Don't You Worry, Baby | Clark Kent x Reader | Drabble - 291 words
You see the harem rumours and freak out, because honestly who wouldn't want your gorgeous superhero boyfriend!
Warning: insecure argument, silly fluff, Clark calls reader "Honey" and "Baby"
For @societynsoelsscribbles January Jumble Scribbles, Jan 25th - Some people call me the space cowboy.
Masterlist | DCU | Clark Kent
"A harem, Clark!"
"Honey, if you didn't believe I was sent to destroy you all, why do you believe that!?"
"Because — because," you waved your hand up and down at Clark, dumping your work bag on the console table and kicking your shoes aggressively into the hall closet.
Clark had met you outside, eager to abait your worries as soon as you'd text him the clip of Lex.
"I promise you, I do not have a secret harem, okay?"
Clark followed you, his eyes pleading.
"Why else would Superman not want to be seen with me?"
"I don't want you to be seen with Superman because I don't want you all over the press, Honey, Baby, please believe me."
You sat on the sofa, arms folded, legs crossed, and stared down your boyfriend.
"You're the only one I want," he fell to his knees before you. "You're my everything, my yellow sun, I'd follow you anywhere. You make it all better."
Clark let his head rest against your knee, dark curls tickling your skin.
"And there's no one else?"
"Why would I need anyone else, when you're the cutest thing I ever did see?" He grinned up at you, his smile boyish and charming.
"Clark," you sighed, but couldn't help a smile sneaking through.
"Come to the farm this weekend, see my Ma and Pa, they've been dying to see you again, I want to show you off." He cupped your cheeks and kissed your nose.
"I could go for some cowboy Clark this weekend. " You agreed, reaching for his face in return and squishing his perfect cheeks.
"You know, online, some people call me a space cowboy."
It took you both less than a second to dissolve into raucous giggles.
Helping | Enemies With Benefits | Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Agent!Reader | Drabble - 303 words
Bucky has been irritating you for the entire mission, now you're headed home you're ready to work those frustrations out.
Warnings: 18+ implied sexual content, arguing as foreplay.
For @societynsoelsscribbles January Jumble Scribbles, Jan 20th - “If anyone walks in, that’s on you.”
Masterlist | Marvel | Enemies With Benefits | Bucky Barnes
It'd be a long too weeks, made worse by a lack of sleep and the incredible ability of every team mate to piss each other off within seconds.
Bucky had been even more insufferable than usual, attempting to 'help' by setting up your surveillance equipment as if you were too stupid to do it yourself. His list of crimes seemed to grow by the day, even more so when you attempted to fight back.
Which is how you ended up dragging him into the conference room on Valentina's ridiculous Avengers Jet.
"If anyone walks in, that's on you." Bucky smirked, shutting the door and half-heatedly pushing a chair infront of it.
"I'm pretty confident I can be completely silent while you do a mediocre job of making me come."
You sat on the conference table and tugged him closer by his dog tags, wrapping your fingers around the chain.
"Who says I'm going to let you come? You've been a brat this whole mission."
"A brat?" You laughed, "don't know what game you're playing, Barnes, but I'm not you little brat to be punished and —" you stuttered over the words, to be punished, corrected…rewarded? That definitely did not sound appealing at all, no way.
"Sure," Bucky let you bring him closer and then squished your cheeks between his metal fingers. "Maybe you're not a brat, maybe you're just a cute little princess throwing a tantrum. Need me to make it better for you? Need me to fuck you happy again?"
"Shut up." You slid his own tags along his tongue and nudged his jaw closed.
Bucky's smirk was back, feral, dangerous. And then your back hit the table and he was tugging at your tactical pants, pulling them down your legs to your knees and exposing the wet spot on your panties.
Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Female Reader
Summary: Bucky gets you the food you want... or does he?
Word Count: 300
Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy, hormones, sudden food aversion, domestic life, fluff, baby nickname (Sprout), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Day 19 of the January Jumble Scribbles Challenge. Prompt: Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood. ❤️ Part of our Soft Echoes, Strong Roots AU. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Bucky knew something was off the second you bit into your food. The initial excitement on your face turned sour. You had been looking forward to eating the meal all day, and now you looked like you wanted to flip the table.
That wasn’t good.
You stopped chewing and, as gracefully as you could, spit it into your napkin. “Nope.” You shoved the plate away with enough force that it almost tipped over. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but nope. I can’t.”
Bucky frowned when you took a couple of deep breaths and stared at the ceiling. He had to tread carefully. “Did I get the wrong brand?”
“No. This is exactly what I wanted, but now the taste and the smell are making me feel sick.” Your face scrunched up and his heart dropped. You were two seconds from bursting into tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for.” Bucky immediately went around the table so he could be beside you. “Hormones?” he asked gently.
“Hormones,” you confirmed. “And I’d love it if they stopped grabbing me by my non-existant balls.”
“Well, I do know a thing or two about balls since I have them, but I’m sorry to say that I don’t fully understand hormones,” he teased to make you smile. He would forever be in awe of you for carrying his child. “But I have a leg up on Steve because he doesn’t understand women.”
“One could argue that women are meant to be loved, not to be understood,” you teased back.
“I do love you,” he whispered, wishing he could do more.
“I love you, too,” you whispered back. “Think we can order a pizza?”
He kissed your temple. “Whatever will keep you and Sprout happy.”
Bucky’s company and the pizza did just that.
I have been exhausted, and husband!Bucky would be so wonderful. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading. ❤️
Warnings: ⚠️dead dove; do not eat⚠️ dub con, void!Bob is a really fuckin hot incubus, fisting, cunnilingus
Basically if you’re under 18 and/or dark fics aren’t your jam, you better skidaddle
Incubus!Bob that haunts your new apartment in the dead of night
Incubus!Bob that eventually disrupts your dreams, bringing out your wildest fantasies that only you knew about and leaving you breathless and wet when you wake up
Incubus!Bob that has learned about you, your body, and your deepest desires without ever directly interacting with you
Incubus!Bob that causes you to light candles around your room and pray to a god that you hope will protect you from the demon living in the darkest shadows of your house
Incubus!Bob that snuffs out the candlelights, causes the temperature in the room to drop, and emerges from the shadows, a tall, dark figure with dim eyes that pierce your soul
Incubus!Bob that hushes your screams by gripping your neck and throwing you to the bed before hovering over you
Incubus!Bob that tells you, “Don’t be afraid, sweet little angel. I won’t hurt you. I just wanna make you feel really good.”
Incubus!Bob that makes your panties wet and your nipples hard through your nightgown because even though you feared for your life in that moment, the past few nights left you hot and bothered by the strange figure in your dreams, and you so badly needed a release
Incubus!Bob that tore off your nightgown and panties to worship your body as if you were the goddess that deserved to be prayed to, dragging his claws against every curve and marking your skin with his fangs
Incubus!Bob that kept your hips locked under his firm grip as he devoured your pussy like forbidden fruit, making you come more times than any mortal has attempted to in all your life
Incubus!Bob that shoved not one but two fingers inside you, forcing you to look into his white eyes with his free hand as you pulsed around his fingers
Incubus!Bob that successfully slipped a third finger in your aching hole after challenging you to take more of him, your wince melting into a moan
Incubus!Bob that manages to push his fourth finger in and your needy cunt sucks and lubricates each digit as he experimentally curls them against a spongy spot that causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and thrash on the bed
Incubus!Bob that dives back in to flick your budding clit with his tongue while part of his hand is still inside you and holy shit does it all feel so good to you that you are in tears and your vision gets fuzzy
Incubus!Bob that removes his fingers and mouth from you as you’re floating back to earth from your high
Incubus!Bob who is the last thing you see before you drift off to a peaceful slumber, feeling him kiss your forehead as you succumb to sleep
Summary: Alpine explains the weird happenings in her home during December.
Word count: 1,382
Warnings: POV Alpine, background Bucky Barnes with a female SO, a little bit of Bucky's trauma but not much
A/N: this wandered into my head and demanded to be wrote. Very Cat of it, I suppose.
Read it on AO3
I'm not sure why, but when the dark starts to come early, my people lose their minds. I don't know how many dark times ago it was, but they brought in this long box. It was a GREAT box. But they shooed me away from this box. Inside this box was green fluffy things and they took these green fluffy things and put them on this scratching post. I wasn't allowed to touch this scratching post so I stretched on the corner of the smaller soft thing instead. After all the green fluffy things were on the scratching post, they let me play in the WONDERFUL BOX. OH MY IT WAS SO FUN. I HID IN IT FOR A LONG TIME AND THEN THE MAN REACHED IN AND I HIT HIS HAND IT WAS SO FUN!
But at some point the man told me I had to come out. "Out you go, Alp. We can't keep the box in the living room." He didn't get to pet me after that and I went to the room with the big soft thing that my people slept on.
I came out later and there WAS ANOTHER BOX! I peeked over the edge of the box and there were all these little ball things that looked fun to swat at. The woman picked me up and snuggled her face in my fur but I wanted those ball things. "You can't have those, Alpine. They go on the tree." I know the routine by now. This isn't the first time this has happened but maybe this time I can get those balls. It makes no sense really. They tell me no and then put them on the green fluffy things. RIGHT THERE. I can reach them. And they tell me no? Jail for them.
I ended up on the smaller soft thing my people sometimes sit on, sometimes sleep on, sometimes defile with strange odors. I watched as they brought this string out and when I saw the end I nearly pounced on it. It was wiggling. I could save my people! Instead the man put it on the wall and the string glowed. He put the glowing string all over the fluffy green things.
The woman made a comment about how the "ornaments" should have been put on after the "lights". The man didn't comment.
When my people were done, there was this big fluffy green thing that glowed in the room. It had the ball things all over. The man put a blanket around the bottom of it. I thought it was nice of him.
My humans have this routine when it gets dark. They give me more crunchy food in my bowl and then they give me a dish with wet food. They then will make a lot of noise and create a bunch of smells and then they eat. After they eat, they don't groom, which I find odd. They will sit on the smaller soft thing and turn on the light box. The light box has noise and they will look at it for the time it takes me to nap. Sometimes I sleep on one of them, sometimes next to them. I think tonight I'll sleep on the blanket the man put under the green fluffy thing.
I can feel them watching as I walk over to the green fluffy thing.
"Alpine, be a good girl," the man warns.
I'm always a good girl, I don't know what he's talking about.
"Bucky!" I hear the woman coo as I curl up underneath. "I gotta get a picture. She's too cute."
"Well there's your Christmas card."
I hear one of them - probably the woman - get up and walk towards me. I know she won't hurt me so I keep my eyes closed.
When I wake up they are still watching the light box. I stretch before going over to the man and start meowing at him. They need to go to their big soft thing. It's time.
The man sighs, "Looks like the warden is saying it's lights out," he says and rubs my ears. Since he's rubbing my ears I won't slap him for that comment.
"How does she know? It's uncanny." This has been the same routine for my whole life with the man. Eventually they get up and the man will go to the other room. The woman will go to where the food is and give me a few crunchy things with soft stuff inside. I like that stuff. Once I finish that, I follow her into the other room until they both get on the big soft thing. Sometimes they sleep and sometimes they kick me out with noises and the blankets being kicked off the bed. Rude.
As I said before, that was several dark times ago. Tonight my people didn't go anywhere. They wore things on their head and I was afraid they would make me wear something on my head like they did before.
Other humans visited for a while and I hid on the big soft thing until it got quiet and it was just my humans. It was Very Dark. Very Dark means it's time to sleep. I went up to the man and started meowing. It's Very Dark and now it's time for treats. The man chuckles and scoops me up close.
"We can't go to bed, Alpine. It's not time."
I don't know what time is. There's Dark, Very Dark, and then it gets bright. Sometimes the bright is there for long like how the darkness is now.
I meow again in protest. It's Very Dark. He doesn't understand.
"It's New Year's Eve. We'll go to bed later. Do you want your treat now? You can go to bed."
That's not how this works. We all go together. I meow one more time and I realize they aren't going to move. They are watching the light box. I opt to stay between them for right now and nap. Maybe when I wake up they'll go with me.
I wake up to loud noises. I don't like it. It's scary and I shake.
The man and woman say "Happy New Year" to each other and rub their faces together. They do that to me sometimes. I meow to let them know I am Not Happy. The man holds me tight.
"I don't like the noise either, girl. You're safe. We're all safe." I don't know how he can say that when the noise is louder. I meow again. He tightens his hold and then I feel a bit safer. I can feel him shake.
The man stands and we walk over to the window. There's a table where I normally sit to watch birds. He moves the cover from the window so we can see out. There's a bright light and another boom. I meow again. “That's all that is, Alpine. Just fireworks, it's New Year's Eve. We're safe. It's just a lot of noise. We'll be okay.” The woman joins us and we all look out the window. There's more flashes and more noise.
"Do you want your treat now? We can go to bed now."
I'm still scared but I like the word treat. We move to the room with food. He holds me with one arm and lets me eat my treats out of his other hand. He doesn't let me go until we're all on the big soft thing. I stay with the woman while he goes to the room with the Loud Thing and the Thing That Gets Your Fur Wet. It's not like the loud noises but it's still Bad.
"Buck, she's still shaking," the woman says. She pets me and holds me but not like him. He's different; he's my boy, he's been mine for my whole life, he loves me. He doesn't let the scary things get me.
"She'll calm in a bit. Just keep petting her."
I don't know what New Year's Eve is but I know I don't like it because of the Loud Scary Noise and because my humans don't listen to me when it's time to sleep. I don't mind the pets and cuddles. I'm with my people and I'm safe. They won't kick me out tonight.
A/N: Happy Halloween, what’s a better thing to do to Halloween than getting filled my an orc’s fingers. Beta’d by @gremlin-girly. Divider made by @/saradika-graphics. Inspired by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor’s orc-tober, and a bunch of question about orcs later, here we are.
Masterlist
“‘S too much,” you whine, body writhing in the soft velvet sheets of the orc’s bed.
The sun shining softly through the light green curtains, making the dark green in his bedroom glow brightly.
His index finger works its way slowly into your tight hole, pussy struggling to take one of his fingers - how are you supposed to take his cock when it’s just the pad of one of his fingers so far?
Bucky chuckles softly, his thick thighs pressing your small, soft ones wide apart for his big frame to fit in between. His ocean blue eyes — now dark with lust and desire — focused on your tight cunt clenching tightly around his digit.
“Open up, sweetheart,” he mutters, pressing in a bit more. It's almost as if you don’t want to let him in, as if your pussy is tight on purpose so he can’t fuck into you. “C’mon, baby.”
Your fingers curl painfully into the sheet, knuckles already white form the tightness of your hold on the thin fabric.
You want to let him in. You want to loosen up for him, but you can't. Not when his single finger doesn’t even fit without struggle.
“Can’t, Bucky. You’re too big, can’t, please,” you mewl, lips parting when he tries to force another inch of his finger into you — or another meter, you're not sure - but it feels like he’s already in your guts.
He huffs in exasperation, your tightness making him go crazy. Bucky’s cock twitches in his boxer briefs, arousal leaking through the thin fabric around his waist.
Bucky withdraws his finger, taking in the sight of your weeping hole gaping for him before your muscles tighten again. A smirk curves up his plump lips, his tongue darting out to lick over the softness of them.
“B-Bucky?” You whisper, watching him carefully as his jaw works. Clenching. Unclenching.
“Mhm,” he hums, eyes trailing along your naked form before they catch yours, soften just a tad.
Before you can ask what he's up to — because he's obviously up to something, a thick drop of spit lands on your cunt, tickling down from your clit to your entrance.
“Maybe we need to make it even more wet down there for you to take what belongs in there,” he mutters, meaning nothing else but himself — his cock. Maybe even the thick ropes of his salty cum.
Your eyes widen at his words. He really would break you if it meant he could wet his cock in your tight cunt - he wouldn't settle for just his fingers.
“Can’t we- like always when I play with your cock?” You ask, hoping he will agree and try the whole stuffing you full another time.
But Bucky’s determined, more than you thought he would be. So, he shakes his head before dipping his calloused finger between your folds once more, teasing your clit and entrance.
“We’re gonna make it fit, sweetheart,” he grins, working just the pad of his finger into you once more. Your whines and moans only serve to turn him on more, encouraging him to push in another bit of the thickness he calls his finger.
“Ow, Bucky. Bucky, your finger is almost the size of a human cock,” you whine, eyes rolling into the back of your head when he curls his finger into you. “OH FUCK.”
He chuckles, loving that it’s not even his cock, but just his finger, you praise so much. Usually you would keep him entertained with some dry humping or jerking him off, he never pushed it until now.
But he needs to. He has to feel your sweet cunt around him. His finger. His cock, he doesn't care.
Still, preferably his cock.
“Jus’ open up a bit, baby,” he mutters, working his finger into you further, reaching only the second knuckle before your hands shoot down to curl around the thick, bulging, soft green arm of your boyfriend.
“Too much, Bucky. You’re so big,” you whine, writhing in the sheets as you try to push his arm away from you to make his fingers slip out. But he doesn't budge, not even in the slightest.
“Sh, relax for me, baby. Gonna get you nice and wet. Stretch you wide open so my cock fits,” he mumbles under his breath.
Bucky pushes further into you, groaning loudly when you clench tightly around his finger. He’s not even sure how he's supposed to fuck you without cumming on the spot — but even when he does, he’s gonna give you at least one orgasm on his cock.
“Look at your sweet pussy, opening wide as if she’s ready to get more of me,” Bucky chuckles as he thrusts another of his fingers into your cunt.
And fuck, it feels amazing. You have never felt so full, and so yearning for more at the same time.
“Please, oh, Bucky,” you whine, hips bucking upward and into his had as he lets his palm catch your clit with every of your ruts.
The sticky mess of your arousal causing a string of it between your cunt and his hand, connecting the two of you perfectly.
Bucky curls his thick fingers, rubbing that sweet spongy spot inside of you when a sudden scream erupts from deep within your chest. Cum gushes out of you, wetting his hand and thighs.
Your moans are like his favorite melody, he’s playing you – your pussy to give him the song he loves the most — your noises of need. Of want.
“Fuck, that's it. Feeling your pussy loosen up already,” he grumbles, grinning at you as he slows the movements of his fingers to let you clam down.
Your legs shaking, thighs squeezing his as he keeps you spread wide open for him. Back arching off the bed as you chase his fingers, demanding him to keep moving them to stretch you enough for his cock to fit in – triple penetrating isn’t something you tried before, neither is double penetration but when you know something about Bucky — if he wants it to fit, he will make him fit into your pussy.
He’s gonna shape your pussy with the form of his cock — ruin you for every other men and you can’t even complain when he makes you cum like that with only his fingers already.
If anyone noticed the visible bulge in the Steve's breeches they knew better than to say anything. The hefty sword he carried on his hip mixed with the deadly glare he gave everyone that passed by helped. They also knew better than to comment on the high pitched wails coming from the door Steve was guarding with his life. The new King and Queen were still on their honeymoon, locked away for days on end as they worked to fulfill their duty to the kingdom.
"J-James!"
He had you on your knees, your arms long since having given out as he thrusted into you. Every plap plap plap of his balls against your swollen clit echoed by the squelching of your pussy gobbling up his cock greedily. James pulled you up until his hand was around your throat, his hips never ceasing as he forced your back to arch. It made you squeal when he hit that special spot inside you. (Outside the door Steve had to clench his jaw and readjust his erection. He knew exactly what that sound meant, he heard it often enough now.)
You were usually quiet and shy, hiding at your King's side and whispering in his ear when you did have something to say. But every single time James got his cock in you, you couldn't help yourself. And your husband loved it.
"That's it my Queen. Let them, fuck, let him hear you sing for me." James let his scarred left arm wrap around you, his massive hand finding your clit easily as he fucked himself into your slick folds. You'd long since felt your own juices run down to your knees. You were sure James' balls were sticky as well.
"Please, James, I can't-" you sobbed as you came again, milking his thick shaft and making him curse.
"But you can, my love. Just a couple more. You have to if you're to give me an heir." He cooed at you, holding up your limp body as you tried to keep up with his endless stamina.
"Steve will lick you all better if you're sore later, promise." Your pussy tightened at the mention of your husband's head knight making James groan loud and filthy in your ear.
The man had grown up with your King, and you knew James trusted him more than he trusted anyone else. He'd even entrusted you to the blond. When your King was busy and you were aching, it was Steve who used his mouth and his fingers to make you feel all better. You'd even had him in your mouth when you felt bold. You wanted to practice, get better at pleasing your new husband. Steve always taught you so kindly knowing exactly what his King liked. You suspected they were more intimate than they let on and the thought made your pussy throb. But you'd never had Steves cock inside you. It was the one rule you had to follow. So when your husband mentions Steve you can't stop the embarrassed whimper that escapes you.
"I know, I know, you want his cock too." Your face burned at the truth of his words, and he laughed feeling your pussy get impossibly tight around him. "Just gotta let my cum all the way in your pretty tummy first. Gotta give me an hier."
"I'll be g-good, give you baby. Promise!" You knew Steve could hear every single word. Knew he'd be suckling on your clit later as he fucked James' cum back into you with his thick fingers when it leaked out. The very thought made you cum again, your fluttering walls dragging James along with you. He cursed, his grip tightening around your throat as his cock throbbed inside you.
"Take it my love, take every fucking drop-" He growled as he grabbed at the fat of your hip, using the leverage to fuck every spurt of cum deeper than the last.
When you both collapsed onto the bed, he cradled you to his chest kissing you slow and deep and drugging. You expected him to let you go to help you clean up a bit like he normally did. But he made no move to separate himself from you. You felt your cheeks heat once more when you realized why.
"James-" Your husband's icy blue eyes were locked onto where your bodies were joined, of the creamy mess he'd made of your pussy, but he seemed to know what you were asking if the smirk on his plump lips was anything to go by.
Pairing: Captain America The First Avenger 40's Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary: Steve finally gets you to notice him.
Word Count: 299 wds
Sexy September Scribbles day 13: “Don’t flinch, baby, take it.”
A/N: New Character Alert! 🚨. I've been watching those When Did You Get Hot edits and this guy came to mind. Fresh 40's post-serum Steve who's been pining for you for years, but you were stuck on Bucky. Steve shows you a few things now that he's bigger and stronger. This is so superficial and wrong, I know... 🫦.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Not Beta’d. Read at your own risk. S MUT! CATFA Steve, jealous Steve, feral Steve, lil bit of praise, tiny bit of degradation if you squint. talking you through it a bit, raw p in v, size kink, wall sex, lil cocky Steve.
I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
NOTICE: I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
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You’d kissed Steve Rogers before.
Back when he was all sharp elbows and hollow cheeks, when his hand shook a little if you held it too long. You never let it mean anything, not with Bucky around.
Not when Steve never pushed for more.
But now…
Now his body caged yours against the wall, chest broad and unyielding, his grip on your thighs iron-strong as he hauled you higher.
“Steve!”
His name was a gasp as his mouth crushed down on yours. His kiss was fire and hunger and years of quiet patience finally snapping. You clawed at his shoulders, shocked at how solid he was, how different.
His teeth grazed your jaw, his breath hot.
“Don’t flinch, Baby, take it.”
He drove into you in one steady thrust, splitting you open, forcing a cry from your throat. The stretch was brutal, glorious, your nails digging into his back as he bottomed out, holding you there until your body shook around him.
“God, Steve…”
“Good girl. You can take it,” he rasped, hips rolling, grinding deeper, each stroke harder than the last. His hand clamped at your throat, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.
“I’m not that sickly little guy anymore,” he panted, fucking you mercilessly.
“I’m everything you wanted. And you’re mine.”
Your climax tore through you sharp and fast, shuddering around him as his thrusts only grew rougher. Steve groaned into your mouth, buried deep, and spilled inside you with a possessive groan, holding you pinned until you sagged boneless against him.
Sweat dripped down his temple, his pulse hammering beneath your lips as you kissed his throat.
When he finally eased you down, his voice was rough velvet against your ear.
“Look at me now, sweetheart. Not him anymore. Me.”
Pairings: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Female Reader x Alpha Bucky Barnes
Word Count: 2250
Summary: You’re an Omega passing as a Beta with suppressants and live with your two best friends, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, who are Alphas. What happens when you can’t find your pills and you go into heat? Will Steve and Bucky be sympathetic?
Warnings: Smut, P in V, Oral Sex (M), Spit roasting, Fingering, talks of breeding, talks of mating, talk of anal, and dark tones at the end.
A/N: This is my 2nd attempt at the omegaverse. Please forgive any inaccuracies.
A/N 2: Thank you to @fictional-affairs , @navybrat817 , @stellar-solar-flare , @azriona , @buckybarnesfic for brainstorming with me and coming up with a plot.
Also, thank you to my beta readers @late-to-the-party-81, @societyfolklore & @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & header creator @late-to-the-party-81
A/N 3: A/N: Avengers Spring Bingo. @avengers-assemble-bingo and #AASpring. Square: Pillow Fight. Card # AAS 008
You were currently panicking and searching the house for your suppressants. They had to be here somewhere. You had ripped your room apart looking for them and came up short. Next, you’d checked your bathroom, which was connected to your bedroom. “Be here, please be here.” You’d opened cabinets high and low, but they weren’t there.
“Fuck!”
This was bad. Like really bad. You were an omega who was passing as a beta, but only with the help of your suppressants. You saw how omegas were treated and were expected to settle down with an alpha and have their children. You just weren’t ready for that life yet, especially as you were still single.
You had met your current roommates, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, from your work at the Avengers Tower as the newest member of their team over a year ago. That’s right, the Winter Soldier and Captain America were your best friends.
When you and the Avengers had beaten Thanos in the battle for the universe, many lives were changed for the better.
Tony and Pepper had settled back down at a lake house with their daughter and Natasha had taken time off to be with her sister Yelena. Thor had gone off to explore the universe with the Guardians, while Clint had returned to a quieter life with his family, officially retiring. That left you, Bucky, and Steve still fighting the good fight along with newer members of the Avengers team.
You’d recently decided to take off some vacation time in order to relax and rest at home, a home which you shared with Steve and Bucky, who had one last mission to do before they joined you at the house. That meant you had until tomorrow to find these suppressants. It was even more frustrating because you had only just refilled them and there was nowhere in the city where you could get emergency suppressants to help with your current situation. That situation being that your heat had started hours ago and your body was in pain – your stomach was cramping and you were sweating like crazy.
You continued to tear the house apart until finally, hours later, you gave up in tears, curled up on your queen-sized bed. You’d taken some of Bucky and Steve’s blankets, clothes, and pillows to form a nest and in your hand, you had a vibrator that you were using in hopes it could relieve your symptoms. However, no matter how good it felt, your body betrayed you. You still couldn’t cum. You knew that what it craved was to have Bucky and Steve inside your pussy, ruining you for all men. You hated to admit it, but you’ve had a crush on both super-soldiers since you first met them.
Your hand slipped down your naked body and you started fingering yourself to the thoughts of them. Their muscles that looked as though chiseled from stone. Their scents of sandalwood and a hint of leather mixed with something that was distinctly masculine.
After ten minutes of imagining what they could do to you while you touched yourself, you cried out in pain and frustration as nothing was working. You couldn’t cum.
“Dammit,” you cried out.
Why is this happening to you? And what will you do when the guys come home tomorrow?
Little did you know, but the guys were just arriving at the house. Their mission had been a success and they’d come home a day early. Unlocking the door, Steve was the first inside the home. Looking around he immediately spotted the mess and his guard went up. However, as soon as he stepped further inside, a sweet and comforting aroma filled the air. Both alphas froze in place as they inhaled the alluring scent.
“Buck, we may have had an intruder. Eyes up.” Steve grabbed his shield off his back while Bucky unholstered his gun from his hip.
The men started searching through the house and stepping over the debris that was all over the floors and counters. Who could have done this, they wondered? Were you home when this happened? The thought of you being hurt sent fear into both men. They cleared the downstairs area and started making their way upstairs to the bedrooms.
The scent got stronger as they rose.
“Fuck, whoever that is smells amazing, Steve. I’ve got a hard on already,” Bucky exclaimed.
Steve nodded his head in agreement as his own cock was straining against his pants, eager to be let loose.
Steve looked into his room first and noticed a mess of clothes on the floor and missing blankets. Bucky looked into his room next and noticed the same mess.
Shield and guns up, both men walked to where your room was and smelled the aroma of arousal from your room.
Steve grabbed the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open. Both men walked into your room and found you naked and groaning in the middle of the nest.
Bucky stepped forward, putting his gun away as he scented the air. It was filled with you. But how could that be? Weren't you a beta?
Steve’s eyes scanned the nest you’d made and found his blankets and clothes mixed with Bucky’s.
“Doll, what’s happening? It smells like you’re in heat.” Steve said as he watched your eyes open, and heard you groan.
However, you then made a low cry as the pain and burning sensation throughout your body got worse. Both alphas stood in your room, smelling delicious, while your body begged for their attention.
Bucky took a deep breath in and shuddered. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Just tell us what happened.”
“I-I’m not a beta. Fuck! I’m an omega. Please, alphas, help me! I’ll explain later.” You cried out again and more slick started to coat your upper thighs.
Steve and Bucky looked at each other, nodding to the other in speechless communication, then started to undress. You watched with bated breath as they hastily took their clothes off.
By the time they were naked, you were whining low in your throat, wanting, no needing, them to be inside you. You watched as they stepped into your nest, one on either side of you. Their firm bodies each lay beside you as you mewled out your need to them.
“I need you to say you want this from us? We need your consent before we go further.” Steve said as he looked over your beautiful body.
“Tell us what you want, sweetheart?” Bucky stated as his eyes wandered over yours.
Tears formed in your eyes as you looked between them both. “Please fuck me. I need your knots to make the pain go away. I need both of you.”
“Both of us? Isn’t that kinda greedy omega?” Bucky whispered teasingly in your ear. “Technically, you just need one knot.”
“Please… I want you both.” To show them you were serious, you reached up and grabbed both their hard cocks, and started pumping them up and down. Both men groaned out in pleasure.
“Fuck sweetheart,” Steve grunted out as he thrust into the circle of your soft hand.
Bucky growled low in his throat and leaned over to start kissing your neck. Your breath hitched as he nibbled, his stubble lightly scratching against your skin. Steve kissed down your collarbone and ended up at your breasts. He gently suckled on your breast, causing you to moan out in pleasure. The three of you worked together, hands caressing as lips licked and sucked against skin.
“Present omega.” Steve hummed against you and you didn’t need to be told twice. You let go of them, getting on your hands and knees and lifting your ass high in the air. You let out a whine when you saw Bucky kneel in front of you and felt Steve’s hands on your hips. This is what you’d wanted for the longest time. To be used by them, even if it was only to get you through your heat.
Bucky’s thumb brushed against your lips as he smiled down at you. “Been wanting to do this for a while, sweetheart. If you only knew how bad Steve and I have wanted to ruin you. Now be a good omega for me and open your mouth.”
You did as he said and opened your mouth, your tongue poking out. You had pictured this in your dreams many times and now that it was happening all you could do was whimper. Your tongue licked around the tip of his hard, thick cock before you took him fully into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks for him as he thrust into your mouth. In and out, Bucky groaned as both his hands anchored themselves in your hair. Your tongue swirled around his cock as you sucked on him.
While you were busy pleasuring Bucky, you felt Steve take it upon himself to rub his thick cock through your pussy, gathering up all your slick. The feeling made you shake with anticipation. You knew he was about to ruin you. Bucky slowed his pace as Steve’s cock slid into your pussy and you moaned around him as Steve set a firm, but slow, pace.
Your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you as both men used you for their pleasure as well as your own. When Bucky thrust in, Steve pulled out. When Steve thrust hard into your cunt Bucky would pull out to the tip. In and out, firm and fast, your moans were both loud and muffled by Bucky’s cock. Your body was screaming more, but you could only take what they were giving you.
Bucky thrust harder and his cock slid down your throat, causing you to choke. He did it a few times and you struggled to breathe. Tears filled your eyes and your hands gripped tightly to his thighs.
“Fuck, that’s it, Buck. Keep that up. Her cunt is squeezing me like a vice.” Steve growled out.
“Aww, does someone like choking on my cock?” Bucky mocked, as your fingers dug even further into him.
Steve sped up his thrusts as his fingers made their way from your hip to your clit. He started to rub firm circles and you frantically began to thrust back onto his cock. On top of that, the more you moaned around Bucky, the closer he got to his release. He fucked your face with abandon as he chased his end and with only a few more thrusts, he came down your throat.
“Make sure you swallow every last drop,” Bucky told you as he pulled from your mouth.
You did as he says and swallowed every delectable morsel.
Steve took that as his cue and grabbed your hips tightly, fucking you hard and fast. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled your room along with your moans and Steve’s groans. Moments later, you were cumming for Steve and screaming his name. Your walls tightened around his cock and he growled out his release as he filled you up and held you in place with his knot. After a few more leisurely thrusts, Steve gently lowered you to the bed to rest while he stayed locked inside you. You lay on your side with him behind you, and Bucky settled down in front. “So, tell us sweetheart, why lie about your designation? Did you think we would treat you differently?” Bucky asked as he leaned in to kiss your forehead.
You whined at his question, your inner omega unhappy that you’d lied to both alphas. “I didn’t know how you would feel having an omega around all the time,” you explained. “And I like my job, and I love being your best friend and I was afraid I was going to lose you both. I can imagine you’re both mad at me. I’ll understand if you want me to move out.”
Both men chuckled.
“Oh, sweetheart, you aren’t going anywhere,” Bucky growled out.
“But I thought you would be…”
“Like Bucky said, you aren’t going anywhere. You’re ours now. Ours to have, fuck every night and to eventually grow round with our children. We want to bond with you if you‘ll have us?”
Your omega heart was soaring at their words, begging to be claimed. “Yes, I want that.”
Bucky kissed your lips as Steve slowly pulled out of you. You whined as your body started to warm again, but knowing just what you needed, Bucky lifted your leg over his and pushed inside you.
“Now be a good girl. ‘Cause while I fuck your pussy Steve is going to take your ass.” Bucky chuckled, listening to your cute noises.
Later, after both Bucky and Steve had taken you several times, and in different positions, you’re fast asleep between them. They untangled themselves from your sprawled limbs and then playfully hit each other with pillows a few times before they headed to the kitchen to grab water and snacks for you and themselves.
Then, they looked at one another, smiling darkly. They’d known for a long time that you were an omega and had wanted you for their own. They replaced your suppressants with placebos and then, before they left, threw the fake medicine out. Yes, they could have gone about this in a different manner, especially as they’d known you were attracted to them. But, they’d thought, why not start it sooner? Less time courting and more time breeding you for their pleasure.
By tomorrow, you’ll be mated and on your way to starting a family with them. Their pretty, docile omega.
Pairing: Trailer Park!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Your neighbor helps with a small repair, and you'd like to repay him.
Word Count: Almost 4k
Warnings: Flirting, swearing, dirty talk, tension, sexual chemistry, world building, bits of insecurity, smut mention, Bucky Barnes (he's very forward and a warning, okay?)
A/N: More of our trailer park!Bucky! I hope you like it!❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
The light had barely broken through your window when you decided you should work on the outside of your trailer. As much as you wanted to sleep in, your new chapter wouldn't continue if you didn't put forth the effort. Getting out of bed and distracting yourself would hopefully help forget about your dream of your bold and handsome neighbor. You didn’t want to think about it. You wouldn’t think about it.
But the wetness between your thighs served as a stark reminder that you dreamed of Bucky and his cocky smirk. How he said in a low voice that he was going to have you and that you’d enjoy every second of it. How he stripped you down and wrecked you with his mouth and cock, muttering filthy praise that still had heat flowing in your veins. You felt the burn between your thighs, which you didn’t think was possible in a dream. What was worse was that he held you after, whispering how well you took him and how lucky he was to have you. The tenderness was enough to break you from your slumber and make your eyes burn with unshed tears.
It was silly to get worked up in any capacity. The dream was just that… a dream. It was a fantasy, an illusion. There was no reason to cling to it, especially when it was too much and too soon.
“Don’t think about him. Just get up,” you mumbled.
You didn't jump out of bed, but you didn't drag yourself out either and that was already an improvement to your recent past. Waking up and facing the day should never feel like a burden. You shouldn't feel like a burden.
“I’m strong and capable.”
You went through a checklist in your mind as you showered and dressed for the day. You needed to fix the door, fill out applications, bake for the potluck, and unpack more. After the furniture was delivered, you had spent the rest of the previous day emptying some of the boxes. You stilled at times as you went through your past and memories, like something you had witnessed instead of being a part of. It was the life you lived, but it wasn't meant to be yours. You didn't cry, even when your chest tightened to the point that you felt something crack.
And for a second, you thought you spotted a pair of blue eyes watching you from across your trailer before you went to sleep.
“What am I doing?” you whispered when you walked out the screen door that was still hanging on its hinges.
After going through your toolbox, you managed to get the door off completely without hurting yourself in the process. But once you set the door down and listened to the instruction video you found online, your cheeks burned with shame when you couldn’t get the screen quite right. You stopped and started the video again. The tips didn't make any sense to you and your heart sank as you stared at the door. You prided yourself on being a smart and capable woman just like you told yourself earlier, but you couldn't begin to fix a simple screen. You could almost hear your ex laughing in your mind.
“You're pathetic.”
You silenced his voice. It wasn't fair to beat yourself up over it. While it was never too late to learn something new, you had to give yourself grace and remind yourself that you wouldn't be an expert overnight. Not to mention, the skills you learned growing up were different, but it didn't mean you were hopeless or less of a person because of it. You wouldn't let previous influences in your life make you feel bad about yourself.
You heard the footsteps before you turned your head, your heart picking up at the sight of Bucky. He was in an outfit similar to the one he wore the day before, except this time he had a denim vest on. You wanted to be angry at him for being so enticing, but that wasn’t his fault… or was it? And how were you supposed to stop thinking about him when he was right there?
The signature smirk was on his face when he said, “Morning, Sweet Cheeks.”
You snorted and pushed yourself up, wiping your knees off in the process. That nickname wasn't going away. “Good morning,” you said.
“It is a good morning since I’m seeing your beautiful face,” he said with the utmost sincerity.
You mentally scolded your heart for the funny flip it did. “Do you ever stop?”
“I would if you asked me to,” he answered just as sincerely.
You remembered how he backed off when you mentioned harassment and that brought you comfort. “Good to know.”
He looked relieved in a soft sort of way and you wondered if he had thought about you after you parted ways. “Did you have a good night?”
“Uneventful, which is good,” you replied. You slept much easier than you anticipated considering it was brand new and unfamiliar. You were not going to tell him you had a wet dream about him. Nope. But had he dreamed about you? “How was your night?”
“Same. Uneventful.” That mischievous look said something was up. It wasn't like he had visitors that you knew of. Not that you were looking or paying any attention to that. “Except for the dream I had about you.”
You bit your lip without meaning to. “You dreamed about me?”
You dared to look him in the eye when he moved closer. He looked like he was ready to eat you alive. “Happy to give you the vivid details if you’d like.”
Your breath hitched, but you maintained some sense of control. “Not until after I’ve had my caffeine,” you teased. You mentally kicked your own ass. Why not let him tell you?
“Fair enough,” he chuckled. It wasn’t fair how easily his laugh made you smile. “Oh. And I told my sister and my best friend about you.”
That made you pause. “You did what?” you asked. He told a family member and a friend about you?
“Said I met my future wife and that you have Alpine’s approval.” He winked and you glanced away to hide your smile.
“You're ridiculous,” you said with no heat behind it. He probably told them that a new neighbor moved in and nothing more. Maybe he mentioned that he flirted, but the future wife comment? Wait, weren't his parting words to you that you might be his future wife?
Bucky was trouble with a capital T.
“And you just glared at that door like it stole something from you.”
You were thankful for the subject change. “It did kind of steal something.”
He tilted his head. “What did it steal?”
“My pride,” you half teased. “And by stealing my pride, I mean… I don’t know how to fix the screen. I don’t… even know where to start.” Your fingers wrung together before you put your hands before your back. “I tried watching a video, but it didn’t help me.”
Admitting that this was a shortcoming was somehow a relief as painful as it was. That didn’t make sense since you felt so embarrassed by the thought before he walked over. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve folded in on yourself. Why didn’t you with Bucky?
Maybe it was because there was no judgement in his blue eyes. There was almost an understanding, the kind that had you choking up for no good reason. “I can help,” he offered, like it was no big deal. “I don’t mind.”
You had to turn your head away and will away the burn from your eyes. “I can’t ask you to do that,” you softly said. It wasn’t easy to ask for or accept help when you wanted to stand on your own two feet. Accepting a helping hand wasn’t a weakness though, and having help didn’t mean you couldn’t maintain the sense of independence.
“You didn’t ask, and you don’t have to since I offered.” He shrugged and offered you a smile. “Told you I’m good with my tools.”
He had said that in a very sexual sort of way. “I’d really appreciate it if you could, but if you're busy…” He was already jogging away, leaving you there to stare after him. He didn’t leave you hanging for long, his toolbox in hand as he came back. You didn’t question why he was using his own instead of yours. “Wow, you’re really going to fix it?”
“You sound surprised,” he said, setting the toolbox down close to you and allowing you to pick up the scent of his soap. It was a scent you wouldn’t mind having on your skin. “It’s what good neighbors do.”
You crossed your arms as he crouched down to go through his tools. “You do this for all the neighbors?”
“Pretty much,” he replied.
A smile tugged at your lips. While part of you wanted to feel special that he was helping you, you respected that he did this for everyone. “I feel bad. I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself,” you said. No one with the exception of Bucky had stopped by to say hi either. You wouldn’t take that to heart.
“They’re letting you get settled before the potluck,” he said. Did he somehow spread the word to give you some peace until then? “But they’re anxious to meet you.”
That had your stomach turning with excitement and nerves. “I am, too.” You hoped you made a good impression. “Do you mind showing me and explaining what you’re doing?” you asked, your smile widened when he looked up at you. He looked good from this angle, and you wouldn’t think of him kissing up your legs. “Just in case I ever have to fix another screen.”
He pointed at you with a screwdriver. “You mean so you don’t have to rely on anyone,” he guessed. Once again there was no snark or humor, just that quiet understanding that made you want to know more about him.
“You got me there.” It was difficult to depend on people when you were made to feel invisible. “But before you get started, do you want some coffee?” It was the least you could do since he offered to help.
It was his turn to look surprised. “I wouldn't mind, please and thanks.”
“Cream and sugar?”
He smirked and you awaited whatever dirty comment was about to leave his wonderful lips. “I’ve got plenty of cream, but you can provide the sugar.”
You burst out laughing and stepped back. “Yep. You're ridiculous.”
“Maybe just a little. If you're offering though, I would like some cream with that sugar,” he said.
“You got it.” You paused and winded. “I’d invite you in, but it isn't ready yet,” you said apologetically. It was going to be a warm and cozy place. You had already begun to leave little touches around, like vases and knickknacks, but it was far from visitor friendly.
It didn’t phase him since he had a smile on his face, likely sensing he’d be in your home sooner rather than later. “Your home, your rules.”
“So you won't come inside without permission?” Your face felt like it was set ablaze the second the words left your mouth and Bucky looked all too pleased. “Not. A. Word.”
He threw his hands up with laughter in his eyes. “Aww, c’mon, Sweet Cheeks. That was the perfect setup!”
“Not a word!”
“I won't come inside without your permission…” He smirked again and your knees went weak. “And you’ll beg for it.”
“Bucky!” You could hear his laughter when you rushed inside and you started giggling, too. When was the last time you laughed like this so early in the morning?
You sobered up quickly when you began to make the coffee. Bucky was being a kind neighbor and helping you fix the screen door, nothing more. Even if he was flirting and looking at you like you were the reason that the sun rose today. You needed to focus on your to-do list and he wasn’t on that list.
Not yet at least.
Bucky grinned the second you walked back outside. “Just made my morning all over again by seeing your beautiful face.”
You snorted so you wouldn’t swoon. “My face isn’t worth getting that excited about, but caffeine is worth it.”
He took the mug with a frown. “You think your face isn’t worth it? Tell that to my racing heart,” he said, gently blowing on the drink. The man was smooth like butter. The pleased groan he let out when he took a sip sounded smooth, too, and had you heating up. “Fuck, this might be the best coffee I’ve ever had.”
“Liar,” you smiled, not-so-secretly pleased that he liked it.
“I’d never lie to you. Anything I ever tell you will be the truth,” he said so seriously that your breath caught in your throat. You lived your whole life around fake smiles and people prepared to stab anyone and everyone in the back. Was Bucky the type to stab while looking someone in the eye and making them face the ugly truth? “What’s the pen and paper for?” he asked, nodding to where the pad was tucked under your arm.
“Oh. For the instructions for the screen. I like to write things down,” you replied, gripping the pen a little tighter. You relaxed when you realized he wasn't going to poke fun at you.
“Gimme.” He gently pried them from you and jotted something down on the sheet, your fingers tingling from where they touched. There was a soft smile on his face when he handed the pad back.
“‘How to fix a screen. Step one… Ask Bucky. Step two…’ Wait. Is this your phone number?” You giggled when he wiggled his eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Yep. And I’m going to watch as you put my number into your phone before I leave,” he said, smugly taking another sip of the coffee.
You stared at the sheet to avoid his watchful eyes. “So, the neighbors all have your phone number, too, to help with repairs?”
“Everyone knows they can reach out to me for help, but I’m giving you my number because I want you to have my number.”
You lifted your gaze to see him scratch the back of his head. Was he worried you wouldn’t want it? It was sweet. “Tell me how to fix the screen and I’ll put your number in my phone.”
You held your breath when he leaned close to your ear. “Say ‘please, Bucky’,” he whispered.
Your brain nearly short circuited and you shivered when you felt his warm breath against your skin. He was driving you crazy. “Please, Bucky,” you whispered.
“‘Atta girl,” he whispered, quickly pulling away and giving you a chance to exhale. “Okay. Let’s get started.”
Watching Bucky work was admittedly a joy. The ways his brows pinched when he concentrated was adorable and he couldn’t seem to keep his tongue in his mouth. He didn’t roll his eyes or seem at all agitated when you asked questions and he paused every so often to drink his coffee, which gave you a chance to look at him between taking your notes. What you really appreciated was that he took the time to explain what he was doing and why in a way that was easy to understand without making you feel dumb. It was nice.
“Wow. It looks amazing,” you said once he was done. You could cross it off your list. “It looks as good as new.”
You thought his cheeks turned pink for a second when he picked up the door to put it back where it belonged. “Just about.”
“Thank you so much,” you said above a whisper. “Not just for fixing this, but for not making me feel bad about it.”
It would’ve been easy to shove it in your face that you didn’t know what you were doing, but Bucky didn't seem like that kind of man. Flirty, bold, but not cruel or discouraging. He wasn’t the type of person who would demand perfection from you. It comforted you like a warm blanket.
“Nothing to feel bad about,” he said, tenderly smiling. “I’m glad you accepted my help.”
Something soft passed between you before he put the door back on. He carefully tested it and while you didn’t feel any sense of pride since you didn’t fix it yourself, you were happy. That was a start.
“How much do I owe you?” you asked.
Bucky’s eyes narrowed and you realized how quickly you made a mistake by asking. “Not paying me, Sweet Cheeks. I said it’s what good neighbors do.”
“I need to do something,” you said, holding up a hand when he tried to argue. “And don’t say giving you a coffee counts. It took you a lot more work to fix my door than it did to make your coffee.”
He brushed his hands off with a huff once he put his tools away. “You don’t ‘need’ to do anything. I’m not an obligation.”
“That’s…” Guilt filled you and you didn’t want him to think you were trying to do something because you had to. “Bucky, I’m not offering anything out of obligation. I want to, okay?”
A heartbeat passed and a smile slowly crossed his face. “Oh, yeah? Have a drink with me.” He waited for another beat. “Tonight.”
You took a breath, only somewhat surprised by what he wanted. That sounded dangerously like a date. It wasn’t. It was just a drink with your neighbor. Your very hot, sexy, flirty neighbor.
“A drink?”
“A drink. Maybe two.” He shrugged, but his stance was anything but nonchalant. “Whatever you want.”
You considered it and slowly nodded. “Okay.” It wouldn’t hurt to hang out, especially with how happy he looked that you accepted. “Where do you want to go? Is there a bar around here?”
“Yeah, but it’s a total dive and everyone will hit on you. We can stay here.”
That had you laughing, but he wasn’t. “No one will hit on me,” you said. Whenever you went out with your ex and friends no one paid attention to you. Minus Bucky, you were invisible to people.
“Yeah, they will. Remember how I reacted when I saw you? It’ll be like that, but worse.” He looked you up and down. “Trust me. I’m a gentleman compared to them.”
You laughed harder. You couldn’t imagine anyone hitting on you the way Bucky did. “Fine, fine. We’ll stay here,” you agreed.
You were already thinking about what you were going to wear. Would perfume and makeup be too much? Yes, it would. It wasn’t a date, so there was no need to dress up. A casual drink meant casual wear.
“And we won’t have to yell over music to talk to each other.”
“Good point,” you said, tilting your head. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Because you still need to put my number in your phone.”
You playfully shook your head and grabbed your phone, but didn’t program it in just yet. “Say ‘please, Sweet Cheeks’,” you said, giving him the same order he gave you earlier. It didn’t sound anywhere near as sexy coming from you, but he seemed to like it since his eyes went dark. And you didn’t back up when he invaded your space, holding your gaze.
“Please, Sweet Cheeks,” he whispered, wrapping a calloused hand around yours. “Please, put my number in your phone and message me before we have that drink tonight.”
You thought back to your dream, how he had his hands and mouth on you, how husky his voice was… You needed to get a grip and fast. “Message you?” you asked breathily. “I have a lot to do today. I have to fill out job applications and-”
“Message me,” he interjected, cupping your other hand.
“Bake for the potluck,” you continued, your heart racing.
“And message me,” he said again, taking another step forward.
You exhaled. Was he going to kiss you? He wouldn’t. “And unpack some more.”
His forehead touched yours for a brief moment, but he backed away before you could blink. “And message me.”
It was dizzying that this man not only paid attention to you, but seemed to want your attention. Why? What was so special about you?
“You’re going to drive me crazy,” you said, pulling further away so you could breathe without taking in the scent of him. “I’ll send you a message, okay?”
He put his hands over his chest.
With a smile, you glanced at the pad and put his number in. “Did you really tell your sister and best friend about me?” you asked.
“I did.” His smile was gentle and easy. “They’re great. You’ll like them.” Your heart turned over at the fondness in his voice. They were clearly special to him. And if he thought you’d like them he clearly intended for you to meet them. “Do you really not want to rely on people?”
You looked at the door he fixed with a sigh. It was personal, but it didn’t feel like he was being nosy. “The people I should’ve been able to depend on let me down one too many times. I’m trying to be more careful going forward,” you explained, trying to keep your tone emotionless. It was difficult to pretend that you didn’t care because the truth was you cared too much.
“I get that.” His hand brushed yours again. “I’ve been let down before, too, and it sucks when the person should’ve had your back,” he said. Who did that? Who hurt him? “But we’re both still standing.”
“Yeah, we are,” you said. Bent but not broken.
“And I’m not saying you should depend on me since you don’t know me that well, but I will be an open book for you. No secrets, no bullshit,” he promised.
You blinked. Your ex fed you poison coated in sugar. Bucky was promising that he wouldn’t and you wanted it to be true, that he would be honest even when it was easier to lie. Because the truth hurt at times, but pain was real and you needed something real.
“I’ll be an open book, too,” you replied. You were rewriting your story and there was no reason to hide.
“Good,” he smiled, taking out his phone. “Now, I need to pick a ringtone for you once you message me. Let’s see… Pour Some Sugar on Me… Honkytonk Badonkadonk… Cherry Pie…”
“Oh, my god,” you groaned, but you smiled. He was ridiculous and wonderful.
“Milkshake… Fat Bottomed Girls…” He looked up when you gathered up the empty mug, pen and paper, and went back to your door. “Hey, where are you going?”
“I told you, I have things to do,” you answered.
His pout could make anyone lose their resolve. “You can do me between your other tasks,” he called out.
You could, but you had to maintain some of your dignity and not fall into his bed right away. He could work for it. “Another time, if you're lucky.”
He groaned a little. “You’re breaking my heart, Sweet Cheeks.”
“You’ll live. Say hi to Alpine for me! I’ll see you tonight for that drink!” You giggled to yourself and stared at his number before you shot off a text. “Hey, Bucky. It’s Sweet Cheeks. Thanks again for your help with the door. Looking forward to that drink. And by the way, I dreamed about you, too.”
You tucked your phone away, refusing to sit and watch for his response. You had work to do, but you were looking forward to tonight. What kind of questions would you two ask each other tonight? What were the stories behind his tattoos?
And who let him down?
Okay, lovelies. What are they going to discuss over drinks? And who let 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
the first meeting had me nervous and a bit on edge like our reader, feeeling he's too good to be true, but this felt good. warm. what you see is whaat you get, and he's a bit wild, but all of him genuine.
Hey- if you're still taking prompts for ficlet Friday- Bucky and #31- pinky swear.
Oh, this is sweeet! How about more of our drunk!Bucky before that night out?
Pinky Swear
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Word Count: Over 800
Warnings: Talk of fear of heights, backstory, slight angst, slight fluff
A/N: Takes place before Pretty Girl.
Bucky deeply inhaled the cool evening air and exhaled slowly. He hadn't moved from his spot on the outdoor sofa since he sat down, but he knew the number of steps it would take to get from his seat to the door. Looking at the rooftop guardrail, he reminded himself it was more than tall and sturdy enough to prevent anyone from falling. He was fine. Everything was fine.
“Bucky!” your pretty voice beckoned to him over the rest of the chatter from the group. “Come look at this view.”
Finding a stable point to look at was always good practice when he was afraid, and who better to look at than you? His pretty girl. You weren't technically his girl, but you were in his heart and you looked extra pretty tonight. He told himself the reason his heart stopped was because of how pretty you looked and not because of how close you were to the guardrail.
And here you wanted him to join you, but his body wouldn't move.
“I’m good right here,” he said, his smile tight. He gripped his beer bottle so tight he almost shattered it.
“You sure?” you smiled over your shoulder.
All he had to do was take a breath, get up, and join you. His head spun at the very thought, and he couldn't do it. He was a fucking coward. “I’m good,” he said again.
There was a frown on your pretty face as you went over to the sofa and sat beside him. “Hey. Are you okay?”
You always seemed to know when he was feeling off and he wanted to remove the concern from your eyes. “I don't…”
“You don't what?”
He inhaled and exhaled again, and he felt your pretty gaze on him as he ran a hand through his hand. There was nothing wrong with telling you. Maybe it would make him feel better. “I don't like heights,” he said above a whisper, feeling some of his anxiety subside.
It stemmed from his childhood when he lost his dad in a parachute accident, and it never went away. The fear only got worse when he fell from the train. When he was under HYDRA’s command, he wasn't allowed to experience fear. They locked it away deep inside with the rest of him. Now that was himself again, his fears came back to the surface stronger than before.
“Oh, Bucky.” You moved a little closer and angled your body as if to shield him from the view. It was sweet of you. “Are you okay?”
His jaw clenched, but he nodded. “I'm fine as long as I don't go to the railing.”
Your eyes widened and he felt like shit when he saw the guilt that swam there. “Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have asked you to look if-”
“Don’t be. You had no idea,” he said, putting his hand over yours and quickly pulling away when he realized what he did. “I know you wouldn't have asked if you knew.” You were one of the most thoughtful people in his life. If you knew in advance that he hated heights, you not only would've kept him far from the railing, but you would've made the gang move the gathering somewhere else to accommodate him.
“No, I wouldn’t push you out of your comfort zone,” you confirmed, staring at your hand where he touched it.
“You’d somehow widen the comfort zone so I felt okay,” he smiled. That was the kind of person you were.
“Maybe,” you smiled. “May I ask you something?”
“Sure,” he nodded. Anything you wanted.
“If you don't like heights, what made you come up here?” you asked curiously.
You.
But he didn't admit that you were the reason. It would've been the right time or place. “I… I don't want it to be a big deal. Besides, I wouldn't look like a team player if I skipped,” he answered, and he was telling the truth. You were still the number one reason though.
“Well, if you aren't feeling it, we can go to the lounge. Just say the word,” you offered.
“We?” he repeated.
You played with the hem of your shirt, which made him smile. “Yeah, I mean, if you want the company.”
Bucky always wanted your company. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, leaning in a little closer. “And listen. I know this is silly, but if you could not say anything. Steve’s the only one who knows and…”
Bucky was learning to be vulnerable again. He was trying. And if there was anyone who wouldn’t use his fears against him even in a joking manner, it was you. He trusted you.
“I won't say a word,” you whispered.
“You swear?” he smiled.
You surprised him by wrapping your pinky around his, and your touch would linger long after you let go. “Pinky swear.”
Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️ And we still need him to confess.
You were reading a book in the lounge when laughter rang out through the hall, a smile touching your lips. The guys decided to do a “boys' night out” and it sounded like they had a good time. Between being heroes and the trials and tribulations they all went through, they deserved it.
“Hey! Pretty girl!”
You didn't turn toward the sound of Bucky’s voice immediately as much as you wanted to. Glancing around, you were the only one in the lounge, so who was he talking to? It would mean everything for him to call you pretty, but you were just… you.
“Steeeeve. I don’t think she heard me,” Bucky loudly whispered.
“Then say it again with feeling,” Steve loudly whispered back.
“Got it.” Bucky sucked in breath which gave you enough time to cover your ears. “HEY! PRETTY GIRL!”
“Jesus Christ, I can hear you guys,” you confirmed, shutting your book. There went your quiet evening. “I guess stealth isn’t your strong suit tonight.”
You shrieked when Bucky suddenly sat beside you, casually throwing an arm over your shoulders. Okay, he was still stealthy, and he looked amazing in his jeans and henley. “There’s my pretty girl. I missed you,” he smiled.
“Um…” You looked around to find Steve, Thor, Sam, Joaquin, and Clint hovering by with expectant looks on their faces. You tried to come up with something witty, but all you said was, “What?”
Bucky chuckled, his cheeks a bit more pink than usual. “My pretty girl is adorable, isn’t she?” he said over his shoulder before looking at you with hearts in his eyes.
You leaned in to get a closer look at him, catching a small whiff of liquor mixed with his cologne. “You’re tipsy,” you said. How was that possible?
“No, I’m Bucky. And you’re pretty,” he smiled, the dreamy look still in his eyes. “Pretty eyes, pretty smile, pretty voice. Even your name’s pretty.”
As happy as you were to hear those things, even as your heart pounded, you looked to the guys for help because Bucky couldn’t be serious. “How?”
“My apologies,” Thor spoke even louder than usual. “I shared some of my Asgardian liquor with Barnes and Rogers and… Well-”
“Bucky hasn’t shut up about you,” Sam cut in, rolling his eyes. “‘My girl is the prettiest girl there is.’”
“‘Isn’t my girl brilliant? And so kind!’” Clint mocked.
“‘Her smile just lights up the room’,” Joaquin added.
“Guys, c’mon. It’s sweet,” Steve smiled before he said, “‘I’ll bet her kisses even taste pretty.’”
Heat filled your cheeks. Bucky didn’t deny a thing, so they were telling the truth, weren’t they? “But I’m not-”
The former Winter Soldier placed a hand on your cheek, drawing your attention back to him. “Don’t look at them, pretty girl. Look at me.”
You did, and it made you want to cry. Because you weren’t his girl. He was only saying these things because he was tipsy. “Okay. You had your fun, so why don’t you get some sleep?”
His smile fell away. “No,” he muttered, pulling you into his lap in the blink of an eye and putting his face in your neck. “I’m fine right here.”
His lips against your skin had you shivering, and it wasn’t possible to break from his hold. Being this close felt like a dream, but he was tipsy and you had to be the responsible one. “Um… a little help?” you asked.
“Of course.” Thor stepped forward. “Allow me.”
You smiled at the God of Thunder. “Thanks, I…” You stopped when he draped a blanket over you and Bucky. Where did that even come from? “That wasn’t what I-”
“And some water,” he smiled as Bucky nuzzled your neck with a happy moan. You tried not to let that moan turn you on. You had to be good. “Men, let us take our leave.”
“Behave, jerk,” Steve said as Thor shuffled everyone from the room.
“Shut up, punk,” Bucky snarled, nuzzling you again. The lights dimmed, too. It was almost romantic. “Not you, pretty girl. You can say whatever you want.”
You had to laugh. Laughter was better than worrying about what would happen in the morning. “So, I’m your pretty girl?”
“Yep,” he said with a smile. “All mine.”
“Okay, Sarge,” you smiled sadly. “I’m your pretty girl.”
Relaxing in his hold, you could pretend until he was sober that you were.
Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️ And this one may be fun to continue.
I need him to love on her more! Maybe have taken her softly and sweetly and silently to his room sometime in the middle of the night and just held her until morning, his drunkenness burning off really quickly with that super soldier metabolism, so he’s perfectly aware when he cradles your face in the start of the dawn light.
Pairing: Trailer Park!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: You're ready to start over, and your neighbor makes a lasting impression.
Word Count: Over 3.7k
Warnings: Flirting, swearing, dirty talk, tension, sexual chemistry, world building, asshole ex, Alpine appearance, Bucky Barnes (he's very forward and a warning, okay?)
A/N: Here we are! My trailer park!Bucky intro. We're calling this AU Diamond in the Rough. Thanks to the nonnies and everyone who has asked about him. He's here, @ellethespaceunicorn, @targaryenvampireslayer, @vunblr, @vesearlee, @startcarvingdarling, @thezombieprostitute, @buckybarnesfic (sorry to anyone I missed)!❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Your life went up in flames recently all thanks to the match you struck. If people asked your parents, your friends, your old boss, or your now ex-boyfriend, they’d likely say it was a mid-life crisis or form of rebellion to get some sort of attention. The truth was that the fuel had spread for years, daring you to light it all on fire, and you did when you finally had enough. You wouldn’t say the old you was dead and that you were reborn, but you weren’t who you were yesterday either.
This was the start of a different, and hopefully happier, version of you.
Staring at the worn down trailer in front of you, you hadn't made your way inside just yet. While your place with your ex had been large and open and new, this place had seen better days. It needed a fresh coat of paint to start, a new door and windows. It was sinking in that this was really going to be your new home, and it made you happy.
“I’ll bring you back to life,” you whispered, determined to give this place the TLC that it deserved. If you poured yourself into this, maybe it would fix something inside you, too. You certainly didn’t need your ex or anyone else to help.
You looked over at your car, your beautiful Mustang, which had everything you thought to pack. Your bed and other furniture wouldn't get delivered until later, but that was okay. It hurt to think so much of your life, what defined you, could be boiled down to material possessions, but weren't you fortunate since so many had much less? Maybe unpacking as much as you could today would occupy your time and thoughts.
Like finding a new job, something you truly wanted to do and not what was expected of you.
Your phone went off and you hesitated to look at the message, not sure who it would be from. It was funny how for years no one went out of their way to talk to you unless they needed something. Now that you were gone they suddenly cared? The thought left a hollow feeling in your chest, one you didn’t want to examine today.
“I have a bet on how long it’ll take you to come crawling back to me. Can’t wait to see you on your knees with those pretty tears when you beg for forgiveness, Pumpkin. And let’s face it, on your knees is where you belong because you’re nothing without me.”
A surge of anger flooded your veins as you reread it. Even now he expected you’d come back with your tail between your legs where he could look down on you. He had another thing coming. “Trust fund prick,” you muttered, your finger hovering only for a moment before you blocked him. You should’ve done that the moment you dumped him, but doing it now in front of your new home, it felt more right.
Your eyes burned when you put your phone away and an empty feeling began to consume you. Why were you close to tears? Because of him? You knew from the beginning what kind of man he was and you lied to yourself to maintain the facade that everyone else wanted. You were tired of living for other people’s expectations. This was your life, you didn’t need a man, and-
“You lost?”
You turned at the sound of the deep voice just feet behind you, trembling ever so slightly when you saw the man that husky voice belonged to. The sight knocked the very breath from your lungs. You were used to being surrounded by guys who paraded themselves as men, but they were little boys playing dress up. But the man in front of you? He was all man.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
He stood tall and proud, but relaxed and at ease in his element. Blue eyes like an ocean, yet he was the calm of the storm. The short dark brown hair matched his thick goatee and you wished you could feel it against your skin so you knew if it was soft or scratchy. The white tank top showed off his muscles and tattoos and the chain around his neck dipped beneath the neckline. The low hanging jeans hid what you knew was an amazing package. He was something out of a wet dream, the kind of man who looked like trouble.
The kind of man you should stay away from, but wanted to chase after you.
He slowly licked his bottom lip before he asked, “Cat got your tongue, Sweet Cheeks?”
Your face felt like it would go up in flames. Being attracted to what you believed was a new neighbor wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t. “No, and I’m not lost,” you replied, gesturing to what was now your home. “I live here now.”
You could see why he thought you were lost since it was obvious you weren’t from around there. When you looked for a new place, you purposely picked an area far from your old place. If you had stayed close, it wouldn’t have severed the ties enough. It would’ve made your leash longer and that wouldn’t do.
“Is that right?” He looked you over from head to toe and your mouth went dry when he smirked, the kind that likely disintegrated panties. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
The ruggedly handsome man held his hand out for you, and you only just realized he was wearing rings. What would it feel like if they dug into your skin? And, yes, you may have glanced at his left hand to see if he was wearing a wedding ring, which he wasn’t. “Thanks for the welcome,” you said, taking his hand.
Electricity crackled between you, feeling the crackle from head to toe. The intensity shook you to your core when he locked his eyes with yours and brought your hand to his lips and kissed it instead of shaking it. You let out a breath when his goatee tickled your skin, his eyes locked with yours. Well, that answered your question- both soft and scruffy, the kind that would leave a delicious burn between your thighs.
Jesus, you needed to keep your libido under control. You just got out of a relationship. Weren’t you just thinking moments ago how you didn’t need a man?
“I’m Bucky,” he said against your skin, reluctantly releasing your hand. “You wanna tell me your name, or should I just keep calling you ‘Sweet Cheeks’?”
You told him your name, the sound barely above a whisper. He hummed and repeated it. Never once did you think your name sounded sexy until he said it.
“Why are you calling me Sweet Cheeks?” you asked. Did he call every pretty woman that? Not that you were full of yourself and thought you were drop-dead gorgeous, but you had some confidence in your looks.
He chuckled, a throaty sound that made you want to hear it again. “Well, I hope you don't mind me being forward, but…” he began.
You tensed up a little and looked down at yourself. Was he going to make a comment that you didn't belong there? That you stood out like a sore thumb? You were dressed down, but still looked pristine as you always did, a habit instilled in you that you had to look put together no matter if you were crumbling inside. Appearance meant everything to your family, and you needed to let that expectation go.
“Your ass looks incredible in those jeans. Sweetest fucking cheeks I’ve ever seen and that’s with your pants on.” He licked his lips when his gaze drifted down your body. “I don’t think I’ve seen a better ass than yours.”
You blinked and looked behind you to get a look at yourself. “Excuse me?” you asked. Of all the things you thought he’d say, that wasn't one of them.
“I saw you from behind and stared for a good minute, thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you, before I walked over. You have the kind of ass that should be worshipped. Could make a grown man cry,” he said, your heart speeding up and your core throbbing. “And then you turn around with the face of a fucking angel and I swear my heart stopped,” he added, putting both hands on his chest for emphasis. “Givin’ me a heart attack over here.”
You almost laughed because he couldn’t be serious, but there was no humor in his eyes. In fact, he scanned your face like he was trying to memorize it. “That’s… no. My ass isn’t that great. Neither is my face,” you said. It wasn’t to fish for a compliment, as nice as it would've been, because while you had some confidence in yourself, you didn’t have that great of an ass.
But beauty was in the eye of the beholder, wasn’t it, and he looked like he was two seconds from dropping to his knees in the dirt to worship you like he claimed he wanted to.
“Tell that to my racing heart and my cock,” he said, your mouth parting when he pointed to his crotch. “But if you continue to disagree, I’m more than happy to show you how wrong you are.”
Your words were stuck in your throat, not used to being the center of someone’s attention that way. “I’m sorry, but we just met,” you said, unsure of how else to respond. He didn’t know you, apart from your name, and he was talking about worshipping your ass and looking at you like he wanted to devour you whole?
It was… kind of flattering. What would you have to be upset about? Weren’t you mentally telling your libido to calm down at the sight of him? You were attracted to him, he was just the one being brave enough to vocalize his attraction to you.
His gaze didn’t waver when he said, “Yeah, we just met, but I want you.”
Your mouth parted again. Well, he was certainly forward and that didn’t bother you. It was better than the fake people you surrounded yourself with before spouting pretty lies. “You want me? You don’t know me and I could be a taken woman,” you pointed out.
“I’ll get to know you if you let me. ‘Sides, it’s not like I see a ring or indentation on your finger, so I don’t think you’re married or engaged. And I sure as hell don’t see anyone here helping you with your stuff, so I’m guessing you’ve been single for a while or you recently got out of a relationship,” he said, taking a look around to make his point before he focused on you once again. You weren’t at all upset that he noticed your bare finger since you had looked at his, too. “You wanna be a taken woman?”
Was it that obvious that you were all alone? “So what if I did just get out of a relationship?” you asked. There was nothing wrong with getting out of something that wasn’t right.
He smiled, not pushing when you didn’t answer his question. “Then he’s a fucking idiot for letting you go. And what better way to get over someone than getting under another?”
“I dumped him,” you clarified, not knowing why you needed him to know that. Your ex was likely spewing to everyone that he dumped you to save face, but that’s not what happened. “And I’m already over him.”
You should’ve felt guilty for that, but he wasn’t your forever and you weren’t his. He was free to find someone who fit with him better than you ever did. You were free to find your own happiness.
“Good girl,” Bucky smirked, your legs pressing together. You had to get a grip. “And I wasn’t implying that he dumped you, only that he’s an idiot for letting you go and I’m happy to help you forget all about him.”
You finally let your laugh out and you swore you heard him groan. Did he like the sound of your laughter? “You really are forward, and I just said I don’t need to get over him.”
“I said I’d help you forget about him,” he said, taking a step forward and smiling when you didn’t step back. You weren’t some wilting flower he’d pluck from the soil. “Just let me fuck him from your memories and I swear you’ll thank me when I’m done.”
You frowned. Did he think you were an easy lay, or was he picking up on your attraction to him and running with it? “I haven’t even moved into my trailer yet, so maybe you should let me get settled before you continue to… I don’t know, harass me.”
His eyebrows shot up and the amusement died in his eyes. “Harass you? That’s not what I’m doing,” he swore, taking a step back to give you space. “Look, I’m sorry if I upset you or came on too strong.”
The apology took you by surprise and slowly warmed you inside. Not many people ever apologized to you for anything. “No, I’m sorry. Harass wasn’t the right word,” you said. It was just flirting. Very… strong flirting. “But if that isn’t it, what are you doing?”
He smiled after a moment, that spark back in his eyes. “Just grabbing an opportunity when I see it. Life’s too short not to,” he said.
You respected that perspective. “Is that what I am? An opportunity?” you asked. Something to get out of his system?
“I think you’re a lot more than that and that you may be running from something,” he replied, tilting his head. “Are you running from something or someone?”
He asked like he genuinely cared and you didn’t know how to process that. “I wouldn’t say I’m running,” you said, though you were running in a way, running from the life you no longer wanted. “More like I finally closed a chapter.”
“Well, I’m looking forward to getting to know you and helping you write a new chapter.”
“You say that like it’s a sure thing,” you said.
When his eyes swept over you again, it didn’t look like he was checking you out. It was as if he was trying to figure you out. “‘Cause it is,” he said, glancing at your door before you could say anything to his cocky remark. “Can help you out with repairs if you’d like.”
“I might take you up on that,” you said since you didn’t really have a clue what you were doing when it came to the handyman type of stuff. You could pay him, too. “Don’t get too excited. I said ‘might’,” you teased when he smiled.
Something in your gut said that even if he wasn’t hitting on you that he would’ve offered to help. It was a feeling you had, just like he had a feeling about you. And sure, he looked like danger and sin and everything you should stay away from, but there was more to him than met the eye.
What was his story? Who was the man behind the swagger and tattoos and rough edges? Did he grow up here or did he make a choice like you?
“I run my own shop. I’m very good with my…” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Tools.”
You laughed again, louder than before, and his smile widened. “You really are something, Bucky,” he said.
“Love hearing you say my name,” he whispered, heat pooling in your gut before he pointed at your car with a whistle. “And she is a beauty. You ever need any help with her, you let me know.”
You agreed. She was a beauty. “Is this the part where you tell me you’ll take me for a ride or something like that?”
“Oh, I'll give you a ride,” he said in a low voice. “As many as you want.”
You ignored the ache between your thighs. “Not today, Bucky. I need to unpack.”
“One sec, Sweet Cheeks.”
“...Is that seriously what you’re going to call me?” you asked as he rushed to his trailer. It was ridiculous, but you didn’t hate it. You sure as hell liked it better than Pumpkin.
“‘Til the day I die,” he called back, whistling when he opened the door. “C’mere, girl. I got someone I want you to meet.”
Your brows furrowed. Who was in there who would possibly want to meet you? Did he have a kid?
You weren’t prepared for a white ball of fur to curl up in Bucky’s waiting arms. “And who is this?” you asked when he strolled back over. The image of such a beautiful cat in his arms was one that would put a smile on your face for days to come.
“This is Alpine. Found her near my shop a while back, starving and shivering. Nursed her back to health and she’s been by my side ever since,” he said, affection written all over his face. There was no bragging in his tone and that made you appreciate his story more. “Al, meet our beautiful new neighbor.”
You weren’t about to preen since he called you beautiful. “Oh, my god,” you whispered, tentatively holding a hand out to her when she lifted her head and regarded you with bright eyes. “Hi there.”
Alpine stared for a few seconds before she sniffed your fingertips and rubbed her head against them, encouraging you to pet her. You felt Bucky’s penetrating stare when you gently stroked her fur. “She’s a great judge of character,” he said, swearing under his breath. “I’m such a dick.”
“What do you mean?” you asked. He was a very forward flirt, but you didn’t get the impression that he was a dick.
“I didn’t ask if you were allergic,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “Fuck.”
Your heart turned over. No one you knew would’ve ever considered that. “I would’ve told you right away if I was allergic,” you assured him, smiling when Alpine purred. “I’m glad he was able to nurse you back to health. I’ll bet you watch over everyone around here, don't you?”
You could just imagine her being a little guardian and your heart twisted. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea for you to get a pet. Like your trailer, you could shower a pet with love, too.
Alpine surprised you when she moved forward and pressed her head to yours. “Fuck me,” Bucky whispered when she curled up again and closed her eyes. “She really fucking likes you.”
“Maybe she’s just being nice,” you said.
“Trust me, she wouldn’t do that unless she really liked you,” he said, leaning down slightly to kiss the top of Alpine's head. “Would you, Al?”
Your heart melted. It wasn't fair how sweet and sexy he looked holding an animal. The only thing missing was him in a leather jacket, which you had no doubt he owned. If you ever saw him in a leather jacket holding a cat, you’d probably combust.
“Like seeing me kiss a pussy?” he asked nonchalantly when he caught you staring.
“Oh, my god,” you giggled, not dignifying him with any other sort of response to his question. Because if you pictured him eating your pussy, your legs would start shaking and you were altready hot and bothered enough thanks to him. “I really should start bringing my stuff in,” you said. You really needed to look over your resume, too, and find a job sooner rather than later.
“Say bye, Al.” He lifted her paw to give you a wave as she meowed.
You smiled and gave her a wave, too. “Bye bye. Thank you for the warm welcome.” It was a smooth tactic bringing his cat out. You imagined she helped win a lot of people over if his charm didn't.
“Wait,” Bucky said when went to turn away. “You sure you don't need any help? I don't mind doing any heavy lifting.”
“I can manage,” you answered. You had to get used to doing things on your own now. “But I appreciate it.”
“If you change your mind-”
“I’ll let you know.”
He frowned, but nodded. “One more thing,” he said, nodding over to a clearing. “Potluck lunch two days from now. You should stop by. Give you a chance to meet everyone.”
“Really?” Your eyes lit up. “I can bake something,” you said. Something delicious that would leave a good impression on the neighbors.
He raised an eyebrow. “You bake?”
“Yeah, I like to bake. Cakes, cookies, brownies, pies, whatever I feel like.” You shrank in on yourself, waiting for the inevitable laughter or insult.
But it didn’t come.
Bucky merely stared when he ran his tongue over his lips. Did the man ever keep his tongue in his mouth? “Now, I think it’s only fair that I get to taste your sweet cheeks and I don’t know if I want to share.”
You shook your head. Surely you hadn’t heard him right. “...You mean my treats?” you asked.
“Cheeks, treats, all of it. Bet it’ll all melt on my tongue,” he replied with a wink and turned away, giving you the chance to check out his ass when he slowly walked away. He spoke about worshipping your ass, but you couldn’t take your eyes off his.
“You cocky son of a bitch,” you whispered with a smile. Of course you heard him right, and you bet he ate like a starved man. “Keep dreaming,” you called after him.
“Oh, I will, Sweet Cheeks. I will dream about you,” he promised over his shoulder before he looked back once more. “You might just be my future wife,” he declared and went inside with Alpine while his words hung in the air.
“Fuck me,” you breathed out, your shoulders shaking as you laughed because that just happened.
You didn’t know how the rest of the day would go, but you did know that your new home and neighbor were going to make for a very interesting and exciting chapter in your new life.
Okay, lovelies. What do we think? Talk to me. Let me know if you love him as much as I do. And let me know where you think this is going. 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
summary: you're stuck in a motel room with only one bed with your dad's best friend andy barber and you can't sleep because you can't stop thinking about what it would feel like to touch him... thankfully for you, andy doesn't plan on keeping his hands to himself.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), age gap (reader is late 20s/early 30s, andy is late 30s/early 40s), smut, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, edging, finger sucking, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, teasing, dirty talk, dumbification, anal play, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pet names (mostly sweetheart and honey), aftercare
word count: 8.3k
a/n: i spun the wheels from @georgiapeach30513's moodboard event and got andy barber, dark, only one bed and edging and the idea for this fic popped into my head so i figured i'd write it 🤷🏼♀️ it ended up not being very dark but maybe soft!dark-ish if you squint?? i also did make a full moodboard for this fic, which i'll post later or tomorrow. i haven't decided if i'm gonna turn this into a series, but i kinda wanna follow it up with some smutty drabbles, so if anyone has anything they'd like to see with these two, my inbox is open 😁 otherwise, please enjoy!!
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“You’re squirming a lot over there, sweetheart,” Andy Barber said, his voice low and deep, raspy with almost-sleep as it floated to you from the other side of the bed in the dark motel room. There was a pillow separating your body from your dad’s best friend, but it apparently wasn’t going to save him from all your sleepless tossing and turning. It had been meant to stop you from thinking about him, so close but so untouchable, but it hadn’t saved you either.
Guilt and a little bit of shame slithered down into your gut as you whispered a soft, “Sorry, Mr. Barber.” Andy was a kind, steady man, and you felt awful for keeping him awake, especially when the reason was your tiny little crush on your dad’s friend. And the the big, overwhelming thoughts about what he was hiding beneath the lounge pants he’d worn to bed. You couldn’t stop thinking about reaching over the pillow and sliding your hand beneath the waist of his pants, feeling him in your hand.
Blowing out a quiet, frustrated breath, you rolled onto your back as silently as possible and stayed as still as you could, only your chest rising and falling as you stared up at the ceiling.
You’d known Andy Barber for a number of years, and through almost all of that time, you’d thought of him as nothing more than a polite, decent, almost boring, man. He was a well-respected lawyer your dad had met shortly after you’d graduated from college when he’d needed help with some legal matters. You didn’t know what they were exactly, you’d been wrapped up in your first job out of school—it had been a long, arduous process to find work in your field and you were focused on impressing your colleagues. But you knew your dad had gotten close with Andy because your parents had started inviting him to all their summer barbecues and their yearly holiday party, where you’d met him.
You didn’t know much about Andy besides the fact that he was a lawyer and he was single. At almost every party, you overheard one of your dad’s other friends ask him when he was going to settle down, get a wife and have a kid. You’d hear Andy laugh affably, a charming smile gracing his bearded face as he’d say, “I’m just waiting for the right girl.”
You’d never given much thought to who that girl might be, but as you lay in bed beside Andy, a pillow separating your bodies, you found yourself jealous of her. She wouldn’t need any kind of barrier between her and Andy’s big, strong body. She wouldn’t have any reasons not to cuddle up to the broad-shouldered lawyer and press her face into his neck, feeling the soft rasp of his beard against her cheek. Your body burned with jealousy over a completely fictional woman, which only made you feel worse.
The only thing that stopped you from wishing any ill will against Andy’s future wife was the knowledge that sometimes you’d catch him looking at you across your parents backyard or their living room. His blue eyes would be darkened, an intensity to them that would always make you squirm a little, though not unpleasantly. There’d be a look in his gaze, something that made your heart pang with yearning. But then the look would vanish and Andy would give you a friendly, benign smile and nod his head before looking away, making you question whether the look had ever been there at all.
You’d known since you met him that Andy Barber was attractive. With his brown hair swept back from his handsome face, neatly trimmed beard bracketing soft lips and those brilliant blue eyes, Andy was one of the hottest men you’d ever met. Even if he was your dad’s best friend. But he made it easy to never think of him as anything other than Mr. Barber. He’d never made you feel uncomfortable or given you too much attention. He’d greet you with a kind smile and make small talk, ask you about your job and, later, your career.
Maybe, if you were honest with yourself, you’d had a tiny little crush on Andy for a long while, though you couldn’t say when it had formed. You’d always ignored it, told yourself he was a boring, older man. You couldn’t possibly be interested in a man who hung around your dad, talking about their work and golf and other boring things. You couldn’t possibly be interested in a man who was so much older than you, even if he was at least a decade younger than your dad.
You’d done a good job of ignoring that tiny little crush, but then you’d gotten into Andy’s car earlier that evening, and everything had changed for you. It was the first time you’d ever spent any time alone with Andy Barber, and you got to see him outside of one of your parents parties, away from your dad and the golf talk. It had changed the way you saw him, turning him into a man who made you squirm and have dirty thoughts while you were meant to be falling asleep.
Your parents were staying for the month of August at their shore house like they did every summer, and they’d insisted you take a week vacation to visit them. Normally, you’d rent a car and drive down from the city, but you had to work late that evening and your mother didn’t want you driving alone after dark. It just so happened that Andy, who also had an apartment in the city, had been invited as well, and your father coordinated with him to pick you up from your place so you could drive down together.
Once Andy had helped load your bags into his car, he held the passenger door open for you, closing it softly after you’d settled into the seat. You couldn’t help but admire him as he walked around the front of the car, his white button down shirt was open at the collar, showing off just a peak at some chest hair, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, revealing his strong, tanned forearms. You didn’t know what it was about men’s forearms, but just the sight of Andy’s made a gentle warmth bloom in your core. It only worsened when he slid into the car and his cologne surrounded you, blanketing you in his scent, warm amber and something spicy.
Already flustered by the overwhelming urge to crawl across the car and curl up in Andy’s lap, you pulled out your phone and texted a friend about plans when you were back in the city. You hoped Andy wouldn’t notice your awkwardness, and he didn’t seem to as he pulled into traffic, maneuvering the car through the narrow Brooklyn streets near your apartment. But then he cleared his throat and got your attention.
“Ah, I have one rule in the car,” Andy said, dragging your attention from your screen. You glanced up at him and found him cutting quick looks at you out of the corner of his eye, an apologetic half-smile on his face. “No phones, please, sweetheart—makes me feel like a chauffeur.”
Your face warmed at the nickname, even though you were certain Andy didn’t mean anything by it, and stowed your phone away. “Sorry, Mr. Barber,” you murmured, then asked him about his day.
With nothing else to look at, your eyes kept drifting back to Andy, cataloguing things about the man you hadn’t allowed yourself to notice before, like the way his big hands gripped the steering wheel, the muscles in his forearms shifting as he turned. The heat in your center slowly grew as you watched Andy, asking questions as he told you stories about the law firm where he worked. Alone in the car together, you could pretend you and Andy were just two adults who were friendly—there was no reason you couldn’t look at him and wonder it’d be like to touch him, to feel his hands on your body.
Not long after you’d left the city, you began to fantasize about Andy stopping the car suddenly, certain his arm would reach out and brace across your front to keep you pinned safely to your seat. You imagined his big hand falling to your leg, the warmth of his hand resting on your thigh just beneath the hem of your shorts. Your fantasies had you squirming slightly in your seat, even as you tried to remain unaffected by Andy’s presence, his charming smiles sending your heart fluttering. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice, and just kept you engaged in conversation, turning it to your day and your job.
It had already been pretty late when Andy picked you up, and you’d only been on the road an hour when he’d started yawning. He’d suggested stopping at a motel for the night, and you’d agreed, knowing your parents were rather you were both safe than trying to drive while tired. Since it was summer and you were on a well-known route to the shore, it took a little while to find a place with any vacancies, which was how you’d ended up in a single motel room that had only one bed.
“What’s keeping you awake?” Andy asked, after you were both silent for a few moments, drawing you out of your thoughts. His voice was rumbling and deep, making you want to squirm some more, and press your thighs together against the dull ache between your thighs. But you didn’t move, only stayed on your back and kept your eyes on the popcorn ceiling of the motel room.
“I don’t know,” you whispered, a hint of a whine in your tone. You hoped you didn’t sound as guilty for lying as you thought you did. “I just can’t sleep.” Even in the dark, you could hear the pout in your voice and you mentally slapped yourself for sounding just a little bit flirty. The freedom of the car was gone and the knowledge of who exactly Andy was to you weighed heavily even though you couldn’t turn off the fantasies of touching him. You reminded yourself Andy was your dad’s best friend and you couldn’t flirt with him, no matter how hot you thought he was.
With a heavy sigh, Andy pushed himself up until he was leaning against the backboard of the bed. You turned your head to look at him, your gaze catching on the way his t-shirt was rumpled around his chest and biceps. It looked so soft, you wanted to lay your head on his chest and curl around his body. You looked away quickly, afraid he’d see the desire on your face in the soft light filtering in through the large window next to the motel room door.
“C’mere, sweetheart,” Andy murmured, scooping you up from your side of the bed and hauling you across the pillow divider. The sheets twisted around your feet as Andy set you between his legs, his thick thighs bracketing your ass while he urged you to lean back on his chest, your ass on his lap. Your mind short-circuited at the knowledge Andy was touching you, and you let him gently manhandle you into settling against his body.
With the blankets pushed down around your legs, you realized how underdressed you were compared to Andy. You hadn’t expected to be sharing a bed with anyone when you’d packed them, so you were wearing only some skimpy shorts and a matching cropped tank top. Your nipples were pebbled beneath your top, and you weren’t sure if it was the air conditioner in the room or your desire, but you crossed your arms loosely over your chest, trying to hide your body’s reaction anyway.
“What’re you doing, Mr. Barber?” you asked in a whisper, a little bit of teasing in your tone. You wanted so badly to squirm in his lap and feel if he would respond to you, but you weren’t sure if he’d be OK with that. You still thought he probably wasn’t making a move, no matter that him pulling you into his lap in the middle of the night might be a little inappropriate.
Andy’s hands stroked down over your arms, skimming along your hips and over the tops of your thighs. You sucked in a breath when his warm palms came into contact with your bare skin, enjoying the feel far too much. “Just trying to help you relax, sweetheart,” he said innocently, his hands moving back up your body, his touch a little firmer. When he got to your upper arms, he skimmed one hand up to the front of your throat and tipped your chin back so your head rested against his shoulder. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart—can you relax?” His hands stroked back down your body, lightly massaging your muscles.
You let out a soft contented sigh as you calmed little by little. “I think I can do that,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. With the air conditioner running, you weren’t sure how Andy heard you, but you knew he did because a pleased hum rumbled in his chest. His hands felt so good on your body, you didn’t think to question whether what he was doing was appropriate from someone who was your dad’s best friend.
“It’s been a while since you’ve had a boyfriend, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Andy asked in a low, quiet voice, his lips next to your ear. His hands were touching you more firmly, almost groping as they stroked over your arms and legs, venturing to your hips and waist. His palm slid over your stomach in a way that had you letting out a shuddering sigh.
You were so lulled by his hands, and the heat they were stirring in your core, that it took you a moment to catch up with Andy’s change of subject. “Y-yeah,” you answered on a soft, breathy whisper. It was the first time Andy had ever asked you about your love life, and you were a little surprised he seemed to know you’d dated at all. But he was right, it had been a long while. “Not for a couple years,” you said.
“Oh, honey,” Andy murmured sympathetically. His beard rasped over the skin of your cheek as he nuzzled the side of your face. You shivered in his arms and another pleased sound rumbled in his chest. “That’s too long for a pretty girl like you to go without a boyfriend,” he said in your ear, the words sinking into your mind. “You need a man in your life to take care of you.”
Andy’s touch was getting firmer, his hands groping your soft flesh in an almost possessive manner, which was having an effect on your body. The heat in your core was burning hotter, and you could feel yourself starting to get wet. You knew you’d crossed a line with Andy, though you couldn’t be certain exactly when it had happened. Especially when you were trying to focus on the conversation he insisted on having.
“I can take care of myself,” you said as indignantly as you could manage, thinking Andy was talking about your financial security. You couldn’t fathom a double meaning to his words in that moment, not when your focus was split by the trickle of your arousal sliding down your slit, making you squirm on Andy’s lap. You bit back a gasp when you felt his cock twitch against your ass.
“Mm, I know, honey, I know,” Andy rumbled, his hands rubbing up and down your thighs, over your hips and belly. His thumbs dragged closer to your center, but didn’t touch you there yet. “You’re a strong, independent woman,” he said, his voice warm like he appreciated those qualities in you. You sighed happily at his praise and turned your face to hide a dreamy smile against his neck “You’ve always been so impressive, sweetheart.” He brushed a kiss to your cheek, tickling you with his beard and making you giggle softly.
You were so wrapped up in Andy’s praise, you barely noticed him moving your legs, lifting first one, then the other, on top of his. Your thighs spread a little, which felt dirty enough while you were sat in the lap of the older man, but then Andy began to slide his legs out, pulling you open wider. You were so pliant and turned on, you were little more than a limp, needy mess on Andy’s lap, and all you could do was watch while he spread you open for him, his hands never ceasing to stroke and caress your thighs.
Your skimpy little shorts had ridden up, the center hugging your mound and pressing your panties against your wet slit. You were a little stunned at how fast—how easily Andy had gone from seeming like a respectable man who’d never make a move on you, to the man who now held you open for him. Your lulled mind was struggling to catch up, but with Andy’s fingers stroking closer and closer to your dripping center, you had no desire to protest what he was doing to you.
“If it’s been years since you’ve had a boyfriend, I bet your sweet cunt is feeling a little neglected,” Andy said, his voice deep and dark, a hunger lacing his tone you’d never heard before—but you liked it. His hands stopped on your upper thighs, his thumbs tracing along the edge of your shorts, digging into the creases where your thighs met your core. “That’s why you were squirming so much, isn’t it, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice rumbling in your ear. “Your needy pussy wouldn’t let you sleep when you were laying so close to a man you knew would take good care of you, isn’t that right?”
Your head was spinning as you tried to reconcile the friendly, charming and affable Andy Barber with the man at your back who spoke such filthy words. You never would’ve suspected the upstanding lawyer could ask you such a dirty question, but you couldn’t deny how much it turned you on. You’d been so restless and needy it had kept Andy awake—and instead of getting angry, he seemed more than happy to take care of you. The only thing you could think to do was repay him with honesty.
“Oh god, yes,” you said on a gasp. Your hips jerked as his fingers continued to tease you, sweeping just beneath the edge of your shorts, but not moving close enough to touch you where you needed him. They pressed just a tiny bit closer and you writhed against his hardening cock. “Yes, Mr. Barber,” you cried softly.
“Don’t need to be so formal when you’re squirming on my lap, sweetheart," Andy murmured in your ear, laughter in his tone. You could feel the corner of his smile against your cheek, which only drove you wilder. His thumbs swept closer to your aching slit, digging beneath your panties and shorts. But he got your full attention with his next words. “I’d rather you call me daddy.”
That word sent a lightning bolt of arousal through your body, leaving scorching desire in its wake. You reached your hands up and dug them into Andy’s hair, your back arching as you put yourself even more on display for the filthy older man who had you soaking and ready to beg for him.
“Daddy,” you gasped, trying out the word. You loved the way it felt on your tongue, how perfect it felt to call Andy that. You tilted your head back, getting your mouth as close to his ear as you could manage while you whined and writhed in his lap, feeling his cock twitch and harden further against your ass. “Daddy, please!”
“I’ve barely touched you and you’re so needy, honey,” Andy cooed, his tone dripping with teasing chastisement. “Were you laying over there imagining this? Imagining me touching you? Tell daddy, and I’ll pet this pretty little clit of yours,” he urged in a soft, almost hypnotic voice, his finger teasing around your aching bundle of nerves without touching it.
“No, daddy,” you whimpered, starting to tremble with need. You weren’t protesting, but answering his question. Even still, Andy paused his hands, his breath rasping harshly in your ear while he waited for you to give him some kind of sign you still wanted him to touch you.
For a brief time, you both hung there, suspended in the moment. Your fingers clung to the back of Andy’s head, playing with the short hair at the nape of his neck. You couldn’t get over the sight of his hands on your body, the sheets of the motel bed rumpled around your spread legs and the soft neon light from outside filtering in through the blinds on the window. It looked so perfectly debauched, and you so desperately wanted more—wanted him to touch you properly. So you answered him properly, admitting to your dirty fantasies.
“I was thinking about touching you,” you confessed in a hushed whisper, your words spilling into the imperfect darkness of the motel room. Andy let out a harsh breath of relief, but you went on. “About curling up against you and letting my hand reach into your pants,” you broke off on a gasp when Andy’s finger lightly flicked over your clit. It sent an electric shot of pleasure straight to your core, and you could feel yourself leaking more, your arousal trailing down to your puckered hole. You went on, hoping he’d continue to touch you if you did. “I couldn’t stop thinking about feeling you, daddy,” you said in a rush, “About taking you in my hand and stroking you.”
“That’s my girl,” Andy rumbled, affection in his tone. The tip of his finger teased your clit with light touches, never giving you the firm stroking you so badly needed. “You’re a precious, obedient little slut who needs daddy to take care of her, isn’t that right, honey?” Andy asked, his fingers swiping through your folds and spreading your wetness around, making a mess of you. You nodded in answer to his question, and he went on. “I always knew there was a perfect little slut hiding under all your good girl sweetness,” he murmured in your ear. “Knew you’d be wet and willing for me if I just got my hands on your sweet little cunt.”
Your head spun even more at the implication of his words, that he’d been thinking about touching you a lot longer than you’d allowed yourself to think about touching him. The realization only made you hotter. “H-how long,” you started to ask, needing to stop and swallow against your dry throat. You were gasping for air while he ruthlessly teased your clit with gentle flicks, but you pushed the words past your parted lips. “How long have you thought about touching me?” you asked breathlessly. “How long have you wanted to to turn your best friend’s daughter into a writhing, desperate little slut?”
Andy sucked in a harsh breath, like he hadn’t expected you to ask him such a dirty question. His free hand came up to your face and he turned you to look at him. A breath caught in your throat at the sight of his handsome face so unraveled with hunger—all for you.
Andy’s eyes raked over your expression, like he was searching for something. You let him see how much you wanted him, how depthless your own hunger was for him and his touch. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and you only had a brief moment to appreciate it before he was ducking down, capturing your lips in a kiss.
Fireworks exploded behind your eyes at the first brush of his lips, and again when he pressed his mouth more firmly against yours. You sighed contentedly at the soft firmness of his kiss, giving Andy the room to deepen it, sliding his tongue between your lips and taking possession of your mouth. He kissed you harder, like he wanted to fuse his body to yours at the mouth, and you returned his fervor. Your nails raked through Andy’s beard, scratching lightly at the skin beneath and dragging a happy groan from him.
When Andy finally pulled away, he was breathing heavy, his forehead pressed to yours as you both caught your breath. A smile danced on your lips and he gave you one last searing kiss, swallowing your surprised gasp and kissing you until you were dazed from the feel of him.
“Christ,” Andy rasped once he’d pressed a final kiss to your lips. “Too fucking long,” he said, picking up the conversation where you’d left off. At the same moment, he pinched your clit between two fingers, making you shout, your body jerking hard enough he had to clamp his other arm around your waist to keep you on his lap. He held you pinned to him so his fingers could continue their exploration of your pussy. “You were only a couple of years out of college when I first thought about touching you like this,” Andy confessed, pressing one of his thick fingers into your pussy. He pushed inside you so slowly, your breath burned in your lungs from holding it. “You wore that sweet little sundress to your parents’ Memorial Day barbecue, the one with the daisies on it.”
His finger was buried inside you to the knuckle and it took you a moment to recall the party he was talking about, but you finally did. “I remember,” you said on a gasp. It was a couple years ago, but you recalled the cotton sundress with a daisy pattern. It had been rather short, but you’d felt so pretty in it. “Didn’t know you noticed,” you said in a breathy voice.
“How could I not,” Andy rumbled, dragging his finger from your hole before plunging back inside just as slowly. “You looked like the sweetest angel in that dress, and all I wanted to do was shove my hand up your skirt and feel your soft cunt,” he went on, fucking you with his finger in torturously slow strokes that had you gasping for air. “I couldn’t stop thinking about bending you over, pushing your dress up and burying my cock in your tight, warm hole.”
“I had no idea you thought about me like that,” you admitted, watching Andy’s big hand move beneath your shorts. It was such an erotic sight, you could feel yourself getting wetter just from looking at it. Andy used your added arousal to slide his finger in and out of you.
“Of course you didn’t, sweetheart,” Andy murmured, adding a second finger to your pussy. You let out a cry of pleasure when he pushed both deep inside you, spreading them in your tight hole to stretch you. “Couldn’t have your father knowing I was thinking about his daughter like that,” he said distractedly, almost like he was talking to himself. “Couldn’t let anyone know that the whole time I was at those parties, I was thinking about all ways I wanted to fuck you.”
“Tell me,” you pleaded on a sharp inhale, turning your head slightly so you could catch Andy’s eye. His gaze was darkened and hungry and it made your stomach bottom out even as you gushed harder around his fingers. “Tell me what you thought about doing to me, please, daddy,” you begged in your sweetest voice.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Andy bit out through clenched teeth, closing his eyes briefly as his fingers stilled inside you.
He took a deep breath as if collecting himself, and when he opened his eyes again, they were fathomless pits of desire. His mouth was pressed into a determined line as he added a third finger to your pussy, fucking you slowly while you gasped and squirmed on his lap, your hips canting to give him a better angle.
“One time when you were eating an ice pop at one of those barbecues, all I could think about was pushing you to your knees in the grass and shoving my cock in your mouth,” Andy admitted, his fingerfucking picking up the pace gradually as he spoke, like he couldn’t help himself. “I wanted to see you lick and suck on my cock the same way you did that popsicle.”
You didn’t remember the exact party he was talking about, but it was easy to imagine the scenario he conjured. You pictured yourself on your knees in front of Andy and you wanted it desperately—you wanted to taste him so badly, drool began to pool in your mouth. But, instead of voicing your need, all you could manage was a gasp and a moan, mumbling, “Oh god, daddy,” as he fucked you with his thick fingers.
“And then there was that time your friend tickled you at a Christmas party and you squealed,” Andy went on, blowing out a harsh breath after that last word. “Jesus, fuck, it got me so hard,” he confessed, his fingers driving into you harder. When he stopped speaking for a moment, you could hear the light smacking of his palm against your soaking wet folds, which dragged a filthy moan from your lips. “I knew you’d squeal exactly like that if I pushed into your ass and stretched you out on my fat cock.” He punctuated his point by spreading his fingers as much as he was able, stretching your pussy and making you cry out, your hips jerking from the ruthless pleasure he delivered.
The relentless drive Andy’s fingers in your pussy and his filthy words had you fast approaching your release. “Daddy,” you cried on a gasp, your hips rocking against his thrusting hand. “Daddy, I’m gonna come.” You tilted your head back against Andy’s shoulder, one of your hands dug into his hair while the other gripped the arm he still had banded around your chest. You needed something to hold on to while he drove your pleasure higher and higher.
But before you could tip over the edge, Andy wrenched his hand out of your shorts, his fingers leaving you wet and wanting. You could feel your pussy fluttering from your almost release, your clit throbbing angrily. “Daddy,” you wailed. A frustrated sob fell from your lips, but Andy was quick to shove his soaked fingers between your lips, making you taste your arousal on his skin.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” Andy murmured in your ear, rubbing his fingers on your tongue. It made your head go fuzzy as you tasted your own muskiness. “Daddy’s gonna edge you until you’re all drippy and braindead,” he said and you could hear the grin in his tone, like he knew he was going to enjoy himself. “Gonna turn you into my own perfect little fucktoy.”
You moaned around Andy’s fingers, your hands circling his wrist and holding on while you sucked them clean of your wetness. Your body had relaxed from the edge of your release, and you’d started feeling warm and floaty. Andy’s other hand pushed your tank top up and he began groping your tits, plucking at your nipples and swirling his thumb around the tight peaks, making you whimper while you sucked on his fingers.
When Andy was sure you’d sufficiently cleaned him, he pulled his fingers from your mouth with a slight popping sound. A little bit of drool dribbled down your chin but you couldn’t be bothered by it, melting into Andy’s arms as he played with your tits. “Feels so good, daddy,” you murmured softly.
“That’s it, honey, let daddy take care of you,” Andy said, guiding you to sit up so he could pull your top off. Then he pushed your shorts and panties down your thighs and helped you out of them. He gently manhandled you back into position, with your back against his chest, your legs splayed over his and your ass resting on his hard cock. He hooked his feet around your ankles, keeping you spread wide open for him. “Just let daddy make you feel good.”
His hands began stroking your body again, this time skin to skin everywhere, and you relaxed even further, your mind drifting in a haze of pleasure while he murmured praises about your body in your ear. “Such pretty tits, honey, so soft and perfect,” he said in your ear. His groping hands were possessive when they felt up your thighs and hips, his voice low on a groan as he said, “You feel so fucking good, sweetheart, could touch you all fucking day.”
Andy eventually worked his hands back to your pussy and he slid his fingers through your drenched folds. He worked you up again and again, edging you two or three more times, enough that you lost count. Every time he’d fuck your pussy with his fingers, bring you to the edge of your release. When you were crying and begging him to let you come, he’d move his hands away and leave you wanting. He’d shove his fingers in your mouth for you to clean while your body relaxed away from the edge. It was glorious torture, and by the time you’d lost count, your mind felt floaty and far away, only Andy’s hold on your body keeping you tethered to the earth.
“Daddy-daddy, please, wan’ come,” you babbled, head lolling back against Andy’s shoulder as your chest heaved. You were covered in a light sheen of sweat and you were so slick between your thighs you had no doubt you’d soaked the front of Andy’s pants beneath you. His cock was hard and twitching against your plush ass and you wanted so badly to feel him slide his thick length inside your grasping hole. You wanted so badly to come.
But Andy only chuckled. “One more,” he murmured in your ear as his fingers teased through your soaking folds, gathering your wetness and dragging it down to your puckered hole. He pressed a fingertip to your rosebud and gently pushed inside, making you cry out and tense. Andy soothed you with his soft, shushing words. “Let daddy in, sweetheart,” he murmured in a sweet rumble that sent a new wave of warmth spreading through you. “Just wanna play with your pretty little hole, honey, I promise I won’t give you more than you can take.”
His words made you smile and you relaxed for him. Andy pushed again and was able to sink his finger all the way into your ass, opening your tight hole for him. When he was buried inside to the knuckle, he let out a sharp exhale. “Can’t wait to fuck you here, honey,” Andy rasped in your ear. You could hear a smile in his tone and it made you grin dazedly. You wanted to make him happy. “You’re so fucking tight, it’s gonna feel like you’re choking my dick.”
“Daddy,” you whined. It was on the tip of your tongue to beg him to fuck your ass in that moment, but at the last second, some sense returned to you. You’d never been fucked there before and you knew it would take time to prepare you for Andy’s cock. You whimpered at the thought of taking Andy’s thick cock stretching you out when his single finger already felt so big back there.
“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll make it feel good for you, too,” Andy promised, accurately interpreting your whimper. He dragged his finger almost all the way out of your ass before sliding inside again. It was such a weird sensation, but you didn’t dislike it. “When I’m done with you, you’re gonna love feeling daddy fuck your ass, sweetheart,” the older man murmured in your ear, making you shiver with desire.
“Yes, daddy,” you agreed, the words dissolving on a loud moan.
Andy fucked your ass with his finger, his thumb reaching up and rubbing your clit lightly, circling around the puffy nub. He brought you to the edge again like that, without even penetrating your pussy, but it fluttered all the same, begging to be filled. When you gasped that you were “gon’ cum, daddy,” Andy pulled away again. He pushed his thumb into your mouth and had you clean off your juices.
You busied yourself sucking on Andy’s thumb while he removed his finger from your ass, careful not to make you come with the stimulation. When Andy pulled his thumb from your mouth, he murmured in your ear. “Did you like that, honey?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice. “Like feeling daddy’s finger in your ass?”
“Yes, daddy,” you answered sweetly, a dreamy smile on your face. You were floating in a haze of pleasure, but you knew what you were saying and you meant it, you really did like the feeling of Andy fingering your ass. “Love feeling you play with my holes, daddy—daddy’s holes.” You giggled, not even knowing what was so funny, but it felt right.
“That’s right, honey, daddy’s holes,” he said, smiling and brushing a kiss to your cheek. His hands were soothing over your body again while you settled. Then he flipped you over onto your front, the pillow you’d shoved between your bodies all those hours ago wedged beneath your hips. “Gimme a second, sweetheart, just stay there,” Andy murmured, dropping a kiss to your head before he got off the bed.
You did as he said, staying right where you were with your ass up and your face pressed into the cool sheets of the bed. You felt nice and floaty and warm. There was an insistent throb between your legs that took up a lot of your focus, but you didn’t squirm or try to ease it at all. It felt good, and you liked feeling good. You liked being good for Andy. Your daddy. You giggled again, happy about the direction your night had gone.
In the bathroom of the motel room, you heard the water in the sink turn off and Andy padded back into the room. When he joined you on the bed again, you could tell he was naked, his bare skin sliding against yours as he crawled on top of you. You let out a low, ragged moan when you felt his bare cock against your ass. It turned into a whine as you tilted your hips up, offering yourself to him wordlessly.
“Mm, there’s my braindead little slut,” Andy murmured, pressing sweet, suckling kisses up your spine and across your shoulders. He settled on top of you, his chest hair brushing teasingly against your back and making you shiver. “Ready for daddy to fuck you now, honey?”
“Please, daddy,” you begged, your pussy throbbing at the thought of him sinking inside you. You tried to spread your legs, but they were stopped by Andy’s knees braced on either side of you. You squirmed, pressing your ass back against Andy’s cock. “Need you so bad!” you cried, frustration overwhelming you.
“Fuck, yes, beg for it, baby,” Andy urged. He reached between your bodies and pushed his cock between your thighs, dragging it against your soaking folds. The hard length of his thick cock bumped against your clit and you let out a high, desperate keen. “Beg for daddy’s cock to fuck your tight little cunt.”
“Please, daddy,” you begged in a sweetly whining voice. “Please fuck me, please, please, please, daddy.” You rocked your hips back on his cock, feeling the thick length against your pussy only making you drip more. It was so close, but not inside you and you were so frustrated you could cry. “Please, daddy, daddy, daddy, please!”
“Good girl,” he rasped, brushing a kiss to your temple, his beard scratching delightfully against your skin. “Such a good slut for daddy.” Andy groaned, notching the tip of his cock at your entrance. His lips grazed the shell of your ear as he spoke so close, the words went directly into your brain. “Cum as much as you want, honey, don’t hold back.”
You’d barely nodded when Andy started pushing inside. He was bigger than his three fingers, so thick that the stretch burned a little, but you relished the pain-edged pleasure. It helped to clear some of the haze from your mind, allowing you to feel fully present in the moment.
Andy moved slowly as he buried himself inside you, making you feel every inch of his fat cock. He was quiet as he moved, like he was savoring the moment. But when he was almost fully sheathed inside you, he shoved in the last few inches like he couldn’t wait to be inside you any longer. The jolt of pleasure and slight sting of the stretch was enough to tip you over the edge.
You muffled a scream in the bedsheets, your fingers clinging to the soft cotton as your pussy clenched down on Andy’s cock, making him feel even bigger inside you. Your mind was blown with pleasure, the long edging session Andy put you through making your orgasm even more intense. Your vision whited out for a long moment, before you returned to yourself, swept under wave after wave of pleasure.
“Fuck, jesus christ, sweetheart, that’s it, cum on daddy’s cock,” Andy bit out through gritted teeth. His fingers were digging hard into your hips, and you relished the way it grounded you. Your body trembled as your pussy gripped his cock in a vise. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hissed. “Fuck yes, squeeze daddy’s cock.”
Andy gave you only a short moment to come down from your high before he pulled his cock from your still fluttering channel and barreled back inside, forcing a sharp, pleasured cry from your lips. “Daddy!” you yelled, pushing back on his cock and making him grunt. You felt insatiable with need, like now that you’d had one orgasm, you were greedy for more.
“That’s it, honey, take daddy’s cock,” Andy growled, setting a brutal pace as he fucked you hard and rough. His dirty talk never ceased as he spilled filth in your ear. “Such a good fucking slut for daddy, taking my cock so well,” he murmured while he railed you, his hips slapping against your ass, his balls banging against your clit. “Knew you’d be perfect—I knew you’d be the best little fucktoy for me.”
The older man fucked you relentlessly, pounding you into the sheets of the motel bed with a ruthlessness you never would’ve suspected from the upstanding lawyer. You loved it, you couldn’t get enough of it, and you couldn’t stop yourself from egging him on. “Harder, daddy, please, fuck me harder—need you so bad daddy, please!”
“Take it, you little slut,” he growled, fucking you harder and faster, his cock barreling into your cunt with every thrust. “Take daddy’s cock like a good girl.” You shrieked as he pounded against a spot inside you that had you seeing stars, your fingers clawing at the sheets as you pushed back desperately on him, chasing your pleasure.
“You gonna come again, sweetheart?” Andy asked in a teasing, breathless voice while he fucked you mercilessly hard. “You gonna come again like a good little slut?”
Moaning and shaking and overwhelmed with pleasure, you nodded, gasping for breath so you could speak. “Almost there, daddy,” you whimpered.
“Rub your clit, honey,” Andy rasped, levering himself up. While you reached an arm underneath you and found your clit, Andy gathered the wetness from where his cock pounded into you and brought it to your rosebud. He pressed his thumb against your hole and you were so close to being undone, there was no resistance left in you. You squealed as his finger sank into your hole until it was buried to the hilt.
Between your fingers desperately rubbing your clit, Andy’s thumb in your ass and his cock pounding your pussy, it wasn’t long before you came again. It hit you like a lightning strike, and you screamed as your whole body tensed. You felt like you blacked out for a moment, coming back to yourself with a scratchy throat and a pussy throbbing with pleasure as it clenched down on Andy’s cock, squeezing him in your body’s tight grip.
“Good girl,” Andy growled as he rutted into you, chasing his own pleasure. “Good fucking girl, honey, feel so fucking good coming on my cock—so good, fuck yes,” he growled. “Take my come, sweetheart, take daddy’s come.” He barreled into you one last time, your cunt gripping his cock and dragging him deeper. He pressed as deep as he could go and then groaned loudly as he came.
You felt Andy’s cock twitch deep inside you, then his warmth filling you up and you moaned softly. After a few shallow pumps inside you, Andy collapsed on top of you, his arms braced on either side of your head holding him up enough so he didn’t crush you. Turning your face to him, you pursed your lips until he huffed a small laugh and indulged you in a kiss.
“Feel good, sweetheart?” he asked when he pulled away. He didn’t go far, though, pressing his forehead to yours.
It was your turn to laugh. “That felt fucking amazing, daddy,” you answered, raking your nails through Andy’s beard and smiling when he let out a pleased rumble. He pressed another kiss to your lips.
When you’d both caught your breath, Andy helped you up from the bed and dragged you to the bathroom so he could clean you both up. You giggled when he flicked water at you, and moaned softly when he slid a warm, damp washcloth between your thighs. He left you alone to pee, and by the time you crawled back into bed, he was stretched out. The pillow that had been between your bodies at the start of the night was shoved behind Andy’s head.
Still, you had a moment of uncertainty where you weren’t sure if he wanted you to snuggle into him. But then he turned his head to you and gave you an expectant look, reaching for you with grasping hands. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmured as he dragged you into his side while you laughed happily. You settled into his arms, your head resting on his shoulder and your hand playing lightly with Andy’s chest hair.
“Andy?” you asked softly after a moment, your voice quiet. You were half hoping he was already asleep, but there was a question burning inside you and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep unless he answered it. So you supposed it was a good thing he hadn’t fallen asleep yet.
“Hmm?” he asked, skimming his palm down your forearm and up to your bicep, pulling you more on top of him.
“What’re we gonna tell my parents?” you asked. You were already dreading the conversation you knew you’d need to have if you wanted to start a real relationship with Andy. And you did—you wanted that, and you hoped he did too. “What are we gonna tell my dad?”
You didn’t notice your breaths were coming quicker and you were tensing up until Andy flipped you over onto your back. He hovered above you, his eyes shining with affection in the dim light of the motel room. His gaze raked over your face, no doubt taking in your anxious expression. He ducked down and brushed a soft kiss to your lips.
“I’m going to take care of you, sweetheart,” Andy promised when he pulled back, giving you a serious look. “That means I’m going to talk to your father, tell him how I feel about you and make sure he knows I’ll cherish you for the rest of your life.” His eyes went distant as he caressed your cheek with his thumb. “I’ve had a long time to think about this, I know what to say to him—to both of your parents.”
Your eyes went wide with a little bit of shock. One part of what he’d said was rattling around your brain, unable to let you move on from in. “H-how do you feel about me?” you asked, staring up at the older man who was quickly working his way into your heart.
Andy’s gaze returned to focus on you and his expression softened. You sucked in a breath at the look of pure adoration on his face. “I feel like you’re the right girl for me, honey,” he said in a soft, genuine tone. “You’re the girl I’ve been waiting my whole life for.” A gentle smile graced his lips.
“Oh, Andy,” you said softly, grabbing his face and pulling him down for a kiss. You kissed him passionately, putting all your burgeoning feelings for him into the slide of your lips and the stroke of your tongue against his. When he finally pulled away, you were breathing heavy, and you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face. “You’re the right man for me, too, you know.”
Chuckling, Andy smirked. “Oh, I know, honey,” he said, rolling onto his back again and dragging you on top of him. You shrieked in surprise and laughed. “Now get some sleep, I wanna use your pretty pussy again in the morning before we get back on the road.” He swatted your ass lightly and you giggled before settling down.
“Yes, daddy,” you whispered sweetly on a laugh, nuzzling into Andy’s neck. You felt more than heard him chuckle.
Andy wrapped his arms firmly around your waist and he brushed a kiss to your cheek. “Hush, my perfect girl,” he urged in a deep voice. “Sleep.”
Finally, blessedly, you slept. In the arms of the right man for you, content in the knowledge that you were the right girl for him.
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, oral sex (m rec), teasing, team chaos
summary: you are on your knees for bucky, just before a mission briefing
based on this request | requests are open!
word count: 1.1k
author's note: i loved writing this request! i hope you guys enjoy, love ya and stay safe out there!
i want him.
You dropped to your knees before the door even shut.
“Fuck,” Bucky hissed through his teeth, trying to backpedal as his spine hit the wall of the small storage room. “They’re right outside.”
Your grin was anything but innocent. “That’s the fun part.” Your eyes were locked on his, loving the way his breath caught. “Don’t pretend you’re not already hard for me.”
Boots scuffed the floor just beyond the door. Laughter. Alexei’s grumble. Yelena's sharp bark at Walker. The mission briefing was minutes from starting, and you had Bucky’s cock in your hand like you were a woman starved.
He was already getting hard. Thick and heavy in your hand, the head flushed dark with need, twitching when your thumb dragged over the slit. You couldn’t help but rub your cheek along the side of it, teasing him with your heat before even taking him in. Because of course he was. He always did for you.
“Baby-” he warned, voice low, gravelled, delicious. “Now’s not the—shit—”
You took him into your mouth in one smooth, practiced motion, lips stretched wide, tongue swirling over the tip as your fingers dug into his thighs to hold him still. You did it with practiced hunger, letting your lips stretch around his girth.
Your tongue flattened along the underside, tracing that thick, throbbing vein you knew made him twitch. You dragged your lips slowly down his length, savouring the way his cock pulsed with every teasing stroke.
Each inch you swallowed only made your core tighten, your panties already soaked from the memory of how he’d had you that morning. Face down in your shared bed, his hand around your neck, hips snapping into you while you whimpered his name like a prayer.
Now you were on your knees for him again, insatiable.
“Jesus,” he breathed, jaw tight, trying to keep control as your mouth wrapped around him. His fingers tangled in your hair instantly, the metal of his left hand cool against your scalp, tugging just enough to warn you, not yet, not too fast.
But you ignored him. Of course you did.
Instead, you moaned around him, long and low, letting the sound reverberate through your throat. The vibrations traveled up his cock, and he shuddered. You could feel it, every twitch, every attempt to hold back. And it only made you hungrier.
You wanted to ruin him.
You wanted him flushed and breathless, trembling from the effort of staying silent while his teammates sat on the other side of the wall — clueless, or maybe not, because how the hell could he not be loud when you were doing this?
You went deeper.
Your throat flexed as you took more of him, inch by inch, until your nose brushed his pelvis and your jaw ached from the stretch. The weight of him, the heat, the taste, it was too much, and not enough.
You swallowed around him, again and again, greedy for his reaction. Your hands gripped his thighs, anchoring yourself as you let him hit the back of your throat. You held there, choking slightly, eyes watering.
That’s when he cursed under his breath, low, raw, helpless.
“Fuck… baby, you’re gonna be the death of me.”
And still, you didn’t let up.
The head of his cock hit the back of your throat, and you didn’t stop. You swallowed around him, breath steady, gag reflex trained for this exact moment. Bucky’s head hit the wall behind him with a dull thud.
“Mouth so fuckin’ good,” he groaned. “Always knew you were trouble.”
From the other side of the wall, Yelena’s voice rang clear.
“Where’s Barnes and (Y/n)?"
“Please don't tell me they're defiling another supply closet” Walker muttered
You almost laughed around his cock, but the vibration made Bucky buck his hips involuntarily, and now you had a problem.
His cock hit deep, tears pricked at your lashes, but you held still, throat fluttering around him, one hand cupping his balls while the other braced you against his hip.
“ffuck,” Bucky gritted, trying so hard to keep still, to stay silent, but his grip on your hair was tight, borderline punishing. “You’re gonna make me blow my fuckin’ load while they’re talking about evac points aren't you princess?"
You pulled off with a filthy pop, gasping just enough air before diving back down and sucking. Loud, wet and messy.
You wanted him to feel it.
You wanted him to suffer.
“Dirty little mouth,” he snarled, and this time, he didn’t hold back. His hips snapped into you, just once, just enough to feel the back of your throat close around him again. “You’re fuckin’ addicted to it, huh? To my cock down your throat.”
You moaned around him, shameless, spit trailing from the corners of your lips as your hand pumped what your mouth couldn’t take.
“Swallow it,” he ordered, voice sharp, breathless. “Be my good girl and take it all.”
Your nails dug into his thigh. The taste of him, the stretch, the weight of his cock in your throat had you dripping into your panties, your free hand slipping between your thighs for friction. But you didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
You deepthroated him once more and that was all it took.
His jaw clenched hard. His abs tightened. You heard it before you tasted it, that ragged gasp he always let out when he lost control.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
He came hard, groaning deep in his chest as his hips flexed forward. The salt of him hit your tongue in thick pulses, and you swallowed greedily, desperate to take it all.
Your hands held him firm, your mouth milking him through every wave. You didn’t pull off, not until you were sure he was finished and even then, you gave a few soft sucks, letting him twitch and shudder from oversensitivity.
When you finally let him go, you licked your lips. Looked up at him, ruined and smug and satisfied.
He looked wrecked. The kind of fucked-out glow only you could pull from him, with his pupils blown wide, hair clinging to sweat-slick temples, his chest heaving like he’d just come back from war.
“Goddamn,” he muttered, pulling you to your feet like gravity had failed him. “What the hell am I supposed to say if they ask why I’m late?”
You smiled, straightening his collar for him. “Tell them you were getting briefed.”
From the hallway, Ava snapped, “Barnes! If you’re not in here in thirty seconds, I’m making Walker team lead.”
Bucky gave you one last look, part threat, part promise.
Then he opened the door.
“Sorry,” he deadpanned. “Got caught up.” His voice was hoarse, lower than usual, and Ava’s head snapped up. She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing, yet. Yelena smirked knowingly. John made a face.
Alexei looked up at Bucky, pointed, and then—
"He have the cum face"
Ava slid down in her chair, exasperated.
"Fuckin' hell Barnes, it's 9 am"
Summary: Getting caught in the rain might not be too bad after all.
Words: 500ish
Warnings: none
A/N: this was written for @ronearoundblindly 's 2-4-6-8 sleepover celebration! I wrote this in 20 minutes sharp. I hope you enjoy it dear Lexi 🩷 congratulations again!
Every time you left your apartment lately to have a fun time you eventually got caught in the rain. Just like today when all you wanted to do was visit the fun little street festival in Brooklyn. Before you even really got to enjoy the food you bought yourself heavy rain started to pour and loud thunder picked up. People ran for every cover they could find and so did you. Eventually you found a little nook that fit you and maybe another person comfortably but you were lucky to have it to yourself while you ate your food. With your food done and nothing else to do you watched the weather unfold.
After a few minutes another person, a tall, muscular stranger slipped into your little hideout. You shuffled to the side a bit to make space for him. He also tried to make himself as small as possible to give you as much space as possible. "Sorry" he mumbled, his blue eyes briefly meeting yours. You gave him a small smile and turned back to watch the rain. So did he and the sound of rain filled the space between you. You sneaked glances at the handsome stranger, hoping he wouldn't catch you. He didn't but it seemed like the thunder wanted to tell on you. An extremely loud loud one made both of you jump. His arm flew out in front of you, as if to protect you and both of you met the others wide gaze.
Your heart wasn't just pounding anymore because of the scare you got but also because the handsome stranger was so close to you, caging you in with his protective arm. He blinked at you a couple of times before he chuckled awkwardly. "Sorry about that... I just... It was a reflex to protect you." He mumbled and let his arm fall to his side.
"That's... okay." Please put your arm back... put it around me. You blushed and looked down at your feet. "I should get back home." Is all you can bring out after a few moments of awkward silence. "In this weather?" He sounds shocked. "You should wait it out... You'll be drenched before you even make it to the other side of the street." His eyes are full of concern for you. You briefly look out from your safe space. Touche... You would be drenched in no time and you don't really want to get sick.
"We uh... We could try to sneak along the buildings wall to the cafe a few stores over? Wait somewhere warm with a coffee and some sweet treats." He suggests and you look up at him again. He watches you debate it for a moment before he adds "my treat." You purse your lips but nod eventually.
"If you tell me your name." You demand and a beautiful smile spreads on his lips. "Steve" he says softly and offers you his hand. You take it and shake it while telling him your name. He repeats it softly. You never heard it in a more beautiful way then when he said it. After guiding you to the small cafe and paying for your food you find yourself on an impromptu date with Steve, the rain that's pouring outside long forgotten when you lose yourself in his beautiful blue eyes.
summary | bucky lets his relationship slip into the background for the sake of duty and public image. but when the distance starts to break them, he realizes he’ll do anything to fight for the love he almost lost.
tags | (18+) MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, soft!bucky, miscommunication, established relationship, mentions of mental health/trauma
a/n | I enjoyed writing this so much omg. an apology for my last angst fest fic, based on this request. just two emotionally constipated dumbasses in love.
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨
ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
The first thing you felt was the drag of his mouth along your collarbone—hot, wet, unhurried.
Then his body—solid, heavy, familiar—settled deeper between your thighs, pinning you to the sheets like he belonged there.
Like he knew he belonged there.
“Fuck,” Bucky rasped, hips rolling in slow, punishing thrusts that pulled gasps from your throat. “You feel so good—always feel so fuckin’ good…”
Your legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into the curve of his ass, urging him deeper.
“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he panted, forehead resting against yours. “Come on, I know you’re close.”
You could barely form words. Everything was heat and friction and the slow climb to a peak that had been building for days. He’d been gone—missions, briefings, whatever other bullshit Val had piled on him—and you hadn’t had this, hadn’t had him, in far too long.
Now, you were starving for him.
And from the way he was panting against your mouth, he was just as gone for you.
Bucky’s rhythm faltered for a second—just a split moment—as his cock pulsed deep inside you and he moaned, low and wrecked.
Then—bzzzt.
The phone on the nightstand lit up.
The sound sliced through the heat like cold water.
You groaned, your hands clawing into his shoulders, nails dragging down the flex of his back. “Ignore it,” you muttered, voice thick.
He nodded without looking, mouth already on your throat again. “Wasn’t gonna stop.”
Bzzzt.
He hesitated. You felt the tension in his hips, the shift in his weight. The way his hand twitched like he wanted to grab it—like his fucking conditioning made him twitch toward the sound.
“James,” you growled, pulling his face back to yours. “Focus.”
He smirked—flushed, wild-eyed, strands of hair clinging to his sweat-damp forehead. “Yes, ma’am.”
He rocked back into you, deeper this time, harder. You gasped, arching into him, fingernails biting into his arms.
“You’re such a good girl,” he grunted, “always take me so—”
Bzzzt.
The sound felt louder now.
Persistent.
You tensed beneath him, and he slowed—just a fraction. His head dropped into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged.
You whispered, dangerously low, “James Buchanan Barnes, don’t you dare.”
He paused. Exhaled. “I won’t,” he murmured.
And he didn’t.
Not when you kissed him. Not when your legs tightened around him again, pulling him back into that rhythm. Not when your hips met his in frantic, greedy movement, the sound of skin on skin filling the room.
But then—
Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
Buzzing. Relentless.
Like it knew it was ruining something.
His rhythm faltered again. Slower this time. His breath hitched.
And you could see it—feel it—his mind slipping.
“Two seconds, baby,” he whispered, barely coherent.
Then he reached.
You froze. Staring.
He reached for the phone.
“For fuck’s sake—” You shoved his chest, hard enough to make him fall back slightly, the weight of him disappearing as you slid out from under him.
“What?” he asked, dazed, already answering the call. “Where’re you going?”
You grabbed your robe from the edge of the bed, slipping it on in one fluid motion, not even sparing him a glance as you stalked toward the kitchen.
“To make a goddamn sandwich,” you snapped over your shoulder.
And then Bucky was left there, shirtless and half-hard, with the call pressed to his ear and the echo of your frustration ringing louder than the goddamn phone ever did.
────────────────────────
The quiet creak of the bedroom door broke through the stillness as you stood at the kitchen counter, barefoot, chewing slowly on the sandwich you’d slapped together out of spite and mild hunger. Your tiny silk robe hugged your hips, and the morning light from the window behind you cast a low, golden glow across your back.
You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to.
You could feel him watching you—feel the apology radiating off him before he even spoke.
A few seconds later, Bucky padded into the kitchen fully dressed, freshly showered, dog tags glinting faintly beneath his shirt collar. His hair was still damp, slicked back lazily with his fingers.
Your stomach twisted.
He stopped beside you, hands in his pockets, jaw tense. “It’s the team.”
You nodded, still chewing.
You didn’t need him to say it. You’d known the second that phone buzzed three times in a row.
“In the city?”
He nodded. “Watchtower. Just a briefing. Maybe recon. Shouldn’t be long.”
You nodded again, finishing the bite and setting the crust on the plate. The silence stretched.
Bucky leaned in, crowding into your space slightly like he always did when he needed you to ground him. “You angry?”
You sighed, licking a crumb from your bottom lip. Then you turned, finally facing him, and your arms slid easily around his neck.
He exhaled the moment you touched him—like that one gesture released the tension wrapped around his ribs.
“No,” you murmured, voice quiet but firm. “I’m not angry.”
His arms circled your waist, pulling you flush against him. “You sure?”
You nodded into his shoulder. “I know what I signed up for. You’re out there saving the world.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, brows furrowed, voice softer now. “Still. Doesn’t mean I don’t hate leaving.”
You looked up at him for a long beat, reading the guilt in his eyes. Then, deadpan:
“Well. You did spend the last ten minutes of our morning trying to ignore your phone while balls-deep in me. I’d call that balance.”
He huffed a low, surprised laugh, forehead dropping to yours. “Jesus Christ.”
You shrugged, lips twitching. “Hey. You asked.”
He kissed you, slow and lingering, and whispered against your mouth, “What did I ever do to deserve you?”
You pulled back just enough to give him that classic stare—the flat one that usually made Bob flinch.
“Honestly?” you said, voice dry. “Just the luck of the draw, hon.”
Bucky barked out a real laugh this time, low and raspy. “That sounds about right.”
You smiled—small, real—then leaned in and brushed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. His hand trailed down your spine, fingers resting at the hem of your robe, his lips ghosting along your jaw now.
“I told them I’d be there in fifteen.”
“Mmhm.”
“But the drive’s only ten.”
You hummed, finishing your sip of water, eyes moving to your sandwich.
“So,” he murmured, mouth back at your ear now, voice dipping low, “technically that gives us five minutes to finish what we started.”
You turned your head, meeting his gaze under lowered lashes.
The look in his eyes was full of hope. And want. And a little desperation.
You kissed him—once, slow and sultry—letting him feel your mouth move over his.
Then you pulled back, just enough to whisper against his lips, “Mm. No.”
He blinked. “What?”
You turned, picking your sandwich back up and walking away toward the couch. “You already finished once today. Let a girl eat.”
Behind you, Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re evil.”
“And yet, here you are,” you called over your shoulder, settling down and flipping through the remote like your thighs weren’t still sticky from him.
He watched you for a second longer, eyes lingering like he was committing you to memory. Then he sighed, picked up his jacket, and headed for the door.
“Call me after?” you said casually.
He looked back, already halfway out.
“Always.”
────────────────────────
The conference room in the Watchtower was, unfortunately, real. Sterile and over-lit with its polished black table and transparent display screens, it felt more like the waiting room of a tech-startup funeral than the nerve center of the New Avengers.
Bucky sat at the far end of the table, jaw clenched, half-listening as Val paced in front of a projected graph that looked like it was bleeding red. His phone buzzed once in his pocket—his eyes flicked down—but it wasn’t you, and the hollow ache behind his ribs twisted a little deeper.
This was the thing that had pulled him away. Not a mission. Not a world-ending threat. Just PR bullshit.
Val tapped the screen with her manicured finger like it had personally offended her. “The numbers are bad. Public trust in the New Avengers is declining, and fast. People don’t like what they don’t recognize. And right now, you’re a bunch of strangers with messy optics and zero cohesion.”
At her side, Mel nodded without looking up from her tablet. “Engagement down 22% week-over-week. Headlines are skewing nostalgic. Keywords trending: ‘wish Cap was back,’ ‘where’s the heart,’ and ‘vigilante vibes.’”
Yelena lounged back in her chair like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her feet were propped on the table’s edge, one boot bouncing with slow, deliberate disinterest. “Maybe they’re just mourning the glory days,” she muttered, twisting her gum around her finger. “Old team got shiny deaths and glossy documentaries. We get memes.”
Ava, seated across from her, gave a quiet snort. “We’re not here to trend. We’re here to finish missions.”
Val didn’t even blink. “You’re here to represent global security and inspire public trust. And without that trust, you’re nothing more than privately-funded vigilantes in almost matching gear.”
“I like our gear,” Alexei rumbled helpfully from the end, arms crossed over his chest like a stubborn bear.
Val spared him a look. “You’re the closest thing we have to comic relief, Alexei. Lean into it.”
“Is that what they call ‘noble heroism’ now?” he huffed.
Walker sat ramrod straight, jaw working, his suit perfectly zipped. “You think Cap worried about popularity? We’re not running a fashion campaign.”
“No,” Val said flatly. “But Cap didn’t publicly decapitate someone with a shield on live television either.”
Yelena snorted. “Yikes.”
John’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
“Point is,” Val continued, “you all need a rebrand. Yelena—your personality makes you relatable. Media loves you. You’ll handle most interviews.”
Yelena rolled her eyes. “Great. I’ll practice my ‘Good Morning, America’ smile.”
“Ava,” Val said, turning, “your trauma narrative plays well. But lean into redemption. Soft lighting. No more disappearing mid-interview.”
Ava’s response was a flat stare. “I’ll try not to phase through my own dignity.”
Val didn’t even acknowledge the jab.
“John,” she said, and his head snapped up like a soldier awaiting orders. “Less cowboy, more Captain. Smile more. No threats on-camera. Pretend you like people.”
He scoffed under his breath, muttering something about “hand-holding and fairy tales.”
“Alexei,” she said, deadpan, “people like the Soviet uncle bit. Keep it up.”
Alexei beamed.
“Bob, you’re doing fine. Stay polite. And no more jokes about punching through tanks, they’re fact-checking you.”
Bob looked vaguely hurt. “It was metaphorical.”
Val finally turned her gaze to Bucky, her expression shifting slightly—not warmer, but sharper, more calculated. She paced a slow step closer to where he sat, hands clasped behind her back like a politician delivering bad news with a smile.
“You, Barnes, are the key,” she said simply. “You’re the most recognized face on this team, and not just because of your past as the Winter Soldier.”
She gestured toward the screen behind her, now displaying a montage of Bucky’s appearances—post-congressional interviews, old wartime footage, newer press photos where he stood stoically beside Sam.
“You were a war hero before you were ever the Winter Soldier. Sergeant James Barnes, the Howling Commando, the man who fought beside Captain America during the most iconic conflict of the 20th century. And, until very recently, a U.S. Congressman advocating for post-snap veteran reform. Your file reads like a patriotic fantasy novel.”
Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. But something in his jaw ticked.
Val leaned in a little, her voice softening, but not with kindness—just control.
“What we need now is that Bucky. The leader. The charming, respectful, golden-era face people want to believe in. Friendly. Accessible. And most importantly…”
She paused.
“Available.”
That made Bucky’s eyes lift, expression tightening. “You do know I have a girlfriend, right? I’m in a committed relationship.”
Val didn’t miss a beat. “One the public doesn’t know about. And doesn’t need to.”
He sat forward slightly, steel entering his voice. “You’re asking me to lie.”
“No,” Val said, waving a hand. “I’m asking you to protect her. Think of it this way—if no one knows who she is, no one can leverage her. No threats. No gossip. No crossfire. It’s smarter this way.”
Mel tapped her tablet again. “We’ve already scrubbed mentions, just in case. Nothing linking her name to yours comes up in connection to the New Avengers.”
Bucky clenched his jaw. He hated this. Every inch of it.
“Why is it so important that I look ‘available’?” he asked flatly.
Val’s smile sharpened. “Because people want to like you. And people like what they want. It’s a psychological pull. You become more desirable, more approachable—someone they imagine they could know. That they could be with. It builds trust, makes you more likable. Marketable.”
He stared at her for a long beat.
“You want to make me into a fantasy.”
“I want to make you into a symbol,” Val corrected coolly. “And symbols don’t get girlfriends.”
Across the room, Yelena let out a low, mocking whistle. “Wow. That’s not creepy at all.”
Ava shook her head. “What’s next? Tinder profiles and fan edits?”
John rolled his eyes. “It’s optics. We all knew this came with the job.”
But Bucky barely heard them. His mind was already drifting—to you, still barefoot in the kitchen, silk robe sliding over bare thighs, chewing your sandwich with zero interest in who he was to the rest of the world. Just who he was to you.
And now, he had to pretend you didn’t exist.
He didn’t respond. Just sat back in his chair and regretted every second he hadn’t spent in your arms this morning.
────────────────────────
The Watchtower always smelled like metal and over-sterilized air. You hated it.
Fluorescents buzzed overhead as you stepped off the elevator, holding a small, zippered pouch in your hand—the charger Bucky had forgotten, again, even though you reminded him three times before he left.
The place felt like a cross between a tech firm and a concrete bunker: all gray walls, touchscreen doors, and state-mandated potted plants.
The main floor—what passed for a communal living space—was half chaos, half nap zone. Yelena was sprawled on one end of the sectional couch, flipping through something on her tablet and eating dried mango slices from a bag she probably stole from someone else.
Ava stood leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching the room like she was waiting for someone to step out of line so she could phase them through a floor. Bob was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a comic book held way too close to his face, murmuring what you assumed was commentary under his breath.
Alexei was telling a story. Loudly. And probably badly.
Bucky spotted you first. He was standing near the open kitchen area, talking with Mel—Val’s too-efficient assistant who always looked like she was plotting the next step of a corporate coup.
His entire expression changed when he saw you. The tension in his shoulders dropped a little, the corner of his mouth lifted, and for a second, he didn’t look like the unofficial leader of a barely-tethered government strike team. He just looked like your boyfriend.
You handed him the charger without ceremony.
“You left this.”
He took it with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck like it was the first time he’d ever been caught forgetting something (it wasn't). “Thanks. Thought I had it packed.”
“Nope,” you said, popping the “p.”
You didn’t mean to stay. You weren’t supposed to linger. But Bucky motioned for you to walk with him, and you didn’t say no.
Up close, you noticed the tired edge in his face. Like whatever conversation he’d been having before you arrived had worn him down more than a mission ever could.
He told you about it—about Val’s latest brainstorm. That the team needed to be more “media-friendly.” That they wanted him to lean into the good ol’ days: Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, WWII hero, former Congressman, the smile-that-could-end-wars poster boy.
You listened without interrupting, arms crossed, eyes squinting toward the ceiling as you tried to think through what he was actually saying.
When he finished, you just shrugged.
“Well,” you said, “sounds like when celebrities fake relationships before a movie comes out. Or pretend they’re single to sell tickets.”
Bucky blinked. “How do you even know that?”
You gave him a flat look, expression unreadable. “I was born in 1995, babe. Not the fucking 40s.”
Behind him, Walker snorted loudly. He’d been pretending not to listen, but of course he was.
“Damn,” he said, leaning against the fridge like he was waiting for someone to ask for his input (nobody did). “My wife would’ve never let me get away with that.”
You turned to look at him. Not annoyed. Not even angry. Just blank. Like staring at a particularly ugly lamp in a hotel room.
“That’s why she’s your ex-wife,” you said, voice calm. “And good for her.”
Yelena, without looking up from her tablet, let out a noise that might’ve been a laugh. Ava smirked quietly. Even Alexei stopped mid-sentence to grin like someone had dropped his favorite sitcom back into rotation.
Bucky watched all of it happen with a complicated kind of amusement. But it didn’t last.
Because then he had to say the next part.
He rubbed his hands down your arms, slow and hesitant, like bracing you.
“Val advised…” he started, then caught himself. “She recommended that maybe—for now—you don’t come around the tower. Or get seen with us in general.”
He didn’t say “hide.” He didn’t have to.
Your face didn’t change much. Not really. But he saw it. That tiny prickle of tension in your jaw. The slight shift in your eyes when you looked away from him for just a second too long.
You muttered something low. A lazy, “Whatever.” But the way you pulled your arms away said everything.
“I need to go anyway.”
Bucky stepped closer, voice soft but strained. “You don’t have to leave right away.”
You didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him, eyes unreadable, lips pressed in that almost-smile that wasn’t really a smile at all.
Then you leaned in and kissed his cheek, slow and warm, the way you always did when you were trying not to let the weight of something show.
“See you at home,” you murmured.
Your voice dipped at the end, barely above a whisper as you pulled back. “If you’re still allowed to come home, anyway.”
It wasn’t angry.
It wasn’t bitter.
It was worse.
It was tired.
Before he could answer, before he could say anything at all, you turned and walked to the elevator, the soft sound of your footsteps swallowed by the Watchtower’s chaos.
He didn’t follow.
And that hurt more than you cared to admit.
────────────────────────
It was slow. Almost imperceptible, at first.
A missed call here. A text left on “read” longer than usual. A two-day mission becoming a four-day stretch at the tower. No big fights. No yelling. No doors slammed.
Just quiet.
But that was the thing about quiet—Bucky had lived in it for too long. He knew its weight. Knew how it filled rooms like fog, hiding the way things shifted underneath.
Now, it was in everything.
He sat on the edge of his bed in the Watchtower, staring at the wall, phone still in hand from a message he hadn’t sent. His thoughts weren’t here—weren’t in this too-bright room, or with Val’s next debrief, or on the press event they had the next morning.
They were in Brooklyn.
Your shared apartment. The one with the soft light and creaky floorboards, and the tiny espresso machine you swore was better than anything Bucky had ever tasted. That place was home. It smelled like your lavender detergent and your coconut shampoo and your weirdly specific collection of candles labeled things like “wet grass” and “Scandinavian night.”
His body ached to be there. Just... there. On the couch. Next to you.
He used to spend three days a week here, tops. Two, if he could push it. The rest he’d guard selfishly for you—days spent sleeping beside you, cooking breakfast together, reading on opposite ends of the couch while your foot found his thigh and stayed there. You’d talk to him, let the silence stretch and snap and re-stitch. You never pushed. You never pried.
You were his quiet. The right kind of quiet.
Now? Now he barely remembered the last night he’d actually fallen asleep next to you. Really slept. Not just crashed on the bed after some back-to-back PR gig that left him in a suit with aching teeth from smiling too much.
He hated it.
He hated talking to the press, hated the way they asked questions like they already had the answers written. He hated being told to laugh, to charm, to tell stories that didn’t feel like his anymore. He hated Val’s smug reminders that likability mattered. That perception mattered.
Sometimes, he wished he’d never gone to Congress. That he hadn’t let convinced himself into the platform, the speeches, the idea that he could do good with a microphone instead of a mission.
Sometimes, he wished he’d just… faded.
Found a quiet nine-to-five. Something with a routine. Something boring.
Something normal.
Like you had.
You worked corporate communications. You clocked in and out. You had a clean desk, ergonomic chair, sarcastic co-workers. You went for runs in the park on weekends, had lunch dates with your girlfriends, took yoga classes when you weren’t too exhausted from the week.
You lived in the world like a real person.
And he’d wanted that so badly. Not for himself—but with you.
Because you were his normal. His constant. The stillness that didn’t suffocate. The grounding he’d clung to after years of floating through someone else’s chaos.
But now?
Now he didn’t know how to reach for it without dragging it into the spotlight with him.
And every time he came home and found you already asleep, back to him, or out with friends instead of waiting, or just… quiet in a way that wasn’t yours anymore—
He felt it.
The drift.
And he hated it.
────────────────────────
You didn’t talk about it.
You didn’t let yourself think about it.
The distance. His absence. The too-quiet apartment, the untouched half of the bed, the silence when your phone didn’t buzz all day. It wasn’t worth thinking about. People were dying in the world—actual, breathing, bleeding people—and you were going to be pathetic about your boyfriend missing dinner?
No.
Absolutely the fuck not.
So you cleaned. You ran. You worked. You answered emails with snide internal commentary and booked your usual yoga class for Tuesday even though you hated the new instructor’s voice. You refused to call it coping.
It was just living.
And tonight? Tonight was fine.
It was Saturday. He’d said he’d be back for dinner.
You didn’t text to confirm because you didn’t want to hover. Didn’t want to be needy. He’d said it, he’d meant it, and you would trust that. Like always.
So, you cooked.
Beef stew—slow and thick and comforting. Heavenly mashed potatoes, made with way more butter than you’d ever admit to aloud. Roasted vegetables, because Bucky needed something green on his plate or he’d sulk. It was all simmering gently on the stove while you lay curled on the couch in your oldest pair of yoga shorts and a hoodie, eating straight from a pint of mint chocolate chip.
It was fine.
Okay, it was your cheat day.
Okay, you’d had more cheat days than planned recently.
You’d also bought a new pair of jeans in the next size up, but that was irrelevant. You were not stress-eating. You were just... adapting to your changing lifestyle.
Had Bucky noticed?
The thought came and went before you could kill it.
He hadn’t said anything. Not that you needed him to. But still.
The sound of the TV murmured in the background, some fluff piece news channel you’d forgotten to mute while scrolling your phone. Something about the New Avengers. You tuned in just enough to glance at the footage—drone shots of a crumbling government facility somewhere in Eastern Europe, flames curling up the side of a building like hands.
You recognized the team instantly. Yelena, tossing her baton mid-air like it annoyed her to carry it. Ava disappearing through smoke. John looking way too pleased with himself.
And then—there he was.
Bucky.
His tactical suit was soot-streaked, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, face streaked with ash. He was helping someone—no, two people—down the fire escape, guiding them through smoke with one hand steady on their backs.
Then it happened.
One of the women—civilian, blonde, maybe late 20s—turned and kissed him on the cheek. A hard, grateful kind of kiss. The kind that left a smudge of ash on his jaw.
She clung to him like he’d saved her life.
Maybe he had.
And Bucky? He smiled.
Not his press smile. Not the tight, practiced one. But something else—softer. Real.
You blinked.
Let out a breath through your nose. “Jesus Christ.”
It wasn’t like he kissed her. It wasn’t like he meant anything by it. She’d probably thought she was about to die, and then Bucky Barnes dragged her out of a collapsing building, and she just… reacted.
You weren’t jealous.
You were just being dramatic.
This was not about you.
But somehow, that one moment served to curdle the rest of the evening.
You changed the channel without saying anything, the ice cream melting slowly in your hands. The scent of stew floated in from the kitchen, warm and rich, but you didn’t move.
Dinner would keep.
You weren't sure if he would.
────────────────────────
It was past ten by the time Bucky stepped into the apartment.
The hallway had been dark. The front door had creaked louder than usual. And the only light inside was the kitchen, glowing soft and golden like a memory. It lit the space just enough to reveal the forgotten dinner plates covered in cling film on the counter, the quiet hum of the microwave keeping your meal warm—like it was still waiting.
But you weren’t.
His breath caught in his throat as he toed off his boots, silence wrapping around him like a punishment.
He said six.
Not “around six,” not “if I can swing it.” Just six. Sharp. He said it with his hands on your waist and his lips in your hair the night before. Said it like he meant it.
And now it was 10:18.
He could barely look at the time. The guilt clawed at him, sharp and low and constant. Every second he’d spent at the tower—every extra minute talking to reporters, doing damage control, smiling on cue—had eaten at him like acid.
He was supposed to be here.
In your shared space. In this soft, too-warm apartment that smelled faintly like roasted vegetables and your perfume.
And the worst part wasn’t just that he’d missed dinner. It was that he knew exactly what you’d done in his absence.
You wouldn’t have texted. Wouldn’t have called. You would’ve made his favorite meal anyway. You would’ve set out two bowls. You would’ve eaten alone, probably on the couch, probably in silence. And you would’ve told yourself—it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine—like you had any interest in believing it anymore.
The bathroom door clicked open.
He froze.
You stepped out, already dressed for bed—an oversized button-down, sleeves rolled up to your elbows. Your hair was twisted up and pinned in the messy, practical way you always wore it when you were done for the day. Slippers scuffed softly against the floor as you walked into the hall, blinking slightly at the light.
You stopped when you saw him.
Both of you just stood there for a moment—frozen in that strange tension where neither of you knew which role to play yet. He looked at you like he didn’t know if he was allowed to speak.
Then he remembered how to breathe.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said quietly, voice rougher than he meant. Like he’d been holding it in all night. “I—I got caught up. I didn’t mean to—”
You didn’t answer right away.
Just blinked at him. No surprise on your face. No anger.
Just quiet.
Then you gave a little shrug—small and tired, the kind of shrug that said what else is new?—and turned toward the kitchen.
“There’s food in the microwave if you’re still hungry,” you said simply.
And then you walked past him.
No kiss. No touch. No sarcastic jab.
Just your scent, and the ache of knowing that he wasn’t even sure if he was following you to the bedroom or to the guest room tonight.
The door clicked softly behind you.
And Bucky stood alone in the glow of a kitchen he didn’t deserve.
────────────────────────
It was almost midnight when Bucky finally walked into the bedroom.
Not because he was tired. He’d been tired for hours.
He just needed to be sure you were asleep.
The microwave had long since gone silent. He’d eaten half the stew in distracted mouthfuls, barely tasting it, then spent an hour sitting in the living room in the dark, elbows on his knees, forehead resting on steepled hands. The guilt gnawed at him—not loud or dramatic, just steady, like water dripping against stone. It never stopped.
He pushed open the door slowly, as if afraid it would creak too loud. The room smelled like your shampoo, your skin, your cocoa body butter. His sanctuary. The place he used to walk into and feel immediate calm.
Now it just reminded him of everything he was missing, even while it was still right in front of him.
You were already in bed.
Covers pulled halfway up. Lights dimmed. Hair pinned back in the soft way you wore it only at night. You slept with your back to the door—back to him—and it made something inside him pinch.
He hesitated in the doorway, watching the gentle rise and fall of your breath, the way your fingers curled under your pillow. Still. Quiet. Entirely out of reach.
He stripped silently, down to boxers and a threadbare black t-shirt, and slid beneath the sheets with a care that bordered on reverent.
Then—inch by inch—he moved closer.
It was tentative. Like approaching a deer in the woods. Like if he moved too fast, you might flinch and disappear.
His arm slid around your waist. Cautious. Testing.
You didn’t move.
So he let his chest press against your back, warm and slow. Let his knees curve behind yours, let his other hand reach up and tuck gently under your ribcage, pulling you flush.
Then—finally—he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Breathed you in like he hadn’t seen home in weeks.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Still, you didn’t stir. No tensing. No pulling away.
Just the soft, subconscious hum of sleep.
And that—that tiny, unconscious mercy—was enough to let him exhale for the first time all night.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
And he held on to it like it might save him.
────────────────────────
The apartment smelled like detergent and coffee. Morning light streamed in through the windows, dust catching in the gold. On the surface, it looked like a Sunday—peaceful, slow, quiet.
But it wasn’t.
You sat on the couch, folding laundry with the precision of someone who needed something—anything—to occupy your hands. T-shirt, fold. Socks, fold. Hoodie, fold. The pile on the coffee table grew in neat little stacks, organized by drawer and category.
Bucky leaned in the doorway, watching you. Barefoot, hair tied up, one of his sweatshirts hanging loose around your shoulders. It should’ve been comforting. Familiar.
It wasn’t.
He moved to the kitchen, filled two mugs with coffee, brought yours over without a word. Set it down next to your knee. You gave a nod, murmured “thanks,” without looking up.
His stomach twisted.
He sat across from you, mug cradled in both hands, trying not to overthink it. Trying to act normal. Pretend that everything didn’t feel like it was three steps left of what it used to be.
“So,” he said, voice easy, like he was just easing into the day with you. “You still going to that yoga class on Tuesdays?”
You didn’t look at him. Just kept folding a pair of socks, thumbs pressing the fabric into place. “Yeah.”
He waited for more.
Nothing.
“You like it?”
You shrugged, moved onto a fitted sheet. “It’s fine.”
Bucky nodded slowly, feeling the distance like a cold draft under a closed door.
That was how you talked to people you didn’t want to get stuck in a conversation with. To strangers. To coworkers who overshared. To the people you were polite to but had no desire to know.
He remembered how your voice used to sound when it was just the two of you—low, dry, threaded with sarcasm and occasional sweetness you tried hard to hide. He remembered the way your eyes used to flick up mid-conversation just to check that he was still smiling. He remembered you saying, “I hate everyone but you,” with a hand on his chest and a smirk you couldn't keep down.
Now?
Now you sounded like someone tolerating him.
And it broke something inside his chest that he didn’t know how to fix.
He took a sip of his coffee, staring into the steam, words catching behind his teeth.
You weren’t angry.
You weren’t cruel.
You were just... gone.
And it was killing him.
The silence had stretched too long. Not peaceful. Not content. Just tense.
Bucky watched you fold a hoodie and set it aside like it mattered. Like it was worth more attention than him. He had tried—coffee, questions, anything to coax out that sliver of warmth you used to give him without thinking.
Now it was measured. Distant. Like he was on the other side of something neither of you had noticed building until it was too high to climb over.
He stared into his coffee like it might offer an answer. It didn’t.
So finally—quietly, but not gently—he asked, “Are we okay?”
You froze mid-fold.
Your hands stilled, holding one of his long-sleeve shirts in your lap, fingers curled around the soft fabric.
And then, for the first time that morning, you looked at him.
Not a glance. Not a nod. You looked at him.
There was a frown on your lips. A deep furrow between your brows. The kind of look you gave when something was broken and you weren’t sure whether to fix it or walk away from it.
“I don’t know,” you said honestly.
The words hit harder than he was ready for.
You didn’t know.
And that terrified him.
He nodded slowly, like he was trying to process it, but nothing quite stuck. His hands tightened around the mug in his grip.
You looked down again, slowly folding the shirt in your lap. Your voice dropped, softer now. Barely above the hum of the fridge.
“I try not to think about it.”
Bucky’s throat tightened.
You weren’t trying to hurt him. But it hurt anyway.
Because that was the truth of it, wasn’t it? Neither of you had talked about it. You’d just lived in the quiet space between exhaustion and effort, pretending the love was enough to keep everything from shifting.
You still loved him. He knew that.
But love wasn't fixing it. Not when you felt like strangers in the same home.
“I miss you,” he said, voice rough. “Even when I’m right here. I miss you.”
You didn’t look up.
Didn’t answer.
Just smoothed your fingers across the folded shirt like maybe if you kept them busy, the truth wouldn’t get too loud.
He wanted to reach across the coffee table, wanted to take your hands, wanted to say something to undo it all.
But neither of you were good at this part.
You were good at sarcasm. At quiet nights. At sex in the kitchen and lazy Sundays with pancakes and him pretending not to burn the bacon.
You weren’t good at asking for what you needed.
And right now, neither of you knew how to say what came next.
So the silence stretched again—thicker now, heavier.
The laundry was folded.
That’s what you clung to, bizarrely, like it meant something. Order. Control. You stacked the last shirt on the table and smoothed your palms down your thighs, blinking at nothing in particular.
You hadn’t spoken since I miss you.
Not because you didn’t want to.
Because you didn’t trust what might come out if you did.
Across from you, Bucky hadn’t moved much either. Just sat with the cooling coffee in his hands, elbows on his knees, staring at the place you used to lean into him without hesitation.
The silence thickened until it felt like breathing through gauze.
You stood up, grabbed your coffee, and walked into the kitchen. You weren’t thirsty. You just needed something to do.
Behind you, Bucky’s voice broke the quiet.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” he said.
Your back tensed. The mug clinked slightly against the counter.
“I didn’t want this either,” you said, not turning around.
“You used to talk to me,” he murmured. “Even when you were annoyed. Even when you were tired. You still talked.”
You closed your eyes.
“It’s hard to talk,” you said, voice flat, “when you’re not around to listen.”
The armchair scraped back against the floor. Footsteps. Closer.
“I am listening,” he said, more desperate now. “I know I’ve been— I’ve been stretched. But I’m here now. Just talk to me.”
You turned around slowly, coffee mug still in your hand. You looked at him, really looked. And something inside you cracked—not because you didn’t love him.
Because you did.
That was the problem.
“I don’t want to be another thing you manage, Bucky.”
He froze.
You shook your head slowly. “You manage the media. You manage the team. You manage your image. I don’t want to be another box you tick at the end of the day.”
“I don’t think of you like that—”
“I know,” you interrupted softly. “That’s what makes it worse.”
He stared at you, helpless.
“I don’t doubt you love me,” you continued. “But I can’t keep living in the spaces between your obligations. You show up late, you leave early. You touch me like you’re scared I’ll vanish. And maybe I will, because I don’t know how much more of this I can take without losing myself.”
Your voice didn’t shake.
Your hands didn’t clench.
You weren’t yelling.
But you might as well have torn your heart out and set it on the counter between you.
Bucky swallowed hard. “So what? You’re done?”
You looked at him, and for the first time, there was no sarcasm. No tight-lipped smile. Just a hollow kind of truth.
“I’m tired,” you said. “And I don’t know how to not be tired anymore.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Your voice dropped lower. “I can’t be the only one holding the thread, babe.”
The silence returned. Bigger now.
You stepped around him, walked to the bedroom, and closed the door behind you—not slammed. Just shut.
Soft. But final.
While Bucky stood in the kitchen, frozen.
The coffee in his mug had gone cold.
The apartment felt foreign, like he’d wandered into someone else’s life and forgotten how to get back to his own.
He sat down on the edge of the couch, hands in his hair.
He couldn’t lose this. He wouldn’t.
You were it. His peace. His pulse. The only thing in his life that ever made him feel real.
He didn’t care what Val said, or what public image they wanted to build, or how many staged smiles he had to fake for camera crews.
If it meant losing you?
Then it wasn’t worth anything.
And he would fix it.
He didn’t know how yet.
But he would.
Because if this ended, if you walked away and didn’t look back—
He’d be nothing but a name in a file again.
And he’d already spent too much of his life feeling like a ghost.
────────────────────────
Bucky had never cared for formal events, especially not since becoming the public face of a team that didn't particularly want one. But tonight wasn’t about optics. It wasn’t about strategy or good PR.
It was about you.
The invitation had landed on Val’s desk a week ago—a high-profile charity gala for Clean Futures, an international organization funding mental health programs for post-Blip survivors. Your company had a long-standing partnership with the group, which meant you’d be there. Representing. Smiling for photos. Dressed to kill.
And you hadn’t told him.
You didn’t need to. He hadn’t earned that kind of openness in weeks.
So Bucky had taken the opportunity and run with it.
He stood in front of the full-length mirror in the Watchtower’s prep room, tugging at the lapels of the black suit that Mel had somehow sourced last-minute. The cut was sharp, classic, tailored to emphasize broad shoulders and trim waist. His hair was slicked back, jaw clean-shaven, cufflinks engraved with the new Avengers insignia.
It felt like armor.
It wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t for the team.
It was for you.
Because maybe if he showed up—not as a soldier or a symbol or a ghost of a man who couldn’t keep promises—but as your man, he might finally break the wall you’d built brick by slow, exhausted brick.
"You look like a magazine ad for heartbreak,” Yelena said flatly as she passed him in the hallway, already halfway into a glittering black gown. “That is not a compliment.”
Bucky didn’t flinch. “You know she’s gonna be there?”
“Do I look like her personal assistant?” she replied. “You’re the one who made Val jump through hoops to drag us into this.”
“It's for a good cause,” he said.
Yelena narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure. Purely selfless.”
Ava walked by next, heels clicking. “You’re nervous,” she noted, glancing at him sideways.
“I’m not—”
“You’re sweating through a thousand dollars worth of tailoring. That’s nerves.”
He rolled his eyes.
Alexei, coming down the stairs in a tux that looked like it belonged to a different century, clapped him on the back. “You want advice? Make her laugh. Women like a man who makes them laugh.”
“Or,” Bob said quietly, trailing behind them with his bowtie untied and suit wrinkled, “you could just apologize. That works too.”
Bucky ignored them all as he fastened his bowtie and adjusted the cuffs one last time.
He didn’t know if you’d speak to him.
But he’d be damned if he stood across a ballroom from you and didn’t try.
────────────────────────
The camera flashes started the moment the New Avengers stepped out of the sleek black convoy outside the grand hotel.
Reporters lined the ropes, shouting names and questions, bulbs flashing like strobe lights in a storm. Val stood smug just off to the side, soaking it in like she’d orchestrated the whole damn thing.
Inside, the ballroom was already humming with rich voices, tinkling glassware, soft jazz echoing beneath a grand chandelier. Politicians, CEOs, heads of NGOs, tech royalty—all of them looking to shake hands and write checks.
Yelena rolled her eyes as a photographer barked her name, whispering something to Bob, who stayed glued to her side. Ava immediately veered away from the attention. John lapped up the press like a plant under a grow light. Alexei was already loudly asking where the vodka was.
But Bucky wasn’t looking at the cameras.
He wasn’t smiling.
He was scanning the ballroom, eyes darting over sequined gowns and tuxedoed silhouettes with laser focus. Looking. Searching. Waiting.
And then he saw you.
It hit him like a sucker punch.
You descended the marble staircase on the far side of the ballroom, a vision in crimson. He hadn’t seen the dress before—he would’ve remembered. The deep red clung to your body like it knew exactly where you wanted to be touched.
It shimmered subtly under the chandelier light, catching the gold in your skin, the delicate slope of your collarbone, the shape of your legs moving with slow, elegant precision.
You were talking to someone—corporate, probably. Networking. Smooth and composed, all polished charm and business poise. The person in front of you was smiling wide, laughing, but your expression was mild, professional. Exactly what it needed to be.
But then—
Like you felt him.
You turned.
Your eyes swept the crowd and locked on him like gravity itself had bent the light to make it happen.
Bucky froze.
Time narrowed.
The din of the gala dulled. His heartbeat went hot in his ears. All he could see was you—standing there in that goddamn dress, looking like a memory he hadn’t earned and a future he didn’t deserve.
And for a second, just one second, your expression broke.
Just a little.
Recognition. Surprise. And something else—something softer. Sharper.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
You turned back to your conversation, spine straightening, mouth curving into that polite smile you wore when you wanted to end something without causing a scene.
Bucky stood rooted in place, jaw clenched, hands curled at his sides.
Right.
He’d told you not to be seen near them. Told you to stay away, for safety. For PR. For a million reasons that didn’t mean a damn thing anymore.
And now?
He couldn’t just walk up to you. Couldn’t confess his love in front of the board members and donors and paparazzi. He knew you. Knew you’d hate it. Knew it would make you glare instead of melt.
So he’d have to find another way.
One that would mean something.
One that would be yours.
And Bucky Barnes had never been more ready to fight for something in his goddamn life.
────────────────────────
Bucky spent most of the night like a man caught in the wrong timeline.
The team had dispersed—mingling, sipping wine, taking photos they didn’t want to take. Yelena charmed a table of older donors by being blunt and hilarious.
Ava was already in a corner having a serious conversation about resource allocation. Bob, somehow, had gotten pulled into a group selfie with a senator. Even John had managed to slap on a half-decent smile and talk to two reporters without saying anything arrogant.
But Bucky?
Bucky stood there.
Dark suit, jaw clenched, drink untouched in his hand.
Watching you.
You moved through the room like you weren’t breaking his heart a little with every step. Laughing politely at something someone said. Holding your glass just so. The fabric of that crimson dress whispering around your ankles as you walked.
Every now and then, your eyes flicked to his. Brief. Electric. Then gone again.
He didn’t know what to do with himself.
And then—heels clicking, voice like an ice pick—Val appeared beside him.
“You’re up.”
Bucky blinked. “Up for what?”
Val gave a thin, dry smile. “Speech. On behalf of the New Avengers. Seeing as the rest of your team has at least attempted to behave like functioning public figures, and you’ve done nothing but stand here looking like an emotionally repressed Greek statue all night.”
He blinked again. “I wasn’t told—”
“You are now,” she interrupted, already turning away. “It’s already been cleared with the host. Mic’s ready. Try not to say anything too traumatic.”
And with that, she pivoted away, already bored of him.
Public speaking. God help him.
But then his eyes found you again.
Still glowing under the chandeliers. Still you.
And he thought, maybe this is it.
He walked onto the stage to the quiet hum of low conversation and the gentle clinking of glasses. The host introduced him with a few polite words—"Representative of the New Avengers, veteran of WW2..."—and then stepped aside, leaving Bucky with the mic and a ballroom full of people who had no idea what he was about to say.
He gripped the podium tighter than he meant to.
Cleared his throat.
You were near the center, now seated at a table with your company’s execs. And your eyes were already on him.
God.
He hadn’t even started yet, and he was wrecked.
He cleared his throat. “Good evening.”
A few polite nods from the audience.
“I’m not… great at speeches,” he started, eyes sweeping the crowd once—but only once—before settling back on you.
“But I’m honored to speak tonight. Because this cause… matters. Mental health support for Blip survivors—that’s not just a talking point. It’s life-saving.”
People leaned in.
“I’ve seen firsthand what coming back can do to someone,” he said slowly, carefully. “What it feels like to be displaced. Lost. Like time’s moved on without you, and you’re just… dragging behind it, trying to catch up. And the worst part of that isn’t the confusion. It’s the loneliness.”
His voice was low, careful. This part, at least, he could manage.
“I think we talk a lot about the logistics of the Blip—people gone, people returned, the chaos. But we don’t talk enough about what it did to the people who stayed. Or the ones who came back and didn’t recognize the world anymore. People who survived, but didn’t feel alive.”
You shifted slightly in your seat. His eyes never left you.
“And I’m saying this not just as an Avenger or a veteran… but as someone who’s been there. Someone who came back from the dead—twice. And there were days I didn’t know how to keep going. I’ve spent years working on being more than what happened to me. I’ve sat in rooms trying to explain why it still hurts. Trying to find meaning.”
A pause.
“And I wouldn’t have made it if I hadn’t had someone to come home to.”
That’s when the shift happened.
Eyes widened. A few murmurs from the crowd. Even Val froze near the back.
“I’m not… great with this kind of thing,” Bucky said, adjusting the mic slightly. “But I’m standing here in front of all of you, not because I’m part of a superhero team, or because someone handed me a title. I’m standing here because there is a woman in this room who keeps me tethered.”
He didn’t blink.
Didn’t glance away from you, not even once.
“She’s my rock. My clarity. The only person who ever looked at me and saw something worth saving. She didn’t ask me to be a hero. She just asked me to be me. And somehow… she still loved what she saw.”
A breath.
“She is the reason I believe I deserve peace.”
Your eyes were locked on him, wide, unmoving.
Some of the audience was blinking. A few whispering.
But Bucky didn’t care.
Because he wasn’t talking to them.
He was talking to you.
“I was a soldier. Then a weapon. Then a politician. Now I’m trying to be a man. And I can’t be that without her.”
He swallowed, but didn’t falter.
And for the first time in weeks, his voice felt steady. Because for once, he wasn’t hiding. Not his love. Not his pain. Not what you meant to him.
He took a breath.
Then finished, simply:
“So thank you for supporting this cause. It’s not abstract. It’s personal. For all of us.”
A pause.
Then the room erupted in applause.
But Bucky didn’t hear it.
He was still looking at you.
And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel the distance.
────────────────────────
The applause was still echoing faintly through the ballroom, conversations blooming again like nothing had shifted—but Bucky knew better.
Something had shifted.
He stepped off the stage and straight into the tide of well-dressed bodies. Donors, board members, media people—shaking hands, smiling, complimenting him, dropping half-formed praises about “moving” and “authentic” and “genuine vulnerability.”
But he didn’t care.
He barely registered any of it.
His eyes were scanning the room. Looking for you. Like if he could just find you, ground himself in your orbit, maybe he could believe that what he’d just done was enough.
But you weren’t by the bar. You weren’t at the staircase. You weren’t by the back exit or near the dance floor or—
Then he felt it.
A hand—your hand—sliding around his arm, fingers warm against the fabric of his sleeve.
He turned, heart already beating faster.
You didn’t say anything.
Just gave him a look.
And gently, almost imperceptibly, tugged him away from the crowd.
Bucky followed without thinking, letting you lead him through a discreet side corridor, past a curtained alcove where the sounds of the gala dulled to a hum.
And when you stopped, when you turned to face him, he opened his mouth—
But he didn’t get a word out.
Because your hands were on his face, firm and sure, pulling him down into a kiss that knocked the breath from his chest.
It wasn’t slow.
It wasn’t cautious.
It was needy. Real. Like you’d been starving for weeks and finally allowed to taste again. Like he was something you couldn’t help but want.
He melted into you with a sound that wasn’t quite a sigh, wasn’t quite a groan—just relief. One hand gripping your hip, the other tangling in your hair like he couldn’t believe this was real.
When you finally pulled back, breath warm against his lips, you didn’t let go.
Didn’t step away.
You just leaned your forehead to his and whispered, voice tinged with a half-smile—
“You’re gonna be in so much trouble.”
He huffed out something like a laugh. “Worth it.”
Your fingers lingered against his jaw.
The soft glow from the hallway barely reached the small alcove where you stood, still tucked away behind velvet drapes and polished columns. The noise of the gala felt far-off now—like another world neither of you belonged to.
Bucky wouldn't let go of you. His hands still rested on your waist like he didn’t trust the moment to last. Like if he blinked, you might fade again.
You leaned your shoulder into the wall, breathing finally steady. He looked at you—really looked at you—and reached for your hand.
“I’m gonna try,” he said, voice low, steady in the dark. “I know I’ve said it before, but this time… I mean it. I’m gonna try, really try. I don’t care how many speeches they want. I don’t care what the media says or what Val plans next. You’re it. You’re my whole damn life.”
Your lips parted, but he kept going.
“I love you,” he said. “And I know that’s not always enough to make it easy. But I want you to know that if you asked me—if you looked me in the eye right now and said to walk away from the Avengers, from all of it—”
His hand cupped the back of your neck.
“I would.”
Your heart twisted, eyes burning in that way they always did when he got too sincere.
You reached up and cupped his cheek, fingers brushing along his clean-shaven cheek, thumb skimming the line of his jaw.
“I know,” you whispered. “But you know I’d never ask that.”
He leaned into your hand, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. “Doesn’t change the fact that I would. You come first. You always do.”
You smiled, so gently he almost missed it.
“I don’t need you to walk away,” you murmured. “I just need you to walk back. To us. To me.”
He nodded. “I will.”
You kissed him again—slower this time. Like a promise. Like you were giving him something he already owned but forgot how to hold.
And when you pulled away, his mouth curved, that old smirk creeping back into place as his hands slid subtly down your back.
“You know,” he said, voice dipping, “this is a pretty dark corner. Not a lot of foot traffic.”
You snorted. “James.”
“I’m just saying,” he grinned, leaning in, “no one would see.”
You arched an eyebrow. “Keep it in your pants, Barnes.”
“What about when we get home?”
You kissed his jaw and murmured against his skin— “When we get home, Sergeant.”
His grin bloomed—lazy, boyish, free—and before you could say anything else, he kissed you again.
