheek closer to your lips.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ training with Bucky — by: me @strkylvr <3
────୨ৎ────
you were just done with training, until bucky walked in. he always did, and always demanded for more. especially from you.
“get up.”
he commanded patiently.
“we’ve got work to do.”
you sighed, you couldn’t say no to him, nobody said no to him…but you _couldn’t_.
training with him wasn’t easy.
there was always something wrong with you, if it wasn’t your posture it was your pace, or maybe you were too tired that day, maybe too aggressive even.
there was always something wrong about you that made you stay in that room with him longer thank you thought, but not longer than you wished to.
“you’ve been too much today. let’s do less, next time.”
you sighed.
of course.
“no.”
he suddenly said, stern and sarcastic, as always.
“you don’t get to give me that attitude.”
your eyebrows raised and your smile dropped.
bucky grinned.
a dry chuckle.
he slowly turned all of his attention towards you and placed himself right in front of your eyes.
“yes sir, are the words you’re looking for, sweetheart.”
you stayed silent.
he placed a hand on your shoulder, that slowly traveled north until it reached your lips.
“say it, with that pretty mouth of yours.”
“yes, sir.”
you repeated, unsure of what you just got yourself into.
authors notes: i wrote this in the first heatwave...and then it never ended and i'm on the verge of dying x (bucky barnes come save me 😔) idk, this is just kinda silly and i'm okay with that, honestly.
(stuck this in my drafts weeks ago and my writing situation has been so dire i’ve had to pull it out the backrooms so pls bear with)
warnings: bucky jokes about being better than everyone else (he kinda is let's be real here), a whole load of silliness and the worlds most inaccurate description of how his arm words
word count: 745
masterlist!
thinking about bucky barnes who runs warm naturally—we all know that—but during the heatwave? he turns into a human furnace that you're supposed to live with and there's no amount of ac that was going to save you—until he realises that his arm can go in more than just the dishwasher.
you'd been strewn across the couch for hours in as little clothes as possible, literally the thinnest shirt you own and a pair of pyjama shorts—neither of them match because you'd lost the put togetherness required for that two days ago—and bucky?
he'd been banished to the armchair in the corner because he's radiating enough heat to power a small country somewhere. and the worst part is that he doesn't even have a hair out of place, not a single bead of sweat running down his forehead or anything. he actually looked like he was enjoying it.
not to mention he looked hot, not temperature hot but physically. there was something about him in shorts, which his thighs were threatening to burst out of, that drove you feral. like on your knees, loving life kind of feral.
or it would have done, under normal circumstances. but the heat had fried it out of your brain.
"i hate you." you groaned as you pushed yourself up, reaching for your water off the table that was probably lukewarm by now. "c'mon, baby, that's not fair. you can't hate me because my body regulates itself better than yours. it's just natural selec—hey!" he caught the pillow you threw at him with the exact level of precision you'd expect from the former winter soldier, which only served to annoy you even further. "i'd like to argue the fact that it's not natural if it came out of a bottle."
"fair argument, you can have that one. still doing better than you, though." he grinned as he got up from the chair, hovering over you menacingly. "bucky, baby, love of my life, if you breathe on me then i'm filing for divorce, if that arm comes near me then i'm double divorcing you. i love you, i will always love you, but i'm drawing a line."
even though it was the coolest part of him, it felt like the bionic equivalent of the inside of a car that had been left to stand in the sun all day and he enjoyed every second of trying to terrorise you with it.
"oh, c'mon. i got a few tricks up my sleeve, pun intended." he chuckled as he sat down on the edge of the couch, earning him a very pointed glare. "i'm serious, just trust me. you do trust me, right?" you did, obviously, even if he was making you regret some of that right now. "yeah, guess i do."
you inhaled sharply as his metal hand slipped under your t-shirt, waiting for the warmth, only to be met with the complete opposite.
it was cold.
not just kind of cold or less warm than it had been, but ice cold.
a soft sigh left your lips before you could stop it, your eyes fluttering shut as your head tipped back against the cushions. it felt like heaven, freezing cold heaven that only you were getting. "i figured that if it's dishwasher proof, the freezer couldn't do it much harm." he murmured as he traced lazy patterns against overheated skin, revelling in each reaction that he pulled from you. "i guess it worked. this is the first time all week that you haven't threatened to kill me for blinking in your direction, let alone breathing.."
you groaned softly as your brain flooded with every time you'd snapped or almost snapped at him this week, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment this time. "i'm sorry that i was a bitch to you, it wasn't me, it was the heat. and the fact you're really warm and you look like sin wrapped up in tight shorts, and it's not fair." you huffed as you cracked an eye open enough to peek up at him. he rolled his eyes at your excuse, knowing full well that you didn't mean it either way. "you're right sweetheart, it's completely unfair that i'm just better than you."
you groaned loudly, letting your head tip back further into the cushions. "in my head i just threw something at you."
"and in my head, i dodged it. told you, i'm just better."
. ୨୧ ݁ ꒰ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 ⊹ . bucky x fem!reader. minors are prohibited from interacting.
𝔀arnings 18+ : cockwarming, no use of y/n, edging, size kink, dom!bucky, intimate sex, praise kink, established relationship, dirty talk
𝓪uthor’s 𝓷ote : ohhhh cockwarming with buckyyy 🤤🤤🤤🤤 we all need that big d....
The safehouse was quiet except for the low hum of the old radiator and the occasional creak of the floorboards under their weight. Rain pattered against the window, casting shifting shadows across the dim room. Bucky Barnes had been watching you for the past hour, ever since you’d curled up against him on the threadbare couch under the pretense of watching some old black-and-white movie neither of you cared about.
You’d started it innocently enough: shifting closer, letting your thigh press against his. Then your hand had wandered, tracing idle patterns over his chest through his worn Henley. Bucky’s jaw had tightened, his metal fingers flexing where they rested on your hip, but he hadn’t stopped you. Not yet.
“You’re playin’ with fire, doll,” he finally murmured, voice low and rough, that Brooklyn accent thicker when he was trying to stay in control. His blue eyes flicked down to where your fingers were now brushing dangerously close to the growing bulge in his jeans. “Been a long mission. You keep teasing like that and I won’t be gentle.”
You smiled up at him, biting your lip. “Who said I want gentle, Buck?”
That was all it took. In one smooth motion, he pulled you into his lap so you were straddling him, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. His hands, warm flesh on one side, cool vibranium on the other, settled on your waist, holding you firmly in place. He didn’t kiss you right away. Instead, he let the tension build, staring at you with that intense, almost predatory focus he got when the soldier side of him stirred.
His thumbs slipped under the hem of your shirt, slowly pushing the fabric up. Inch by inch, he exposed your skin to the cool air, tracing the line of your ribs, the curve of your waist. When he finally tugged the shirt over your head and tossed it aside, he leaned in, lips brushing just below your ear.
“Been thinking about this,” he confessed quietly. “About how warm and tight you get for me. How you squeeze around my cock like you never want me to leave.”
You shivered at his words, grinding down against the hard ridge of him through his jeans. Bucky hissed, his grip tightening. He let you rock against him for a few long moments, building that delicious friction, but every time you tried to speed up he held you still.
“Easy,” he murmured, voice dropping into a low rumble. “You’ve been teasing me for an hour, doll. Now it’s my turn. We’re doing this my way… slow.”
He finally kissed you, slow at first, almost lazy, his mouth claiming yours with patient thoroughness. His tongue teased yours, tasting, exploring, while one hand slid up your back to unhook your bra. The cool metal of his left hand made your nipples harden instantly as he cupped your breasts, rolling them gently, then pinching just hard enough to draw a whimper from you.
Bucky smiled against your lips. “So sensitive tonight.” He dipped his head, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, until his mouth closed over one nipple. He sucked slowly, tongue swirling, while his other hand worked your other breast. The contrast between hot mouth and cool metal fingers had you arching into him, grinding harder against his lap.
Your hands fumbled with his shirt, desperate to feel skin. He let you pull it off, revealing the scarred, muscled torso you loved, metal plates glinting in the low light. You ran your palms over his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart, then lower, tracing the sharp V of his hips until you reached the button of his jeans.
He caught your wrist. “Slow,” he reminded you, voice husky. “We’ve got time.”
But he did let you open his jeans. You pushed them down just enough to free him. Bucky’s cock sprang out, thick, heavy, flushed dark at the tip and already glistening with pre-cum. It was big, intimidatingly so, the veined length curving slightly upward. You wrapped your hand around as much of it as you could, stroking slowly from base to head, feeling him throb in your palm.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he groaned, head falling back against the couch. His hips twitched once, but he stayed in control, letting you explore him. You pumped him leisurely, thumb swiping over the sensitive head, spreading the slickness. Bucky’s breathing grew ragged, his metal hand sliding into your hair to guide your mouth to his for another deep kiss.
Minutes stretched like that, kissing, touching, teasing. He worked your shorts and panties down your thighs, fingers dipping between your legs to find you soaked. Two thick fingers circled your clit with maddening slowness, then dipped inside, curling just right while his thumb kept up the pressure. He brought you right to the edge, then eased off, again and again, until you were trembling and begging against his mouth.
“Please, Bucky… need you.”
He pulled his fingers free and brought them to his lips, tasting you with a low hum. Then he lifted you slightly, positioning the thick head of his cock at your entrance. He rubbed it up and down your slit, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.
“Look at me,” he ordered softly.
Your eyes locked with his as he finally started to push in.
The stretch was exquisite, slow, deliberate, every inch forcing you open wider around his girth. Bucky’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking as he fought the urge to thrust up hard. “So fucking tight… that’s it, take it all.”
You sank down onto him gradually, whimpering at the fullness. When he was finally buried to the hilt, your ass flush against his thighs, he wrapped both arms around you and pulled you tight to his chest. No thrusting. Just deep, complete connection.
“There we go,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just keep me warm, doll. Feel how deep I am? How full you are?”
His cock twitched inside you, heavy and hot, the veins pulsing against your walls. You clenched around him involuntarily and he groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest. His hands stroked your back, your sides, your thighs, gentle soothing touches that contrasted with the filthy fullness between your legs.
Time slowed. The rain continued outside. Bucky stayed perfectly still except for the occasional lazy roll of his hips that pressed him impossibly deeper, nudging against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. He whispered praises and filthy promises against your skin:
“Such a good girl, keeping my big dick warm like this.”
“Could stay buried in this perfect pussy for hours.”
“Feel me throbbing? That’s all for you.”
Your body relaxed into his, every nerve alight with the constant, overwhelming sensation of being stretched and filled. Every small shift made you both gasp. His metal hand traced patterns on your lower back while his flesh hand tangled in your hair.
When you eventually started to squirm, desperate for more friction, Bucky held you firmly in place. “Uh-uh, doll. Don’t move.” He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your neck, then another, savoring the way you fluttered and clenched around his cock. “You wanted this slow… so that’s what you’re getting. I’m not moving until I decide you’re ready.”
TAGS➝ inspired by you are in love (taylor swift); songfic but not really?; sort of tower fic; soft; implied smut; angst; nicknames (doll, baby, sweetheart, honey); references to dr. strange 2
READER NOTES➝ gn!reader (let me know if it isn’t so i can fix it)
AUTHOR NOTES➝ i have no idea how to write songfics, but the themes in this are close to my heart, and you are in love is one of my favorite taylor songs EVER. i hope i did it justice! 🩵
The lights in the bar are dim. The crowd is noisy. It’s the kind of place that has sticky floors and good enough vibes to ignore them; a place that celebrates and mourns every tick of the minute hand.
Nothing could stop life from messily oozing out every breath in these four walls. Not even the larger-than-life presence of Earth’s mightiest heroes.
After the difficult mission they just completed, their first order of business is to feel something.
You’re surprised you’re here, an agent tagging alongside others who are admittedly more familiar with this environment. But Natasha and free cocktails are enough to persuade you. Before long, you’re on your fourth drink (or is it fifth? They’re surprisingly delicious), tracing people’s silhouettes to pass the time, trading the health of your eardrums to do so.
Everyone is outlined with red neon.
The bass thumps louder than your heart. It reverberates in your chest, almost replacing the organ entirely with song. There’s smoke emanating from a corner that paints the scene with ethereality you’ve only seen in blurry pictures from yesteryear.
As your eyes sweep across the room, you realize you’re not the only introvert who’s people-watching.
Person-watching would be more accurate: Bucky’s gaze catches yours all the way from the counter where he sits, like it usually does. Somehow it always does. His staring problem is for everyone, but that look is intended for you and you alone.
Around him are Sam, Steve, and a boisterous Thor, who gestures like he’s challenging everyone to one drinking game or another. As if the God of Thunder needed more booze in his system—regular alcohol barely works on him, and he’s loud enough as is.
Bucky, on the other hand.
Quiet, brooding Bucky looks handsome tonight, with or without the sensuous light: leather jacket, boots, metal hand coiled around a whisky glass. The devilish red that casts a glow over the room should be polluting his blue eyes, but they remain brilliantly clear as they pin you to the wall. Like he’s amused to see you rooted there.
You look back from the rim of your glass and take a sip.
Something in his face softens. Enough that you can tell, even from this distance.
Then a second later, you’re stolen by Natasha’s hand around your wrist. She leads you to the dance floor.
You’re not sober enough to say no.
The ground under your boots is sticky, and the air is thick with sweat, heavy with unthinking optimism.
Strange, because in the heavy throng of limbs, every part of you feels light as a feather—save for your chest. You don’t know if it’s your wild heart or the bassline it has melded with, but something within that godforsaken cavity tugs you to where your feet aren’t.
It leads your eyes to the bar where he is.
Where he watches you.
You don’t look his way again for the rest of the night.
Because it’s—he’s—a little too much to handle for the fragile organ caged by your ribs. Unlike him, you’re sure the alcohol has begun to influence your faculties, threatening your stoic mask to reveal something honest—and because honesty is the weak link in a professional spy’s chains, you avoid him.
Another drink is placed in your hand. Nat.
Time starts tunneling around your conscious by the time you down it.
Before long, the dance floor suffocates, the voices grate, and you awkwardly weave your way towards the exit for some air. Sobriety marks every step.
By the time you’re outside, everything’s muffled, and you feel the ring of silence in your ear for the first time in hours. Breathing in the cold air kind of stings, but it’s nice. It’s refreshing.
It’s peaceful.
You count your heartbeat to ground yourself to the peace you shed blood for.
Bucky makes himself known to you on count twenty-two.
“You alright?”
His voice cuts the silence. There’s concern in it. You turn to see him look at you, hovering in front of the doorway, and briefly wonder what you look like in his eyes.
“Tipsy and a little overstimulated,” the words tumble out, measured, but unplanned. There’s that honesty you tried so hard to evade, except you don’t feel like you’re out of control. The sensation is subtle. Realizing it isn’t.
Deep down, you’re okay with the truth—because it’s Bucky you’re telling the truth to.
And because it’s him who’s out here with you, of course he has your coat in a grip. He’s already wrapping the wool of it around your shoulders.
You look down, feeling the hem brush over your clothed thigh. The fabric almost moves in slow motion.
“Thanks, Bucky.” You slip your arms in the sleeves.
Without being asked to, he’s buttoning it up for you.
You struggle to recall the day the ice broke between you and him. For as long as you can remember, he’s always been kind to you, even if he’s quiet about it. Almost like he’d prefer to be a hidden hand, someone who takes care of things from the backstage, needing no reward nor recognition: a cup of coffee the way you like it, a hand pulling you up from the training mat, the warmth of a blanket when you wake in the common room, unaware that you even fell asleep.
It used to be a poorly kept secret. Now he’s being kind to your face.
Bucky’s fingers work deftly at the front of your coat, clasping three buttons down your chest—enough to keep you warm for the time being.
If the night had shadows, his would fall on you with how close he’s standing. You’re allowed a few seconds to admire the length of his lashes. It’s unfair how beautiful he is.
The thought reinforces itself when those blue eyes look back up at you.
“You’re welcome.”
He says your name like it means something. Or perhaps everything.
The feeling that comes after is split-second, crystal clear: you don’t want him to leave, not yet. So you open your mouth, hoping for him to linger, to replace the warm buzz in your system with something more potent—his attention.
His fingers fix your sleeve. It says the same want in your veins out loud, translated differently.
You smile. “Bet you aren’t drunk at all.”
He smiles back. “They tried.”
There’s a lie in the easy lilt of his voice. His eyes are glazed with a layer you’re all too familiar with. Intoxication. Not the kind induced by alcohol—he’s basically immune, thanks to the serum.
Maybe it’s whatever Thor had. You buy time. If you don’t know what he’s drunk on, at least you get to watch him a little longer.
“You know, Bucky, I’m surprised you’re even here.”
The single, soft huff of a laugh he lets out is so boyish, his face appears a decade younger. You think he looks more like the pictures they show at the Smithsonian: not free of his own share of cares, but carefree in his own way.
Innocent, almost.
Then the chuckle dies down. He looks at you like you hurt him, and a twinge captures your chest.
His thumb brushes your cheek and you stop breathing.
You swallow instead. His eyes catch your throat move.
The rest of his hand, large and callused, cups your jaw, gently directing you to keep looking up at him—to keep looking at him.
“I’m here because you are, doll.”
The small ‘oh’ of realization is hitched on his cheek.
What happens next isn’t a surprise, but your heart hammers loudly anyway.
He slants his face over yours, fast in closing the distance, but slow when he actually kisses you. He hovers an inch away for one second, two, then three—prolonging the final moments of not knowing your taste—before he gives everything up.
Capitulation comes after one shared breath, bated and stolen just as he slots himself into you.
You welcome him and this moment that’s long been part of your dreams, hands snaking up his arms. He wraps them around you, the hand on your face sliding to the back of your head as if counteracting an escape. Why he thinks you’d run, you don’t know. The tips of your boots scrape his.
He pulls away with a soft sound that has your lashes fluttering, and your body shivers in protest at the loss of him, but then he’s on you again.
Deeper this time. You return it equally.
When you steal a breath, it’s with a relief that echoes a Quinjet ride ago: the two of you were crouched behind a concrete wall waiting for the rain of bullets to die down. He held you close while frantically scanning your person, eyes darting from one vital point to another, making sure you’re okay you’re not hurt you’re alive—all things he didn’t say out loud.
The relief of kissing him is double what you felt coming out of that battle alive. The relief of him kissing you back is a hundred times more.
You sigh his name. It pulls a sound from his chest, something ragged that gets poured right into your mouth.
His fingers in your hair card deeper. You tiptoe into him. He holds you closer, steadying you.
While your lips lock again and again, you faintly register his fingers drawing shapes on your neck. You do the same. The lines don’t make sense. Just strokes that spell desperation, like a poor attempt at signing your lives away to each other.
The sidewalk is your only witness.
Around the precarious dance that is a relationship, there is a veil. It keeps people within it safe from pain, content with shallow affection, while those who pass through it are rewarded with a burning bounty of a lifetime.
For you and Bucky, it takes time for the veil to lift.
But time is a funny thing—stretching around moments, making them last longer than they should, then racing like the wind when it feels like it.
It’s been months since you last wore your own clothes to bed. Months since he first brought it up, never to speak of it again.
You look good in his t-shirt.
Since that night at the bar, you rediscover how attractive he is: not just in the devastation of watching his form lean against a doorway, or in the cyclical metamorphoses of his hair, but also in the absolute pull when he’s around. It’s what attractive means, isn’t it? And how natural it is to be swept away by the gravity of him—like a wave to his shores.
Thankfully he’s no different. Constantly circling around you when there’s more than enough room in the kitchen, fingers brushing yours in the simple pass of a coffee cup.
The dance turns into a spin soon enough. Its centrifuge glues you together.
Limbs tangle in the dark, repeating the same dance under bedsheets and morning light. He whispers honeyed words into your ear while you say his name and monosyllabic words. More. Please. Yes. He eats them up one by one, tongue in your mouth, before moving to some other place that drools just as much.
Your body isn’t really yours anymore by the time hipbones kiss—but you’re happy to surrender it to him.
The hands that ruin you also put you back together with the help of warm, running water. They make you toast the morning after. It turns out a little burnt. You tease him about it.
What you get is the most earnest look on his face when he says: “You’re so distracting.”
Time spent with him teaches you of a force that was once foreign. It’s the same one that drives poets to ink and paper. The same one that keeps the two of you answering battle calls.
Somewhere along the way, the reason you risk your lives is whittled down into a singular point: each other.
It doesn’t matter what kind of fight it is—the kind with bullets or with words. You and Bucky will always end up side-by-side, breathing shared air. Air that reminds you where you are, why you are.
Repaired. Alive. Together.
It’s always these vulnerable moments that fuse your souls.
You like sharing a bed with him. It’s where you exchange pasts in whispers. Hold hands in the darkness. Look up at the ceiling and pretend you’re stargazing, what with how small you feel when faced with a primordial thing that’s doomed many who dared seek it.
The emotion hangs heavy in the space between your bodies—even if there isn’t much.
Even if it’s just four letters wide.
He murmurs into your cheek one night.
“…you’re my best friend.”
A pang hits you between your breastbone, so clean and unmistakable you almost gasp.
Instead, you squeeze the hand that wraps around your naked waist.
“Steve would be pissed if he heard that,” you hum.
He smiles, face in front of yours, gaze lingering on your features like he doesn’t have them memorized already. You feel warmth without touch: on your cheek, your nose, your lips.
Then he looks up, and you see eye to eye.
There’s never a time when you’re not on the same page, and tonight’s the same.
It just feels different.
Tonight, you’re bound by ink carved on a line. It writes out that four-letter word and closes the gap between you forever.
Neither of you say it. Neither of you have to.
The gunshot is strangely quiet.
You don’t hear the shouts, or his body hitting the ground.
Like a movie that’s lost its sound, everything is silenced when your eyes widen at the scene: he’s ten feet in front of you, falling backwards at the impact of a bullet that sinks right into his chest.
Except it’s not a movie. It’s real. The threat is known to everyone on that battlefield, screamed through the comms. Comms that you’re connected to—that he’s connected to.
He just decided to put himself in front of you.
There’s no ringing in your ear, no rapid pump of your heart. Just dust and a growing hole in the bottom of your gut as you leap towards him despite your weak legs. Your lips part, but there’s no scream. No words.
Not yet, at least. Not until you fall on your knees next to him, hand on his chest—peeling it away, you see blood.
Blood that should’ve been yours.
Your eyes lock. His begin to close.
Then the words spill.
“Bucky, baby, look at me, look at me—” you choke, putting pressure on the wound.
Life doesn’t stop gushing from under your palm. The comms blare—Sam, Nat, everyone—but despite being in your ear, they all sound so far away.
Bucky’s head sways to look at you. You don’t like the effort in that small movement: like he’s giving everything to show you he’s listening.
You scream for a medic. You don’t recognize your own voice.
“Hey,” he husks, the complete opposite of your desperation, too weak to be a good sign.
It sounds like acceptance.
Your vision cuts to a Bucky in the same position, bathed in blue. Laid down the same way in front of you, except he was on your lap: a scene from some morning that feels far away. The Bucky in your memory moves his lips—his voice carries the same kind of rasp as waking up…
Morning, sweetheart.
…or going to sleep.
“It’s okay—” he continues, but the tail end of it is sputtered out and your breath stops, too. Unlike the blood that still trickles out of him. The warmth sends a chill in your soul.
There’s wetness dripping onto his dirt-marred tac suit, darkening the Kevlar.
One drop, then two.
You only realize you’re crying when he thumbs at your cheek.
Again, your consciousness shocks you.
It pulls you further back this time: to a cold night, a sidewalk outside a certain bar.
He touched your cheek that night. Just like this. It was the first time he ever did it.
The first time he kissed you.
“No,” you shake your head, voice cracked. “No, you can’t, you don’t get to—”
He smiles up at you, but you barely see him past the tears. His hand—the flesh one that’s shaky and turning cold—cups your jaw.
You hold it there.
He buttoned your coat with these fingers.
“I love you,” he rasps. His breath sounds thin. “I’m sorry it took this long.”
“I love you, too,” you cry, “so much, Bucky, d-don’t—you’ll get to say it again, please—”
He shakes his head. In defiance, you kiss him once, then pull away…
…just as he mouths those three words again. Voiceless this time.
His blue eyes slowly grow cold, but the smile doesn’t fade.
As if he wants to keep looking at you, even if he’s dead.
Time won’t fly. It keeps you hostage, paralyzed, feet frozen while the rest of the world moved past you.
Before long, you’ve lost him longer than you had him.
When the month of his passing rolls around, you realize just how much pain you’re feeling.
It starts right as you wake. The first deep breath doesn’t relieve you. Neither does the second.
You step out to the kitchen and smell toast. Burnt. Three seconds later, you realize it’s just a figment of your imagination.
You haven’t made toast in a long time. Not since the sight of bread sitting on the kitchen counter tricked you into thinking he was home: how silly, the way your knees lost their strength when you remembered, how you broke down on the tiled floors right then and there.
It’s never really quiet anymore. You swear you hear his voice. The sound of his laugh after every joke made with the hopes of lifting your spirits.
Sometimes, when you’re on the way home, you think he’d be there.
You’d open the door, and he’d immediately launch into a complaint about running out of detergent so soon after the last grocery run. Halfway through the rant, he’d pause, and really look at you. Then he’d scoop you in his arms, kissing you: one peck on each cheek, then a big one on your lips.
“But I’m okay now. My baby’s here.”
Sleeping with the night light on makes you think he’s sitting next to you, reading. You threw the thing away immediately.
A million nights after, alone in the darkest dark, you still see his eyes.
You close yours. Sleep comes eventually, but not before the tears.
You wake up with an aching, hissed-in breath.
The sheets are warm, much warmer than you’re used to. In the daze of slowly dispelling slumber, your skin tingles, wondering if the heat is an oncoming fever or the morning weather being very unusual.
You feel a draft. It makes you realize that you’re no longer under the covers. The air gently kisses your bare shoulder and thigh.
There’s something different in the beat of your heart. It pulses in your ear. Steady. Healthy. Like it’s ready to take on the day instead of encumbered by it before it even began.
Then your next inhale doesn’t hurt, and you know something is different.
“Morning.”
His rasp widens your eyes, and you turn to see his.
Blue, but warm. Awake.
Alive.
The sight of him hits you like a mallet on a bell: the first pang hurts the most, but the pain doesn’t stop echoing. Its impact is unending, witnessing his smile like this. Like nothing ever happened to him. Like he never stopped breathing.
Waves of emotion course through you unrelentingly, one feeling after another. Disbelief, longing, relief that cycles back to the shock of him—until you realize the sheets under your head is damp with tears, and Bucky looks at you with concern wrapped in softness.
“Hey, hey, what happened?”
He takes you into his arms like he has a million times before, yet you melt like it’s the first. The tears seep into the edges of his white tank top, near his collarbones. You don’t care. He doesn’t seem to mind. Never did. Instead, he coaxes your head closer to his body with a large palm and strokes your hair, cooing sweet words at you.
“Ssh. It’s okay, honey, you’re okay.”
It takes a while, but when your choked sobs finally slow, his fingers cup your jaw, gently guiding them up to look at him.
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, baby?”
Your lips part. What’s wrong?
“Everything,” you breathed, and his brows knitted. The crease of it is like a familiar song. Unbidden, your fingers lift to trace its shape, his face, the parts of him you knew by heart until your heart was the only place he truly existed.
He tightens his hold on you.
Your whisper shakes even through his grounding touch.
“Bucky, you died.”
He doesn’t say anything. Not at first. Not until after you take him through the whole thing with barely-words that stutter the dream out loud: the mission that went sideways, the bullet that hit his chest, how you can still recall the sound of air that he struggled to keep when he finally said those three words.
Remembering makes you cry again, but he doesn’t stop you, just holds you through it. A large palm on your back draws calming circles, fighting against your body’s subtle tremors. Then a thumb on your cheek to wipe the tears away.
“—I was so scared, you were gone, you did it for me—and—” you choke, before swallowing a breath and willing your voice to stop trembling. “…I still am. I’m still so scared, Bucky.”
He kisses you before he speaks. Once on your brow bone, another on your crown, then three down your temple, cheek, and jaw. You count each one and memorize what the brush of his lips feels like.
You used to think he’d kiss you all the time. Now you know those kisses are numbered.
Just like his days are. And yours, too.
“You know,” he begins, as quiet as parting clouds, “it will happen one day.”
Death.
You look up at him. “That’s why I’m scared.”
Like he’s admitting a secret, he presses his words into your ear with another kiss.
“I’m scared, too.”
When you part, his eyes shine. The dawn begins to break. The sun’s first rays shine through the windows, illuminating him as though they owe him a personal favor to make him look even more beautiful.
And he does look more beautiful. You don’t know how that’s possible.
“But I love you,” he says, “more than I’m scared of losing you. That’s why we’re here. Together. Right?”
He is right. So you nod. He smiles, thumbing your lower lip. Then, with the innocence of a child and the touch of a lover, he asks:
“Say it back for me?”
And yet his mouth is already on yours. You close your eyes, returning the kiss. There’s no choice but to feed your reply into him.
“I love you, too, Bucky.”
An alarm blares, high-pitched and sharp, and you open your eyes.
You wake up for a second time.
There’s no warmth when you wake. No Bucky. Just the cold, hard reality that the morning slams you into.
But this time, you’re not numb to it.
You cry.
You’ve dreamed of him too many times. Memories, mostly. That night you sat and stared at the sea together. Him walking around your room barefoot. A corny joke. His voice.
This time, it’s a dream with him, not just of him. A new scene designed to torture you, a fragment of what could have been.
Strange—the Sorcerer Supreme, not the adjective—told you about the cosmos once.
He talked about how it works. How, like a thread, it’s made up of much smaller fibers, infinite yet equally important to the whole. Many, but one. How each holds a reality—one that is as real as the one you’re living in.
How dreams are mirrors to your other lives in the multiverse.
He’s alive, your thoughts scream as you sob into your hands. Just not here. Not now. Not with you.
It’s been a long time since that bullet plunged into his heart and stopped it. Everyone’s already talked about him in past tense.
Everyone except you.
Because he’s not here anymore, but you hear him, see him, feel him.
warnings: 18+ MNDI. dirty talk, smut, p in v, nicknames (sweetheart, baby, etc), oral (m & f), fluff, kitchen sex, unprotected sex (wrap it don’t tap it), aftercare, cussing, breeding kink, condescending praise, bucky likes to tease, bdb (big dick bucky).
a/n: first real try at writing fanfiction + smut, please lmk if i forget any warnings and leave tips below. thank you! :)
all week you’ve been extra clingy towards bucky, and he didn’t know why. he thought you were just being extra lovey. but in reality, you were ovulating.
it was like your senses were heightened. you could smell him from a mile away, like a predator smelling its prey. he smelt amazing. his woodsy cologne, and something that was distinctly him.
you hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few nights due to wanting to tug his clothes off with your teeth, so you had laid down to take a nap.
as you started to wake up, you could hear slight noise from the kitchen. you rubbed your eyes and got out of bed, stretching with a soft groan. your feet padded along the wooden floors as you slowly entered the kitchen. bucky was in the kitchen, humming softly and putting groceries away.
you walked into the kitchen, squinting slightly due to the bright kitchen lights. bucky had heard you and turned around. his expression softened at your sleepy face. your hair all messy, his oversized tee that you stole from him hanging off your shoulder, swallowing your tiny frame.
“hi sweetheart,” he said softly, setting the groceries down and walking over to you.
“hi..” you mumbled, leaning into him.
you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and buried your face in his neck, inhaling deeply.
“how’d you sleep?” he asked, pulling back to move your hair out of your face.
“okay..” you mumbled, leaning into his touch.
his soft hands rubbing your cheekbones with his thumbs. you looked up at him and raked your eyes over his beefy body. his broad shoulders, his thick biceps straining the red henley he wore, his thick thighs against his dark blue jeans.
he could sense the hunger in your gaze, his hand tilting your chin up to look at him.
“what’s up baby.. what’re you thinking about?” he asked gently, slowly walking the both of you over to the couch.
you didn’t answer, you just started pressing kisses down his chest. you dropped to your knees, rubbing his meaty thighs with your small hands.
“baby..” he muttered, voice strained.
you slowly unzipped his jeans, the zipper the only sound other than his heavy breathing. his bulge strained against his boxers, leaking pre.
you kissed along his clothes length, inhaling softly, his musky scent turning you on. your slick is slowly dampening your underwear. you kept your eyes on him as you slowly tugged his boxers off, his hard length springing free. his tip, red and angry, leaking pre onto your hand as you rub your thumb over his slit.
“f-fuck baby..” he mutters, body shaking with anticipation.
your eyes locked with his as you started to kiss down the thick vein that lies on the underside of his shaft.
“d-don’t be a tease..” he whined, his metal hand pulling the hair out of your face.”
you took his tip between your lips, making out with it. you moaned as his salty taste met your tastebuds. the vibrations made him shudder, his hand tightening slightly in your hair.
you relaxed your throat to take him deeper, stroking whatever you can’t fit in your hand. you run your free hand up his chest and slowly scratch back down.
“s-shit baby… ‘m gonna come…” he whimpered, hips bucking as he chased his release.
with a soft grunt, he spilled his hot, sticky cum down your throat. you swallowed every last drop, moaning around him.
“fuuuuck..” he groaned, pulling you up to kiss him.
“mmm..” you moaned softly as he picked you up and placed you on the counter.
he kissed down your jaw and along your throat, tugging at the hem of your t-shirt. you tugged it over your head to reveal your soft breasts, nipples hard and peaked.
he latched onto your breast, licking and sucking on your hardened bud while teasing your panty line.
“b-buck…” you whined, hand tangling in his hair.
he switched to your other peak as he tugged your panties off, lifting your hips up to fully tug them off and toss them somewhere unknown.
his hand found your slick heat, warm and weeping for him.
“i barely even touched you and you’re already soaked… all this f’ me?” he muttered against your chest, his fingers slowly circling your pulsing clit.
you nodded, grinding desperately against his palm.
he slipped two fingers into you, instantly finding that spongey spot deep inside you.
your whines and whimpers fill the room, along with the wet squelching coming from your cunt.
“you close baby?” he muttered against your neck, leaving marks all over your skin.
“fuuuck yes bucky… mmm don’t stop-” a moan cut you off as you came all over his hand. your sticky release dripping down his wrist.
“yeahhh that’s it baby.. y’did such a good job.” bucky praised, helping you through your orgasm.
he slowly pulled his fingers out and brought them to your mouth, making you suck them clean. you moaned around them, pussy clenching around nothing.
“please.. i need you…” you whined around his fingers.
“awhh.. my poor baby. you need more?” he said teasingly. bucky was being so mean. :c
“y-yes… please..” you whined again, hips rolling, desperate for any possible friction.
“okay sweet girl.. breathe for me okay?” he muttered against your forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there.
he slid his angry, leaking tip against your weeping entrance, groaning softly at how wet you truly were. he slid in with a groan, burying himself to the hilt.
“j-jesus baby, you’re so tight… made just f’me yeah?” he moans, sitting still so you can adjust to the giant stretch he creates.
“bucky… i- you’re so big.. m-move please..” you whined out, your hips shifting against his.
he slowly starts to move, letting you get used to the sheer size of him while also trying not to blow is load like a teenager.
you were already close. all week you’ve been trying not slam him against the wall and fuck yourself onto him. your moans grow louder and louder as that little coil low in your belly starts to tighten. you felt like a windup toy. the more he gave you, the closer you were to exploding.
as a steady rhythm sets in, your nails drag down his back, leaving red, stinging marks in their wake.
“christ..” bucky hisses. you weren’t sure if it was in pain or pleasure, but you were too hot and horny to care.
bucky’s face is buried in the crook of your neck, leaving big, purple hickeys that you’re definitely gonna have to cover up with concealer tomorrow.
his flesh hand wrapped around your hip, rubbing small circles with his thumb, surprisingly gentle compared to the way he’s pounding into your little hole. his metal arm rested behind your neck, holding your head up and keeping himself steady.
“s-shit baby.. buck please… don’t stop,” you whine into his ear, hands tangling in his hair.
“you close sweetheart?” he mumbles, lifting his chest to look at you.
the sight before his eyes was ethereal. your hair fanned out across the bedsheets, baby hairs stuck to your forehead. your eyes glazed over with lust, your pretty lips letting out the most beautiful moans. it took everything in him to not paint your insides white right then and there.
“mmngh.. fuckk- i- i’m” gon-” your moan cut you off. pure bliss ran through your body as your orgasm struck through you like lightning. your thighs shook, your hands gripped onto bucky’s shoulders like he was the only thing you conscious.
he groaned and threw his head back, thrusting a few more times before he buried himself home and let his hot, sticky cum fill your womb, his tip kissing your cervix.
“that’s itttt… mmm there you go pretty, take it all.” bucky said with a cocky grin, brushing your hair out your face with his metal hand.
you both collapse into each other, breathing heavily in one anothers arms.
“baby..?” you mumble shyly, drawing small circles on his shoulders.
he lifts his head to look at you, noticing that you’re looking anywhere but in his eyes.
“is my princess shy?” he says softly, tilting your chin gently to make you look him in the eyes. he smiled, admiring your soft, fucked out face.
you got shy again, so you hugged him tightly.
he hugged you back, inhaling deeply.
“i love you sweetheart.”
———————————————————————
do not feed my work into ai or plagiarize. all work is reserved to emsthoughtss.
Summary: A hug and kiss from Bucky can do wonders.
Word Count: Over 1k
Warnings: Established relationship, term of endearment (sweetheart), rough day, being tired, fluff, tenderness, protective vibes, Bucky's trauma referenced, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: I still don't have a lot of time to write, but I managed a little something. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Your life had been busy lately, but manageable. You wouldn’t say you were thriving, but you were surviving and that was enough for now. But today? It was a rough one. Nothing seemed to go your way. Not to mention, the weariness in your bones reminded you that you had to stop running on fumes.
You barely made it to the couch before you collapsed, groaning as you buried your face in the cushion. You only lifted your head to breathe and check your phone when it went off. A smile touched your lips when you sat that Bucky texted you.
No matter how rough the days were, your boyfriend was a bright spot.
“Barely heard from you today, sweetheart. You okay?”
Your heart sank when you scrolled through the chat. You usually sent him memes or gifs that you knew would make him laugh, along with sweet messages to let him know you were thinking of him. Today you hardly sent a thing with everything going on.
It was touching that he noticed something was off.
“Rough day. Sorry I worried you.”
You curled up with a yawn, the phone resting beside you.
“Just resting my eyes,” you mumbled.
You weren’t sure how much time had passed when the familiar rumble of a motorcycle engine cut through the quiet of your apartment, making you sit up slowly. Your heart fluttered, not needing to look out the window because you knew exactly who was there. One of your favorite people.
Bucky.
Your Bucky.
The sudden knock at the door sounded impatient as you stood up and stretched. You almost laughed when the knock continued, louder and more persistent. Maybe it was time to give him a key.
You barely got the door open before Bucky pushed his way inside, forcing you to step back as he kicked the door shut without taking his eyes off you. Your breath rushed out of your lungs when you looked him over. The sight of him in a leather jacket always did something to you.
But the crease between his brows pushed the excitement away.
“Bucky?” you asked.
A small sound left your mouth when he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against him. His other hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his hold protective and tender. It felt like your feet weren’t on the ground.
“I’m here,” he answered, his voice rough and low. “I’ve got you.”
You felt his heart beat against you steadily, grounding you as your fingers curled in his jacket. The scent of leather and cologne filled your nostrils as you took a deep breath. Your eyes burned suddenly when he held you tighter, almost like he was giving you permission to fall apart if you wanted to. It wasn’t just a hug.
It was exactly what you needed without realizing it.
“I’ve got you,” he said again, his lips touching your temple.
You didn’t break down, but you did sniffle.
“Today sucked,” you said, proud of yourself for not pouting.
It sounded ridiculous. Bucky had lived through years of torture, brainwashing and more. You hadn’t experienced even a tenth of the pain he endured and you were whining about-
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said sincerely, rubbing your back soothingly. He never invalidated your feelings. “I’ll listen if you wanna talk about it, or I can punch something or someone if it makes you feel better.”
You let out a watery laugh. “No punching,” you said, pulling back far enough to look at him. “Did you really speed all the way here because I said I had a rough day? I know you sped.”
“I may have.” The small smile on his face made you smile. “You tell me something like that and you think I won’t drop everything to get to you?”
Your heart skipped a beat. No other boyfriend dropped whatever they were doing to get to you in the past. But Bucky always managed to find ways to put you first. The male species could learn a thing or two from him.
“You were probably busy,” you guessed.
“Doesn’t matter. Nothing’s more important than you.”
Your eyes burned again, but you blinked the tears away. “Thank you.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “You don’t have to thank me for showing up,” he said, grasping your chin carefully. “Can I do one more thing?”
His mouth found yours before you finished nodding.
It wasn’t a rushed or hungry kiss. It was something warm and impossibly gentle, like the grip on your chin, a kind of kiss that resonated in your core. He deepened it, like he needed a reminder that you were real and safe as he comforted you.
It felt like love.
His forehead rested against yours when he broke the kiss. “Did that help at all?” he asked, his breath ghosting your lips and thumb stroking your chin.
“More than you know,” you murmured, leaning into him.
“Good.” He pressed another soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Did you eat?”
Your silence answered that question.
He sighed, not waiting for permission as he walked you backward toward your couch. “I’m ordering your favorite,” he said, pulling you onto his lap once he took a seat. His jacket was still on. “And I’m gonna hold you until it gets here, feed you if you let me, and do whatever you want for the rest of the night.”
You settled into him, your body truly relaxing this time. “Even watch a bad romcom?” you asked, still in awe of how much he wanted to take care of you.
He rested his chin on your shoulder. “If that’s what helps.”
“Getting a hug and kiss from you did wonders,” you said honestly.
Knowing that someone saw you made a world of difference.
“Wonders, huh? Didn’t know I was that powerful,” he teased, taking out his phone to order.
You giggled and titled your head a bit. “You didn’t tell me about your day.”
“I got to see you,” he said, smiling gently. “So it’s a good day.”
And being in Bucky’s arms made your day much better.
I know a hug and kiss from Bucky would help me, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
request: Bucky Barnes secretly dating reader who is also a folklorean force to be reckoned with. This could include the Thunderbolts or the avengers by @onlyreedz
warnings and tags: established secret relationship, enhanced reader not a mutant, set after Thunderbolts/ new avengerz, fluff, hurt comfort, minor injuries, reader has the power to manipulate nature over modern structures, grumpy x grumpy but in secret they are sweet to each other.
word count: 4.1k
bucky barnes masterlist main masterlist
The first time Bucky Barnes saw you, half of Central Park was trying to eat a man alive, and you were the one commanding it to do so. He had been walking the perimeter near the Sheep Meadow on a mission that had nothing to do with you, tailing a low-level arms courier for New York's newest crime syndicate, when the ground under his boots split apart with a sound like a building collapsing in slow motion. He had seen a lot of strange things in his long, strange life, but he had never seen a woman stand in the middle of a shattering sidewalk with her arms raised like a conductor, calling up root systems thick as tree trunks from underneath a hundred years of poured concrete. The villain in front of you, a self-styled enforcer named Grimshaw who had been terrorizing small business owners in the East Village for protection money, was screaming as ivy tore through the brickwork of a nearby comfort station and wrapped around his ankles, dragging him down into the earth like the park itself had decided he didn't belong there anymore.
Bucky had ducked behind an overturned hot dog cart, mostly out of old habit and the certainty that whatever was happening deserved a moment of careful observation before anyone got involved, and watched you work. You moved like you were furious and completely in control of that fury at the same time, snapping your fingers toward a subway grate and pulling ancient oak roots up through the metal slats as easily as another person might pull a weed from a garden bed. Grimshaw fired off two shots that never landed anywhere near you because the earth beneath his feet buckled at the exact moment he pulled the trigger, sending his aim wild into the canopy of a nearby elm. You didn't flinch. You didn't even look particularly impressed with yourself, which was somehow the thing that struck him most, because in his experience people with power like that usually wanted you to know it.
"You have got to be the dumbest man in the five boroughs," you had said to Grimshaw, your voice carrying easily across the churned-up grass and broken asphalt, "and that is a very competitive title, so congratulations." Root systems don't usually have expression, but the way the ivy tightened around the man's wrists as you spoke made it clear you meant every word. Bucky remembered thinking, with the kind of clarity that only comes from decades of combat instinct, that whoever you were, you were not someone he wanted to be on the wrong side of. He also remembered thinking, with far less clarity and far more confusion, that he wanted to know your name.
He didn't approach you that day. He told himself it wasn't his mission, that getting involved with an unregistered enhanced individual mid-fight wasn't smart tactically, and both of those things were technically true. What was also true, though he wouldn't admit it to himself for another three weeks, was that he had gone back to that same stretch of park five separate times hoping to see you again, and that when he finally did, standing at a hot dog cart of your own volition and looking significantly less like an urban disaster and significantly more like an actual person, he had walked directly toward you without any plan for what he'd say once he got there.
"You're staring," you said, not looking up from the mustard packet you were fighting with. "It's rude to stare at people who can make the sidewalk swallow you whole."
"I wasn't staring," Bucky said, which was a lie, and you both knew it was a lie, and neither of you acknowledged that fact out loud. "I was assessing whether or not you were a threat."
"After three weeks of assessing?" You finally looked up at him, and there was something sharp and amused in your expression that made his chest do something he hadn't felt in longer than he cared to admit. "You're either very thorough or very bad at your job, Sergeant Barnes."
The way you said his name, like you'd known it the whole time and had simply been waiting to see how long it would take him to make the first move, told him everything he needed to know about how observant you actually were. He should have been more careful. Instead he found himself sitting down at the bench beside you, arms crossed, doing his best impression of a man who was not enjoying himself even a little bit, and completely failing at it.
"You know who I am," he said.
"Everyone in this city knows who you are. You're not exactly subtle, what with the arm and the very obvious super-soldier posture." You took a bite of your hot dog and gestured at him with what remained of it. "I'm the one who's supposed to be surprised you know who I am, considering I don't exactly have a press team."
"Earth witch," he said, testing the words. "That's what people are calling you. Not pretty creative."
"People need names for things they don't understand," you said, shrugging in a way that suggested the nickname didn't much matter to you either way. "I just call it doing my job. This city's been paved over and poisoned and sold out from under itself for a hundred years, and somebody's got to remind it what it used to be underneath all that concrete."
He had expected arrogance from someone who could tear open a public park with a thought, or maybe the kind of performative heroism he'd seen plenty of from newer enhanced individuals eager to prove themselves. What he got instead was something quieter and more grounded, a woman who talked about her power the way a plumber might talk about pipes, like it was simply a tool she used to fix a problem that needed fixing. It disarmed him more than any of the things you'd done in the park ever could have.
"You could join the Avengers," he said. "People with abilities like yours usually get an invitation eventually."
"I got the invitation." You said it flatly, no bitterness in your voice, just fact. "Turned it down. I don't work well in groups, and I don't like being told which fights are worth having and which ones aren't. I fight the fights that need fighting, in the neighborhoods that actually need someone showing up, and I don't need a committee's permission to do it."
Bucky understood that better than you probably expected him to. He'd spent decades being told which fights were worth having by other people, first by Hydra and then, in gentler but no less complicated ways, by the Avengers and whatever version of the government currently claimed to be steering them. There was something deeply appealing about a person who had simply decided to opt out of all of it and do good on her own terms instead.
"I'm James," he said, which was as close to an offering as he knew how to make. "Most people call me Bucky."
"I know what most people call you." You smiled at him then, small and a little crooked, like you were letting him see something you didn't often show. "I'll figure out what I want to call you eventually. Come back to this bench in three weeks and maybe I'll tell you."
He came back the next day instead, and the day after that, and by the time three weeks had actually passed, he wasn't calling you by a nickname because you'd already given him something better: a phone number, scrawled on a napkin because you refused to use a stranger's phone to type it in yourself, along with the instruction that if he wasted your time, you'd make sure a very specific patch of sidewalk swallowed him whole.
Six months later, the two of you had settled into something that neither of you had a clean word for, mostly because neither of you were the kind of people who used words like boyfriend or girlfriend without feeling faintly ridiculous about it. What you had was quieter than that and, in its own way, sturdier: late nights at his apartment where you fell asleep on his couch with dirt still under your fingernails from wherever you'd been fighting that day, and mornings where he made you coffee exactly the way you liked it without ever having to ask because he'd paid enough attention to learn. In public, you were both closed off and prickly, two people who had learned the hard way that vulnerability got you hurt, and you carried that same wariness even around each other more often than either of you would like to admit. In private, the walls came down in a way that surprised you both every single time.
"You're doing the thing again," you said one night, watching him from the doorway of his bedroom as he sat on the edge of the bed cleaning his knife with the kind of mechanical focus that meant his mind was somewhere else entirely, probably somewhere seventy years in the past. "The thing where you go quiet and start acting like you're a hundred years old and made of stone."
"I am a hundred years old," he said, not looking up. "Give or take a decade in the ice."
"You know what I mean." You crossed the room and sat down beside him, close enough that your shoulder pressed against his, and after a moment he set the knife down and let his head drop against yours. "Talk to me, Barnes. That's the deal. You don't get to disappear into your own head when I'm right here."
"Had a mission today," he said quietly. "One of the old faces showed up. Didn't matter that I've spent years trying to be someone else. He looked at me and all he saw was the Winter Soldier."
You didn't offer him easy comfort, because you'd learned early on that easy comfort wasn't what he needed and wasn't what he wanted from you. Instead you reached over and took his metal hand in both of yours, tracing the seams of it with your fingers, something you did often enough that it had become its own kind of language between you. "That man doesn't get to decide who you are anymore," you said. "I've watched you pull kids out of collapsing buildings and sit with old veterans at the VA for hours because nobody else would listen to them. I've watched you learn how to make a decent cup of coffee just because I complained about the diner stuff one time. Whoever that guy saw today, it wasn't the man I know."
"You're stubborn," he murmured, but there was warmth in it now, the ice in his shoulders finally starting to thaw.
"You're one to talk," you said. "Grumpiest man in New York, and somehow I ended up the only person who gets to see you smile."
"That's because you're the only person worth smiling for," he said, and it came out rougher than he meant it to, like the words had cost him something to say out loud, which in a way they had. You leaned up and kissed him then, slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that didn't need to prove anything to anyone because there was no one else in the room to prove it to. It was, both of you had long since agreed without ever saying it directly, the safest either of you had felt in years.
The trouble was that the two of you were, by profession, extremely difficult people to keep secrets from, and eventually the universe decided that included keeping secrets from each other's respective circles of extremely nosy coworkers.
It started, as these things often do, with Yelena Belova noticing that Bucky Barnes had started smiling at his phone. This was, to Yelena's considerable irritation, completely unprecedented behavior, and she brought it up at the Thunderbolts' shared headquarters with all the subtlety of a woman who had never once in her life possessed subtlety.
"Barnes is smiling at his phone again," Yelena announced to the room at large, dropping into a chair across from where John Walker was cleaning his shield with far more diligence than the job actually required. "This is the third time this week. I am concerned. Maybe he has been compromised. Maybe someone has hacked his phone and is sending him propaganda."
"Or maybe," Ava Starr said without looking up from the tablet she was reading, her voice carrying that particular dry edge she reserved for moments when she found everyone else's confusion more entertaining than the actual mystery, "he's talking to a person. It happens. Even to grumpy assassins."
"Barnes doesn't talk to people," John Walker said, setting down his shield with the confidence of a man who had never once considered he might be wrong. "Barnes barely talks to us, and we work with him five days a week. You're telling me he's out there having secret conversations with someone he actually likes?"
"I am telling you nothing," Yelena said, "because I do not know, which is the entire problem. I am a spy. Not knowing things bothers me on a personal level."
Alexei Shostakov, who had been half-listening from the kitchen while attempting to make what he insisted was an authentic Russian breakfast and what everyone else insisted looked more like a science experiment, wandered into the conversation with a spatula still in hand. "You are all missing the obvious explanation," he said, gesturing broadly enough that a bit of egg flew off the spatula and landed somewhere near John's boot. "The Winter Soldier has found love. This is a beautiful thing. I, Alexei Shostakov, know love when I see it, because I have loved many times, and each time was very beautiful and very tragic."
"Nobody asked for your love life history, Alexei," Yelena said, though the corner of her mouth twitched in a way that suggested she found her adoptive father's dramatics at least somewhat entertaining, even if she'd never admit it.
Bob Reynolds, who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room with a book he wasn't really reading, finally spoke up in the soft, careful way he tended to talk when he wasn't sure his opinion was wanted. "I think it's kind of nice, actually," he said. "That he might have someone. Bucky always seems like he's carrying something heavy, and it would be good if he had someone who made that lighter." There was a brief pause after he said it, the kind of pause that happened whenever the team remembered exactly how much weight Bob himself carried, and how badly he understood the value of someone making it lighter.
"It is nice," Yelena said, more gently now, glancing toward Bob before turning her attention back to the group. "Which is why we are going to find out who it is, and then we are going to make sure they are good enough for him, because someone has to look out for the man, and clearly he is not going to volunteer the information himself."
"This is a terrible plan," Ava said, though she was already setting her tablet down, which everyone in the room correctly interpreted as agreement to participate.
"The best plans are always terrible," Yelena said. "That is what makes them work."
The reveal, when it happened, was not the result of Yelena's elaborate surveillance plan, which had involved three separate contingencies and one memorable incident where John Walker had tried to tail Bucky's motorcycle on a stolen city bike and nearly gotten hit by a delivery truck. Instead, it happened because you had shown up at the Thunderbolts' headquarters after a fight left you with a gash along your ribs that needed stitches, and because Bucky, upon getting your text, had abandoned a mid-mission debrief so fast that he'd left his tactical vest hanging on the back of a chair.
You were sitting on the edge of a kitchen counter when the team found the two of you, your shirt pulled up just enough for Bucky to clean the wound along your side, his metal hand cradling your hip with a gentleness that looked almost absurd on a limb built for crushing bone. He was murmuring something to you, low enough that the words didn't carry, and you were watching his face with an expression so unguarded and so completely unlike the sharp, closed-off demeanor either of you usually wore in public that it took the team a full three seconds to process what they were even looking at.
"You could have led with the fact that you were bleeding," Bucky was saying, his thumb brushing careful circles against your skin as he worked, "instead of texting me a picture of it with three exclamation points and no other context."
"I wanted your full attention," you said, wincing slightly as he pressed a fresh bandage to your side. "Worked, didn't it?"
"You scared ten years off my life, is what it did."
"Good. Now you know how I feel every time you go on one of your missions and don't text me for six hours."
It was John Walker who broke the silence first, because subtlety had never once in his life been his strong suit. "Okay," he said loudly, causing both of you to freeze in place like deer caught in headlights, "does anybody else want to explain what the hell is happening right now, or is everyone just going to stand here staring like this is completely normal?"
"John," Bucky said, his voice flat and dangerous in the way it only got when he was trying very hard not to react to something, "I swear to God—"
"No, no, let him talk," Yelena said, stepping fully into the kitchen with the delighted expression of a woman whose terrible plan had somehow paid off without her having to lift a finger. "This is the most interesting thing to happen in this building in weeks. Please continue being domestic. We will just watch."
You, for your part, had gone very still in the way you always did when you felt cornered, your instinct clearly warring between explaining yourself and simply calling up enough ivy to make a dramatic exit through the nearest wall. Bucky must have felt the tension in your shoulders, because his hand found yours without either of you seeming to decide it consciously, his thumb sweeping over your knuckles in the same steady rhythm he used when you woke up from a bad dream.
"This is the girl who tears up sidewalks," Ava said, tilting her head as she studied you with genuine curiosity rather than judgment. "I've seen footage. You're the one who dropped an entire section of the Bronx River Parkway into a sinkhole to stop that trafficking ring last spring."
"That was an overcorrection," you admitted. "I was aiming for a smaller sinkhole."
"That is incredible," Alexei said, his eyes practically shining as he looked between you and Bucky. "The Winter Soldier and the woman who commands the earth itself. This is like something out of an old Soviet fairy tale. I approve completely. Does she know about your terrible taste in music, James? Does she know you still listen to that ridiculous swing record on Sunday mornings?"
"Alexei," Bucky said through gritted teeth.
"I do know about the swing record," you said, unable to keep the smile off your face despite the situation. "I bought him the record player."
"You bought him the record player," Yelena repeated, pressing a hand to her chest in mock devastation. "Bucky Barnes has been in a relationship long enough to receive gifts, and none of us knew. I feel personally betrayed. As his teammate. As someone who has watched him eat cereal alone at two in the morning more times than I can count."
"It's been six months," Bucky admitted, finally giving up the fight to keep the conversation contained. "We kept it quiet because it wasn't anyone's business, and because—" he glanced at you, some silent communication passing between you before he continued, "because both of us have had things go wrong when people knew too much about who mattered to us. We wanted something that was just ours for a while."
The room went quiet at that, the teasing energy softening into something more understanding. Bob, who had been hovering near the doorway without saying much, finally spoke up again. "That makes sense," he said. "Having something that's just yours. That nobody can use against you, or make into a headline, or turn into a weakness." His voice carried the particular weight of someone who understood exactly how dangerous it could be for the wrong people to know what you cared about, and Bucky met his eyes with a small, grateful nod.
"For what it's worth," you said, addressing the room now instead of just Bucky, "I'm not planning on going anywhere. I know what this team means to him, even if he complains about all of you constantly."
"I do not complain constantly," Bucky said.
"You complained about Alexei's cooking for forty-five minutes on Tuesday."
"The eggs were an actual hazard to public health, sweetheart, that wasn't complaining, that was a public service announcement."
"Sweetheart," John Walker repeated, grinning now in a way that suggested he had fully recovered from his earlier confusion and moved directly into gleeful teasing. "Oh, this is good. This is really good. Barnes has a pet name. I need to write this down somewhere. Actually, I need to tell literally everyone I have ever met."
"You tell one person, Walker," Bucky said, "and I will make sure the next training exercise involves you and me and a very empty room."
"He's not bluffing," you added helpfully. "I've seen him spar. It's genuinely terrifying."
Yelena crossed her arms, studying the two of you with an expression that had shifted from teasing into something more assessing, the same look she probably used when deciding whether to trust a new asset in the field. "You make him happy," she said finally, not quite a question. "I have known Bucky Barnes for a while now. He does not smile easily. He did not smile at all when I met him. Now he is smiling at his phone like an idiot teenager, and apparently also being called doll, which I still cannot fully process. So. You make him happy. This is good. This means we do not have to be angry that you kept a secret from us, because the secret was a good one."
"I try," you said honestly. "It's not always easy. We're both stubborn, and we both have a lot of baggage, and neither of us is particularly good at talking about our feelings without one of us getting defensive first."
"Sounds like a healthy relationship to me," Ava said dryly, though there was real warmth underneath the sarcasm. "Better than most of what I've seen. At least you're both self-aware about it."
"We're working on it," Bucky said, and the way he looked at you when he said it made it clear that whatever work needed doing, he intended to keep doing it for a long time. He pressed one more piece of tape over your bandage, his hands lingering against your side for a moment longer than strictly necessary, and you let him, because some habits weren't worth breaking even with an audience watching.
Later that night, after the team had finally scattered back to their own corners of the building, still buzzing with the novelty of the discovery, you sat with Bucky on the roof of the headquarters, your legs dangling over the edge and his arm slung around your shoulders like it had always belonged there. The city stretched out below you, all steel and glass and, underneath it, the same tangled roots and forgotten soil you'd spent years learning to command.
"They took that better than I expected," you said, leaning into his side.
"Yelena's going to make my life miserable for at least a month," he said, though there wasn't any real complaint in his voice. "Worth it, though."
"Worth it," you agreed.
"You really bought me a record player."
"You really told the entire team you call me sweetheart."
"Fair trade," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and for the first time in longer than either of you could remember, being known by the people around you didn't feel like a danger waiting to happen. It felt, instead, like something solid enough to build on, the kind of foundation that didn't crack no matter how much weight you put on it, not unlike the ancient roots buried deep beneath the concrete of the only city either of you had ever really called home.
bucky barnes is not a bad man. in fact, he is the complete opposite. a family man, an honest businessman, a father. he is a good man — at least that is how he presents himself.
however, when bucky is alone with you, he begins to question whether he knows what good really means.
you aren't a sheltered kid by any means, but your heart is too pure for your own good. you used to come home from school talking about the horrors that you see — public displays of affection, bruised marks on people's necks, and so on. these are typical things for teenagers, but you can't even talk about it without getting furiously embarrassed.
bucky used to think it was sweet, thought you would grow out of it when you went off to college. but you graduated still with limited awareness of how things worked in the real world.
you're a pretty girl, bucky has seen you blossom into the woman you are today and he's gotten glimpses of what it means for both of you to age. bucky with his graying hair and deepened wrinkles. you with your growing confidence while maintaining the sort of naivety that still has him protective.
you don't even know what you're doing to him.
he shouldn't be having such thoughts about his own daughter but he can't help himself. on your weekly movie nights, you're cuddle up next to him, head on his shoulder, body curled into his broader frame as he keeps an arm around you.
when you do so, bucky can see down your loose tank top, a poor excuse for pajamas. your tits swelling, gorgeous mounds that peak. he even gets a peek at your nipples, pert and pushing against the flimsy fabric.
he drags his eyes away, swallow thickly as you tuck yourself into him. you've always been touchy and he's never had a problem with it. not until steve pointed out once how much you've grown. then he can't seem to stop paying attention.
the way you smell right after you shower, a lingering floral scent wafting from your damp hair. your skin soft and dewy, that stray droplet from your bath trailing dangerously between the mounds of your breasts. your embarrassed expression, thighs squeezing together where they peek out from underneath your towel.
when he catches you dancing in the kitchen while you cook. curves of your ass underneath your tiny shorts, your tits bouncing when you bounce from corner to corner. you dipping your finger into the sauce and sliding it over his tongue for a taste. the little flutter in your eyes that you can't even explain when he sucks on it, blue eyes trained on you to watch every shift on your face.
you've always been playful, climbing on top of him to try and wrestle the television remote from his hand so you can throw on your trashy reality show, almost completely oblivious to how hard he's getting in his pants whenever you're squirming on his lap, right on top of his cock, in your tiny shorts that ride up your ass.
bucky compromises and tells you, "fine, you can watch it, but come sit on your old man. i miss cuddling with my little girl."
you smile sweetly at him, almost simpering. you think of it as a sweet moment of his dad missing his kid. unbeknownst to you, he has to bite back a moan when you settle yourself comfortably on his lap and your smaller hands bring his big ones around your waist.
you lean back against his chest and bucky flattens one hand on top of your bare thigh, silky skin beneath his fingertips, and the other on your stomach to press you deeper against him.
you're much too distracted by the couples fighting on screen to notice how his hands begin to wander. he does it slowly at first, testing the waters. he reminds himself that this is merely a father showing affection for his daughter.
he rubs your thigh slowly, fingers dipping in between your thighs until they fall apart as his own legs spread. his other hand strokes your stomach, going lower only so he can sneak it under your camisole and place his hand over your warm skin.
you're rambling about one of the cast members when it falls away into a squeak. "dad, that tickles," you giggle breathlessly.
that is when he realizes that his sinful hand has drifted down between your thighs, to that warm little mound that he's just itching to explore. "sorry, sweetheart," he murmurs. "should i move my hand?" he asks, hurt bleeding into his voice enough for you to sink deeper into him.
he doesn't do it intentionally — the guilt-tripping. you're just soft-hearted and you can't help but want to please your father. "no, it's okay," you whisper.
"has anyone ever touched you here?"
you hum distractedly, eyes still glued on the screen. "no."
"have you ever touched yourself here?"
you finally blink in confusion at him. "why would i do that?"
bucky freezes. you're in college, he would think that you would have some semblance awareness of sex and masturbation. you've been exposed to the kissing growing up but he supposes he's never had taught you what it means to pleasure one's self.
so when he does what he does next, he tells himself that this is for your own good. this is for your experience. you don't know right from wrong so who better to teach you than your father?
"because it'll feel good."
you tilt your head. "really? why?"
"you have a lot of nerves down here. when you stimulate it, you can feel your entire body responding."
squirming, you still seem a still doubtful. "i don't know..."
"wanna let your old man try? i can teach you," bucky says. he has to nip on his tongue to stop himself from pressing too hard and too fast. this is already crossing many lines he has drawn for himself.
but when you're on top of him and you're freshly showered and you're soft and warm, how is he supposed to resist? he is a mere man after all.
"does it hurt?"
"mmm," he muses thoughtfully, "maybe in the beginning because you've never done it before. but i can help open you up."
"i don't know what that means," you admit almost bashfully.
"it's okay, just lean back and relax."
despite his words, you tense when he slips his fingers beneath the loose fabric of your shorts. his fingers brush over the cotton. damp.
"you're wet," he murmurs. he doesn't think you even know what that means.
"what does that mean?"
"means you're feeling good with me," bucky smiles. he has to swallow a hungry groan when he applies just enough pressure over that wet spot in your panties.
you jolt slightly in his hands. "that—"
"it's okay, relax," he shushes you. "watch your show."
you do try. you try your hardest, but bucky knows it's hard for you to focus when he's rubbing slow circles over the fabric with his thumb. the cotton is sticky and moist as it absorbs what he says is your pleasure. and it does feel good — your mind is buzzing with a pleasure you can't name. an unknown enjoyment that you're unfamiliar with.
when his thumb presses up higher, against that little spot, you jolt in his hand. a gasp ripping from your lips. "dad!"
"it's okay."
"it feels weird," you whimper.
"only for a little bit. it'll feel good, i promise. you trust me, don't you?"
you nod weakly, unable to find the voice or energy to protest.
bucky's fingers can't help but tug the gusset of your panties to the side. this is it. if he crosses this line, there is no coming back. his heartbeat sings in his veins, fingers drawn to your core like a magnet. the first touch of your pussy lips has him biting down on a moan.
you're so wet and you don't even understand why you're wet. you're so fucking sweet.
"this feels funny, dad," you say, nerves seeping into your words. "I don't know if this is right."
that should've been a sign for him to stop. he should've ended it there and apologized. but he thinks that he's been a good enough father so far, why can't he reward himself with a treat? he raised you to be good, so why can't you be good to him too?
"trust me, sweetheart. you're in good hands. just watch the movie. let your dad make you feel good."
a whimper slips past your lips when bucky dips a tentative finger in. you let out a squeak but you're sitting tense, obedient, on top of him. you're such a good girl for him. it only emboldens him as he pushes a finger fully into you, shifting so you can lean back against his chest and spread your legs even more for him.
"that's a good girl. you listen so well to me, baby."
"mmm," you whine, squirming. "feels— feels weird. it doesn't feel like— enough."
bucky stiffens at that. "'s not enough for you?"
your face contorts as you look down at where his finger is buried. "it doesn't feel full. just feels like teasing."
"you want another finger in you?" bucky murmurs, fully aware of what he's asking.
"mhmm," you nod, "please."
and who is bucky if not a good father? he eases another finger inside of you, one that wrenches a gasp from your chest. "how's that feel?"
"better but—" you wince, "it hurts a little."
that's because you've never had anything down there. the thought makes his cock ache. it's your first time filling yourself up and you're using your dad's fingers to do it.
"relax for me," he whispers, lips against your neck. "it'll be better if you don't tense up so much. i'll stretch you open. i need to get you ready."
"ready?" you echo dumbly as bucky begins to scissor his fingers open inside you, opening up your walls slowly like he's wading into deep waters.
the words had slipped out. you don't even know what comes next, how much bucky wants to feed you more than just his fingers. you're going to be learning more about your body tonight — and your father's.
"i'm going to put something else inside of you. it'll feel even better."
you hum, dazed as he pushes his fingers in and out of you slowly, allowing your juices to soak his digits completely. the squelching echoes, mixing in with the sounds coming from the show that you're no longer watching.
"what're you going to put in?"
bucky's heart jumps against his ribs. "do you want to see it?"
your teeth sink into your bottom lip, hesitant. but you nod anyway, curiosity getting the best of you. bucky doesn't move you off his lap, instead, he just pops open his button and slowly frees his cock without removing you.
his cock bounces, slapping against your pussy where you're sitting. you let out a small gasp and bucky groans at the sight of how big he is, how deep he'll be going inside of you.
"that's—" your words catch, "that's your penis, isn't it?"
"mhmm," he murmurs. "you learned that in biology class, didn't you?"
"yes," you whisper, "but that's only supposed to be for reproduction. you can't— i mean, you shouldn't be doing any more with it."
bucky lets out a pitying sound. "no, sweetheart, this can be for so much more. I'll show you what else you can do with it. how good it can feel. yes, you can use it for reproduction but that's not all."
he doesn't need to be thinking about reproduction right now. the thought of knocking up your mother to create you, only to have that strong desire to breed you too. he'd love to fuck his cum deep inside you, you probably don't even have birth control. the education system is too fucked to have taught you properly about safe sex.
"how would— um, how would it feel good?"
"you just have to put it in you, sweetheart."
your eyes widen, jaw falling open. "put that in me? that's so big, i can't possibly fit it."
"bucky nearly creams then and there with your words. how you could say such things with that face, purity and innocence clinging to your every syllable.
"we'll make it fit," he says softly, "you can sit yourself on me so you have more control. take as much as you can, slowly."
reluctance flickers across your eyes again and bucky, in his gut-wrenching impatience, has to resist lifting you up and dropping you straight down until you're crying. he has to play this safely. he can't scare you away yet.
"don't worry, dad's got you."
you plant on your hands on your knees as you lift yourself slowly, positioning his tip at your entrance. his cock twitches at the sight of your pert ass in his line of sight, his fingers twitching with the urge to smack it just because. he'll spank you another time, after he rewards you perhaps.
however, with how wet you are, the head of his cock keeps slipping, bumping instead against your clit. bucky has to push against his urge to fuck up into you every time it happens. finally, your hand wraps around his cock, catching him off guard. his hips jump at the unexpected touch but you're too focused on notching his tip inside you.
then it finally snags and the stretch is immediate based on your gasp. even the head of his cock is thick, leaking and red. he should put on a condom, should teach you how to be safe, but he's already dripping precum and the white liquid on your pussy lips has him throwing caution to the wind.
you slowly sink yourself down, lips parting, eyes widening with every inch you take. bucky is almost impressed when you manage to take in half of him before you grimace.
"hurts," you whimper.
"it's okay," he coos, "just pull out and then go back down again. you can keep doing that until you can take me all the way in."
you're still listening to him, doing as you're told like the sweet girl that you are. at least he's not lying, the more you ride him, the more inches of his cock you can take inside of you.
every time you sink down, your pussy clamps down around him and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, throw his head back against the couch as he tries his best not to finish so quickly. but his little girl's cunt feels like heaven around him, even more so when he remembers how he had been part of its creation.
he is a good man. he is simply helping his daughter understand how the world works, how her body works. how she can find pleasure.
when moans begin to fall from your pretty lips, bucky himself allows himself to groan from deep in his gut. his fingers find your hips to help ease you up and down, he can see how your pussy opens up to swallow his cock.
however, it is only when bucky begins to match your movements, lifting his hips just as you sink down, that your movements falter. it's as if there's an opening in the lustful haze that has clouded your judgment, a peek into the light.
you stop yourself and turn back to look at him. "dad, wait. stop. i don't think i want to do this anymore."
"i promise it'll get even better, sweetheart. you haven't even gotten to the best part yet."
"it feels so... wrong."
bucky strokes your face gently, pushing the hair away from your pout. "it can't be wrong if i'm telling you it's good for you. I'm your dad. you wanna be a good girl for your old man, don't you?"
your entire body goes taut, a whimper slipping past your lips. "i am a good girl."
"i know you are," he coaxes, "so open up your legs and let dad get his fill. you wanna make me happy, don't you?"
you nod, albeit slowly.
"good girl. my good, sweet girl. you've always been so good to your dad." bucky urges you to keep going, to keep riding. "tell me how it feels. i wanna hear it."
"f-feels good."
"what feels good?" he nudges you. "you can call it a cock, sweetheart."
you test the word out on your tongue and bucky almost cums into you. your sweet little lilt saying such a vulgar word while you fuck yourself on your dad's cock. it's what every man dreams of.
"your cock feels so good inside me," you moan, wanton need dripping from your every word.
"call me dad, sweetheart, be polite."
you bite your bottom lip and peek back at him. "your cock feels so good inside me, dad. thank you for making me feel good."
bucky can't help himself then, the last shred of his self-restraint burning away into ashes as he grabs your hips and begins to fuck himself up into you. your body lurches forward with every thrust, only for him to snatch you right back into him.
protests fall from your lips but they fall on deaf ears. all bucky can hear are your needy moans, the whimpers and the cries of pain. "stop, dad, please. not too hard. it hurts. you're hurting me!"
"not hurting you, sweetheart. you'll learn to take it. you'll learn to take dad's cock the way he likes it."
"n-no! no more! i don't want to do this anymore," you sob.
guilt is what he should feel, but his cock only thickens and twitches inside of you when he hears your tears. it's so cute seeing you cry around his cock, reminds him of your mother the first time she took his fat cock too. like mother, like daughter.
like her, you'll learn to enjoy your father's cock. he gropes your tits as he drives his cock deep inside you, pulling out every desperate cry from your lips until he can feel you squeeze around him. he knows you're getting close now. that orgasm — no matter how much you deny it, he knows what you want. what you need.
and what you need is for your father to take what he needs.
"you're going to cum, sweetheart. i feel it. you're close."
"c-cum?" you repeat through your cries.
"that's when you feel really good. you just need to take it, honey. take all of dad's cock. take all of my cock and my cum."
"dad, please—" just as you say it, he sees your body seize. the orgasm wracks through your being like lightning, a sudden flash that has you seeing stars. your mouth opens in a loud gasp as you jerk with every wave of pleasure that crashes through you.
that's all it takes for bucky to fuck one more time into you before he's spilling warmth. liquid heat filling your insides, clinging to your walls as you slump back against him.
"w-what is that?" you ask, "what's that inside?"
"that's daddy's cum inside you."
you tilt your head in confusion, exhaustion heaving in your chest. sweat has the two of you sticking together, two people becoming one.
bucky smiles, satisfied.
"maybe we should do a refresher on your biology class. how do you think a baby gets made?"
requested by anon: could you make a dad!bucky who takes his daughter virginity? and reader is naïve and really inexperienced
requested by anon: Omg your blog is literally perfection 😎 i love the way you write for dad bucky. Idk if you take requests, but would you consider writing something about the first time dad bucky crosses the boundary with his daughter? What would the start of their perverse relationship be like? Would it be nonconsensual? I can see bucky molding his daughter into the perfect play thing, until she breaks and enjoys it, but idk if you're comfortable writing something that dark 🫣
a/n: i apologize for disappearing for a while. life has been a little rough lately so I'm not fully back but wanted to share what i managed to finish. thank you for your patience 💛
— divider by @/pxrce-lain
