It's been a Long, Long Time | Bucky comes home from the war and finds that Y/N has feelings for him
Lucky Wednesday | You fell for Bucky Barnes as he dined in the restaurant you work at - Izzy's. You decide to call him up to ask him out on a date as it leads to everything you've ever imagined it to be and more.
These Hands That Hold Me Pt 1 | Pt 2 | At the Avengers gala hosted by Valentina, Bucky looks dangerously good in a tux — and you know it. One whispered comment about ovulating is all it takes to push him to the brink. The tension finally snaps back home, but when things heat up, Bucky still holds back…
Actors Masterlist
Sebastian Stan
Special Day Awaiting | It’s yours and Sebastian’s wedding anniversary.
Christmas Masterlist
Jefferson (OUAT)
The Wondrous Ways of the Mad Hatter | Jefferson comes to your rescue with his hat and takes you to his cottage in the Enchanted Forest where the both of you spend Christmas in his cottage.
Steve Kemp
Just Another Christmas Morning | Steve attempts to cook a Christmas breakfast for you but all goes wrong when you walk in on him slicing meat from a human thigh as he has other plans for you to make sure you don't out him.
Ransom Drysdale
I've Got My Eyes On You | Ransom's always been a tease when it comes to you, but when he stumbles upon your journal, he starts to get an idea of what to do on Christmas night as a Christmas mystery ensues.
Lloyd Hansen
Submit and Obey | You wake up for Christmas and realise that you're in a different house. You're greeted by Lloyd Hansen as he coerces you into complying with him.
Hayden/Harvard Hottie
The Neighbour Above | It's been a year ago since your dog passed on. However, as you were making dinner for yourself you heard scratches on your apartment door and are greeted by a small puppy in sight and the handsome face of your neighbour, Hayden.
Lee Bodecker
Horror Awaits Where Love Springs | You and Lee rent a cabin in the woods thinking it would be a good time for both of you to spend Christmas together. However, little do both of you know there's a dead body waiting in the living room.
Ryan Ackerman
Steve Rogers
Jake Jensen
Chris Evans
Frank Adler
Nick Vaughan
Chase Collins
Sebastian Stan
Ari Levinson
Chris Beck
Mickey (Monday)
Carter Baizen
Frank (Endings Beginnings)
Bucky Barnes
Colin Shea
Scott Huffman
Johnny Storm
Nick Fowler
Genshin Impact Masterlist
Pantalone
I'm At Your Service | Arina decides to sneak out of the house one night, and learns an invaluable lesson from Pantalone.
Love and Deepspace (LaDS) Masterlist
SnowCrow (Zayne x Sylus x Reader)
Just A Sip Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Epilogue | Zayne had a 'sip' of Sylus's wine and starts getting freaky with Reader with Sylus is present. What happens when you have a brat tamer and a brat enabler in the same room?
Other Masterlist
Lloyd Hansen
Innocent Puppy | You've consistently been Lloyd Hansen's employee of the month, and might just be promoted to secretary.
Submit and Obey | You wake up for Christmas and realise that you're in a different house. You're greeted by Lloyd Hansen as he coerces you into complying with him.
Warnings: Smut😏— Breeding Kink, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Soft Dom!Bucky, Sub!Bucky Moments, Switch!Bucky, Overstimulation, Hand on Throat (light), Breast Play Kink, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Mutual Desperation, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Established Relationship, Soft Aftercare, Semi-Public Sex (kitchen), Domestic Smut, Whipped!Bucky, Feral!Bucky, Implication of Pregnancy, Smut with Feelings
Summary: After a frustrating dispute with Sam over the Avengers name, Bucky comes home tense and restless. You know exactly how to help him unwind—by teasing him, loving him, unravelling him. Through every heated thrust and tender touch, you remind him that with you, he’s not a soldier or a weapon—he’s finally home.
A/N: This is for those who love a good smutty fic :3 Enjoy!!
14 Months Later.
You’re in the kitchen, scrolling your phone, barefoot in one of his t-shirts.
The door slams. You freeze, and look up. Heavy boots. A jacket hitting the counter. And then Bucky, jaw tight, expression stormy, pacing like he’s ready to put someone through a wall.
“Bucky?”
He tosses his jacket onto the counter, jaw clenched, “He’s filing for copyright.”
You frown, “Who?”
He looks at you like it’s the dumbest question in the universe, “Sam. The name — Avengers. He’s putting in a fucking claim.”
You frown, phone forgotten, “Wait, why would he—”
“I don’t know,” he starts pacing, “Maybe to ‘secure the brand,’ maybe because Valentina got in his head, I don’t know. But I spent years fighting beside that name. It’s not something you trademark like a pair of fucking sneakers.”
You approach him slowly, palms up. “Hey... Baby, just breathe—”
“I am breathing,” he snaps and immediately sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, “Sorry. I just… it’s pissing me off more than it should. It’s stupid—”
You step closer, and press your hand against his chest, “It’s not stupid. I understand where you're coming from and I know why you feel that way. It sucks I get it. I mean, Sam never told me anything at all either... feels like he's cutting us off.”
He meets your eyes and something shifts behind them. The tension in his jaw stays, but the heat in his gaze grows darker, thicker, and needier.
And then he sees it.
The way you’re standing there in just his shirt — Your hair’s up in that messy bun he loves, soft strands framing your face, your hair feelers touching your neck, no bra, he can see the outline of your breasts, the faint peaks of your nipples pressing against the fabric from the cool air in the room, the hem of the shirt barely brushing your thighs, bare legs exposed beneath the soft fabric, your home slippers, and the way you look even smaller next to him — soft, domestic, and his.
You look like every quiet dream he’s ever had of peace, of home. And it wrecks him. His fists clench at his sides. The blood in his veins runs hotter. He swears under his breath, shifting slightly as the growing strain in his jeans becomes impossible to ignore.
“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself.
You tilt your head, still watching him closely, “What?”
“You always do that,” he mutters.
“Do what?”
“Do shit like that… look at me like that… especially when I’m all worked up.”
You chuckle and roll your eyes playfully, tilting your head as you look back at him, “I mean... You look cute when you’re angry.”
He huffs. “Yeah? Cute... You really want that, huh?”
Before you can answer, he’s already walking you backwards, step by step, until your hips bump the edge of the kitchen table. His hands settle on your waist, warm and grounding.
“You want me like this? All pissed off and wound tight?”
Your breath catches, “M-Maybe I do.”
He leans in, voice low and guttural against your ear, “Careful, baby. I’m not feeling very gentle right now.”
The back of your legs hit the kitchen counter as you look up at him with doe eyes. “I-I don’t need gentle. I need you... all of you.”
Bucky bites down on his bottom lip, hard. His eyes don’t leave yours. His chest rises, then falls again—quicker now. Like he’s trying to keep something locked down, but it’s crawling up his throat regardless. His grip on your waist tightens before he pulls away to grip the counter hard, afraid of bruising your hip with his metal arm especially.
Then his gaze drops to your lips, your neck, the swell of your breasts beneath his shirt, and he remembers the last time you were on this counter, 14 months ago, teasing him with that same look, that same breathless defiance. The way your voice had dropped to a command and turned him to mush, “Bedroom. Now, Sergeant Barnes.”
He squeezes his eyes shut as a low growl rumbles in his chest. His forehead drops to your shoulder. His fingers dig into the marble of the counter like he’s barely holding on. And then he whimpers, softly, almost pitifully, grinding himself against the counter’s edge, against you, like it’s the only thing anchoring him as he nuzzles his head into your neck while you watch him melt.
“Fuck, Doll...” he pants needily.
But then, like thunder behind his ribs, he hears it — flashbacks of your voice echoing in his head from months ago, “You don’t need to hold back. I trust you."
And another from earlier, "I don’t need gentle. I need you... all of you.”
His lashes flutter open. His eyes are black now, pupils blown wide. He pulls back, just enough to look at you. The way your lips are parted. The way you’re waiting—soft, inviting, and unafraid, like you know exactly what you’ve unleashed.
He breaks. His grip on the counter tightened so hard that the marble beneath his hands cracked slightly as his mouth crashed into yours—rough, desperate, and claiming. One hand cups the back of your neck, tilting you just where he wants you, and the other drags up your thigh, pushing the hem of your shirt higher and higher.
His tongue licks against your bottom lip like he’s starving for you, like your kiss is the only thing keeping him alive. You gasp as he lifts you onto the counter, fingers bruising your hips in his grip.
“No more holding back,” he growls against your lips, voice wrecked.
“You sure?” you whisper, breathless.
He huffs a laugh, forehead pressed to yours, “You asked for all of me, baby… I'm gonna give you everything.”
Then he spreads your legs and kneels as he pulls off your underwear while looking up at you, pupils still blown. He only wants to bring you pleasure; he wants to make you feel good.
You run your hands through his hair and tug on it slightly, like the good puppy he is, as you smirk down at him, fingers curling tighter in his hair.
“Good boy,” you murmur, and the way he groans — low, wrecked, and needy makes your core throb with anticipation.
He buries his face between your thighs like he’s finally allowed to breathe. Like he’s been holding his breath for months, and this is oxygen.
“Mine,” he mutters against your skin, “All fucking mine.”
His tongue drags up your folds, slow and reverent, before latching onto your clit with practised hunger. He sucks, licks, and devours not with finesse, but with ferocity. His hands are gripping your thighs like he’s scared you’ll float away if he lets go.
You throw your head back with a gasp, toes curling, hips twitching against his mouth.
“Bucky—oh, fuck—”
He groans again, the sound vibrating through you. And when you tug his hair harder, guiding him just where you need him, he moans. He places your legs over his shoulders and continues.
“God,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut, “Look at you. Such a desperate little thing, aren’t you?”
He nods, tongue never faltering. One hand slides up your stomach under the shirt, palm splayed wide over your ribcage as his thumb brushes under your breast, tracing circles over your nipple through the thin fabric. His other hand comes up to rest on your waist.
“You gonna come for me, doll?” he rasps, lips wet and chin slick as he pauses just to look at you — flushed, panting, and gorgeous above him.
“I should make you beg for it,” you tease, rolling your hips.
He lets out a choked laugh, “I'll always beg for you.”
That shatters something in you.
You bite your lips as you pull him back in and ride his mouth like you own him because you do. His hands guide your rhythm, but he doesn’t take over. He lets you use him, moaning every time your thighs twitch around his face, and every time you cry out his name.
It only takes a few more strokes of his tongue before you're shaking, breathless and clenching the counter and his hair as you fall apart with a cry that echoes through the kitchen.
He doesn't stop until you're done, until you’re trembling and sagging forward. You cup his face, pulling him up for a messy, open-mouthed kiss.
“You okay?” he whispers between kisses, his hand cradling the back of your head now.
You nod, heart still racing, “You?”
He kisses your forehead, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. “Never been better.”
You press your lips to his, soft this time, slower like you're letting him breathe through you. Then you bury your face in his neck, nuzzling the space just beneath his jaw. Your arms wrap loosely around his waist, and you just breathe him in.
He smells like cedar and sweat and soap and you swear you could get drunk on it.
He chuckles low, the sound rumbling in his chest. One hand strokes down your spine as the other steadies you against the counter.
“I thought you wanted all of me,” he murmurs against your temple. “Need me to pull back?”
You shake your head gently. “No… Just needed a breather. A reminder of why I chose you.”
That hits him hard.
He stills, his fingers curling slightly at your back as his lips part. He doesn't say anything at first, just lets the weight of your words sink into his bones.
You chose him.
Broken or not — Metal arm, bloodied past, name smeared in the mud of history — you still chose him.
His chest tightens, his heart thudding loudly in his ears. A smile curls at the edge of his lips slowly as he holds you close, like you might vanish if he lets go.
“Well,” he starts, a snarky edge returning to his voice, “That’s really sweet, doll. But I’m still hard… and I kinda need to—”
He freezes as the clink of his belt interrupts him.
His eyes dart down just in time to feel your fingers undoing the buckle, sliding it free with practiced ease. His breath catches in his throat.
You look up at him with that little grin, soft, and dangerous.
“Cutie…” he breathes, almost laughing as he presses a kiss to your nose.
But then you push him gently, guiding him to lean back against the counter as you drop down, knees hitting the cold floor with purpose.
“What are you—oh… oh, fuck—”
His hands scramble behind him to grip the edge of the counter as you free him from his jeans and boxers, watching his cock spring up flushed and heavy against his stomach.
You don’t touch him right away. No. You look first, through your lashes with those wide, soft doe eyes he’s completely fucking weak for.
He groans, head tipping back for a second before he looks down at you again, breathless, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You hum as you finally wrap your hand around his length and lean forward, tongue dragging a slow, teasing stripe along the underside of his length, eyes never leaving his as he twitches in your hand.
“Baby…”
But you just smile sweetly, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, lips parting wider as you take him in inch by inch, slow and warm and perfect.
And all Bucky can do is pant, fists clenching behind him on the counter, trying not to thrust as your mouth works him over like you were made to worship him. Because maybe you were.
You work him over like it’s your mission. Each swirl of your tongue, each hollowed cheek and gliding stroke of your hand draws another moan from him, like he’s unraveling one thread at a time. He leans back more heavily on the counter now, thighs twitching, breathing uneven.
“Oh—fuck, baby—”
His head falls back. His eyes flutter shut, jaw slack as a low, guttural moan escapes him. He muffles the next one with the back of his hand, biting down into the leather of his glove, like he’s trying not to wake the whole damn building.
But it’s no use. Your mouth is too warm, too wet, and too perfect. He dares to glance down again, and that is what does him in.
The sight of you on your knees, taking him deep, lashes fluttering with a dark little smile in your eyes—like you know exactly how wrecked he is. Your hands resting lightly on his thighs, steadying him, owning him.
And when he starts to thrust? You let him. You encourage him.
“God—” he gasps.
One hand now buried in your hair, guiding you gently and desperately, “Shit, sweetheart, I’m gonna—gonna—”
He hits the back of your throat with a shaky groan. And still, you don’t flinch. You moan around him instead, soft and sultry, and it vibrates right through him like a detonator.
He jerks suddenly, almost too fast, but pulls out just before the edge as his knees buckle. You catch him, one hand on his waist, the other steadying him as he drops down slightly, trying to catch his breath. His forehead presses against your shoulder. He’s panting, shaking and ruined.
You chuckle into his hair, wrapping your arms around him loosely.
“Too much?” you whisper sweetly, “Or you need me to pull back?”
He laughs, a breathless, broken sound and shakes his head, “No, baby… Don’t you dare.”
His arms slide under your thighs as he lifts you effortlessly onto the counter, your shirt still half-ridden up around your hips. He steps between your legs, still hard, still leaking, the tip of his cock flushed and dripping precum as it brushes against your inner thigh.
He looks up at you like he’s seeing heaven itself.
“I need you,” he whispers.
Then his metal hand cups your jaw, gentle now as he kisses you like you’re the only thing keeping him from slipping under again... and maybe you are.
You kiss him slowly at first, warm, and messy, and then you tilt your head and purr against his lips, “I’m ready, Bucky…”
He stills, breath catching against your mouth as he nods and prepares to slip himself in.
You chuckle as you pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Baby, I mean I'm ready to try for a baby, if you are.”
He freezes as his pupils blow wide like he’s been punched, like the oxygen’s been ripped from the room.
“What…?” he rasps, chest heaving.
“Gosh, Bucky. I want you to fuck a baby into me," You chuckle even more and play with his hair as you admire his expression.
His grip on your thighs tightens, the tremble in his arms no longer from restraint, but from pure, unfiltered need.
“You mean that?” he whispers, like he can’t believe you’d give him something so sacred.
You nod as you whisper back, voice honey-slick and sinful, “I want you to fill me up... wanna feel you dripping out of me when you’re done.”
He breaks.
No hesitation as he slides the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds and thrusts into you in one powerful, deep stroke that knocks the air from your lungs.
You cry out, nails clawing into his shoulders as he buries his face into your neck with a broken moan. His cock pulsing inside you, stretching you open, and claiming you.
“Fuckfuckfuck—baby... you feel so good,” he whimpers, already snapping his hips again, like his body’s chasing something it’s starved for.
You gasp, grinding down to meet him, “Want you to see me… round with your baby, Sergeant. Want you to have a t-taste of my milk...”
He groans, loud and unfiltered, cock twitching inside you at the image as his hands grip your waist, bruising and guiding your hips to meet his punishing thrusts.
You’re both chasing the same thing — heat, hunger, and something primal and deep that rises with every wet slap of skin and desperate gasp of breath.
You tighten around him, and he stutters, “God—baby, I’m not gonna last—fuck, you’re so perfect—”
You pant, cupping his jaw, forcing him to look at you as you clench around him again, “Give yourself to me. I want all of you.”
His rhythm stutters once. Twice. Then he growls, hips jerking deep as he buries himself to the hilt, cock pulsing as he spills inside you, hot, heavy, and endless.
You wrap your legs tighter around him, whispering, “That’s it… fill me up, just like that…”
You feel his body shudder with each wave of his orgasm, mouth parted in a broken moan, eyes fluttering as he melts into you, undone.
But it’s not over.
Not yet.
Because you start moving again, slow and deep, milking every drop from him, and his moans turn higher, more desperate, as overstimulation starts to blend with the need to keep going. You’re both gasping, kissing, grinding into each other like it’ll never be enough because it won’t.
You’re feeding off each other, climbing higher and higher, hands everywhere, bodies slick with sweat and want until, “There, Bucky—oh my god—y-yess—”
He thrusts again and again, cock thick and wet inside you, and then you’re coming together, hard, clutching each other like lifelines as the waves crash over you both, raw and loud and overwhelming.
Silence falls, and only your heavy breathing remains, and the sound of his heartbeat pounding against his chest as he’s collapsed into your embrace, still inside you, still throbbing.
You both cling to each other, trembling, ruined and so, so in love.
.
.
.
The kitchen is quiet now, except for the sound of your panting breaths and the soft hum of the refrigerator.
You’re still wrapped around him, clinging. His cock is still inside you, softening slowly, his cum beginning to leak out around where you’re joined. And yet… he hasn’t moved.
His metal arm curls tight around your waist, the cool surface contrasting with your flushed skin. He nuzzles your shoulder with a soft, dazed groan, lips brushing gently against your collarbone.
But then, his breath hitches. A flashback of your voice from earlier echoes through his mind like a shot of adrenaline.
“Want you to see me… round with your baby, Sergeant. Want you to have a t-taste of my milk...”
And fuck if that doesn’t hit him harder than anything else tonight, he doesn't know what will. But now, his cock is twitching back to life inside of you as you feel it.
Your lashes flutter as you shift slightly, “Bucky…?”
He breathes raggedly against your skin, eyes glazed, arms tightening around your waist, but your voice snaps him out of it.
“Hmm? Oh uhm I—shit, I'm sorry, baby,” he rasps.
You smirk sleepily against his neck, “Already?”
“Don’t act innocent,” he mutters, “You know what you said.”
You roll your hips slowly, and he moans, his voice caught in his throat.
“You mean the part about seeing me round? Or you drinking my milk?” You whisper, lips brushing his ear.
His whole body jerks and shudders as he shuts his eyes, “Fuck.”
And then he’s moving.
In one smooth, desperate motion, he carries you, cock still snug in you as he slides himself up onto the counter with you straddling his lap. He’s sitting now, legs spread, glistening in the low kitchen light.
He tugs you close again, hands roaming possessively over your thighs, your ass, your hips. His eyes are wild with need, but his smile is soft, almost inviting.
“Ride me,” he murmurs, voice low and dark. “Go ahead. You wanna take control? Take what’s yours, sweetheart.”
You can already feeling the heavy press of his cock inside you. You pull up only to sink down slowly, the stretch once again taking your breath as your walls wrap around him, tight and wet and pulsing.
Bucky throws his head back with a broken groan, both hands gripping your hips, itching to take control before placing them flat on the counter behind him. “Hngh... fuck, you still feel so good.”
You rest your hands on his shoulder, rolling your hips with a soft moan. That earns a choked whimper from him, his hips instinctively thrusting up into you.
You part your lips, slowly grinding down again, rotating your hips deliberately, watching him squirm beneath you.
“You like that, Sergeant?” you whisper, “Like when I milk your cock? When I make it hard again by dominating you?”
His hand flies up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in close. His other hand grips your ass, fingers sinking into your skin.
“I love it,” he growls against your lips, “I love letting you think you’re in control, but baby…”
His hips roll up, hard and deep, making your breath stutter, “You know exactly who’s fucking who here.”
You moan, your nails digging into his shoulder as you bounce on him now, pace steady but growing frantic, desperate to chase that peak again, to fill yourself with him again and he lets you because watching you take him like this? It’s his favourite kind of torture.
He slides his hands against your skin, pushing up your shirt as he slips the hem into your mouth, making you bite down against it. He places his palms flat against the counter behind him again before thrusting upwards into you as you moan, muffled against the t-shirt.
The fabric clenched between your teeth muffles your cries, but Bucky hears every sound, every moan, and every flutter and pulse around his cock.
“Fuck—look at you,” he pants, staring up at you with blown pupils and parted lips, sweat clinging to his brow, “So fucking pretty... taking me so well…”
He slams up into you again, making your thighs tremble as you jerk forward slightly, forehead against his. The wet, obscene slap of both your bodies meeting echoes through the kitchen.
“You were made for this,” he growls, one hand dragging your hips down harder. “Made to be fucked like this. To be filled like this.”
You whimper around the shirt, eyes rolling back slightly as your cunt clenches around him.
He snaps and hops off the counter with you in his arms and walks to the couch, where he sits down, feet planted on the floor.
“Kitchen was too soft on you, baby… You said you wanted all of me? Then, let me show you what that really fucking means.”
His hand flies to your throat—not tight, just resting there with enough pressure to make you feel owned. His other hand grabs your wrists tightly, pinning them behind your back as he drives up into you over and over, deeper, rougher, like he’s trying to fuck the soul out of you.
And then, his mouth finds your breast.
His lips wrap around your nipple and he sucks, slow and greedy, tongue circling as if savoring a preview of what’s to come. You cry out, the stimulation making your back arch and your cunt clamp down around him like a vice.
Your moans grow louder, ragged, gasping as his teeth graze lightly over the perked bud before he sucks again, rougher this time, his stubble scraping the soft skin above your breast. You whimper and squirm in his grasp.
And all you can do is take it. His cock hits deep, cockhead nudging that spot that makes your vision blur while his mouth worships your tits like he’s starving to taste your body, like he wants to coax it out of you with just his mouth and desperation alone.
You’re gasping, barely holding on as you feel him dragging you closer to the edge again.
“I wanna see it,” he groans, “Wanna watch you leak with my cum dripping down your thighs.”
You cry out, the sound feral and ragged against the cloth between your teeth as you're losing it. He feels your walls tighten again, fluttering uncontrollably, and he chokes out a moan as his thrusts grow more erratic.
He growls as he locks eyes with you again, “Ohh, fuck—I can feel you're close, baby—shit, you’re gonna make me come again—Come on, Doll. Show me how bad you want my baby.”
You nod frantically as you press your forehead to his. He’s trembling. But you’re trembling even more as tears roll down your cheeks from the overstimulation.
He moans a wrecked, desperate sound as his eyes widen with lust and surrender.
“You want it that bad?” he pants.
You nod and bite down on the shirt tighter as you whimper and sniffle.
“Fuck—” That’s it.
And you fall with him — White heat snaps behind your eyes as you come undone again. Your scream strangled in your throat as your walls flutter and clench around him, soaking him. He moans right with you, growling your name like a prayer, voice high and desperate as he slams up into you one last time and spills himself deep inside you, cock pulsing, and leaking.
You both cling, shaking and breathless, as he rests his chin on your shoulder, spent, moving his hand from your throat to hold the back of your head as he cradles it.
He’s still twitching inside you as your bodies go slack, a soft, wet sound escaping as his cum leaks out slowly around him. You tremble in his lap, both of you ruined, slick and sweaty and still connected, still inside you.
He kissed your shoulder softly, trailing up to your cheek as he tucked your hair back and released his grip on your wrists — an apology and a promise all at once. He took a good look at you while cupping your face, seeing how submissive and overstimulated you looked with the hem of your shirt still in your mouth as he chuckled, voice hoarse and utterly wrecked.
“Baby...”
He leaned in, tugging on the hem of the shirt with his teeth as he pulled it from your mouth and smiled, "Think it'll stick?"
You slumped slightly and held onto his arms weakly, the adrenaline finally ebbing into warmth.
“I-If it doesn’t... we’re doing it again,” you murmur, breathless and dazed, “And again… and again.”
Bucky chuckles, low and hoarse, kissing your forehead as he moved your hair away from your face, “Yeah? ‘Til it sticks, huh?”
You nod, your body spent but your heart full.
He kisses your nose, then pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “C’mon, Doll. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He carries you gently to the bathroom, the weight of the night finally catching up to you both. His movements are slower now, more careful, as he tends to you like you’re something sacred. His eyes look at you, full of love and something quieter—something like awe.
He runs the bath and it's warm and steamy, the scent of lavender filling the air as Bucky helps you settle in. His hands move carefully over your skin, washing away every trace of sweat and desire with a softness that makes your heart ache.
You lean into him, letting the water and his touch soothe every ache and thrill.
Once you’re clean and wrapped in a soft shirt, he carries you to bed and tucks you under the sheets before climbing in beside you. He pulls you into his arms, warm and safe.
“Thank you,” he whispers against your temple, “For everything and for loving me.”
You pout up at him, teasing, “I’m more than your stress ball, you know…”
Bucky smirks and brushes your hair back from your face, eyes fond and full of mischief.
“I know, doll,” he leans in and kisses your nose, soft and slow, “But right now, you’re my favourite little stress ball.”
You giggle softly, curling into him with a little whine as he tightens his hold around you.
“Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”
You nod with your face tucked against his chest and his nose buried in your hair. The two of you drift off, entwined, content, and completely in love.
Warnings: Smutty Fluff — Established relationship, tux kink, soft dom!Bucky, mild possessiveness, aftercare with finger tracing and cuddles, protective Bucky, mutual teasing, metal arm softness, domestic gestures
Summary: At the Avengers gala hosted by Valentina, Bucky looks dangerously good in a tux — and you know it. One whispered comment about ovulating is all it takes to push him to the brink. The tension finally snaps back home, but when things heat up, Bucky still holds back...
A/N: Hello!! I've been wanting to push out a Bucky Barnes fic for y'all and for myself for a while now... and I just recently re-watched Thunderbolts and got this idea, so here it is :3 I hope you beautiful souls enjoy this work of mine!! Thank you for your support!!
The gala’s all polished marble and glittering gowns. Bucky’s pretty sure half the people here have no idea what they’re actually celebrating. Valentina’s making the rounds with her signature smugness, camera flashes go off every five seconds, and all Bucky wants is a damn drink and maybe to get out of this tux.
And then he sees you.
You’re standing near the edge of the ballroom in a gown that clings just right, drink in hand, eyes locked onto him like a secret you’re dying to tell. His breath catches, and he adjusts his sleeves like they’ll do anything to hide how he’s already heating up under the collar.
You walk over, slow and confident like you’ve got all the time in the world.
“You clean up real nice, Sergeant Barnes.”
He snorts, “Don’t start.”
“What? I can’t compliment my man when he looks like sin in a tux?”
Bucky lowers his voice, eyes narrowing just a little, “You’ve been staring at me all night.”
“Maybe I’ve got a reason.”
“And what would that be?”
You lean in, breath grazing the shell of his ear, voice silky and playful, “…I’m ovulating.”
Bucky nearly chokes on air.
You step back, all smug smile and an innocent sip of champagne, “Just figured you should know.”
And god, the way his jaw tightens — the way he runs a hand down his face like it’ll erase the images already flashing in his mind — it’s delicious.
“You keep talking like that,” he murmurs lowly, “and we’re not making it through the rest of this night.”
You smile sweetly, “Then let’s leave early.”
You take another slow sip of your champagne, eyeing him. Then, your fingers curl inward over your lips, hiding a smug little smirk like it’s something sacred. You chuckle softly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.
He’s already looking at you like a storm barely contained in a tux.
But before he can say something cocky, a congressman you vaguely recognize drifts over.
“Sergeant Barnes,” he says, extending a hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
Bucky gives the man a single nod, clears his throat, and without missing a beat, places a firm hand on your lower back, “Excuse me.”
And just like that, he’s steering you away from the crowd, down the carpeted steps of the gala hall, straight to the valet. You don’t say a word, you don’t need to, you can feel the tension simmering just beneath his skin.
The valet pulls up in sleek black, and Bucky catches the keys with one hand, nodding tightly. The other never leaves your back until you’re both inside the car.
He slides into the driver’s seat, starts the engine with a quiet growl, and his right hand settles onto your lap, fingers spreading wide, heavy and possessive.
“Did you have to say it like that?” he mutters, eyes fixed on the road, voice low and gravelly.
You hum innocently as you look at him with doe eyes, “Say what?”
He squeezes your thigh — tight. Not enough to hurt, but enough to warn. “You know exactly what.”
You look at his hand as you gasp softly, and then, you get an idea to rouse him further. Ever so slowly, you take his hand and guide it up your thigh... higher and closer. His knuckles brush the hem of your dress, and his breathing gets louder.
“Jesus...”
You glance over, voice light. “Something wrong?”
Bucky’s jaw clenches. “You’re lucky this isn’t the metal arm.”
You laugh, soft and wicked, and his hand twitches under your touch like it’s already fighting restraint.
He doesn’t say another word the entire drive. Just pulls up quietly to the curb outside your apartment building, throws the car into park, and kills the engine.
The street is hushed under amber city lights, a breeze tousling his hair as he steps out. You follow, heart racing, heels clicking softly on the pavement as his hand finds yours with firm urgency, fingers laced tight.
Not a word. Not until you’re inside.
The front door creaks open as the warm hum of the building swallows you both while you climb up the stairs. He’s two steps ahead, still holding your hand, as if he lets go now, he might lose control right there in the stairwell.
By the time you reach the apartment door, your back is already tingling with anticipation as you lean against the wall and look over at him. He fumbles with the key just a second too long like the heat in his chest is making him reckless.
But then the door swings open, and the second it clicks shut behind you, you’re backed against it.
His hands are on your waist, mouth hovering near your ear, “You drive me insane, you know that?”
You smile, smug and breathless, “Good.”
“Say it again,” he growls, lips ghosting along your jaw. “That thing you said at the gala.”
You blink up at him, feigning innocence, “What thing?”
“The one that made me want to throw you over my shoulder and skip the damn valet.”
You lean up on your toes, whisper hot and sweet against his ear, “I’m ovulating.”
His eyes flutter shut for a moment like he's trying to collect the last shred of his self-control.
But when they open, god, he looks hungry, “Bedroom. Now.”
“No.”
His brows lift, just barely, but the fire in his eyes flares, “No?”
Your smile is slow and dangerous, “Make me.”
You watch the tension ripple through his jaw, his nostrils flaring. He’s seconds from snapping but you want him to. You want him raw and undone; You want him to lose that precious control he holds like armour.
So you just stand there, smirking, and the air between you practically crackles.
Finally, he breaks.
His voice is a growl, guttural and ragged, barely human. “Did you want me to fuck you against the counter? Is that it? Hmm?” His hands are on your hips, guiding and commanding you backwards. “Or maybe you wanted me to take you right there at the gala? In front of everyone?” He leans in, nose brushing yours. “In front of that congressman who couldn’t stop staring at you?”
You gasp as the backs of your thighs bump the kitchen counter. He cages you in tighter, hands now gripping your waist like he needs to remind himself you're real.
“You wanted that, didn’t you? To be ruined where everyone could see?”
You don’t answer. You just lift yourself up onto the counter with practised ease, arms around his neck, legs around his waist, pulling him in, and then you flip the game.
Fingers sliding into his hair, voice sharp and dominant, “Bedroom. Now, Sergeant Barnes.”
That title hits him like a command straight from mission control. His lips part, breath shaky, pupils blown, “…Yes, ma’am.”
And then his hands are under your thighs, hoisting you up, carrying you through the apartment like you weigh nothing.
He kicks open the bedroom door, lays you out on the sheets like a damn offering, and the second you’re down, his mouth crashes onto yours—hungry and worshipful.
His mouth meets yours with heat and hunger, but there’s a tremble beneath it. A hesitation. Even as his body presses to yours, even as his hands explore your curves like he’s memorizing them again for the hundredth time—he’s still holding back.
You feel it.
His touch, while firm, never pushes. His kisses are deep, but short, like he’s catching himself just before he loses control. His hands slide under your dress but pause at your thighs. He’s yearning, but he’s afraid.
You break the kiss first, gently cupping his face, “Bucky.”
His breath hitches, “Yeah?”
Your voice is soft, like a thread between you, “You’re holding back.”
He’s hovering above you, one hand braced beside your head, the other caressing your waist like he’s grounding himself. His jaw is tight. His eyes are wild. But his touch is soft, too soft for what he’s feeling.
He swallows thickly, gaze dropping to where his metal fingers now rest on the bedspread, “I—I want you so bad, doll, but I… I don’t want to hurt you.”
You tilt your head, heart full, “You won’t.”
“I could. You don’t know how hard it is… holding back around you. You get me all wound up and then—" He stops, breath hitching, like even saying it is too much.
You cup his cheek, thumb brushing along his stubble. “Bucky.”
He closes his eyes and leans into your touch like he’s starved for it.
“You don’t need to hold back," he opens his eyes again, and you smile, soft and sure, “I trust you.”
His eyes flick up to yours and something breaks open in them. Like a dam that’s been straining for years. He doesn’t speak, just nods almost reverently.
Then his lips find yours again but this time, freely. There’s no leash now, no walls. Just Bucky. Warm, trembling and utterly devoted.
He kisses you like he’s been dying of thirst. His hands — flesh and metal — both run along your waist, your thighs, under your dress, feeling, learning and worshipping. His breath is hot against your neck as he presses kisses there, trailing down to your collarbone, murmuring things.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, forehead resting against yours as he undresses you like a prayer.
You reach for his tie, tugging it loose, then work open the buttons of his shirt as he helps you out of your dress slowly and reverently, like he’s unwrapping something fragile and precious.
Once you’re bare before him, he just looks at you. No jokes; no teasing. Just awe.
“God,” he whispers, voice shaking, “You’re… everything.”
You tug him down, pressing your forehead to his. “Hey...You're my everything too, okay?”
He grins wide and real and nods as he finally lets himself feel.
He kisses you again slower now, but deeper. His hands caress every inch of you like he’s making sure you’re still here, still real, and still his.
You guide him gently down with you until he’s hovering above, framed by moonlight through the window, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor. His dog tags glint against his chest, swinging slightly as he leans in.
You brush your fingers through his hair before stroking his cheek with your thumb. “You’re allowed to want, Bucky,” you whisper, “You’re allowed to have.”
That undoes him.
He breathes your name like a confession as he moves his face closer to your heat.
You spread your thighs for him, welcoming, no fear. His fingers slide between them, testing, teasing — and when he finds you already wet, already aching for him, his breath catches in his throat.
“You—” he exhales, jaw trembling. “You’re so ready for me…”
You nod, stroking his head and playing with his hair more as you look down at him, “Always am.”
He comes back up, licking his fingers as his dog tags swing close to your face. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer as he grinds down slowly, letting you feel just how much he wants you, how long he’s needed this. The tension in his body is thick — years of guilt, control, and restraint all knotted in muscle and memory.
But under your hands, under your love, he softens.
He lines himself up, eyes locked on yours — checking, always checking as you nod again, gently stroking his cheek. “It’s okay.”
And when he pushes in slowly, carefully, and intimately, you both exhale in unison, like you’ve been waiting your whole lives to feel this.
Bucky groans, forehead pressed to yours, eyes fluttering shut, “You feel like heaven, doll…”
You hold him tighter, lips brushing his temple, “So do you.”
He moves in you with reverence. No roughness, just rhythm. Every thrust is a promise, every kiss a prayer. He doesn’t speak much now, just quiet gasps, low moans, and your name on repeat like it’s the only word he knows.
And when your hips rise to meet his, your breath catches and you whisper, “Bucky, I’m close.”
He wraps his arms around you tightly, grounding you to him.
“I’ve got you, Doll,” he whispers, voice hoarse and full of love, “Let go. I’m right here.”
And when you fall apart beneath him, trembling, he follows just after, burying his face in your neck as he breaks with a ragged cry, holding you like a lifeline.
.
.
.
After a while, the room is quiet now — Just the soft tick of the clock, the hush of city lights bleeding through the curtains, and the way your fingers gently stroke along Bucky’s cheek.
He leans into your touch without thinking.
“You’re not theirs anymore,” you murmur, thumb brushing just beneath his eye, “You’re not Hydra. You’re not anyone’s puppet. You’re you… and you’re mine, if you want to be.”
Bucky’s breath stutters as his eyes close. You feel him exhale like the weight of entire decades is slipping off his chest. When he opens his eyes again, they’re glassy, full of something deeper than just lust or even love. It’s peace.
He lifts your hands, one at a time, and kisses your palms with aching tenderness.
“I’m grateful,” he whispers against your skin, “that I got to long for these hands. That I get to feel safe in them.”
Your chest tightens, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. But you smile. Then, slowly and cautiously, he raises his metal arm to your face. His knuckles graze your jaw, cold but gentle, unsure.
You don’t flinch. You nod. A small, solid affirmation. You’re safe. He’s safe, and this is okay. He just breathes you in like he needs this moment tattooed into his soul.
But then, his face twists slightly, reality creeping back in, “Shit.”
You tilt your head slightly, “What?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“It's about Valentina. I—I gotta find the others. Something felt off earlier... Gotta make sure this wasn’t more than a PR stunt. ”
He presses a quick, apologetic kiss to your temple, already reaching for his pants.
“I’m sorry to cut this short, baby. I’ll make it up to you, okay? Call Sam, check if he’s okay staying close tonight. I’ll feel better knowing someone’s watching out for you.”
You sit up, blanket draped over your chest, giving him the look.
“Bucky. I can handle myself just fine. I don’t need Captain America to babysit me.”
He freezes mid-shirt-button, then laughs — that warm, rare laugh that curls your toes.
“Yeah,” he chuckles, stepping closer to brush a strand of hair from your face, “Yeah, you’re right. You’d probably babysit him.”
You both smile, and for a moment, he doesn’t move. He just watches you — the soft light across your skin, the way your lashes flutter as you look at him like he’s home. And his heart squeezes in his chest.
'I should go,' he thinks.
But he stays because 'you never know what might happen next'. He hesitates for just a second longer… then sighs softly and moves back into bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he slides under the sheets again.
You tilt your head, surprised, “I thought you were heading out.”
“I will,” he murmurs, voice low, already curling an arm around you, “In a minute. Just… not yet.”
He opens his arm, and you waste no time sliding into it, cheek resting over his chest, fingers lightly tracing along his ribs. He kisses the top of your head, slow and lingering, then lets his chin rest there.
The silence is warm. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear.
“You always do that,” you mumble sleepily.
“Do what?”
“Say you’re leaving… then stay longer.”
His fingers trail up and down your back, “Can’t help it. You make it hard to go.”
You hum in response, already sinking into that space between sleep and dreaming, his scent and warmth wrapped all around you. He waits until your breathing slows, until your hand goes still over his chest, and only then does he gently shift out from under you.
Careful not to wake you, he places a soft kiss on your temple, then gets up and pads around the room silently as he buttons his shirt fully.
He fills a glass of water in the kitchen, places a lid on top like you always prefer, and sets it on your bedside with a sticky note, written in his rough, neat handwriting.
Didn’t want to wake you. Text me when you get this. I love you.❤️ —B
He stands there for a moment, just watching you sleep as the feeling in his heart grows. Then, before he leaves, he pulls out his phone and types a message.
Hey, Doll. I’m probably out already when you see this, but I wanted you to know I’m okay. I’ll check in as soon as I can. Drink water, stay safe. I’ll be thinking about you nonstop. — Your Bucky ❤️
He schedules it to send a few hours later, just around the time he knows you’d start missing him.
And then he’s gone.
But the room still holds the warmth of him — a glass of water, a scribbled note, and a soft imprint on the pillow beside you. He always comes back. But even when he’s not there—he makes sure you never feel alone.
Warnings: Smutty Fluff - This is the Fluff part, if my understanding of Fluff still stands correctly.
Summary: Zayne had a 'sip' of Sylus's wine and starts getting freaky with Reader with Sylus is present. What happens when you have a brat tamer and a brat enabler in the same room?
A/N: I dunno... I love this game and they're my husbands. Enjoy! Forgive me, I don't have a GIF of Zayne and Sylus together :(( But the gifs encompass the mood of the the different parts.
Zayne wakes first, as always. His body aches in unfamiliar ways—good ways, but still new. He moves carefully, easing out of bed without waking either of them, grabbing his pants off the floor and tugging them on.
The kitchen is quiet. He makes coffee like it’s muscle memory, but his mind is racing.
They’d… done that.
All three of them.
Together.
And not just that, but he’d let go. He’d let himself feel. Sylus behind him, you beneath him. Your voices tangled. Your breathing synced. That dizzying moment of surrender when your bodies fit perfectly, when it wasn’t about control anymore, it was about connection.
Zayne stares into the coffee pot, cheeks pink, heartbeat loud in his chest.
'What does this mean? What if they regret it? What if he—'
“Why are you brooding like you committed a crime?” Sylus’s voice is still raspy with sleep as he leans against the doorframe, shirtless and smug. “You walked like a man possessed last night, and now you’re having a feelings crisis over beans?”
Zayne sighs, “You’re the last person I need commentary from right now.”
“Yeah, well, unfortunately for you, I was also there. And very involved,” Sylus saunters closer. “You okay, Zay?”
Zayne doesn’t answer right away, “…I didn’t hate it.” He says it like a confession.
Sylus blinks. Then grins, “Oh, trust me, Snowflake. I know.”
You appear moments later, hair mussed, Zayne’s button-up slipping off one shoulder. You wrap your arms around Zayne’s waist from behind, pressing a sleepy kiss to his spine, “Mmm, stop thinking so hard.”
“I’m not.”
“...You are.”
Sylus grabs a mug and bumps Zayne’s hip playfully, “We broke him. I think we need to do it again. For science.”
You laugh upon seeing Zayne’s ears go pink. And somehow, the coffee tastes a little sweeter.
Warnings: Smutty Fluff - Drunk & Needy, Threesome, Double Penetration, Exploration of Sexuality, Creampie, Multiple Cumshots, Dom/Sub Themes, Voyeurism (Sylus Watching), Masturbation, Overstimulation, Zayne becomes Bi for Sylus.
Summary: Zayne had a 'sip' of Sylus's wine and starts getting freaky with Reader with Sylus is present. What happens when you have a brat tamer and a brat enabler in the same room?
A/N: I dunno... I love this game and they're my husbands. Enjoy! Part 3 coming up! Forgive me, I don't have a GIF of Zayne and Sylus together :(( But the gifs encompass the mood of the the different parts.
Zayne's arms trembled as he tried to catch his breath, his forehead pressed to the curve of your shoulder. Sylus’s hands stroked your thighs, grounding you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, until your body finally began to soften, melting between them, loose and loved.
Then, Sylus leaned in, brushing a final kiss to your head, “Mmm, you’re glowing, Kitten.” He whispered, then faced Zayne, voice low and knowing, “She’s still shaking. Go on—take your time with her.”
Zayne was flushed and dazed but nodded.
Sylus slipped out with a gentle roll of his hips, careful not to overwhelm you too fast. You let out a soft whimper at the sudden emptiness, and Sylus caught your chin with two fingers, brushing his thumb across your lips.
“You’re not alone,” he murmured. “I’m just over here.”
With that, Sylus pulled back—settling beside them on the bed, watching with hooded eyes, lazily cleaning their fluids off his cock before rolling on a condom as Zayne adjusted behind her.
Now it was just the two of them—Zayne still inside her, more vulnerable than before.
You turned your head slightly to look back at him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, “You okay?”
Zayne exhaled shakily, one hand pressing to your belly as he pushed deeper inside you again, “I don’t think I’ve ever… felt us like this.”
You smiled, reaching behind to tangle your fingers with his, “You can move. I want you to.”
Zayne nodded and shifted such that they were now in Missionary. Carefully, and tenderly, his hips rocked with more emotion than rhythm. Every thrust was slow, reverent, hips flush against your ass as his hand slid up to cradle your ribs, then higher, brushing your breast and holding you close as he bent down to grasp your nipple between his teeth. He rolled the peaked nipple, tugging it further into his mouth before sucking on it.
From the side, Sylus watched, while touching himself slowly, gaze dark but soft as he witnessed the sight of Zayne passionately making love to you while you wrapped your legs around Zayne's waist, hands roaming to his hair to hold his head against your chest.
“You’re beautiful,” Zayne pulled away from your breast and whispered into your ear, voice cracking with emotion. “Everything about you… I want it all.”
You lay beneath him, flushed and open, moaning his name as he rocked into you. His rhythm faltered every time you clenched around him, every time you whispered his name with that trembling edge of need. His hands shook. His breathing was ragged.
“Zay…” you gasped, fingers curling into his back.
He barely managed to hold himself up, teeth gritted, trying to keep pace. The pressure was unbearable—in his chest, in his gut, in every shaky exhale. His thrusts grew deeper, more connected than hurried, chasing not release but closeness—until he was gasping your name, spilling into you again, forehead buried in your neck as his body tensed and trembled.
And this time, when he stilled, he didn’t pull away. He stayed buried inside you, wrapping himself fully around your body, pressing gentle kisses to your neck and temple, holding you protectively.
At this point, Zayne was already half-undone—warm from wine, from the touch, from you but then Sylus moved behind him.
"You're wound up," Sylus murmured, breath warm against Zayne’s neck. “Let me help.”
Zayne’s breath hitched, “Don’t—don’t mess around right now. I'm…overstimulated, p-please...”
But Sylus’s hands were already on his hips, coaxing him forward, deeper into you, “M'not messing. You’re spiralling. Let me take the edge off."
Sylus lubbed up his condom-covered cock as you looked up, half-lidded, heart pounding. You reached up, cupping Zayne’s cheek, “You’re okay. We’re with you.”
Zayne looked down at you, eyes wide, pupils blown. The gentle touch of your fingers… the way your thighs clutched him… the heat between them as you leaned up to kiss him softly… and Sylus, steady behind, dragging a line down his spine.
And then— Sylus pushed in.
Slow. Deliberate. A groan caught in Zayne’s throat as he froze, buried inside you, while he felt Sylus begin to fill him from behind.
“Breathe,” Sylus whispered, kissing the back of his neck. “You’re doing so good.”
Sylus kissed down Zayne's body, moving your legs to wrap around Sylus’s waist instead so he could push deeper into Zayne.
You moaned softly beneath him, feeling Zayne deep in you. You kissed Zayne's jaw as he gasped—actually gasped—his hips twitching forward instinctively from the pressure. The sensation was overwhelming. Hot. Tight. Blinding.
“Sylus—” He managed.
“I’ve got you,” Sylus said, guiding him with slow, grounding thrusts. “You just focus on her.”
And he did.
Zayne began to move again, slower this time—deep, shuddering strokes that made you cry out. His face was buried in your neck, nipping at your skin to form a hickey, as you buried your face in his shoulder. Every thrust from Sylus pushed Zayne deeper into you. A rhythm of closeness and friction and raw, undeniable feeling.
Zayne was unravelling. His grip on control had long since slipped. And both you and Sylus were holding him through it.
“You’re amazing,” You whispered against his ear, lips brushing the shell.
“You feel so fucking good like this,” Sylus growled behind him. “Didn’t know you could moan like that, Zay.”
Zayne whimpered—his entire body trembling as pleasure surged hot and unbearable through him. He was stretched, filled, inside you and being taken in the same breath.
And when he came, it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t composed. He cried out, shaking violently as he collapsed into your arms, Sylus still gently rocking behind him, riding him through the waves before spilling into the condom. He pulled out and removed the condom, disposing of it in the bathroom trash can.
By the time both Zayne and you finally collapsed beneath the sheets, you were wrecked — boneless, breathless, and full of them in more ways than one. Your thighs still trembled faintly, slick with the aftermath of Zayne’s affection, and your heart ached with something softer, heavier — something dangerously close to love.
Zayne had barely managed to pull out before curling up behind you, chest pressed to your back as he buried his face in your shoulder with a sigh. His hand blindly searched for yours under the covers, lacing your fingers together before he slipped into sleep with the ease of someone who felt safe for the first time in too long.
The bathroom light flicked off, and a moment later, Sylus padded in. His gaze swept over both you and Zayne— your limp and pliant form in Zayne’s arms, Zayne draped around you like he’d always belonged there. Something in his expression softened. Quiet.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just slipped into the bed beside the two of you, his warmth grounding, familiar. He pressed a slow kiss to your temple as he curled his arm over both of you, drawing y’all closer.
“I’ve got you both,” He whispered against your skin. “Sleep well, Kitten and Snowflake.”
Warnings: Smutty Fluff - Drunk & Needy, Threesome, Double Penetration, Exploration of Sexuality, Creampie, Multiple Cumshots, Dom/Sub Themes, Voyeurism (Sylus Watching), Masturbation, Overstimulation, Zayne becomes Bi for Sylus.
Summary: Zayne had a 'sip' of Sylus's wine and starts getting freaky with Reader with Sylus is present. What happens when you have a brat tamer and a brat enabler in the same room?
A/N: I dunno... I love this game and they're my husbands. Enjoy! Part 2 and 3 coming up! Forgive me, I don't have a GIF of Zayne and Sylus together :(( But the gifs encompass the mood of the the different parts.
It’s hours after the mission. The stars outside blur like streaks of light, and the cabin glows low with artificial dusk. Zayne has had half a glass of wine—barely a sip by Sylus’s standards—but that’s all it ever takes. You're tucked in bed, right where you always end up: head pressed into Sylus’s chest, one leg hooked over his waist. He’s warm, lazy, and purring low against your ear as he strokes your thigh.
Behind you, Zayne curls in, chest to your back. His arms wrap around your waist, tighter than usual. His breath, usually slow and even, is uneven now, hot against the curve of your shoulder. And then you stir. A soft, sleepy whimper. Just a kitten's noise. Barely a sound. Zayne’s hands twitch, tightening around your waist as his hips press forward, slow, restrained… but unmistakable. His breath catches. A shaky exhale.
“Oh?” Sylus hums, smirking against your temple, “That’s all it takes to break the ice?”
“Shut up,” Zayne mutters, voice low and strained.
“Zayne,” You whisper, half-asleep but aware enough to scold him gently. “Mmm, no, you’re drunk.”
“I’m not,” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your shoulder as he kisses your neck. “Just… warm.”
Sylus chuckles, licking his lips, “Look at you, Kitten, turning him into a whole storm.”
“Stop teasing,” You huff, half-burying your face into Sylus’s chest as Zayne nuzzles into you from behind. “You’re not helping.”
“I am helping,” Sylus purrs, his hand gliding up your spine. “I’m keeping you grounded while your ice prince melts all over you.”
Zayne grabs your chin gently and tilts it so she’s looking back at him as his mouth finds hers, soft at first, then deeper, hands firm on your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll drift away in the dark. And you just sigh into it—helplessly, lovingly, lit up between heat and chill.
You turn around, leaning more into Zayne’s touch as you try to tell him to go back to bed instead of starting something that’ll take the three of you the whole night to finish, as Sylus chuckles in the background, watching them.
You move your hand behind you and swat Sylus but end up hitting his crotch, as you now have to deal with Zayne being touchy and drunk and Sylus in pain, “I-I’m so sorry!”
Sylus hisses sharply, body jolting, “Ow—! Kitten, I love you, but that’s not how you ask for a midnight encore—”
Your eyes fly open as you scramble to turn toward him, “I didn’t mean to! I was aiming for your chest, I swear!”
Zayne pulls back from your mouth with a groggy furrow in his brows, his voice gravel-soft. “What... did you do to him?”
“I accidentally assaulted him...”
Sylus groans dramatically, flopping back into the pillows, “Right in the jewels. Fatal.”
You bury your face in your hands, “I was trying to stop this from getting out of control.”
“Bit late for that,” Zayne mutters, though there’s the ghost of a smirk curling on his lips now, drunk and touch-starved and not letting you go.
Sylus peeks through one eye, grinning despite himself, “You’re lucky I’m into pain, kitten.”
“I’m never getting any sleep, am I?” You mumble into your palm.
“No,” Zayne says simply, tugging you back into his arms needily.
“Not unless you want to sleep on me,” Sylus adds, voice still low but playful. “That’s an open invitation, by the way.”
MC just groans, sandwiched between a clingy ice prince and a teasing pyro menace, already too warm and way too awake for midnight peace.
But honestly? She wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Zayne's hands continued to roam your body, kissing down your back as Sylus leaned down to kiss your lips. The room was quiet except for their breaths—shallow and synchronised as your body suspends between two worlds—Sylus’s warmth pressing into your front and Zayne’s steady presence grounding you from behind.
You sigh—soft, breathy, resigned in the best way as their mouths find your body again. Zayne’s lips brush your shoulder, your neck, while Sylus moves down to kiss your chest with open adoration, his hands exploring the shape of your body like he’s relearning a language he’s always spoken.
They kiss your front and back, holding you like a wish between them. There are sighs, moans, whimpers, and stifled gasps, all while all of your clothes are being shed, feeling the coolness of the sheets against your skin.
Sylus’s hands cupped your hips gently, his eyes dark with a tender fire as he slowly slid inside you. The warmth of him filled you, slow and deliberate, every inch a promise of care and closeness. His breath brushed over your collarbone as he leaned in, lips trailing soft kisses down your neck.
Behind you, Zayne’s hands found your waist, holding you firmly but with reverence. He pressed forward, sliding inside you from behind with a deep, steady thrust that sent a shiver down your spine. His touch was warm but grounding—a steady anchor as Sylus moved with delicate strength before you.
You gasped softly, caught in the delicious tension of being filled from both sides, cradled and consumed by the two people you loved most. Their hands found yours, fingers entwining in a silent vow.
“We've got you, Kitten," Sylus murmured, his voice low and sure.
Zayne’s breath was hot on your ear, “We're right here.”
Together, they moved slowly, synchronously, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth and trust, the perfect sandwich, the perfect moment. They barely began, but you were already trembling. You lay nestled between them, your breath hitching with every inch they gave you. Sylus was in front, cradling your head to his chest, one hand gently sifting through your hair while the other softly covered your eyes.
“Shh,” He whispered, lips brushing your temple. “Just feel.”
You whimpered into him, your entrance stretching full—aching with the impossible pressure of being taken by both of them at once. Your arms clung around Sylus’s neck as he stayed still inside you, warm and pulsing, grounding you with slow kisses and soft hums against your skin to distract you from the feeling of your entrance stretching wider.
Zayne’s grip on your hips tightened. He was panting—whimpering into your ear, his breath catching with every tiny movement. His cock was nestled alongside Sylus’s, buried in your heat, the slick friction driving him closer to the edge than he’d ever been.
“Too much?” Zayne’s voice broke at the end, cracking on a whisper as he tried to hold still.
“N-no,” You gasped, arching against him, your whole body alight. “Just… I-I feel everything.”
Every movement was a spark—Zayne’s hips pressing gently forward, Sylus’s slight grind upward, the way they rubbed together inside you, impossibly close, impossibly warm. You let out a soft, kitten-like moan, high and breathy, burying your face deeper into Sylus’s chest as if it could anchor you.
Sylus kissed the crown of your head, then your cheek, then the curve of your jaw, “That sound… You’re so sensitive, aren’t you, Kitten?”
Zayne let out a shaky moan against your ear, his voice so sweet and ragged, “She’s so warm... God, I can feel you, Sylus—rubbing against me inside her—fuck…”
“Yeah?” Sylus chuckled lowly, teasing and loving all at once, “I’m not the only one she’s squeezing tight anymore.”
You let out another broken whimper, toes curling, hands fisting into Sylus’s hair. You were overwhelmed—stuffed full, every inch of you thrumming with sensation, with love, with raw heat. Your hips twitched, helplessly chasing the friction between them.
Zayne whimpered again, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder blade, “You’re doing so good… You feel so good. I love you. I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” You whispered back, the words nearly a sob as tears rolled down your cheeks.
Sylus nuzzled your cheek, voice hushed, “Then take both of us, sweetheart. Every inch.”
And as they began to move, slow and in rhythm, careful, because this was new, because this was precious, you cried out more, melting between them, your world reduced to three bodies, one breath, and the sounds of hearts beating in sync.
The deeper they sank into you, the more their rhythm fell into place, instinct guiding them more than thought.
Sylus pressed his forehead to yours, thumb brushing over your lips as he whispered, “You’re taking us so well, Kitten. You’re perfect.”
You moaned around his touch, trembling, utterly full. Zayne’s hips rocked into you from behind with a gentleness that belied the ragged edge in his voice.
“So tight,” He panted, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “So warm. I—I can feel every twitch.”
Every shift between them was a storm. You could feel the way their cocks rubbed together inside you, thick and hot and impossibly close, stretching you in the most delicious, aching way. Your walls fluttered around them, your body clenching and shivering with overstimulation, need, and overwhelming love.
Sylus kissed you again—your forehead, your nose, your lips—all while his hips moved in slow, deep rolls, “That’s it. Let us take care of you. Let us ruin you.”
Zayne whimpered behind her, voice barely a breath, “I’m close.”
You gasped—too much, too good—and your body started to tremble harder, small cries slipping from your lips with every thrust. Sylus covered your mouth gently with his fingers, not to silence you, but to feel you.
“She’s gonna come,” He growled, more primal now, more raw. “Look at her. Fuck, she’s fluttering all around us.”
Zayne let out a broken moan at that, fingers digging into your hips as he stilled for just a moment, shuddering, “I can’t—I don’t want to come without her.”
“I’ve got her,” Sylus promised. “We’ll do it together.”
Your body tensed, arching in a beautiful curve between them as your orgasm hit, wave after wave, tearing through you. You cried out, a kitten's helpless wail muffled into Sylus’s shoulder as you clenched down on both of them, your legs trembling, body locking up from the sheer intensity.
Zayne gasped—one sharp, desperate sound—and came inside you with a stuttering moan, burying his face in the back of your neck as his arms tightened possessively around you.
Sylus followed a heartbeat later, gritting his teeth as his hips twitched and he spilled into you, his hand cradling the back of your head like you were the most fragile thing in the world.
The three of you stayed like that—bodies panting, hearts hammering, still joined, still wrapped around each other—as the silence settled around all of you like a warm blanket.
No words. Just the sound of breath. Just love.
And the softest, sleepy sound from your lips—barely audible, “...Mine.”
Sylus smiled against your hair, “Yours.”
Zayne pressed a final kiss to your shoulder, “Always.”
Their bodies were still tangled, breathless, and slick with heat.
Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — Underage, Psuedo-Incest, Forced Blowjob, Master/Pet, Servicing, Human Auctioning.
Summary: Arina decides to sneak out of the house one night, and learns an invaluable lesson from Pantalone.
A/N: I repeat this is a dead dove: do not eat post. Viewer discretion is advised. I wrote this story about my own OC who was bought by Pantalone as a child. In exchange, Pantalone on behalf of the Fatui would grant her wolf clan complete protection. Pantalone raised her until present day in the story. However, in this fic, it showcases a specific point in time where she is UNDERAGE (most likely a teenager). Read at your own expense.
The moon hung low over the sprawling estate, casting an ethereal glow over the manicured gardens and marble fountains. Inside, the mansion was silent, save for the soft snores emanating from Pantalone’s chambers.
Arina tiptoed down the hallway, her bare feet silent against the cold marble floor. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. She had waited until she was certain Pantalone was deep in slumber, his black hair splayed across the pillow like a raven’s wings. Tonight, she would escape. Tonight, she would claim her freedom.
Her blue eyes darted around the dimly lit corridor, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders like a river of gold. She clutched a small satchel to her chest, containing nothing but a change of clothes and a few coins she had managed to snatch from Pantalone. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the faint tang of Pantalone’s expensive cologne. She paused at the top of the grand staircase, her breath catching as she listened for any sign of movement. The house remained still, a silent witness to her daring escape.
With a deep breath, Arina descended the stairs, her steps deliberate yet quiet. She reached the heavy oak door leading to the gardens and hesitated. Freedom was just beyond it, but so was the unknown. She turned the handle slowly, wincing at the faint creak it made.
The cool night air enveloped her as she slipped through the opening, her bare feet silent on the stone ledge. The ground below seemed impossibly far, but she forced herself to jump, landing with a soft thud on the manicured lawn. For a moment, she allowed herself a small smile, the thrill of defiance coursing through her veins. But her triumph was short-lived.
A hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her into the darkness. Arina struggled, her nails digging into the arm that held her, but her attacker was strong, too strong. She tried to scream, but the hand muffled her cries. A cloth was pressed against her nose, and the world began to spin. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was the faint glimmer of the moon through the trees. She was dragged back into the shadows, her satchel falling to the ground as she was thrown into a waiting carriage, the door slamming shut behind her.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the night—a vase from the garden, knocked over in the scuffle by her attacker desperately tyring to get back to the driver's seat.
Who had taken her? Where were they taking her? And most importantly, would Pantalone come for her?
Pantalone jolted awake, his heart pounding as the sound of shattering clay pierced the silence. He sat up in bed, his black hair disheveled, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of intrusion. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows on the walls. Something was wrong. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the cold floor. His mind racing as he made his way to the window, pulling back the curtains to survey the grounds. The gardens were empty, but the broken vase near the gate caught his eye. His blood ran cold. Arina.
He dressed quickly, his hands trembling as he buttoned his shirt. She was gone. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He had failed. His contract with her clan—his promise to keep her safe—was in jeopardy. If anything happened to her, the safety of her clan would be jeopardised as well. And Pantalone knew better than anyone that the consequences would be dire.
He stormed out of his chambers, his footsteps echoing through the empty halls. His mind was a whirlwind of panic and fury. How had she slipped away? How had he not noticed? He called for his Fatui henchmen, his voice sharp and commanding. “Find her. Now.”
The Fatui henchmen were dispatched immediately, their loyalty to Pantalone unwavering. But as he waited, the weight of his failure pressed down on him. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid burning a path down his throat. He didn’t drink to enjoy; he drank to forget, to suppress the stress that threatened to consume him. The loss of Arina wasn’t just a personal blow—it was a breach of contract, a promise to her clan that he couldn’t uphold. And Pantalone always upheld his promises.
His phone buzzed on the desk, snapping him out of his drunken haze. It was Arlecchino. Pantalone answered with a growl, his voice thick with alcohol. “What?”
“I’ve found her,” Arlecchino said, his tone calm and collected. “She’s at the Auction House. They’re selling her tonight.”
Pantalone’s grip tightened on the glass, his knuckles turning white. “How much?”
“A fortune. But you can afford it.”
He ended the call without another word, his mind already racing with plans. He threw back the rest of his drink and stormed out, his henchmen falling into step behind him. The Black Lotus Auction House was a den of vice and depravity, a place where the wealthy bought and sold flesh like commodities. And tonight, Arina was on the auction block.
The auction house was a labyrinth of opulence and sin, its walls adorned with velvet drapes and gilded mirrors. Arina stood on a raised platform, her wrists bound with silk ropes, as she dawned a blindfold across her eyes. Her body shivered, timid with fear. The crowd around her was a sea of masked faces and hushed whispers, a chilling reminder of her worth. She was an object, a prize to be won.
Pantalone pushed through the crowd, his presence commanding attention. His black hair was slicked back, his suit immaculate despite the haste of his arrival. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on her. Arina’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of footsteps approaching her, dread washing over her.
The auctioneer’s voice droned on, extolling her virtues like a prized racehorse. “A rare beauty, untouched and obedient. Who will start the bidding at one hundred thousand?”
Pantalone stepped forward, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. “I’ll take her. Name your price.”
The auctioneer smirked, his eyes gleaming with greed. “For you, Master Pantalone, two hundred thousand.”
Without hesitation, Pantalone handed over the payment, his face a mask of indifference. The crowd murmured in awe, their whispers a testament to his wealth and power. Arina was led down from the platform, her wrists still bound, and pushed into his arms. She dare not move even the slightest of muscles as she felt his arms wrap around her. But his expression was unreadable.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling as relief washed over her.
“Don’t,” he snapped, his grip tightening on her arm. “You’re not getting away that easily.”
The ride back to the estate was silent, the tension between them palpable. Arina sat stiffly in the backseat, her eyes still covered by the blindfold, avoiding his gaze as she faced the other way. Pantalone’s jaw was set, his mind already turning to the punishment she would face. He couldn’t let her think she could get away with this.
Back at the mansion, Pantalone threw open the door to his study, shoving Arina inside. She stumbled, her knees hitting the carpet as she fell to the ground. He locked the door behind him, the sound echoing in the silence. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering fireplace.
Pantalone poured himself another drink, his movements deliberate and slow. Arina stayed close to the floor, her body hunching over. Her heart pounded in her chest upon hearing the fire crackling nearby while Pantalone's footsteps parade around the room. She knew what was coming. She had witnessed this darkness in him before, but tonight, it was different. She crossed a line.
He approached her, the glass in his hand, his eyes cold and distant. “You thought you could leave me, Arina?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You thought you could break our contract?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her throat was dry, her fear paralyzing.
Pantalone opened his drawer and grabbed an item before he knelt on one knee in front of her. He had pulled out a collar, its leather band adorned with a small silver tag. “Kneel,” he commanded, his voice brooking no argument.
Arina hesitated, her pride warring with her fear. But his tone was unwavering, his dominance absolute. Slowly, she adjusted herself to her knees, as she kept her gaze to the ground.
He tilted her head up and fastened the collar around her neck, the metal clicking into place. “You belong to me,” he said, his voice a whisper beside her ear. “And I am your master.”
He pulled her to her feet, his hand gripping her chin, as he whispered into her ear. “From now on, you will obey me without question. You will serve me in every way I demand. Do you understand?”
Arina nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. His thumb brushed her lips, his touch both tender and cruel. “Say it,” he ordered.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
A cruel smile played on his lips as he pushed her back down to a kneeling stance. His hands reached out to her head as he played with her hair, his eyes raking over her with a possessive hunger.
"Prove it. Service me." He commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Arina’s cheeks flushed, "H-how, Master?" She raised her bounded hands as he looked at it and smirked.
He reached for the belt of his trousers as he undid it. He pulled her closer, her lips brushing against his veiny cut cock as he slipped it into her mouth, his head tilting back as he sighed. Her mouth began to move with a mixture of fear and submission as she didn't know what she was doing.
Pantalone’s hands tangled in her hair, guiding her movements, his breath hitching as she took him deeper, "Just like that, Arina... like a lolipop."
He murmured, his voice thick with desire, "Ugh, Good gi— Hngh... Good Puppy."
Her mouth moved feverishly, her tongue tracing patterns that made him groan. He was lost in the sensation, the dominance of the moment fueling his desire. “Faster,” he commanded, his voice hoarse. "My obedient pet."
She quickened her pace, her lips and tongue working in perfect harmony. Pantalone’s control slipped, his hands tightening in her hair as he thrust into her mouth. “Yes,” he growled, his voice a primal sound. “That’s it. Take it all.”
He came with a loud whimper, his release hot and intense. Arina swallowed obediently even as the taste made her grimace, her hands resting on her thighs as she waited for his command.
Pantalone pulled her to her feet and removed her blindfold, his eyes burning into hers. “You belong to me,” he said, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “And I’m your master. Is that clear?"
Arina nodded weakly as her eyes fluttered from exhaustion. Her eyes downcast, the weight of his words settling over her. Pantalone’s expression softened imperceptibly, but he quickly masked it. He couldn’t afford weakness, not now. Not ever. He carried her back to the bedroom, the collar a constant reminder of her place.
He placed her on the bed gently and untied her hands as he laid beside her. He knew this was just the beginning. Arina was his, and he would ensure she never forgot it. He pulled her closed, keeping her head to his chest as he rested his chin atop her head.
I used to be Kikokeya 🥹 But now I'm Mikairin!! All the works here that are linked to my masterlist are still all mine. I don't know how many times I'm going to rebrand lmaoo. I didn't steal anything, I promise!! AND I know I said I'll be back to write in December to finish up my long awaited and dead Christmas Masterlist... well uhm, your gurl had a lot of IRL things crashing upon her at the same time so I will try.
I can't say the motivation is there but I will try. No guarantees though because writer's block is a bitch. I am trying to put out new content and explore new categories to write about like game fandoms such as Genshin and Honkai: Star Rail maybe especially since I play them, I dunno?
Oh! Also! I have added a new warning/level of context to my Masterlist for y'all to pay attention to (Dead Dove: Do Not Eat), so please please please check that out! I am experimenting on writing more darker themed stuff other than my usual sexual content of Smut lmaoo.
But again, I'm glad to be back! Just a reminder, this tumblr blog is 18+! See y'all soon!
summary: you and bucky barnes have gotten close while on a month-long SHIELD mission together, but when natasha romanoff starts asking bucky about his relationship with you, you overhear something that makes you think your feelings are entirely one-sided.
warnings: FLUFF, so much fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, some angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, kissing, cuddling, pet names (bunny), protective bucky
word count: 3.1k
a/n: day 14 of my 30 day writing trope challenge was mutual pining. i struggled a bit to think of an idea that i could keep relatively short and this is what i came up with! just some cute, fluffy bucky! please enjoy!!
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“What’s going on with you and the newbie?”
You froze just outside the door of the kitchen when you heard Natasha Romanoff’s question, knowing she was referring to you. After all, you were the newest member of your SHIELD team, and you’d all been stationed with Natasha, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes for a month-long mission in the Sokovian mountains. Even though you were almost three weeks into it, almost everyone still called you newbie.
“What’re you talking about, Nat?” Bucky’s gruff answer drew your attention back to the kitchen where he and Nat were cooking dinner for the team.
Natasha tutted loudly at the Winter Soldier, the sound patronizing. “Don’t play dumb with me, Barnes—I know you sleep in her room every night.”
You had to cover your mouth to stop your gasp from giving you away. You weren’t sure if Bucky could hear your frantically beating heart over the noise of the kitchen—pots and pans and chopping knives—but the sound you’d been about to make would’ve been heard by even your SHIELD teammates on the second floor, so the super solider definitely would’ve caught it. You craned your neck, trying to listen more closely, hoping Bucky was too distracted by what he was doing to use his super hearing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky said in an even tone.
A thorn of hurt pierced your heart. Sure, there was an unspoken rule between you and Bucky that neither of you talked about the nights you spent together, curled up in each other’s arms. It wasn’t exactly against any SHIELD rules, but you thought you and Bucky were simply in agreement that it would make things easier if the others didn’t know. Besides, it’s not like anything other than sleeping happened when he joined you in your bed each night.
It had started the first week of the mission. You were prone to nightmares, especially if you were stressed or in a new, unfamiliar location. You’d had them since you were a kid and informed SHIELD when you’d joined the organization. They’d conducted a psych eval but ultimately cleared you to proceed to field training. Your worst fear was that you’d wake up screaming on your first mission and reveal your weakness to your team. That fear had been realized—sort of.
On the second night in the Sokovian safe house, you’d woken up from a nightmare, sitting up in bed and looking around wildly until you remembered where you were. You hadn’t screamed, thankfully, but a moment later Bucky burst through your door. He told you he’d been awake and heard your distress and came to check on you. Curling in on yourself, you’d told him about your nightmares, but tried to assure him they didn’t make you weak.
You didn’t know what to expect from the Winter Soldier, but it hadn’t been the endless amount of kindness he’d shown you that night. He listened to you without judgement and shared his own experiences with nightmares, stemming from his time as a Hydra assassin. He’d offered to stay with you and laid down on top of the blankets covering your bed. You’d fallen asleep facing each other on opposite ends of the bed, but you’d woken up feeling fully rested and snuggled deep into Bucky’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you, the blankets twisted between your bodies.
The next night, Bucky knocked softly on your door after everyone had gone to bed and you’d let him in. Again, you’d both fallen asleep on opposite sides of the bed and ended up curling around each other in the night. After a few nights of that, you both gave up the pretense of keeping a respectful distance while you fell asleep. Instead, Bucky would slip beneath your blankets and pull you into his chest, where you’d settle happily, your legs twining with his.
For all your nights spent together, you’d done nothing more than cuddle with Bucky. Still, it hurt to hear him deny even that to Natasha, even if it meant he was trying to respect the decision you’d seemingly made to keep your friendship with him a secret. Especially since she clearly didn’t believe him.
“Barnes,” Nat said and even though you couldn’t see the super spy, you could hear from her tone she was rolling her eyes. “Fine, don’t admit to your second-oldest friend that you like her,” she teased in a way that spoke to her and Bucky’s long-standing friendship.
“Drop it, Nat,” Bucky said gruffly, the sound of a chopping knife getting faster, like he was the one doing the dicing and he was getting irritated.
But the Winter Solder with a knife didn’t scare someone like the Black Widow. “I mean, you’re right, you are a little old for her, don’t you think?” Nat said, needling her friend. From the hallway, you could hear the sneaky grin on the spy’s face. You knew what she was doing—trying to get a rise out of Bucky—and you pressed closer, wanting to hear what Bucky would say.
“I told you to drop it, Nat,” Bucky bit out, slamming the knife on the counter. “There’s nothing between me and her.”
The thorn of hurt in your chest grew into vines that wrapped around your heart until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. Careful not to make a sound, you retreated from the hallway outside the kitchen then fled to your room. You threw yourself onto your bed, burying your face in your pillow and trying not to cry.
You’d thought there was something special between you and Bucky. You’d considered him a friend, at the very least. And if you were honest with yourself, you’d developed much stronger feelings for the Winter Soldier. He was so kind and soft with you, keeping you safe from your nightmares, it was impossible for you not to get attached. But clearly your feelings were one-sided.
For five minutes, you let yourself wallow. You let yourself feel sad about Bucky not reciprocating your feelings—you even let yourself cry a little. But when those five minutes were up, you heaved yourself out of bed and stood up straight, pushing your shoulders back to make yourself look confident, even if you didn’t feel it. You checked the mirror to make sure there were no signs on your face of the tears you’d shed and then plastered a smile on before heading back down to the kitchen for dinner.
All through the meal, your heart ached and you just wanted to be left alone, but you soldiered on. If anyone noticed you were quieter than usual or your smile wasn’t as bright as it had been just the day before, they didn’t say anything. That was one thing about living and working in the same space as super spies—even if they did notice something was off, they knew better than to say anything.
Like how, unbeknownst to you, it took Nat all of 10 seconds to clock that something was wrong with you, though it took her another two minutes to figure out you were studiously avoiding looking at Bucky. It was only another few seconds before she’d deduced the only thing that could’ve upset you was overhearing her conversation with Bucky while they were prepping dinner. Nat also clocked that Bucky had no idea you were avoiding him or that you were upset; he was too busy laughing with Steve and telling the other agents about their rebellious teenage years—though the brunet would glance at you regularly, like he was checking on you. Nat smiled secretively to herself, leaning back and watching as everyone was still settling in to the table, content to say nothing and watch how things would play out.
After dinner, you excused yourself as soon as you could, claiming you were tired and went to bed. For the first time since you’d arrived at the SHIELD safe house, you locked the door to your room. Though you were resolved to try to make it through the night without Bucky, you fell into a fitful sleep.
When you woke to the pitch black of your room some time later, you weren’t sure what exactly had roused you from sleep. You didn’t know how late it was, but your body felt confused and restless. Rolling over, you turned on the bedside light and checked the time. It wasn’t that late, but everyone would be in bed. Still, you didn’t know what had woken you. Before you could puzzle over it for long, the doorknob rattled, the sound of the lock doing its job loud in your quiet room.
There was a moment’s pause and you froze, holding your breath. You knew it was Bucky on the other side of the door and you hoped he would take the hint and leave.
He didn’t.
There was a soft sound of crunching, rending metal and then your door was swinging in. Bucky slipped inside your room as he had so many times before and closed the door behind him, wedging it shut after breaking the lock.
When he turned to you, he wore a confused look on his face. “Your door was locked,” he said in a bewildered tone, his head tilted like he found it to be weird as he stepped toward your bed like he planned to join you.
Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest—not because you remembered what he’d said about you in the kitchen. You did, of course, his words and the vehemence with which he’d said them were unfortunately imprinted in your mind. No, your heart reacted like it did because you wished you could pretend you hadn’t heard him. You wished so badly that you could just let him slip into your bed wearing his gray t-shirt and athletic shorts and let him wrap you up in his arms, where you felt the safest.
Instead, you said, “I locked it on purpose.” Your voice was raspy with sleep but clear and when you looked Bucky in the eye, you knew he heard you.
“What?” he asked, stumbling to a stop a few feet away from the bed.
You’d already sat up, but you straightened your shoulders before you spoke to project the strength, determination and confidence you didn’t feel. “I wanted to sleep alone tonight.”
Bucky’s face went slack with surprise. Something like hurt swirled in those brilliant blue eyes of his. But he wiped his expression blank, his jaw clenching hard as he nodded. “Right, okay,” he said, his voice rough like he was chewing on gravel. He turned and staggered a little. You’d never seen the Winter Solder so unsteady on his feet, but you pushed your confusion and concern aside as you watched him walk back to your door.
His hand hovered above the doorknob, but before he grabbed it, he spun around, looking at you with hard eyes. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice somehow harsh and soft at the same time. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”
Somehow your heart broke more for Bucky than it had for yourself and you couldn’t meet his eye. You were more and more sure that it was hurt you saw in his gaze and you didn’t know how to reconcile it with what he’d told Nat in the kitchen. Your fingers twisted in the blankets in your lap, unsure what to say.
“Please, bunny,” Bucky murmured, his voice much closer than it had been. He’d padded quietly to the side of your bed and kneeled beside it. His big hands scooped up yours, gently tugging them away from your lap, holding them against his chest. You could feel his steady heartbeat beneath his skin and you ached so badly from wanting to curl up into him. “Tell me what I did—I never want to hurt you.” Bucky gazed at you with those bright blue eyes of his and you could feel the walls you’d started constructing before dinner crumbling to dust.
“I heard you talking to Nat,” you confessed, trailing off and ducking your head so you didn’t have to see his reaction to your words.
“Oh bunny,” Bucky rumbled, dropping his head to kiss your fingers. “No wonder you’re pushing me away.” He stood, and with quick, graceful movements, Bucky scooped you up out of bed and slid beneath the blankets, settling you on his lap with your head tucked against his shoulder.
As soon as you were safe in the circle of his arms, you burst into tears. “I thought you didn’t care about me,” you said in a ragged whisper, your words half muffled by your face being smushed into Bucky’s neck.
His big hands ran soothingly over your body, the warmth of them seeping through your pajamas. He shushed you softly, stroking your back and arms and legs gently until you settled enough to hear him. “I care about you, bunny—so much,” Bucky admitted. “But I didn’t know how you felt and Nat can be…she can be a little pushy.” Bucky sighed, relaxing deeper into your pillows, adjusting you on his lap so you were cradled in his arms just right. “I didn’t want her to push you into doing or saying anything you’re not ready for.”
You lay there for a moment, processing what he’d said. “So you were trying to protect me, from your friend,” you said slowly, testing out the words to see if you believed what he was saying.
“My pushy, meddling friend,” Bucky clarified, a hint of a smile in his tone.
Shifting to sit up enough that you could look in Bucky’s face, his expression turned serious, his eyes darkening at the sight of your blotchy, tear-stained cheeks. One of his hands reached up and swiped his thumb over the apples of your cheeks, brushing away the remaining tears. He smiled softly, like he was satisfied to see you tear-free.
When he met your eyes, you realized you believed him. There was nothing but caring and affection in Bucky’s gaze when he looked at you. Your heart fluttered happily, feeling whole again at the knowledge that your feelings weren’t one-sided at all. Bucky cared about you just as much as you cared for him. “Okay, Bucky,” you whispered, returning his smile with a tentative one of your own. Your words were an acceptance of his explanation and a plea not to hurt you again.
Bucky’s expression transformed into the happiest grin you’d ever seen on his face, but you didn’t have time to appreciate it because he was tackling you back onto the bed, tickling you. You squealed and laughed, the sounds breathless from your own happiness.
Bucky stopped after a moment, seeming to remember it was the middle of the night and everyone else was asleep. He hovered over you, that grin still on his face. Your eyes focused on it, one hand reaching up so you could trace a finger along his lower lip. Bucky’s eyes darkened as he stared down at you. “Bunny,” he rumbled, his voice deeper and more gravelly. “I gotta kiss you—please.”
How could you resist when he asked so nicely? Before you could even fully nod your head, he was ducking down and capturing your lips in the sweetest first kiss you’d ever had. His mouth was warm and soft and gentle as he kissed you, moving against yours with the same kind of tenderness he showed you when he was holding you at night. You felt like you were flying high amongst the clouds, dancing through daydreams with Bucky guiding you the whole way.
Bucky didn’t pull away until your lungs were begging for air and when he did, he didn’t move far, pressing his forehead to yours while you both caught your breath.
“Wow,” you whispered.
A chuckle rumbled in Bucky’s chest. “Wow, yourself,” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to your lips. He rolled onto his back, tugging you with him and tucking you into the bed by his side. “Get some sleep, bunny,” he said, turning off your bedside light and plunging you both back into darkness.
Feeling safe and happy in Bucky’s arms, it wasn’t long before you fell into a deep, restful sleep, all worries of Nat and what Bucky had told her drifting away.
Bucky woke you the next morning with soft, sweet kisses against your cheeks, his lips finding yours just as your eyelashes were fluttering open. You could hear the sounds of the house waking up, but you were lost in your world with Bucky, making out with slow drugging kisses as you both gradually woke up.
Eventually, though, you had to drag yourselves from bed. However, you soon discovered a new problem. The door to your room that Bucky had broken in the middle of the night was stuck closed. Bucky could’ve broken the door down, but you begged him not to, since you weren’t sure when it would get fixed. He ended up having to bang on the door until someone heard him.
From the other side, someone managed to get the door unstuck and when it swung open you and Bucky were greeted by the smug smile of Natasha Romanoff. “Nothing between you too, huh?” she snarked to Bucky, flicking a pointed look at you.
Bucky just rolled his eyes, rubbing at the back of his neck a little abashedly. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered before he turned and dropped one more kiss on your lips like he couldn’t help himself. “See you downstairs,” he murmured just for you before he moved past Nat and down the hall to the room he was sharing with Steve.
When you were left alone with Nat, you asked, “You knew, didn’t you?” Not just referring to Bucky sleeping in your room, but his feelings for you.
The Black Widow tossed her head back and laughed. “Of course I knew what was going on with the Winter Soldier and the newbie.” She gave you an enigmatic smirk. “You’re welcome.”
With that, Nat sauntered down the hall and you were left wondering if Bucky had actually protected you from his friend’s pushy meddling or if you’d both fallen into her trap. After a moment, though, you decided you didn’t care. All that mattered was you and Bucky were good, you both knew where you stood and you’d finally kissed. As you got ready for the day, you couldn’t help but daydream about Bucky’s lips and your first kiss—the last first kiss you hoped to ever have.
I used to be Topherrobert 🥹. All the works here that are linked to my masterlist are all mine. I just rebranded from Topherrobert to MikaKeya, that's all. I didn't steal anything, I promise 🥹. AND, AND, I'll be back to write in December to finish up my long awaited and died Christmas Masterlist :3
Loki talking about Othello by William Shakespeare has got to be hands down the best thing ever. It’s so Tom Hiddleston coded and I love it all. Steve Rogers as Robin Hood???!! ❤️💋 I’m loving that too and I’m waiting for all of it.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, Bucky x Natasha
Summary: Your in love with Bucky but he marries Nat
Word count: 636 shes a shorty
Warnings: Angst, swearing, Nat being a bad friend? Terrible writing as always
Masterlist
Loving him was easy. But he wasn’t yours to love, no that was for your best friend. You still loved him with every inch of you.
Why? Because loving James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was easy.
You met him at school, he was your first friend actually. Starting a new school was terrifying especially when you don’t know anyone there. Ms Donovan paired you up with him so he could show you around, he made sure you ate with him and his friends, made sure no one picked on you. He was easy to be friends with.
He took you to prom when Jimmy Holland bailed on you, and that’s when you knew you was in love with him. His smile made your heart skip way too many beats to be normal, he danced and laughed the whole night with you. Prom was amazing just because of him.
You went to different colleges and even with the distance you still kept in touch, seeing each other twice a month, three times if you were really lucky.
Natasha became your best friend straight away since you both shared a dorm and you were into the same things. Nat knew of your feelings for Bucky so one day she told you to go and tell him, she even paid for the bus tickets. You stood there outside Bucky’s dorm going over your words that you selected carefully for the umpteenth time. You were both surprised, him being that you were there and you being that he had a pretty brunette standing behind him and him introducing her to you as his girlfriend. You left shortly after with some lame excuse that he either believed or simply didn’t care.
You went back to Nat and cried.
With graduation four months away, you finally introduced Nat and Bucky to each other and honestly didn’t think anything of it since Nat knew of your feelings.
A few weeks later Nat walked in to the kitchen as you was making dinner, shuffling back and forth. “Y/N umm I need to ask you something” Her voice was small which was something it never was. Giving her a nod she continued “so um Bucky asked me out on a date and I said yes, I just really like him and since he’s your best friend I wanted to know if that’s oka- shit are you okay?” You sliced your finger with the knife which hurt but not compared to the pain in your heart. But you couldn’t say anything, so you nodded. The night of their date, you cried and after their date you slept with headphones on just so you didn’t have to listen to them having sex.
It’s been three years since graduation and you were in the jewellers with Bucky. To get an engagement ring. He’s going to propose to Nat.
You were there when she squealed with joy, nodding so fast you thought her head was going to come off.
You said yes to being her maid of honour, you did everything for her. Helped plan the perfect wedding for your best friend and the man you were madly in love with.
You stood there watching Bucky cry as he watched Nat walk down the aisle towards him.
You watched as they exchanged vows.
You stood in the corner of the hall and watched them have their first dance as husband and wife.
You did it all with a smile on your face even with your heart breaking.
Long after the newlyweds and guests left you was still in the hall cleaning up. Steve was supposed to help but you waved him off telling him to enjoy his night with Peggy. All alone in the room you let the tears fall.
Loving Bucky was so easy but also extremely painful.
While there are countless examples of evidence to support the idea that Steve & Bucky had romantic tension, none stick out to me quite like the bar scene in catfa
In this post, I will go over the reasons this scene is so important to their relationship
First of all, let’s talk about the heartfelt conversation the two were having prior to Peggy’s arrival. Bucky expressing his admiration for Steve’s bravery, before and after the serum, as he specifies:
This scene displays Bucky’s admiration for Steve, no matter what he looks like. One of my favorite lines.
Not to mention this totally not-subtle remark…
Now let’s talk about the painfully obvious jealousy Bucky showed while Steve and Peggy were flirting. He even started passive-aggressively “flirting” with Peggy while she and Steve were eye-fcking.
Through heteronormative eyes, this may look like Bucky’s jealous of Steve’s new status as “ladies-man”. But if you truly know their characters, you know that’s not true.
As if his jealousy wasn’t already evident enough, look at the death-stare he gives Peggy as she walks away. He is FURIOUS 😭
A new bout of evidence for the queer subtext of this scene was conjured by episode 1 of what if..? when marvel was desperately trying to force feed us steggy, they accidentally confirmed a stucky theory.
In what if, there’s a romantic scene with Steve and Peggy at a bar, and they were interrupted by bucky just before they were going to kiss… sound familiar?
Marvel has been aggressively trying to get us invested in steggy post-endgame, and has done so by attempting to erase Steve and Bucky’s relationship entirely. This is even more evident in the Disneyland adaptation of “Rogers: the musical” adapted from the Hawkeye series.
Now the last topic is, in my opinion, the most evident of Steve and buckys romantic subtext. That is, of course, the song choice of the bar scene.
Throughout the scene, the howling commandos and others can be heard singing “there is a tavern in the town”. How exactly does this confirm stucky? Well let’s look at the lyrics…
Come ON these lyrics perfectly describe buckys POV during this scene. This song choice was no accident in this essay I will 😤
There’s actually a YouTube video that points this “coincidence” out! I recommend you watch so you can see what I mean:
In conclusion? Bucky was undoubtedly in love with Steve and this scene is a certified stevebucky classic
When I said I screamed internally, I meant it. This is so true and I believe every word for word. When I saw the lyrics, I instantly knew it was from Bucky’s POV and the caption proved it further that I was right. This is my favourite comfort movie to fall asleep to just because of the 1940s vibes and this scene will forever be my favourite apart from their bickering when Steve wanted to sign up for the army again on Bucky’s last day before leaving.
I think the keeping the outfit thing is just Bucky’s roleplaying kink coming out honestly because when I recently watched CATFA again and heard the way that Bucky said that, it led me to think of the whole kink thing. Almost like he wants to wear his Sergeant uniform while fucking Steve in his Captain America outfit. 😂
But then it begs the question, did Bucky himself even realise he was in love with Steve and if so for how long? And if so was he ever planning to tell Steve or to just keep it a secret hoping it’d die with him in battle since he never actually listed and was drafted as a result on what the number on his tag is…
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Also, just because I’m reposting this does not mean I’m coming back anytime soon because I’m swamped with work at the moment.
Hey, Guys :(( I'll be going away on a vacation period because I know I won't be here that much for the time being... :(
Some family members of mine have travelled overseas to come and visit me and my family where we're located. So I need time to dedicate to the physical world to spend time with my sister, brother-in-law and nephews. Also, I think my workload will increase for my academic year so I'll also need a break from here to focus on my studies.
Thank you for your understanding. I appreciate it very much. I'll be logging off now. The upcoming fics that were supposed to be uploaded will not see the light until I choose to return and I'll see if I can work on them in my own free and personal time.
