I just listened to Taylor Swiftâs song âSevenâ and it reminded me of Rue. Like sheâs singing it to katniss in her dreams haha. So hereâs my first ever try on drawing characters with digital art aaaaaah! Im happy with it. Hope someone likes it. lol
Warnings: Codependency. Sedation. Touch Starvation. Forced Separation. Neglect. Sedation. Depictions of Physical Violence. Soldat needs to be with his safe person.
Summary: Handlers were interchangeable; that was how things had been for decades. She was never supposed to matter, but the Asset didn't seem to acknowledge that. Seventy-two hours without her proved exactly how much of his functionality had been silently tethered to her presence.
Word Count: 5.2k
Note: This story is part of a collection of one-shots, it can be read alone.
Against Protocol Masterlist
The Asset had always been designed to disregard replacement.
Handlers died. They defected. They were reassigned, promoted, executed. None of it was supposed to matter. The weapon remained: conditioned and obedient. That had been the point.
For decades, dozens of handlers had come and gone. Different voices. Different faces. Different methods. The Asset adapted because adaptation had been built into him. Loyalty was neither expected nor desired. Attachment represented vulnerability, and vulnerability had no place inside HYDRA.
Which was precisely why the reports had begun accumulating. Nothing dramatic enough to justify immediate intervention on the items separately. Nothing any single technician would have questioned.
Only patterns.
The Asset consistently positioned itself closer to its assigned handler than operational protocol required. Its threat assessment shifted when another operative entered her personal space. Its physiological readings stabilized more rapidly in response to her voice than to any corrective conditioning.
When conflicting commands were issued within fractions of a second, it demonstrated measurable hesitation before ultimately favoring hers.
Each incident, considered alone, was insignificant. Together, they suggested something unacceptable.
A dependency.
The conclusion circulated only among senior personnel. If the Asset required one specific handler to maintain optimal efficiency, then HYDRA had introduced a vulnerability into its most valuable weapon.
One person. One point of failure.
That possibility alone warranted immediate investigation, so the solution was approved before dawn.
No discussion. No consultation. No warning.
For seventy-two hours, the Asset would be assigned to another handler.
The current one would observe.
She would not interfere.
----
DAY 1 â 6:00
The alarm on her tablet beeped at 0600. She reached for it from the bed, blinking against the light of the screen, her fingers finding the familiar shape of the device.
And then she saw it.
The message was brief. Bearing the authorization codes of three senior officers she recognized by name but had never met.
RE: TEMPORARY REASSIGNMENT OF ASSET
Effective 0800 today, Asset 001 will be reassigned to Handler Lukas Voss for a 72-hour operational evaluation period. Current handler is to assume observation duties in Control Room 3. No contact with Asset permitted.
Any deviation will be treated as a breach of protocol.
She read it three times, but the words didn't change. The authorization codes remained. The cold, bureaucratic language offered no explanation, no justification, no recourse.
Fuck.
She dressed in her uniform. Standard-issue black. In the small mirror above her sink, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection. There were shadows under her eyes. The hair could be worse.
She stared at herself for a moment, and ordered herself to keep her face blank. To move through the world like she was made of the same cold steel as the walls around her. Then she turned away and walked out the door.
The corridors were quiet at this hour. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting that same sterile glow that made everything look washed-out and faintly unreal. The air was cold, recycled, tasting of metal and cleaning solution and the particular absence of anything natural.
She walked past the holding cells. Past the training rooms. Past the medical bay where they did things to the Asset that she tried not to think about.
She kept her eyes forward.
Control Room 3 was a narrow space, cramped with monitors and consoles. Three technicians were already there, their faces illuminated by the blue-white glow of the screens. They didn't acknowledge her when she entered. They never did.
She took her station in the corner, the one with the best view of the containment chamber on the other side of the one-way glass.
The Asset was already there.
He had been stripped of his tactical gear, dressed instead in the same dark training uniform he wore between assignments. He was sitting in a thin metal chair in the center of the room, back straight. Hands against his thighs. Gaze forward, fixed on nothing.
There was a small smear of dried blood on his jaw, just under his ear, where a cut had already scabbed, and the blood hadn't been washed away.
The door to the containment chamber opened. A man entered. Lukas Voss, she knew from the file she'd been given. Mid-forties, gray-streaked hair, solid build. His uniform was immaculate. His expression was professional, detached.
He looked at the Asset the way one might look at a piece of equipment.
"Soldat. On your feet."
The Asset obeyed. His movements were smooth, automatic. The same precision he always had.
But she noticed the way his eyes flickered, just for a moment, toward the door the man had come in.
Looking for something.
The man didn't notice. He was already moving on to the next instruction.
"On the floor. Maximum rep push-ups."
The Asset dropped to his hands and knees, his body lowering into the familiar rhythm of the exercise. His hair fell across his face, obscuring his expression. The long strands caught the light as he moved.
After that, the handler began cycling through more complex command sequences, deliberately varying their cadence. Short pauses. Interrupted instructions. Corrections delivered halfway through a movement. The sort of inconsistencies meant to confirm that the conditioning -not familiarity- governed compliance.
He obeyed flawlessly, but there was an emptiness to it she had never seen before. The movements lacked the fluid efficiency she had grown accustomed to. Every action appeared fractionally delayed, as though each command had to force its way through layers of invisible resistance before reaching whatever remained of the man beneath.
A technician frowned at his monitor.
"...Response latency increased."
Another compared the numbers to a previous mission log.
"Point three seconds."
"Within tolerance."
"Yes."
Still, the note was entered into the report.
She watched the secondary monitors, the ones displaying his vitals. Heart rate: 88 BPM. Slightly elevated from his baseline. Respiration: within normal parameters.
Everything looked fine.
Everything looked fine, and yet she felt something cold in her gut, giving a side glance to the technicians. Because she knew, in that moment, how the next seventy-two hours would be.
She knew, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
----
Day 1 - 14:00
By the afternoon, the numbers had started to matter less than what she could see with her own eyes.
Voss ran through the standard protocols efficiently. The kind of handler who trusted data over instinct, who wrote down what he saw instead of asking why he was seeing it.
The orders were followed. The commands were executed. But there was a hesitation now, small enough to miss if you weren't looking for it, and she was always looking for it.
The way his fingers moved a fraction slower on the reload. The way his aim was off by some negligible degree that would mean nothing to anyone who hadn't watched him shoot a thousand times before. The way his gaze kept drifting, just briefly, toward the door of the training room, like his body was checking an exit that had nothing to do with the exercise.
"Reload."
He complied. Late. Not by much. Enough.
"Again. Reload."
This time it landed within range. Voss made a note and moved on, already thinking about the next drill, already forgetting the first one.
Behind her, one of the technicians murmured something about motor latency. Another read a number off a screen. She didn't need to hear it to know what it would say.
She already knew where his heart rate sat with her. She didn't need a monitor to know it wasn't sitting there now.
Day 1 - 22:00
The Asset was returned to his cell.
The night vision cameras showed him sitting on the floor in the corner, his back against the wall. He didn't lie down. He didn't close his eyes. He sat with his hands resting on his knees, staring at the door.
The technicians noted:Â "Sleep pattern absent. Possible lack of fatigue."
She knew it wasn't lack of fatigue. He was restless.
She watched his face on the monitor, watched the way his eyes remained open, fixed on the door. Watched the way his fingers moved against his knees in small, restless motions, reaching, curling, going still, reaching again. Like they were trying to grasp something they used to hold.
Day 2 - 09:00
Combat training against other assets.
"Engage. Non-lethal neutralization."
He moved, but the word moved felt generous. He was slower than she'd ever seen him, and the others noticed it too. Low-grade serum subjects, dangerous but expendable, usually the kind of opponents he dismantled without much thought. Today they dodged things they shouldn't have been fast enough to dodge. In one exchange, a blow he would have read and avoided in his sleep caught him clean across the cheekbone.
She watched him take it. Watched his jaw lock down around the impact. Watched him make no sound at all, the way he'd been trained not to for longer than she'd been alive.
"Focus," Voss said, flat, already annoyed.
He didn't answer. In the next round his performance climbed, marginally, still well under baseline.
"Performance degraded by 12.7%," someone read aloud. "Cause: indeterminate."
It was somewhere in that round that she looked at him -not at the fight, not at the numbers, but at him- and noticed his hair.
It hung in his face in matted, sweat-dark at the roots and tangled through to the ends, sticking to his temples, his jaw, the corner of his mouth when he turned his head. There were knots in it thick enough to see from across the room, the kind that came from not being washed, not being brushed, not being cared for in even the smallest, most animal way.
The dried blood under his ear from the day before was still there.
No one had told him to wash himself. No one took the effort to clean him, either. It simply hadn't occurred to anyone that it mattered, that the version of him standing in this room was, in every visible way, coming undone, and that no one assigned to watch him even knew to look.
Voss was filling out his tablet, eyes on the numbers, not on the man.
She saw everything.
Day 2 - 11:00
Voss decided a correction was needed.
She watched through the one-way glass as the Soldat was positioned against the wall. No straps needed. Just cold steel and the implicit understanding that resistance wasn't on the table.
He stood with his hands flat against it, fingers spread, feet shoulder-width apart. The position was standard for this kind of correction, the kind that exposed his back, his ribs, the vulnerable stretch of skin between his shoulder blades. He'd been in it before. Many times, with many handlers.
Voss approached with the baton already in hand. Standard-issue, black, unremarkable. The kind the paperwork called corrective, never punitive, as if the distinction meant anything to the body absorbing it.
He didn't hesitate. The first blow landed just below the shoulder blades, sharp and metallic against cold flesh.
The Soldatâs body went taut, and his hands pressed harder into the wall, but no sound came out of his mouth.
The second blow came lower, across the ribs. Then the mirror of it on the other side, with the rhythm of someone who'd done this enough times that it no longer required thought.
She watched the tendons stand out along the Assetâs neck, watched his fingers close against the steel, nails scraping faintly with each impact.
Then, the baton caught the back of his thigh and his knee buckled, just slightly, before he caught himself. Still no sound.
Voss paused to adjust his stance -the same clinical recalibration a man might give a golf swing- then continued.
She made herself keep watching. Every instinct in her wanted to look away, to shut her eyes, to scream at him to stop. She let none of it reach her face. A flinch here would be a confession.
It would hand them exactly the vulnerability they were already circling, on a silver plate. So instead her hands found the edge of the console and gripped it until the metal bit into her palms, until the ache there gave her something to feel that wasn't fury.
She watched the welts rise, dark red against pale skin. Watched his breathing turn ragged, his chest heaving between blows. Watched sweat run down through his hair and drip from the ends of it onto the floor.
The final blow landed near his groin, and this time his breath caught -audibly, just once- before he wrestled it back under control. It was the only sound he'd made in six minutes.
Voss stepped back, and the baton went back into its holster. The correction was complete.
The Soldat stayed against the wall a moment longer, hands still flat, breathing hard, before Voss's voice cut through it.
"At ease."
He straightened slowly. She could see the effort it cost him in the strain of his back, in the way he favored his right side as he turned to face Voss, expression wiped clean of everything that had just happened to it.
Voss was already making notes, not looking at him at all.
"Correction administered." He said it more to the device than to anyone in the room. "Compliance maintained."
Then he left, and the Asset stood alone in the center of the chamber, blood beading along one line of welts where the skin had split, hair plastered to his face, waiting -the way he always waited- for someone to tell him what came next.
Her hands didn't unclench from the console for a long time after the door closed.
Day 2 - 13:00
They left him in a holding room while Voss went to review equipment.
The feed showed him standing in the center of the room, at rest position. Hands loose at his sides. Shoulders back. Eyes forward, fixed on nothing.
He didn't move for forty-seven minutes.
"Partial catatonic state," someone noted, typing without looking up. "No response to environmental stimuli."
She watched his stillness and thought that word was wrong. He wasn't unresponsive. He was waiting. The particular kind of waiting that came from a body that had learned, somewhere beneath conscious thought, that if it held still long enough, the thing it was waiting for might eventually come.
But it wasn't going to come. Not for forty-seven minutes. Not for the rest of that day.
Her hands were flat against the console, pressing down until her fingers ached, because it was the only way she had left to keep them from doing something else.
Day 2 - 23:00
Back in his cell, he still didn't sleep.
But now his gaze had started to move. From the door. To the ventilation grate. Then to the camera in the corner, holding there a beat too long before sliding away again.
"Atypical behavior," the log read. "Search pattern detected. No identifiable target."
She almost laughed, and the sound that almost came out of her wasn't anything close to a laugh at all.
She knew exactly what he was looking for. She'd known since the first minute of the first day, watching him check the door before he even understood, consciously, that she wasn't going to walk through it.
He wasn't scanning the room for threats. He wasn't disoriented. He was doing what he always did when a session ran long, or a mission went sideways. He was looking for the one fixed point that told him it was safe to stop bracing.
He was searching for her.
And she sat there, hands pressed flat against her knees exactly the way his were pressed against his, and gave away nothing.
Because that was the assignment. Observe. Do not interfere.
She had never hated an order more in her life.
Day 3 - 07:00
By the third morning, she no longer needed to check the monitors to know something had broken.
Voss gave the first order of the day in the same flat tone as always, registering nothing different.
"Move."
The Asset moved. But something in the way his legs answered no longer held any of the fluidity she knew. It was like watching him wade through water.
"Stop."
He stopped. A second late.
"Reload."
His fingers closed around the magazine and for one instant -barely an instant- they didn't seem to know what to do. It was so brief that two of the three technicians didn't even look up from their screens. She saw it. She saw the way his knuckles went white before his body remembered the motion for him.
No one logged that one. There was no number for it.
"Engage. Target practice."
He raised the weapon. Fired. Most of the rounds landed where they should, tight, precise, the signature of years carved into muscle. But two pulled wide, drifting off into nothing, as if for a fraction of a second the hand belonged to someone else.
Her nails dug into the edge of the console.
Voss's jaw clenched. He didn't say anything yet, but his silence carried a different weight than it had the last forty-eight hours. He took a step closer.
"Soldat. Focus."
That was when she saw it: the Asset's eyes didn't move toward Voss. They went left, toward the glass, toward the darkness behind which she sat, motionless, holding her breath as if that could make her invisible.
He couldn't see her. She knew he couldn't see her. The glass had been built for exactly that.
He looked anyway.
"Look at me when I speak to you."
The Asset's head turned, slow, heavy, like his neck had to be talked into obeying before the rest of him would follow. His eyes found Voss's face.
The man felt something cold trickle down his spine. He didn't know why
Day 3 - 11:00
Voss spent the late morning going through the file. Not the operational reports - those told him nothing he didn't already know- but the psychological logs, page after page of observations filed by technicians who'd spent years watching the Asset the way other men watched machinery, looking for wear before it became failure.
One phrase kept surfacing. Repeated across dozens of entries, always attributed to the same handler, always followed by a measurable -if minor- improvement in compliance and vitals.
You did good, Soldat.
He read it two times. It struck him as almost embarrassingly simple. Positive reinforcement, the kind you'd use on a dog or a child, dressed up in a soldier's vocabulary so no one had to call it what it was. Still. If it worked, it worked.
That afternoon's session had been poor. Sloppy footwork, a delayed reload, a wide group on the range that made Voss's mouth press into a thin line before he even finished writing it down.
"Your performance was insufficient," he said, flat, clinical. "But within acceptable parameters."
The Asset said nothing. Just stood in the center of the room with his eyes fixed somewhere past Voss's shoulder, at the wall, at nothing.
The man hesitated -just slightly, just enough that she noticed it even through the glass- and then added, in a tone that tried and failed to soften:
"You did good, Soldat."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then something did.
One second he was standing still, and the next his whole body tensed and his head snapped toward Voss with an expression on his face that had no business existing on someone who'd been conditioned not to have expressions at all.
"Donât say that again." His voice came out wrong. Rougher. Lower. Not the flat, affectless register he answered orders in.
Voss blinked, perplexed. "Soldat-"
He didn't finish. The Asset closed the distance between them in under a second, and Voss didn't have time to raise his hands before he was slammed back into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster, a metal hand fisted in the front of his uniform, lifting him half onto his toes.
"Don't." The word came out through his teeth. "You don't get to say it-"
Alarms started somewhere behind her, distant and tinny. She heard chairs scraping, heard someone reaching for a radio, heard her own pulse roaring louder than any of it.
Voss clawed at the arm holding him, choking out something that might have been a command and might have just been his name, and the Asset's face did something she'd never seen it do openly in the two years of handling him: it broke, entirely, grief and fury occupying the same features at once, like his body didn't know which one to become.
"Containment team, Room 3-" someone was already saying into a radio, and she was on her feet without remembering standing, hands flat against the glass, every professional instinct in her screaming that this was the tell, this was the thing that would get her killed, and she couldn't make herself care.
He slammed Voss into the wall a second time.
The door burst open. Four men in tactical gear came through it fast. It took all four of them to pull him off. It took a fifth to get the sedative into his neck, and even then he fought it, fought them, fought everything, his eyes never leaving the door the entire time, the same door he'd been watching for three days, the one that never opened the way he needed it to.
He went down slow. Not the clean, immediate drop she'd seen from higher doses. His knees buckled first, one hand still reaching, and he said one more thing, quiet, barely audible over the chaos, not meant for Voss, not meant for the men holding him down, not really meant for anyone who could hear it. But she read his lips.
Please.
Then he went still.
----
Day 3 - 23:00
They'd sent her back to her quarters after the incident. No explanation. Just two words from a senior officer who wouldn't meet her eyes.
An hour later, a stack of paperwork arrived at her door. Routine administrative backlog, officially: requisition forms, equipment logs, nothing that couldn't have waited a week. She understood it for what it actually was the moment she saw the volume of it: something to keep her hands busy and her location accounted for, filed and stamped and traceable.
She did it anyway. There was nothing else to do with the day, and refusing would only have raised the kind of questions she couldn't afford.
It took most of the afternoon and half the evening. By the time she pushed the last form aside, her neck ached, and she still had no idea what had happened to the Asset after they'd carried him out of that room.
She tried to sleep, but it didn't take. She lay there under the covers with her eyes open, listening to the recycled noise of the ventilation system, running through everything she'd seen that morning. His hands on Voss's collar, the sound the wall made, the word please in his lips.
At 22:47, her comm buzzed. Report to Control Room 3.
She was through the corridors before she'd finished reading it twice.
By the time she reached the observation deck, the session had already started. Combat simulation. Multiple targets. She didn't know what they'd done to him in the hours between the sedative and this -no one thought it necessary to tell her.
Voss gave the order from the observation platform, his voice steadier than it had any right to be given the bruise already purpling along his jaw.
"Engage."
The Asset complied. But something about the way his body moved was wrong. Less precise. More aggressive. Not the usual calculated economy of motions, something rawer, something that spent force instead of conserving it.
He took the first two targets down clean. On the third, he misjudged the trajectory -she saw it happen, saw the half-second where his weight landed wrong- and the android's strike caught him in the shoulder. A real hit. It should have stunned him, slowed him.
But he swung at it instead.
The training android slammed into the wall with a crack loud enough that two technicians flinched back from their consoles. He didn't stop there. He hit the fourth target with the same force. Then the fifth, before it had even finished powering up, metal fist driving through its chassis until sparks scattered across the floor.
"Soldat. Stop."
Nothing.
"Soldat! Stop!"
He turned slowly, and for one full second, she was certain he was going to close the distance to Voss the same way he had that morning, and her hand was already moving toward the comm switch, toward some override she didn't have the clearance to use, toward anything-
He stopped.
He stood in the wreckage of the fifth target, chest heaving, both fists still clenched at his sides, and his hair hanging across his face in damp, tangled pieces that stuck to his cheekbones with sweat.
He wasn't angry. She could see that clearly, even through the glass, even with everything in the room built to make her doubt her own reading of him.
He was lost. Standing in the middle of a room full of things he'd just destroyed, and no idea, none at all, of what he was supposed to do now that there was nothing left in front of him to hit.
The technicians noted: Erratic behavior. Increased aggression. Possible psychological instability.
----
Day 3 - 23:40
The message came to her comm with no context. Go to room 3. Now.
She was moving before she finished reading it, and made herself stop two steps later, made herself breathe. By the time she reached the door, her face had settled back into the blank, professional nothing she'd worn for three days straight.
The containment room door opened with a hydraulic hiss.
He was on his knees in the center of the room.
His breathing was too fast. Too shallow. His chest rising and falling in short, ragged pulls that had nothing to do with exertion.
Eight technicians stood around the edges of the room, tablets raised, recording. None of them had moved closer than the doorway in the last ten minutes. None of them were going to.
Voss stood near the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight, the bruise along it darker now than it had been that morning.
She stepped inside.
Her footsteps were quiet, but he heard them anyway, and his head lifted, just a fraction.
She stopped three meters away. The only sounds left were the low whoosh of the ventilation system and the fast, thin rasp of his breathing.
She kept her face blank. Her voice came out the way it always did in public: flat, even, betraying nothing of the last three days' ordeal.
"Asset."
His head came up further, unfocused.
"Eyes on me."
And then it happened.
His gaze sharpened all at once, snapping into focus, locking onto her face, the thing he'd been searching for since the first morning, finally, impossibly, standing in front of him.
Around the room, tablets kept recording. She heard the murmurs start, quiet, clinical, utterly indifferent to what they were actually watching.
"Heart rate dropping."
"Cortisol levels decreasing."
"Pupillary response normalizing."
Someone, quieter than the rest, almost to himself: "He's... regulating."
She didn't look at any of them. She kept her eyes on his, and made herself hold perfectly still while every instinct she had screamed at her to close the three meters between them.
"Stand at attention."
He obeyed before she'd finished the sentence.
No hesitation. No delay. He rose to his feet with a precision that hadn't existed in this room since the message had arrived on her tablet at six in the morning three days ago.
Unsurprisingly, nobody applauded the result, but she felt the room exhale anyway.
Voss said something to the sector director standing in the doorway, low enough that she couldn't hear it, and didn't try to.
Then, someone finally called it: Evaluation period concluded. Asset and handler, dismissed.
----
The door to her quarters finally closed behind them.
He stood in the center, the way he always did, waiting to be told what to do with himself in a space that had no orders. His hands hung at his sides.
His posture was still rigid, still holding the shape of at attention even now, but something had changed: a slight inward curve in his shoulders, like the effort of standing straight had finally started to cost him. His head was bowed just enough that his hair fell forward, hiding most of his face.
What she could see of it wasn't good. Yellow-green bruising along his cheekbone. His hair was beyond disheveled, matted in thick sections, knotted past the point where fingers alone would work it out. Near his temple, something dark had dried it against his skin. She couldn't tell in the low light if it was blood or dirt or both.
She reached up and brushed it back anyway, the evidence that no one looked for him the way she did.
It was heavier than it should have been, greasy with three days of neglect, and her fingers caught almost immediately on a knot behind his ear, but he didn't flinch.
"You should have slept, should have⌠taken care of yourself," she said quietly, not really expecting an answer.
She didn't get one.
But then he moved.
Slowly. Carefully. His human hand went to the pocket of his tactical pants, the motion hesitant in a way none of his motions ever were, like he wasn't certain he had permission for this.
She watched, not yet understanding.
He drew his hand back out and in his open palm sat a hair tie. Yellow, with a ridiculous little silicone strawberry stuck to the band, one of the ones she only ever wore in the privacy of this room, off duty.
He must have taken it before going to Voss, while she slept. Kept it with him through three days of corrections and sedatives and people watching him come apart.
He held it out to her. Returning it.
His eyes found hers and stayed there, but there was nothing steady in his gaze. It was the look of a child holding out something he wasn't supposed to have taken, watching her face for the exact moment it would tell him whether he was in trouble.
She looked at the hair tie sitting in his palm, at the way his fingers curled loosely around it even as he offered it up, like some part of him didn't want to let it go even now. Watched him watch her, waiting to find out which one it would be. Her throat closed.
She didn't take it.
She closed her hand around his instead -gently, fingers lacing through his around the small, ridiculous item- and stepped in until there was no space left between them, until her forehead came to rest against his chest.
He went utterly still.
Then, slowly, he bowed his head. His nose brushed her temple, the barest contact, and he breathed her in. His hair fell against her cheek, dirty, still carrying the smell of the days they had been apart. She didn't pull away from it.
She pressed her fingers tighter around his instead.
Somewhere beyond the door, the technicians were already compiling their data. Someone was already briefing the higher-ups on what it meant.
Removing her was raised and dismissed within the hour, because of the cost. Months of instability, continued wiping and performing more damage to the brain, versus an asset who already performed exactly as needed with her guidance.
And performance was the only metric that had ever mattered there.
The vulnerability was filed. Flagged for future review. And left, for now, exactly where it was.
F - fluff S - smut A - angst
â - one shot ⥠- series â - headcannons
last updated - 01/05/2026
⥠mob!bucky x reader - @kinanabinks | S. A.
⤡ the adventures of bucky and his little fairy.
⥠wildflower - @superbassbuck | F. S.
⤡ after your grandmother's passing, you inherit not only an empty house but also a failing floral shop teetering on the edge of closure. as you settle back in town, your bad day only gets worse after a horrible run-in with none other than the grumpy local farmer and single dad, bucky barnes. Immediately off the get-go, you despise eac other. you both made a silent vow to never cross paths again. but this town is too small for the both of you. especially after you reluctantly hire a moody teenager named jamie to help around the shop... not realizing he's bucky's son.
⥠making out for america - @superbassbuck | A. S.
⤡ bucky barnes, the reformed assassin turned congressman with a major PR problem that just wonât let up. tabloids bad mouth him. society fears him. how can he get the american people to believe that he has what it takes for a seat at the office? desperate for a breakthrough, bucky needs a way to win over the nationâs trust. then his press secretary suggests a bold solution. marriage to you, the poised, beloved daughter of a decorated war hero. americaâs sweetheart. the embodiment of everything heâs not. itâs all for show. for bucky, it means a shot at redemption. for you, itâs a chance to elevate your late fatherâs legacy and secure support for your foundation. strictly business, and no space for love. everything is going well. but behind closed doors and the flashing cameras, you two can't stand each other, and it's taking everything in you two to not rip each other's throats out.
⥠in the hex - @buckysouvenir | A. S.
⤡ y/n, a witch with no memory of her true nature, lives a seemingly perfect life with her husband, bucky barnes, in a quiet, idyllic 1950s town. everything seems picture-perfectây/n and bucky are a deeply loving couple, content in their everyday routine. they share playful moments, enjoy simple pleasures, and have a deep connection that feels unshakable. their life is peaceful, with no hint of anything out of the ordinary. however, things arenât what they seem.
⥠you and me - @fru1t4fr0gs | A. S.
⤡ after being captured and âenhancedâ by hydra, you flee to romania only to form an unlikely alliance with the man who once tried to kill you.
⥠happy accident - @sunday-bug | S. F.
⤡ you both thought this couldnât happen. buckyâs girlfriend tells him the big news.
⥠the two of us - @bucky-bucket-barnes | F. S. A.
⤡ you and bucky go to investigate the phenomenon happening in westview, new jersey. while attempting to understand the issue, you yourselves are sucked into wandaâs world of pretend. now, you believe yourselves to be the happily married mr. and mrs. barnes; in real life, you are most definitely not a happy pair. it is up to you and bucky to piece together whatâs happening while dealing with one another inside the
⥠the new avengers... and their mom - @knowlesgableknitter | F. S.
⤡ kay romano is the new curvy / plus sized nanny for the new avengers. she cooks for them, cleans, and patches up their wounds. as she ingratiates herself with each of the team, none is more enthralled with her than bucky barnes, the brooding super soldier with old school gentleman's charm. and while they may flirt and share longing glances, will either of them ever make a move? or will misunderstandings tear them apart?
⥠not a fairy tale kiss - @azriona | F. S. A.
⤡ this is not your typical love story. typical love stories donât involve sex pollen, accidental pregnancies, doombots, failed hydra medical experiments, or red-headed witches who may or may not be trying to help. despite all this, you and bucky are determined to keep your relationship status at friendship, even if youâd like it to be more. even if you think he feels the same. even if it kills you.
⥠everything's better in westview - @espinosaurusrexex | F. S.
⤡ bucky and y/n sneak into westview to have the perfect life. away from late steve and tony, vision and natasha, they let themselves be consumed by suburban magic. to their surprise, however, some of these people arenât so dead in the town. and there are some other weird things happening that make them question their sanity. but thatâs okay, right? âcause everythingâs better in westview.
⥠unexpected - @waywardgypsy | F.
⤡ what started as something casual with bucky barnes turns serious when you find out you're pregnant â and heâs the father.
⥠don't wake me - @danysdaughter | F. S. A.
⤡ in westviewâs perfect 1950s world, you and bucky barnes have the life he always wanted together. but when pieces of reality start to break through, bucky has to choose between the dream and the truth.
⥠hop little bunny - @thyme-in-a-bubble | F. S.
⤡ you know what wasn't in your five year plan? getting knocked up by some random bartender in your unsuccessful attempt at desperately ridding yourself of the long-festering and devastatingly huge crush you had on your roommate...
⥠for better or for worse - @buckysleftbicep | S. A.
⤡ you and bucky are forced to play newlyweds at a luxury honeymoon resort. heâs controlling, youâre reckless, and now youâre sharing a bed. the problem? itâs getting harder to play pretend. and youâre not sure either of you will survive what comes next.
Moonbeams Light My Path | Viking! Bucky x Farmer!Reader
Summary: Your village had been spared, when the Vikings first passed through. They had skirted the farm lands, taking a few animals, and then on towards the town.Â
Stories filtered back during the markets of their strange ways, on the gods they worshipped and the way they burnt the Abbot's quarters when they left. But the stories that struck you most came from your friends. They pulled you aside and gushed about the men they saw, so different from the boys that worked the land or traded at the market.Â
There was one in particular that you couldn't get out of your mind, the one the giggling girls called "Bukkiâ.Â
Warnings: 18+ content, language, sexual content, death (for a baddie). Attempted assault, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), shitty parents. Viking Bukki being naked a lot. Surprisingly fluffy for Vikings. Please see individual chapters for specific warnings.
Masterlist | Juniverse | Bucky Barnes
âď¸ This story is now complete! âď¸
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
A/N : The idea is based off of this quote: '...caused much trouble to the natives of the land; for they were wont, after the fashion of their country, to comb their hair every day, to bathe every Saturday, to change their garments often, and set off their persons by many frivolous devices. In this matter they laid siege to the virtue of the married woman, and persuaded the daughters even of the noble to be their concubines'. History is York
Part 4
A/N 2: I absolutely loved writing and sharing this fic with you all and I'm honestly not ready to give Bukki and Doe up yet! Hopefully some drabbles and one shots in the future â¤ď¸
 Although I spent a lot of time researching names, terms, locations etc there is still a TONNE of artistic licence in this. So if you see something that you know isnât historically accurate you have one of two options 1) no you didnât or 2) a wizard did it. But please donât tell me off!
Anglo Saxon Words:
Ceorl - Farmer
Morgengifu - A gift of land or money paid to a bride before marriage.
Warnings: AANGST Arguments, mean Bucky, break up, make up, fluffffÂ
listen, donât eat me alive for this, Iâve been craving some angst (with a happy ending), the type that makes my chest itch so here we are. If this is too toxic for you and you only live for sunshine and rainbows and perfect communication, then this is not the fic for you. He gets mean because thatâs what I wanted. So mean. I wanted to feel physical pain while reading. But then my hamster brain got exhausted to write more groveling. So donât come at me about âshe shouldnât have taken him back, he shouldâve begged and groveled moreâ He groveled.Â
-
You sighed, rubbing sleep away from your eyes, trying to get them to focus on the time on the clock.Â
2:57 AM
You stretched out some of the kinks from your neck after falling asleep on the couch, reaching for your phone and squinting at the bright screen, all your calls and texts left unanswered. He didnât respond to one. You sat up hearing the lock click open, some of your anxiety melting away hearing the thud of his bag hit the floor.Â
Imagine CEO!Bucky taking care of his stressed out secretary who is nothing but a sweet innocent doll, nearing her wits end with a piles of work she has to deal with.
âWhatâs wrong sweetsâ Bucky cocked his head while you huffed, mustering a smile, never showing him an ounce of how tired you were. Youâd rescheduled 4 meetings in the last half hour with other large companies, each one giving you conflicting dates and times, all insisting they were a priority. You didnât complain to Bucky once.Â
But he knew.
Your desk was right outside of his office, you were his pretty angel who kept everything in order while also driving him up the wall. How could someone be so sweet and intoxicating at the same time-
summary | James Barnes Jr, or JJ as the world calls him, doesnât quite know how to treat a woman. Luckily for you though, his daddy sure does
warnings | smut, age gap (reader is in her 20's), riding, couch sex, light drinking, billionaire!bucky, oral (f. receiving), bucky gives the reader a facial if you know what i mean, 18+ ONLY
this fic is eighteen plus. minors please do not enter
divider by @princessbellecerise
James Steven Barnes was a fucking asshole.
You suspect that he may have gotten that trait from his father, Bucky; but even in the few times you had met the billionaire, he had never acted quite as douchy as his son did.
The Bucky Barnes that you knew and grew up seeing in tabloids was at least respectful after he got done with women, and at least had the decency to tell them that it was over to their face before he moved on.
Unfortunately though, it seemed somewhere along the lines he forgot to pass that trait onto his son, which was precisely the reason you were fuming and stopping your way through Barnes Tower, fists nearly ripping the paper of the magazine due to your death grip.
Anger coursed through your veins as you thought about the front page, which showed your supposed âboyfriendâ front and center at a Knickâs game with some model that was way too old for him. But, there was no doubt that she was beautiful.
You couldnât lie; that was part of the reason you were salty. But the other part was because you had just seen JJ two days ago, and he made no mention to tell you that whatever you guys had was over. Nor that he was already back on the market.
He didnât even have the decency to send you a text, so, after staring at the picture for a while and slightly crying your eyes out, anger began to replace your sadness and you came up with a plan.
Sure it wasnât the best of plans, and sure you may be a little out of your mind, barging into the most elite building in New York. But you need to confront him, face-to-face. And since you still had your keycard JJ had given you since he was too lazy to come to your apartment, you marched right on in the tower like it was your own home.
The elevator dinged and your high heels clicked against the polished tiles, your eyes blazing as you made your way across the floor.
The fancy decor that you usually marveled at was the last thing on your mind. You were on a mission, and nothing was going to stop you. Nothing was going to get in the way of you laying into JJ, or possibly throwing the magazine at his head. You were going to make him pay and not even security was going to get in your way, if he called them.
You would only leave this building kicking and screaming, you decided. And if JJ tried to kick you out, well thenâ
âOof!â
Your whirlwind of thoughts were suddenly cut off when a figure smacked into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs and almost knocking you over until hands reached out to grab you. They wrapped around your figure and pulled you close so that you wouldnât hit the floor. Shocked, a gasp left your lips, and you quickly held onto whoever it was, your fingers digging into the expensive material of their suit.
For a moment, you thought that it was JJ that caught you and anger bubbled in your stomach. After all, the tufts of dark-haired you saw were exactly the same shade, and his build felt roughly the same.
But when the person set you back on your feet, it only took you a second to realize that it was not JJ that caught you.
It was his dad.
âBucky!â
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, as did his while you both stared at each other. Not really sure what to do, Bucky let go of you, and he awkwardly cleared his throat while you shuffled back.
âY/N,â He said, equally shocked. âI wasnâtâŚexpecting you today. Is everything alright?â
His light blue eyes glanced you over and while you didnât seemed to be dressed in any kind of date attire, he was under the assumption that you were there for JJ. He knew that your relationship with his son was mostly physical, but Bucky still hoped he raised him well enough to at least treat you to a date every once in a while.
âNo, no everything is not okay,â Is what you wanted to tell him. âYour son is an absolute asshole.â
The words were so close from falling from your lips, but you held back, pressing them together so you wouldnât say something youâd regret. It was already bad enough that JJ probably didnât want you there, you didnât need his dad trying to kick you out too. So you held it together and tried to make it look like you werenât crying just a few minutes before, tilting your head away from Bucky and focusing your eyes on the floor as you spoke.
âEverythingâs fine,â You said, your voice a little weak but normal nevertheless. âI was justâŚI was just looking for JJ. Have you seen him?â
Bucky reeled back in surprise once again. âJJ?â He repeated your question and answered before you could even confirm what you said. âNo honey, Iâm afraid JJ isnât here. I think he went to see a basketball game or something. I wouldâve thoughtâŚI did think you were going with him.â
So he didnât know.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying not to start crying again as you slowly shook your head.
âWe broke up,â You said, unfortunately having to break the news to him. Buckyâs eyes widened. âHeâŚHe went to that basketball game with some other chick, and I came here to hopefully confront him. IâŚâ
Wordlessly, you held out the magazine for Bucky to grab, and he did. His blue eyes scanned the paper, eyebrows furrowing together until eventually, anger settled on his face.
He looked at the cover of the magazine and noted that the girl was not, in fact, you. Bucky had never seen her in his life. As a matter of fact, he was pretty sure JJ had never met her either, which made the situation even worse.
He sighed, lowering the magazine to look at you. When he did, thatâs when Bucky finally realized that you had started crying, even though you tried your best to hide it from him.
âOh doll.â
âIâm sorry,â You instinctively tried to move away from him as he reached out, attempting to comfort you. But you just thought he was trying to pity you, shame festering inside of you as you sobbed quietly.
You didnât want to cry, but seeing how his own father reacted made you think that JJ really was an asshole.
âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry. I donât mean to cry itâs justââ
âHey,â Bucky reached out to gently tug you towards him, and somehow you found yourself crying in his arms as he shook his head and wrapped you in his embrace. Your tears stained his Tom Ford suit, your mascara no doubt ruining the expensive fabric. But Bucky didnât seem to mind as he awkwardly held you close, letting you cry into his chest like many other young ladies had before you. âItâs okay. Itâs okay, I know.â
âItâs just that,â You sniffle, pulling away with tears still your cheeks, âItâs just that we were together only just two days ago and I canât believe heâI canât believe he just ditched me like that. Like what the fuck man? Who raised you?â
Bucky slightly chuckled as you shook your head, disbelief settling on your face. You wiped your tears, your hands coming back stained but at the moment you didnât care.
You were heartbroken, and you hated to admit it but you really did like JJ. Despite knowing the type of guy he was rumored to be, you thought youâd just give him a chance. You thought youâd give him an opportunity to prove that everyone was wrong about him. JJ wasnât an asshole. He was just a typical rich kid that had everything at his disposal. Sure he went through girls quick, but you never once thought heâd dispose of you.
Not like this. Not to the point where you were crying in front of his father as Bucky looked at you sympathetically.
âWelp, not my proudest parenting moment,â He admitted, âBut the kid does have his way of charming people. I honestly thought he would use it for good as he got older. You know for like business and stuff? But it seems the more he grows up, the more broken hearts he leaves in his trail.â
âHuh. Well I guess that makes him just like his father then,â You chuckled bitterly through your sniffles, causing Bucky to laugh little bit. The sound took you by surprise, not expecting him to laugh over your dig. But you liked the way it sounded: soft, but mature. Everything that a man shouldâve been. Everything that his son shouldâve been.
âYeah, I guess you could say that,â Bucky shrugged. âBut believe meâI never once raised him to act like this. I wanted him to be better, you know? But I guess eventually, everyone goes down their own path.â
âYou should cut him off then,â You quickly suggested, before you could even stop the words coming from your mouth. âIf you cut him off, he canât charm girls anymore and he most certainly wonât be sitting courtside with anymore models.â
You were dead serious, but thisâthis was what caused Bucky to double over in laughter, clutching his stomach and letting out a hearty, genuine laugh. He shook his head at you, pointing his index finger, and you couldnât lie, you laughed too. After all, who just goes around telling rich dads to cut off their entitled sons? Not enough people apparently, because there were still a plethora of entitled sons out there.
Bucky may have thought JJ was one, but after losing his mother, he was all he had. You suppose you understood why Bucky kept enabling him in that way, but it still made you no less salty that he got to live the good life while everybody else around him got left in the dust.
âYou,â Amusement danced in Buckyâs eyes as he chuckled some more before finally sobering up, pressing his lips. âYouâre funny.â He said like it was a compliment. âYouâŚyouâve got a sense a humor, Iâll tell you that sweetheart. Not a lot of girls my son brings home actually have a decent personality.â
âWhat can I say? Itâs probably the reason he ditched me,â You said.
âProbably,â Bucky agreed. âUnfortunately, he doesnât do well with actual conversation. As a father, itâs a little embarrassing when your son goes for beauty instead of brains and beauty.â
âOh, is that what you think I have?â You teased him slightly, your mood beginning to pick up a little. Bucky nodded. âWell, youâd think if I was smart, I wouldnât go after somebody with an obvious track record.â
âWell we can all be dazzled by the charm,â Bucky said, staring intensely. âBut you gotta know that eventually, all of that stuff goes away and in a few years time heâll realize how stupid he was to let you go. Trust me, beauty fades fast and when thatâs all you have in common with someone, most relationships tend to not to last long.â
âSo what youâre saying is JJâs gonna break up with the model?â You questioned.
ââŚEventually,â Bucky hesitated to say, âBut for now, sheâs young. So heâs gonna be all over her like white on rice.â
âBucky! What the fuckâ you are not helping!â
Instinctively, you reached out to shove his shoulder which caused Bucky to be even more surprised. But he could see the smile tugging at your lips, hear the playfulness in your voice as you said this, so he laughed even harder.
He appreciated someone joking around with him without being all cautious about his titles. Bucky didnât know what it was, but something about the way you seemed to just relax around him made him happy. It made him inch forward, taking a cautious step while you watched him.
âOh yeah?â He challenged quietly, and you never took your eyes off of him as he stepped as close as he could. âWell then do tell me Miss L/N,â Bucky copied your playfulness, âWhat would help you get over my son?â
The tone of his voice made you shiver slightly, as did the closeness of his body. You just now realized it, but Buckyâs eyes were awfully brown, so dark that you found yourself almost getting lost in them. You felt like your world was swirling as you looked inside of those mischievous brown eyes, but yet you couldnât find it in yourself to look away.
Daring to be bold, you stepped closer, and Bucky was nearly on the floor when suddenly you crained your head up, put your lips straight to his ear and whispered,
âHow about a drink, Mr. Barnes?â
âAnd then I said: I thought you were smaller!â
You laugh loudly as Bucky very proudly told you the story of how he reunited with his best friend Steve, the man JJ had also been named after. It was sort of a sad story, but you didnât know that because Bucky left out all the bad parts. He just wanted to make you laugh and was just glad to see that you were entertained nonetheless.
It was a stark contrast to the way you had shown up on his doorstep only an hour ago. Now, your tears were replaced by laughter, your frown with a large grin, and there were no longer any traces of anger on your face. You were only content as you sipped on your drink, playing into all the jokes and shenanigans Bucky had presented you with.
Honestly, hanging out with him had been pretty fun and you had no fucking clue how it all started but you werenât complaining as you downed your drink. This was your first one, so you werenât even tipsy, just relaxed enough to have a good time. It also helped push away the feeling that maybe hanging out with your exâs father wasnât such a good idea.
Nonsense though, your brain had told you multiple times, because Bucky was funny, charming and most importantly: he was nothing like his son.
As he entertained you, you began to see less and less how JJ could even be related to a man like this. A man so confident and hilarious, and just so sure of himself. It was like every move Bucky made, he made with a purpose. He did it because he knew exactly the reaction he would get from someone. He was so perceptive, and he picked up that you needed cheering up, so he kept making a fool out of himself just to make you laugh.
And honestly, you were beginning to question why you ever wasted your time on JJ in the first place. When clearly, you had chosen the wrong Barnes.
The thought had struck you several times in the last hour, but you never once entertained it, refusing to give your brain that satisfaction. You told yourself that Bucky was just being nice inviting you for a drink. That he just felt bad and didnât want you stumbling home angry and sad.
You told yourself that it was better for him that you didnât come looking for his son again. ButâŚa part of you wanted to believe there were other reasons.
It only made heart your pound faster as he began to speak again.
âMan. I swear I can never get enough of telling that story,â He said cheekily, leaning back on his fancy sofa. The suit that he was wearing crinkled, and the scotch in his hand swirled before he took a sip of it.
You admired him.
You admired anybody that could drink straight liquor, because Lord knows you couldnât. Lord knows not even his own son could, which made you snort at the thought.
âWell, it is a wonderful story Mr. Barnes,â You told him, swirling your own drink. âIâm sure it was even better to witness all those years ago.â
âOh, come on now darling. Donât make it seem like Iâm a fossil,â Bucky waved you off, and you couldnât deny the way your stomach fluttered at the nickname. It made you feel something that you hadnât felt before; an emotion that you desperately wanted to push down but was rising the more time you spent with Bucky.
Desire was beginning to creep into your veins, and it didnât help that you had certainly took notice of just how handsome Mr. Barnes was, and just how good that three-piece suit clung to his body. You began to wonder things that you should most definitely not be wondering. But still, it was like your brain produced the thoughts on its own and you couldnât help but think that Bucky looked sexy all relaxed like that.
You curled your lips, and you knew you were beginning to get yourself into trouble. You sipped your drink once again.
âOh, trust me. The last thing Iâm calling you is old Mr. Barnes,â You retorted kindly. Bucky looked up as a smirk began to form on your cheeks. âIn fact, youâre probably one of the youngest people I know in spirit, most definitely. It seems that even though the years have passed, they havenât yet caught up with you. And well, youâre pretty spry for an older fella.â
You batted your lashes at him, causing Bucky to sputter a little bit. A mischievous look grew in your eyes, and when you winked at him something began to stir inside of him.
Perhaps it was your humor, or the way you knew just when to be sarcastic and when to be genuine, just like him. Maybe it was that that drew him towards you, making Bucky sit up a little bit as he studied you.
With blue eyes observing everything, Bucky noted that you were young, yes, but you certainly werenât new to the world, nor ignorant of it. From what you had told him, you were in grad school and had experienced heartbreak and failure. And though you werenât nearly as old or mature as he was, Bucky could sense that you definitely were years above your own peers.
Years above his own son, which Bucky began to question if he really was his son, if he had passed up a woman like this.
A woman so easy to get along with that he didnât even notice it was beginning to approach two hours since you had been there.
âSpry?â Bucky rose an eyebrow and chose to ignore the thought that you might need to go home soon. Nodding your head, Bucky laughed at your words.
âOh very spry indeed Mr. Barnes. In fact, I bet you could run me and outlive me,â You giggled.
âWellâŚâ Bucky pretended to be in thought before carefully shoving off his blazer, flexing his biceps which made the most unholy of thoughts come into your mind. âI suppose I do lift a little on the side. Mostly when Iâm not busy with meetings, but I mean the biceps speak for themselves, donât they?â
âI suppose they do.â You sipped on your wine so that Bucky couldnât see how bothered you had gotten. Your legs crossed, your body language beginning to change. Something stirred in the pit of your stomach, causing you to shift slightly.
You could still see his biceps peeking out from under his shirt even with him not flexing. It made your mouth just the tiniest bit dry as Bucky looked at you.
He didnât want you to go home, but he knew that it was entering the odd hours of the morning and the last thing he needed was paparazzi photographing a young woman leaving his tower this late. Not to mention a young woman that had been seen with this son. Oh, Bucky realized the scandal it would cause and decided he was way past those days.
So, a plan began to form in his mind.
Maybe you didnât have to leave, he told himself. MaybeâŚmaybe you could stay after all. He thought about this, and then before he could stop himself, Bucky began to speak.
âYou knowâŚitâs getting kind of late.â He tried to sound as casual as possible without his words sounding rehearsed. Immediately, you perked up, worrying that he may kick you out. But luckily, it was just the opposite. âI know JJ once told me you lived a little ways out of town. A far walk I imagine; and getting an Uber probably wonât be easy. Iâm sure you know this by now, but this tower has a lot of rooms. Why donât you take one for the night and rest up here? You can leave first thing in the morning but Iâd just hate to see a young lady be out on the streets of New York by herself.â
At this, you couldnât stop the smile that made its way over your face, nor the laugh of delight as you found yourself eagerly accepting Buckyâs proposal.
âYes. I think that sounds fair. Thank you, Mr. Barnes. For being so kind.â
âYeah.â
Was that what it was? Bucky truly being kind, or was he only letting you stay for his own selfish intentions?
Probably both honestly. But truly, Bucky knew he wasnât a bad enough person to expect you to do anything for him in return. His thoughts may have been running wild, but he wasnât so bad as to bribe a young girl like that. Not that he had to, because you were already halfway on that road before you even stood up.
When you did though, you were suddenly reminded of how long it had been since you had drank and you couldnât stop the woozy feeling in your head as you set the glass down. Bucky caught you once again before you hit the floor, your nausea causing you to trip over the expensive carpet. You landed in his arms almost like a fairytale. Your eyes met his, and you could see the worry that spread in them.
âAre you all right?â He asked.
It was a simple question. So, so simple that you shouldâve just been able to answer with âyesâ and been done with it. You shouldâve been, but somehow you just couldnât. Somehow all the decency and all the warning bells that told you this was not a good idea suddenly left your mind. All of a sudden, you were lucid but you didnât even feel like it as you leaned up and did something you never in a million years thought you wouldâve done.
You kissed Bucky.
You donât know what the hell got into you. Truly, you didnât. You didnât know whether it was the alcohol, sheer stupidity, or just a fuck-this-Iâm-going-for-it mentality. But whatever it was, it had you kissing Bucky Barnes like it was your last day on this earth, your head spinning from how hard you pressed your lips to his.
Your lips were on his, and honestly it took Bucky more time than heâd like to admit to do something about it. At first, he just stood there a little bit confused. He didnât register that you were kissing him until you tried to move your mouth and he justâŚstood still. He didnât register that youâŚthat you wanted him until you suddenly pulled away with slight panic on your face.
âOh my God,â You said in realization, âBucky Iâm soââ
Bucky didnât even let you finish the sentence, because the fuck-it mentality embraced him too and suddenly you were both carefree as you swapped spit.
Bucky had his mouth on yours, and you were kissing him with so much passion and oh my God you were so young and this was so wrong but the man couldnât find it in himself to stop.
Despite everything in his brain telling him that this was a bad idea, his body simply would not allow him to listen, too engrossed by the feeling of your soft lips.
Cherry Chapstickâthatâs what you had been wearing. But Bucky was sure that by the time he was done with you, that taste would be nothing but a fleeting memory. He pressed his tongue out to try to get some more of it, and thatâs when his tongue started to slip into your mouth. Gasping, you let him in and thatâs when your bodies began to fall back onto the couch.
Bucky landed first with a small grunt, and with this new sitting position you were able to straddle his lap and hook your legs on either side of him.
Buckyâs arms then came to wrap around your waist, wasting no time to explore your bodyâregrettably through your clothes. You had been wearing a simple skirt and top, but even that felt like too much as Bucky suddenly became desperate to get underneath them.
A hot desire developed over you both, and you couldnât stop yourself from suddenly breaking the kiss, putting your hands on his nice blazer, and tearing it off with ease. You threw it somewhere in the corner that you didnât quite care about, looking at Bucky for only a second before devouring his lips once again.
He tasted like scotch and cigars, the pinnacle of maturity in your opinion. He was so experienced and the thought of all the things he could show you, all the ways he could make you feel suddenly made you groan and start to grind on his lap.
Bucky panted into your mouth as he felt your warm heat moving against him, the perfectly tailored pants suddenly feeling too tight as his erection grew bigger.
You were greedy as you drank him in, like Bucky was the sweetest nectar you had ever tasted. And now that you had gotten a sample, you couldnât get enough.
You were insatiable as you eventually managed to get his button down shirt off, feeling him slip his own hands under your clothes.
He felt your soft, hot skin and squeezed, liking the way you jumped in his arms. He never once broke the kiss, liking the taste of your mouth far too much. But that didnât mean Bucky couldnât explore other areas with his hands, and before you knew it, he had his hands touching all over your body and leaving fire in its wake.
You wiggled a little bit as Bucky traveled lower and lower, eventually jumping again when he made contact with your cotton panties.
Bucky smiled into your mouth, satisfaction flooding his veins when he noticed your arousal had already dampened them.
Slowly, you began to grind a little bit on his hand and Bucky groaned as the sensation of it all made him feel like he was burning up. He felt like if he didnât do something now, he would literally burst into flames. So, as much as he loved the taste of your mouth, he decided he needed something more than that.
Pulling away from you, a trail of spit dribbled down your chin and coated the frown that you were now sporting. You didnât wanna pull away from him, but Bucky reassured you with his eyes that what he had planned was much better.
He tapped on your thighs and pushed on your chest a little bit, letting you know that he wanted you to lay down.
Excitement flooded your veins as your back suddenly hit the couch, your shirt pulled almost all the way up and your skirt flipped.
Bucky could see nothing but your stomach and your cotton covered pussy, choosing these two things to focus on as he got on his knees on the couch.
He hovered over you, and at first, you thought he was going to kiss you again until suddenly, his head dipped down. You moaned as his hands begin to massage your breasts, the feeling of his touch driving you crazy. Even though it was only through your clothes, you began to squirm; pushing down on his hips with your foot so that Bucky quickly got the message.
âWow. Eager are we?â He smirked, and the whine that you let out went away as quickly as it came, when Bucky suddenly yanked your bra down.
You were sure that the front straps had broken, but that was the last thing you cared about. You were only focused on his plump lips that were headed towards your breast. And sure enough, Bucky finally made the first contact with your body when he wrapped his lips around your sensitive bud. Th action caused you to moan out, quickly running your fingers through his hair as he licked, sucked, circled the bud with his tongue.
Skilled he was, because you swore you had never gotten this much pleasure from a man sucking on your tits. Sure many had tried, but it never felt like this. It never felt like actual pleasure until now, Buckyâs tongue working miracles.
Honestly, it made you wonder just what else he could do. And as if he could read your mind, Bucky suddenly abandoned your nipples and trailed his mouth further down your body. At first, you wanted to protest at the lack of stimulation. But the feeling was quickly replaced when Bucky got rid of your panties in one swift pull. He looked you in the eye, and you could see his smirk as he took in your pouty lips, the way your chest heaved and the way your eyes got wide. He took in how fucking gorgeous you looked but man â he bet you sounded even better.
It was this thought that lead Bucky to finally dip his head where you needed him to be; you letting out the sweetest of moans as his lips attached to your clit.
Bucky pleasured you in a way that most boys your age refused to even consider. They never seemed to consider what women actually wanted, but Bucky knew. And damn, did he know it well.
He took your clit in between his teeth and gently grazed over it, teasing you and enjoying the way your hips bucked against him. He had to hold you down before he really got started on you, and when he did, and there was nobody on this earth that could convince Bucky that what the two of you were doing was wrong.
So what if you had dated his son. His son was stupid; even Bucky could see that now.
JJ was beyond stupid to pass up this gorgeous woman, who tasted just as sweet as she looked. Who tasted so fucking good that Bucky lapped and sucked up every little dribble of arousal that you had. He sucked on your clit and even began to use his fingers, absolutely determined to taste you and your entirety. Nothing in life had ever enticed Bucky more, except for maybe the sounds that you were making.
Man, did you sound absolutely gorgeous as you wiggled and thrashed, but never quite fully pulled away from his pleasure. Man, did you look so sexy with your head thrown back, eyes closed, and lips parted. Bucky swore he never saw a better site in his life, which egged him to pump his fingers even faster. He was determined, determined to make you cum on his tongue and determined to show you that this was how a real man pleasured a woman. A real man always put her satisfaction before his, which was why Bucky wasnât even gonna fuck you until you had came at least once.
And fuckâdid you.
You swear you had never screamed louder in your life, your body shaking as you came all over Buckyâs expensive suit and couch. You were crying out from the almost abusive pleasure, but not once did Bucky remove his mouth from your pussy. Not until he was sure he had gotten every last drop.
He wanted to taste everything that he could. Every little part of you; and when he succeeded at that he then wanted you to taste yourself.
He wanted for you to know how sweet and absolutely incredible you were.
He brought his mouth back up to latch his lips on yours, and it wasnât long before your tongue was tangled with his. Bucky got what he wanted when you suddenly squeaked, surprised at how you tasted. It was indeed sweetâthanks to you prioritizing fruit in your diet. Bucky almost chuckled at the way your eyes flew open, but he was too busy breaking the quick kiss to pull down the last bit of clothing that separated the two of you.
It seemed like he couldnât get those damn panties off fast enoughâyou giggling and offering to help when he cursed more than enough times.
Bucky leaned over you and, while you worked on your underwear, he began to focus on his own. He unbuckled his belt, yanked down his pants, and freed himself from the torture that was that damn suit.
Now that you were both naked, you eyed his erection deliciously as you both suddenly set up.
It wasnât like you were a virgin, so you both silently agreed there was no need to take it easy in missionary. So, you got on top of Bucky and hooked your legs over his once again.
A silent glance was shared between the two of you just moments before you sank down on Buckyâs cock, pressing your hips until there was nothing left out except his balls. They pressed against your ass and reminded you of how deep he truly was, how absolutely delicious it felt to have him sheathed inside of you.
Bucky let out a sigh of content, and it wasnât long before you had him moaning, standing on your toes and lightly bouncing yourself on his cock.
Fuckâyou sure did know how to make a man come quick, seeing as you were currently squeezing the dear life out of Bucky. He could barely keep it together as your walls sucked him in, it having been a while since he fucked somebody this tight.
But tight you were, and youngâthough heâd never guess it by the way you rode him like a pro. You swirled your hips, placing your hand on his chest to steady yourself and then kept bouncing. Up and down your tits went, mesmerizing Bucky almost as much as your pussy did.
You yourself were just enticing, if there ever was a word for it.
Bucky wasnât quite sure how heâd let you go after this, or if he even wanted to. The feeling of you wrapped around him was definitely something he could get used to, so he tried not to think about that and focused on the present.
He focused on the way you moaned and clenched around him. On the way your pussy squelched every time you bounced yourself up on your feet. He focused on your eyes, staring at him intensely, and then your lips as he leaned in to capture them.
Due to his swift kiss, you had lost your pace, but that was all right because Bucky decided to take over then. He held you close, and then he bucked his hips upwards, fucking into you at a rapid pace. You moaned into his mouth, and Bucky could feel your ass jiggling, your tits bouncing as he pounded into you. He could feel the way your stomach was beginning to clench again, a telling sign of yet another orgasm.
He smirked, satisfied when you started to grip him for dear life. Not even a few seconds later, you did, in fact, cream all over him with a small cry.
The mess on his couch and on his thighs was inevitable, but as Bucky reached his own high, he thought it best not to dirty up his furniture anymore.
Instead, as the pit in his stomach finally grew to its peak, he suddenly pulled out of you and got you on your knees, cumming on your face right as you opened your mouth.
Eagerly, you let the hot ropes paint your face and even swallowed some with a grin on your lips. You couldnât open your eyes to see the pleasure that you had caused Bucky, but you could hear him groaning, the sound of him jacking off invading your ears until there was nothing else left to decorate your face.
He smiled in satisfaction, loving the way that you had been the one to bring him to his wits end and it wasnât long before you could see Bucky again.
He retrieved his extremely expensive shirt and used it to wipe off your face, you giving him a giggle as your vision became clearer. You stuck out your tongue, showing him evidence that you had swallowed the bit of cum that had gotten on your lips.
Bucky chuckled, and it was at that moment he realized that yes, his son was an idiot for letting you go.
Heâd be damned if he made the same mistake.
BONUS
You made your way into your chemistry class, not even bothered by JJâs presence as you passed him. In fact, the last thing you were thinking of was that Barnes, seeing as the remnants of his father still lingered just underneath your shirt.
Had it been any more see-through, you wouldâve had a reason to be extremely smug as JJ made his way over to you with his friends snickering in the background.
You knew they were talking about you, but you barely paid attention to any of them until suddenly, the youngest Barnes was standing beside you with his arms crossed.
âYes?â
You looked up at him, and if you didnât know any better, you would say he was annoyed by your lack of reaction. Your indifference towards him and the model situation clearly bothered him, which made you wanna smirk but you didnât.
âWell you certainly donât look bothered,â He commented, casually leaning against your desk. You rolled your eyes, but you werenât too irritated until he began tapping his pencil on your table.
âWell thatâs because I had a pretty good weekend â besides the fact that you ditched me,â You snapped, trying to push him away.
But JJ didnât budge.
It was then that you remembered he was every bit as stubborn as his father was, despite being less than half the man Bucky was.
âOops,â A sarcastic smile ghosted on JJâs face. The bastard didnât even have the decency to be ashamed of what he did. âI just got caught up you know; business and such.â
âBusiness.â You pondered on this word before you slowly turned to look at him, confidently being able to stare into his brown eyes. After all, you had found yourself growing fonder and fonder of that shade, just not on him. âThatâs interesting. I didnât know business meant going on a date with a model.â
âSuper model,â He made sure to correct you, âAnd well, you know how it is these days. Iâm a Rolling Stone; just like my daddy I hear.â
God bless him, he sounded so proud and it took everything in you not to tell him right then and there. It took every particle of self-restraint you had not to scream out to the entire university that you had fucked his dad, cause you were no longer in the mood for JJâs childish games.
But instead â thinking of Bucky â you restrained yourself and simply offered JJ a smile.
âWell, the way I hear it, your daddy did it better,â You winked at him, and suddenly nothing in the world could seemed to bother you anymore. Knowing that you had completed the ultimate form of revenge and gained yourself a new suitor in the process put you at peace.
But unfortunately for JJ, you were just getting started.
Just you wait, asswipe. Iâll be your step mama soon enough, you thought devilishly, your phone buzzing just as the boy made his way back to his seat.
summary: Not only has HYDRA executed their infiltration on S.H.I.E.L.D., but they have also reclaimed their finest weapon. Your safety isn't the only thing that's compromised.
pairings: WS!Beefy!Bucky Barnes x F!Avenger!Reader
word count: 6.1k
warnings: chasing, being hunted down, implied n-0n-c0-n elements, canon-level vi0-lence, cursing, implied t0r-tur3, bl-00d, b3at-1ngs, f0rc-3d nud-1ty, language, HYDRA-level cru3l-ty, Bucky gets Brainwashed (again), there's Steve x Reader if you squint REALLY REALLY hard
read here on ao3!
a/n: This was inspired by last year's Whumptober Day 2: NOWHERE TO RUN - CORNERED, CAGED AND CONFRONTATION. I know it's February JUNE, but shit came up and my motivation tanked lmao thanks adhd med trials Literally have never done a dark(er?) fic before and this one has been cooking for god knows how fucking long now. I hope y'all like it <3 (also the hydra victory au is something i discovered from the lovely @lunarbuck reset series and stewed obsessively over for literal months now. still obsessed with it whoops)
dividers by @firefly-graphics | gif by @lost-shoe | @hydravictrix
my ao3 | my masterlist
Translations
Lisitsa | НиŃиŃĐ° - fox/little fox
Soldat | ŃĐžĐťĐ´Đ°Ń - soldier
Syuda | ŃŃĐ´Đ° - over here
Khitraya suka | Ń Đ¸ŃŃĐ°Ń ŃŃка - sly bitch
Moy priz | ПОК ĐżŃиС - my prize
Glupaya pizda | гНŃĐżĐ°Ń ĐżĐ¸ĐˇĐ´Đ° - stupid cunt
Moye | ПОо - mine
The infiltration was subtle at the start.
A few missions gone mysteriously wrong, agents killed in action or disappearing entirely, hacks that were, thankfully, contained within an inch of a full-blown data breach. All of it seemed so coincidental when it happened, swept under the rug each and every single time before Director Fury could have a swear-filled say as to what the hell was going on.Â
But hindsight is 20/20. It always is.
The day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell was, ironically, the perfect day: brilliant sunshine, clear blue skies, a breeze weaving between the towering buildings and skyscrapers. It was almost eerie, in a way, how perfect of a day it was.Â
You found yourself in the gym, Steve and Sam hashing it out on whose turn it was in sparring. You had all but knocked Sam out cold in the previous round as Steve watched from behind the ropes, cheering you on with a cocky, proud grin as he watched all of his hard work in your training pay off.
Of course, the stubborn ass he was, Sam wanted another go.Â
âCâmon, Steve! I wanna rematch!â Sam protested, gesturing wildly in your direction with one hand while his other held an ice pack to his bruised temple. Steve stifled a laugh, tossing a glance over his shoulder to you. You shook your head, smiling back as you gulped down the rest of your water bottle. Cool strands spilled out from the corners of your lips and down your chest. You welcomed the relief from the sweat gluing your t-shirt to your skin.Â
âHow âbout I take Steve instead of giving you another concussion?â you retorted, giggling as Sam shot a narrow look at you. He huffed, forfeiting his argument by waving a dismissive hand.Â
âFine, âm gonna go find some pain meds,â he grumbled, turning to point a swollen finger at Steve. âI better see you in the infirmary next, Cap.âÂ
He stomped off through the metal doors and left the two of you in silence.
âWhaddya say, sweetheart? You up for round two?â Steve teased, stepping under the ropes and into the ring. He wrapped his hands as he moved to the center, muscle memory carrying him while keeping his eager gaze on you. His eyes carried excitement as they journeyed up and down your figure, rolling his lip between his teeth as he drank you with his stare.Â
You did little to hide your pride at the Captain checking you out, chewing the corner of your cheek to tame your own smirk at the beautiful blond. You turned away, hiding the heat from your cheeks as you tossed your bottle at your bag. You weaved under the ropes, coming face to face with your willing opponent in the center. You lifted your chin to meet his, the hidden smirk on your lips growing into a grin.
âWith you? Always, old man,â you purred. You tossed him a teasing wink as you positioned your fists in front of you, feet planted firmly in the starting stance. Steve lingered on you for a second longer, tongue swiping across his lips hungrily as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, raising his hands to mirror you.
The two of you began to circle one another, dancing in a familiar pattern you knew by heart. Steve took his first swipe at you and you ducked, managing a hit to his stomach. A grunt escaped from himâ not of hurt but of thrill. He lunged for you as you dodged again, blocking his failed strike to your head.Â
âWow! You really canât teach an old dog new tricks!â you taunted, dodging another blow, his wrapped fist only grazing your shoulder. You rolled it back, holding back a slight wince as you continued the violent waltz.Â
You lunged at him, instead faltering and falling to the ground. Readying the curse on your tongue, it stopped short of your lips as you looked up at Steve.Â
He stood frozen in place, panting, fists at his sides clenching tighter and tighter. As you opened your mouth to unload even more cursing questions, screeching erupted from the loudspeakers around the room. High-pitched tones screaming above, a robotic voice speaking clinically and quickly. You scrambled off the floor, unease creeping in as you latched onto Steveâs arm, his arm tensing under your touch.
CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS URGENTLY NEEDED. 40th FLOOR. THREAT IS ACTIVE AND HIGHLY DANGEROUS. REPEAT. CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITSâ
The message had cut out, static replacing it alongside the echoing alarms throughout the hallways outside the gym. You looked up at Steve. Anxiety surged upon finding his face devoid of all blood, his jaw slack, eyes boring into the metal doors leading to the hallway. He looked scared.Â
Youâd never seen Steve scared before.Â
âSteve, what the fuck was thatââ
âGet to the locker rooms and hide,â he ordered. He pulled his arm from you, jumping over the ropes and sprinting to his duffel bag on the floor. He pulled out his phone and dialed frantically as he ran to the doors.Â
âSteve!â You stood trembling in the ring as your stomach churned.Â
âNow!â he yelled. âIâll come back for you!âÂ
He didnât wait to hear your response as he slammed the gym doors shut, followed by a whir and click.
He locked you in.Â
You didnâtâ couldnâtâ hesitate as a surge of urgency overtook you. You needed to hide. Now. Fast.
Your legs carried you as you jumped out of the ring and raced to grab your duffel bag, sprinting to the back of the gym through another set of double doors. You wove through the tiled maze of the locker room searching for some sort of hiding spot, settling on the showers. You snuck over to the stall at the very end, the closest one to the emergency exit, and ducked under the opaque plastic curtain. Your bag fell to the floor as you climbed onto the stall seat. Blood pumped in your ears, thumping as quickly as your shaky, shallow breathing. Millions of thoughts and questions and worries rushed through your mind at impossible speeds.
White and Silver. Which alert was that for?
You racked through fleeting memories, distant recollections of training and orientation from months ago, searching for anything remotely familiar. You remembered all of the other codesâ red, orange, tealâ but no white, no silver.Â
A faint buzzing sounded from inside your duffel. You lunged, unzipping it and fishing out your phone. Natasha. Her name lit up the screen and you frantically hit the answer key before the call could even think about dropping.
âWhere the fuck are you?â Her panicked voice hissed into your ear. Her edged tone was enough to make your stomach backflip faster.Â
âLocker rooms, forty-fifth floor. What the fuck is going on, Nat?â Your voice shook as anger and confusion boiled in your blood.
A muffled swear. âWhereâs Steve?â
âHe ran out, locked me in, told me to hide.â More incoherent curses.
âFuck, fuck, okay, look, trust me on this, you need to stay where you are, okay? I can get you out, IââÂ
High-pitched ringing overtook the speaker, sending you reeling away from the receiver. Static echoed out of the speakers.
âYou what? Natasha!â
âNoâ timeâ youââ
âNatasha! Hello?â
Beep. Beep. Beep.
You tore the phone away from your ear and choked back the bile rising in your throat. Service was out. The blinking bars at the top of the screen mocked you and your sudden plunge into isolation.Â
The lights went next.Â
The dull fluorescents flickered. Someone cut the electricity, sending you into almost darkness as the backup generator lights kicked on. Scattered lights from above cast an eerie yellow glow over the shower tiles. Youâd only seen this kind of outage happen once before, when New York was hit with Hurricane Noah a few years back.
The fear you felt in that storm paled in comparison to what you felt now.
You sighed, shaky and surrendering, and pulled your body closer to you on the shower bench. A chill snaked its way down your spine as your skin brushed the cool ceramic, an unwelcome addition to the cold already enveloping you. Your sweat-soaked t-shirt and shorts failed to aid you and your aching muscles. Fingernails dug into your kneecaps in a struggle to stop trembling as you tried to focus on your breathing. Inhaling, exhaling, in, out. Screwing your eyes shut, praying to any deity imaginable it was all just a drill, it was all an accident or a misunderstanding orâ
The ground shook as a loud bang echoed from outside the locker room. A panicked yelp escaped your throat before your hands could scramble and cover your mouth. You froze as the tremors subsided and listened. It, or they, sounded close.Â
Too close.Â
Another BANG! Then another.Â
Rhythmic, steady blows, each quicker and more powerful than the last. Hands clamped tighter over your lips until your blood froze at the sounds of crushing steel and crumbling concrete. The lump in your throat grew as horrific realization flooded over you.Â
They, or it, broke in.
You couldnât wrap your head around itâ those doors were more fortified than Tonyâs lab. Four-inch-thick, steel and plexiglass doors with a three-tier secured locking system. Nothing, nobodyâ not even the strongest Super Soldierâ was powerful enough to make the faintest of dents in them.
Racing through who, or what, could have possibly broken into the gym, your train of thought derailed as echoes of men yelling indecipherable words and mixed commands shattered the remaining air of safety you clung to. Listening intently, a mix of combat boots and tactical gear filtered in with the echoed commands.
The S.T.R.I.K.E. Team.
Your legs begged for reprieve from crouching, but your body disobeyed and froze you in place. Part of you didnât trust who was outside. Footsteps and gruff voices became heavier, closer. The relief that greeted you was replaced again by panic as you listened closer.
Clear, Russian commands resonated at the entrance to the locker rooms. They were coming in.Â
Your breath hitched, blood running cold as footsteps closed in. It was one person, but their steps didnât sound like the heavy boots before them. They sounded more likeâŚ
Sneakers?
The rubber from the intruderâs shoes squeaked on the tiled floors. Ragged breathing echoed off the walls. A low growl, accompanied by quiet whirring. Someone big, someone mean.Â
Your heart made its way to your throat as the intruder inched closer. Slow, methodical, as if trained in search and rescue.Â
It didnât feel like a rescue.
The lump almost turned into a scream as an echoed BANG carried from the bathroom stalls around the corner. Silence followed, then a growl, then another BANG. The cycle repeated for the remaining stalls, the intruder slowly creeping along. Growls became deeper upon each disappointment.Â
Hostages. They were looking for hostages.
Soles squeaked as the intruder changed course, stomping around the corner to search the line of shower stalls. You hiccuped a sob, realizing tears started to trail down your cheeks. Biting your palm only proved a lame attempt to calm your racing heart, a scream threatening to leave your throat as they began tearing the plastic curtains off the stalls. Each clang of metal cracking onto the tile became closer as you ground your teeth into the meat of your hand. Eyes screwed shut, silent prayers raced in your head, pleading to wake up; to wake up from this hellscape of a sick, twisted nightmare.Â
The intruderâs steps stopped.Â
Your eyes opened, widening at the blurred, hulking shadow standing outside of your stall. They had to be well over six feet. Towering, bulky, monstrous.Â
Slowly, the shadowâs hand reached for the curtain. One by one, its fingers closed around the plasticâs edge, preparing to rip it down and rip you open. Eyes burning, hot tears felt like molten metal as you attempted to make yourself as small as possible in your corner, huddling your knees as close as they could be. This was it. This was the end. You prayedâ actually fucking prayedâ hoping they couldnât hear your pathetic whimpering, hoping they would make this quick, painless; break your neck or put a gun to your head and get it over with. Leave your body for someone else to find.
âSoldat, syuda!âÂ
The command made your heart stop.
The shadow froze, stopped by a call from the entrance to the locker room. Skin met your teeth as you bit harder into your hand. Lungs began panicking as you started hyperventilating, bile reaching your throat and burning the back of your tongue.Â
The shadow, the monster, growled in protest. It retracted the curled hand from the curtain, wordlessly moving back towards the bathroom stalls. Footsteps faded as muffled conversation floated away from the locker room.
You needed to get the fuck out of there.Â
You slid off the bench, legs aching and knees popping as you crouched silently over to the curtain, peeking out behind the plastic. It crinkled quietly and you bit your lip, leaning out ever so slightly over the threshold.Â
Tiptoeing around the corner, you faced the emergency exit. The glowing sign omitted a creepy, green glow that added to the eeriness brought by the generator lights.Â
This was it.
You slammed the push bar down, throwing the door open with your body and spilling out into the hallway. Sunlight flashed through the infinite glass hallway, blinding you. In your frozen state, you hear commotion from behind the door as it slammed shut. Banging from the other side, the sound of metal on metal, made your teeth grind. Indents from punches dented the door, deforming its smooth outside. You didnât stay frozen for long as your body screamed at you to fucking move, now.
Your legs obeyed immediately, carrying you through the corridor to the closest means of escape you could find. As you rounded the corner, the crushing sounds of the door breaking off of its hinges hit your ears. You didnât dare to look back, sprinting through the twists and turns of the infinite hallway. You followed what felt familiar, burning muscles egged on by the sound of pounding footsteps getting closer and closer.
Finally, you stumbled onto the entrance to a stairwell, pausing to gasp for air your lungs demanded. The burn in your legs and chest only aided in the physiological need to hyperventilate. Sweat dripped from your temple and your head pounded as hard as your feet hitting the ground.Â
You leaned into the safety bar, inches away from further distancing yourself from whatever, whoever, was on your trail, when a yell erupted from the end of the hallway.Â
It felt like slow-motion; one of those scenes in those cheesy horror movies Sam always made you and Steve watch on weekends off. The ones with cheap FX, bad sound, but somehow great editing for the budget. The scenes where realization hits the main character and suddenly everything is half the speed while they still move in real time.Â
You turned your head towards the source. Then, it hit you. Blood drained from your face as the horror of realization hit you, like a speeding sixteen-wheeler head on.
Bucky Barnes stood hulking at the end of the hallway. Generator lights and setting sun illuminated his snarling teeth, gleaming from parted lips that had him panting like a rabid dog. If you hadnât known better it wouldâve looked like he was heading for the gym for his daily workout. Blown pupils, sweat-stuck hair, complimented by a shaking frameâ most definitely caused by adrenaline, dopamine, and a slew of Gods-knew-what other drugs he had pumped into his system. Splotches of drying, smeared blood coated his neck and shirt while even more dripped onto the ground from his fists. The crimson contrasted with the medically white floors.Â
Bile rose in your throat again. The acidic taste made you dry heave at the sight of the blood, knowing from the looks of Bucky it definitely wasnât his.
He snarled as your eyes finally met. Fists of flesh and metal flexed. Rippling muscles shook as he readied to launch forward.
âYouâre mine, lisitsa!â he barked. His voice booming louder than the speed of sound, it made your ears ring.
Your throat finally opened. You screamed as he sprinted towards you, making more ground down the hallway than an apex predator out of hibernation. You shoved the exit door open, heaving your legs forward as you ascended the stairs. No choice but to go up, you refused to look backâ nay you didnât dare to even consider it. Muscles and tendons and joints burned, yearning for you to stop, but the door slamming from flights below you only pushed you harder, flying up and passing floor after floor.Â
You were fast, but he was faster.Â
Dizziness overtook you as your vision began to blur. Darkened edges of your peripherals made you stop your climb at level 50, pausing for a split second to hear Buckyâs progress. He was close behind, but you still had more of an advantage. You knew the Tower better than him. You knew level 50 had another stairwell on the opposite side of the floor, through another hallway off the corner of your current one. Sneakers pounded too close for comfort as you shoved the door open and made a break for it down another corridor labyrinth.
If you made it out of this alive, you swore youâd kill Tonyâs architect yourself.Â
âYou canât hide forever, lisitsa!â Buckyâs voice rang out from the stairwell as you rounded the corner, sprinting through more identical-looking hallways. Another corner later and the glowing red EXIT sign appeared above the next stairwell. A beacon of hope, almost. Relieved, you head straight for it, body and mind and soul pushing against the burning and the gasping for air. You were right there, hand outstretched, fingertips grasping the metal barâ
It felt like a car crash.Â
Not an accident or fender bender. No, it felt like seventy miles an hour meets a tree with no intent of moving. That split-second feeling where your stomach drops and you can all but brace for the deadly impact destined for you to meet.
Time stopped as you were yanked backwards. Cold, slick metal wrapped around your ankle, bloody hand print smearing some poor bastardâs DNA all over your calf as your body fell to the ground. Hard. Your jaw clenched as your chin slammed into the linoleum. Teeth ground into your tongue as copper flooded your tastebuds. Your lungs, with little wind left in them, gasped for oxygen. Another scream rising in your throat became stuck in your vocal cords.Â
Bucky whipped you around as you struggled to free your lower half. You landed on your shoulder, head bouncing against the floor and teary eyes struggled to stay open and endure the pain. He straddled your form, the weight crashing down on your bones and organs. A sharp inhale impaled your chest as you met Buckyâs darkened eyes, then; the familiar steel blue replaced entirely with dilated, unhinged pupils.Â
It was the first time you got a good look at his face. His face is speckled with blood spatter and several bruises spread across his cheek down his neck. Two black eyes, a bloody noseâ one you hoped was hisâ and a broken lip. The bloodied collar of his shirt only aided in the mess of his hair. His soft, chocolate strands stuck in mats to his neck and temples with sweat and blood.Â
Out of sheer habit, because he looked like your Bucky, you couldnât help but reach a hand out to him. A soft plea for the man behind his eyes, one you begged everything holy was still there. He held your stare, face contorting into unrecognizable emotions. Tears brimmed your eyes as your hand stretched further, sobs escaping as your fingers inched closer and closer to his battered face.
âBucky, itâs meââ
Your appeal transformed into a shriek, quickly snuffed out as Bucky wrapped his crimson-spattered metal hand around your throat. You choked, sputtering lost pleas as your hands flew to your neck. Fingernails flailed in futile attempts to claw off the weapons-grade titanium.Â
âYouâre done running, khitraya suka,â Buckyâs hot breath fanned your face as he leaned in. His mouth grazed your jaw, titanium hand on your throat flexing with each syllable. He slowly made his way down your neck, pushing harder into your chest with his forearm. A heavy growl. His grip only tightened as you tried to knee him in the groin, picking you up by your neck and slamming you down again.
Stars circled your blurred vision, eyes rolling back into your head. The corridor, the lights, everything split into two.
âYou owe me for my victory, lisitsa,â Buckyâs husky whisper resonated in your ear as he licked the side of your face, his hot, wet mouth against your tear-stained cheek. As his free hand moved to the waistband of your shorts, another surge of panic washed through you. You tried to sputter a weak cry from your closed-off throat, blood turning cold, another scream building and building in your chest and aching for release.Â
âYou owe me whatâs mine â!âÂ
BANG!
Something from somewhere all of a sudden. The object slammed into Bucky, throwing him off of you and spilling across the floor.Â
Finally, your lungs lunged at the chance for air, leaving you a heaving, choking, coughing mess. Spitting at the ground as you made your way shakily to your hands and knees, a freed hand traveling to rub the fresh strangulation bruises forming on the column of your stiff neck.Â
âGet the fuck off her, Bucky!âÂ
Steve.
As your vision cleared, the shield whizzed past you as it ricocheted back into Steveâs open arms. Bucky groaned, low and guttural, but only for a moment is he subdued. Slowly, he rose, like smoke from extinguished ashes, looking to his metal vice. A large dent adorned the weathered, bloodied appendage where his bicep met his shoulder. He then turned his attention to Steve, baring his teeth, anger coursing through him as he immediately disregarded you. His sights set on a new target, launching himself at Steve without a beat lost.
Steve grunted as Buckyâs metal fist met the vibranium shield with a deafening clang. Steve gritted his teeth and pushed back, managing to break Buckyâs attack and aim a kick for his stomach.
âGo! I got him!â Steve yelled to you through a gasp as Bucky countered with his own swipe at Steveâs middle. Your body stayed put, relishing in the ability to fucking breathe again, also painfully aware how screwed youâd be if you didnât escape as you had the chance. You willed yourself to move, to run and to keep going, to no avail. As Steve landed a blow to Bucky, his eyes met yours once more. His baby blues, pained and tired, begged for you to listen to him for once in your life.Â
âNow!â
The strain in Steveâs voice seemed to ignite a fire underneath you. Pushing yourself up, you willed your legs to carry you to the exit. Bloody shoe prints tracked your route as you slammed through the doorway. You cursed, knowing theyâll give away which way youâd go, knowing your life matters more than a twenty-dollar pair of sneakers. Kicking them off, throwing the pair down the exit, praying they made it far enough Bucky wouldnât know any better.Â
You threw yourself up the stars, tremors and pain afflicting every limb as the cold concrete seeped in through your socks in each step. The railing helped as you heaved yourself forward with help from the railing. Sweaty palms slipped on the bars, but your grip only grew tighter.Â
You didnât know how you, or your body, was able to do it, making it up seven more flights of stairs before your knees buckled on level 57. Heaving the door open and slamming it shut, you stumbled out into the new hallway. You hadnât visited that level before. Something Steve and the othersâ especially Doctor Bannerâ said was âjust a business floor.â
The sign on the wall directing to âSAFELABâ said otherwise. Nothing in the Tower was âjust business.âÂ
What you did know was that every SAFELAB on every floor was located in the same, far-east hallway.Â
Wiping the sweat from your temple, you turned right, jogging down the darkened, emptied-out hallway. It felt like the apocalypse. No sign of anybody else. Doors left ajar, papers and bags and other employee memorabilia scattered throughout abandoned offices and cubicles. You hoped everyone was able to make it out, at least.
Part of you didnât hope for much, though.Â
The door to the lab came into view as you rounded the last corner. The door was still locked, the lab inside sterile and untouched. A sigh of relief escaped you. Holding your palm to the doorâs scanner, it answered your prayers in a soft beep and whir, miraculously allowing you in.Â
You maneuvered through the multiple security doors, four in total, crouching low once you managed to slip into the lab itself. The gigantic window at the front of the labspace spared no room for you to hide easily, but you had zero room to complain about it. It was your only option, after all.
Well, besides the roof.Â
Crouched, you snuck your way around the counters and various equipment to one of the supply closets. The furthest corner from the entrance. You scoured through drawers and cupboards for some sort of weaponry; the most you could find was a new scalpel out of a box of extras.Â
You closed in on the supply closet, reaching up and grasping the handle, turning it slowly to prevent any squeaks from the inner hinge. A tear glided down your cheek in relief. You hadnât realized you started crying. Again.Â
The door swung open. It greeted you mostly empty, deep enough for you to cram your body into. Crawling inside, bones and limbs contorted into the most comfortable position you could manage. You pinched the edges of the doors to close them as best as you can, accepting they, in fact, couldnât close all the way from the inside. A curse under your breath, the sliver of dim light through the crack cast onto your face. Once settled, you crumpled your damp t-shirt up from the collar and shoved the fabric into your mouth. Teeth and tongue greeted sweaty cotton and hints of copper as you bit down on the collar, covering your mouth with a free hand.Â
At last, after Gods knew how long it had been since you ceased moving, a silenced sob heaved out of your chest. Tremors only worsened as your nervous system rode out the fumes of its adrenaline high and flight mode instincts. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, mixing with snot further down your face, slipping down to your neck and leaving behind streaked paths in the bloodied, hand-printed bruises adorned on your flesh. The pain from the near-strangulation you suffered broke through the shock and endorphins that were keeping you sane until then. You knew, though, you couldnât break down. Not yet. Not until you saw Natasha or Steve or someone you trusted face-to-face.Â
You started counting your breaths. Mind racing, thoughts traveling near sonic speeds through your mind carrying questions at how the hell it all happened.
You thought for sure S.H.I.E.L.D. was secure, especially after the ordeal with Bucky, Steve, and the whole âdefeating HYDRAâ ordeal from a few years back. Hell, you thought it was safer than taking the FBIâs recon mission that was offered to you before being referred to Tony himself. Your mind raced, what-ifs and endless possibilities flashing across your eyes like a snuff film. You hoped Steve was okay. You hoped Natasha was on her way to your location any second. You hoped Sam was safe and made it out okay. You hoped Bucky â
Bucky.Â
Christ, you hadnât even stopped to think about how the hell everything happened to him. Heâd been doing so well in his recovery program. Steve was even telling you about it that same morning, bragging about how well Bucky was doing, how much progress he was making, how soon theyâd finally be able to move in together once Doctor Banner cleared him. Another sob overtook you. How youâd never seen him like that before, the feeling of his titanium arm slowly crushing your windpipe, the weight of his entire body crushing your internal organs as heâd held you down. The things heâd said. You tried to wrap your head around what heâd said, what he was going to doâ
Crashing followed by shattering glass emitted a muffled yelp from you as your blood ran cold. Another wave of tears flooded out of your burning eyes, chest heaving unevenly. Your hand clamped even tighter over your mouth as teeth bit into the salty fabric of your shirt, drying up any more moisture your mouth was grateful to finally have.
BANG! Then another. Then more in rapid succession. Shattering, crashing, shattering, silence. The final blow to the security doors sounded from inside the lab itself. Your breath hitched and bile began bubbling in your stomach, reaching the back of your throat and across your tongue. You forced yourself to swallow the acid, listening intently to the crunch of sneakers on shattered glass.
Heâd found you.Â
âLisitsaaa,â Bucky drawled, his voice dropped to a primally low octave. Lower than before. You almost couldnât make out the words, a mixture of growled mumblings of English and Russian. Knees folded closer to your chest, you tightened your grip on the handle of the scalpel. Buckyâs footsteps were slow, methodical, predatorial.Â
His heavy steps inched closer, each followed by a pause, then sudden crashing of lab equipment and smashing of drawers. More glass and metal slammed to the ground and walls after each pause. He sounded feet away. Then inches.Â
Your breathing stopped as the sliver of light clouded over. The lump in your throat threatened more puke to rise as you dared to peer up through the crack, heart dropping like a dead weight to your stomach as your eyes fell on freshly bloodied sneakers. A stifled scream in your lungs choked you. You refused to think about whose blood that was.
Eyes darted back up. You could see Buckyâs blurred features clouded in shadows. The only light visible, then, was the glint from his wicked smile. Bloodied teeth shone as he licked his lips hungrily, a predator finally cornering its prey.Â
Ever so slowly he crouched, shoving his face closer into the seam in the door. Tears and snot continued to stream down your face, your body hyperventilating as you forced yourself to look into his eyes. There was nothing else you could do. Nothing else to say, to cry about. There was nowhere left to run. He got you.Â
âThere you are, moy priz,â Bucky hissed before reaching through and throwing the doors open, heavy hands leaving imprints in the flimsy metal. Frozen, your fist was still closed around the scalpel, your muscles tensed as joints locked in place. His evil eyes scanned your body greedily, looking for which cut of meat to divulge in first. His gaze stopped at your fist and he chuckled, tisking in a disappointed tone.Â
âOh, glupaya pizda,â Bucky shook his head, amused at your meager choice of weaponry. Compared to him, you might as well have been waving a white flag. His smile only grew, tongue jutting out to lick his lips. Specks of blood coated the sides of his cheeks and edges of his mouth, smeared about from ear to ear with the back of his hand.
âCome with me and they might consider your life, lisitsaââ
You sprung into him, swinging your arm, landing the scalpel into the middle of his flesh hand, impaling straight through it. In an instant, blood spewed from the impact. Bucky screamed out in pain, a slew of mixed language curses reverberating in your skull. You scrambled out of your hiding place, bashing him with a balled fist to the face as you tumbled out and onto your feet, sprinting to the labâs only exit. Freedom was only an armâs length away when an overturned stool tripped you. The impact didnât hurt near as much as the millions of shattered glass bits shredded cut into your skin, your hands and knees and arms and face littered as blood smeared under you and across the once-sterile white floors. You cried out, writhing around. Battered and bloodied, struggling to rise and run again despite the searing pain in your ankle.
Before you could form your next thought, a rough hand snatched your scalp and dragged you up by your hair. You uttered a panicked scream as Bucky hoisted you to eye level, snarling like a rabid dog as he shook you hard.
âI thought you were smarter than that, lisitsa,â he sneered, âbut I was wrong.â
He hurled you back onto the floor, his bloodied, titanium fist still gripping your hair, dragging you over to one of the disheveled lab tables. More glass shredded your skin, blood and sweat and tears mixing and pouring over your face and hands and body. With ease and a free hand, he swiped the rest of the contents off another counter; beakers and burners crashed to the floor. His grip tightened as he threw you up onto the stainless steel counter, the dead weight of your body banging onto the table, landing you hard on your back. Eardrums rang into your skull and jaw, radiating down your spine and out your limbs. Your hands slip against the smooth metal from the blood, futile attempts to grab onto something, anything. You groaned and huffed excess sobs. The pain, unbearable; the fear, unimaginable.Â
Bucky hoisted himself onto the table, landing on top of your broken body, his knee hitting your spine and knocking your last breath out of you. Straddling you, his thick thighs bulged through tattered sweatpants, squeezing into your rib cage. He looped another fist into your hair, raising your head and slamming it down. The side of your face smushed into the steel table, smearing around more blood as he did it again. And again. The cartilage in your nose cracked and throbbing pain radiated into your eyes, your skull. Warmth from the break and the blood poured over your face. The pain, dulling into numbness as you began to fade in and out of consciousness.
Your vision started to blur and blacken, stars and specks orbiting around Bucky like a halo of hallucination. Your body, finally surrendering to him. No fight left. Any strength you could have mustered, funneled into staying awake, proved useless.Â
A new sound, then: ripping.
You didnât have to look to witness Bucky unrelentingly tear your t-shirt away from your body, training his eyes on your open form. Bruised skin exposed to cool air, your chest still momentarily held together by your sports bra. He made quick work of it next, the nylon snapping off in one swipe, sending goosebumps racing down your spine.Â
Ice-cold titanium fingers untangled from your matted hair and made their way from your nape, to the small of your back, to the waistband of your gym shorts. Muscles tensed as you felt each digit wrap almost leisurely onto the elastic. He tore them away swiftly, baring the rest of you and your skin to him. A growl, one of pleasure, vibrated into you from him, emitted he palmed the skin of your ass. His fingers journeyed languidly in a slow trail from your back to your core. You squirmed, wasting the last of your strength, a hopeless attempt to get away one last time.Â
A crack came across your face. Flesh against flesh, he slapped you. A punishment. A command for obedience. Your body fell limp. Breathing raggedly and gagging on blood and spit, you shuddered as he took your wrists and tied them together with your t-shirt.Â
Satisfied, his prey finally submitting, Bucky paused, panting as he leaned down to you. He wet his lips before speaking, gruff words slurred against your ringing eardrum. As he spoke, cold metal grazed your entrance, a threat of what was to come.Â
Pairing â˝âž Incubus!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Word Count â˝âž 1.5k
Warnings â˝âž Swearing, pet names, smut (monsterf-cking, unprotected piv, so much dirty talk, slight edging, multiple/denied orgasms, begging + praise + daddy kink and I am not sorry)
Author's Note â˝âž Is it cheesy to say that I swear I was possessed when I wrote this? it is? damn... oh well.
Rating â˝âž E
Events âˇâ˝âž @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer | Week 2 - Daddy | Hot Bucky Summer Masterlistâ˝âž @allcapsbingo ďź˘ďź - Monsterf-cking (June Adoptable) | All Caps Bingo Masterlist
Depths of Pleasure Masterlist
A secret was only a secret if your body didnât betray you. Luckily for you, you just happened to have an Incubus with centuries worth of tricks of the trade practised and perfected to get information out of anybody as a lover â you didnât stand a chance.
Feeling the entirety of Buckyâs weight over your back wasnât the trigger. You were sure of that.Â
It wasnât the insistent rasped praises in your ear of how you were, âSuch a good girl, honey, lookatchu,â or the, âTaking me so fuckinâ well, sweet thing,â no. No, surely it wasnât.
So why in the hell had that phrase slipped through your lips in a moan so sweet that it made Bucky freeze?
The weight over your back shifted, his arms caging you even tighter, and his damned tail twitched on your thigh. âWhat was that?â His voice was curious, a lilt that revealed he might have, in fact, heard you but wanted to revel in the budding shyness that gripped you tightly, making you squirm.Â
You stalled, mouth opening and closing until you settled on, âNothing.âÂ
âOkay,â Bucky replied, his hips starting to slowly move in a circling grind. âSuit yourself, sweetheart.â
Relief flooded you as Bucky began to thrust in earnest again â he wasnât holding it against you; you were safe, a secret kink of yours still under lock and key.Â
A loud moan echoed from your parted lips as Bucky shifted slightly, the head of his barbed cock hitting all the right places. âThere it is, honey,â he whispered before biting your neck, using it as leverage to thrust harder and faster.Â
The pace was brutal and punched the air from your lungs, your hands scrabbling uselessly against the sheets in an effort to ground yourself in the onslaught of sensations â that familiar feeling of floating began to cloud your mind the harder he thrust.Â
âAw, you canât be going cockdrunk on me already, sweet thing,â Bucky purred, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. You only whimpered. âI know,â he said suddenly â a lightbulb going off above his head, you swore. âHere we go, hang on.â
Buckyâs hands felt hot on your hips, and the drag of them down to your thighs made you shiver. âBucky, whaââ The sudden movement of your knees being dragged across the sheets felt strange, then a bloom of heat coiled in your cunt as it throbbed around him â somehow, he was deeper. âOh! God, please!â
âThat better, honey, huh?â Bucky asked. You whined and nodded. âAlright, what dâyou say? Lemme hear you.â
âPlease fuck me!â You moaned, gasping when Buckyâs tail forced itself under you to sit at your clit. âI-Iâve been good; please, I need it, Bucky!â
âSo sweet,â Bucky cooed. âYou can have it, baby.â
The speed was deliberately slow, each drag of his cock on your walls torturous, and you huffed. Bucky only chuckled and gradually sped up, each thrust perfectly aimed to make you see stars.Â
A sharp thrust made you cry out. âAh! Bucky, donât stop, donât stop- Iâm so close, please,â you rushed, the precipice of release so fucking close you could cry.Â
Bucky was panting into your ear, the grin on his lips brushing against your temple, all while still fucking you into the mattress, when he suddenly stopped just as you started to keen.Â
âNo! No, no, please! Fuck!â You sobbed, and Bucky only laughed.Â
âIâm not done with you yet,â Bucky simpered, shifting over your body again so his hips were flush with your ass. âI want you begginâ prettier than that, sweet thing. Go on,â he said, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your neck. âBeg for me, honey. You can do it.â
âButââ
âNo buts,â Bucky cautioned, the warning sound of a low rumble reverberating deep in his chest. âDo as youâre told, or you wonât get what you want.â
âI need you t-to fuck me, please, Bucky,â you whined. His weight had you pinned to the bed; you couldnât move, couldnât squirm to get what you wanted, and it made a piteous whimper leave your lips. âI need your cock, please.â
âThatâs cute, honey,â Bucky sighed, moving again. âBut I know you can do much better than that.â
âAh- Fuck, okay,â you breathed. While Buckyâs hips moved so slowly, each thrust into your cunt felt like heaven. âI wanâ it so bad- Bucky, please fuck me, use me!â
Bucky moaned quietly, his hips faltering. âOh, so sweet for me, honey, arenâtâchu?â Words failed you, so you nodded quickly, whimpers coaxing him on. âI want you to call me, sweetheart, lemme hear you.â
Each movement of his hips stoked the flames, and you could feel them coiling and licking up your spine, the heat reaching an inferno â the added pressure of his tail flicking in time with his thrusts only added more fuel to the fire.
âCall me, baby,â Bucky growled, a compelling command that pulled you under the waves of pleasure he was drowning you in. âTell me who I am, do it for me, câmon, I know you want toâcan feel your cunt tighten every time you think of it.â
âI- Oh, fuck,â you sobbed. Sure, you had felt the pulse every time you imagined calling Bucky that, but⌠his pace was quickening, and you struggled to keep your head above the waves. âPlease, I wanna cum!â
âSay it. Fuckinâ say it, and you can, sweet thing,â Bucky said, his tone dangerous â the exact same one he used when you knew his eyes were an abyss and his intentions were to absolutely ruin you.Â
You whimpered loudly. Your hands moved of their own accord and found Buckyâs, and you gripped them for dear life â you were going to drown if you didnât give in.Â
âPlease, pleaseââ
âPlease, what?â Bucky snapped, his pace staying the same, driving you closer to that edge. âSay it; I wanna hear you say it.â
Screw it. You took a deep breath that caught on a sob â desperation gripped you so tight, consequences be damned. âFuck me, daddy! Please!â
A heavy breath left Buckyâs lips and morphed into a loud groan. âOh, fuck,â he bit out, the force of the words shattering his resolve. âGood girl, such a good girl for daddy, thaâs it.âÂ
The pace turned punishing. âBucky!â A low growl was your answer, and you shuddered, âDaddy! Daddy, please, Iâm gonnaââ
âYou wanna be a good girl for me, donât you?â The question only made you clench down, trapping him in your cunt until he shoved his length deeper with a grunt. You nodded and scratched at his hands, desperate to hold something. Bucky cooed softly and flicked his tail faster.Â
Your mouth became lax around gasps for air â you were so close. âMhm, mhm, gonna be good,â you whined.Â
âAtta girl,â Bucky said, his voice deep and raspy, like he was struggling to control himself. âDaddyâs gotchu, let go for me, give it to meâbe good for daddy and let go, sweet thing.â
It started slow â spreading from nerve to nerve like a wildfire that burst into an all encompassing flame that burned through the last of your reserves. âThaâs it, fuck, youâre forcinâ daddy out, baby,â Bucky groaned. âGive it to me, câmon, let daddy feel you cum.â
A scream tore from your throat as he thrusted, deeper and slower, and you came â harder than ever before. The waves thrashed against you, and you fell into the current, letting the pleasure take you away for just a moment and revelling in the feeling of floating.
Harsh pants sounded in your ear. âCum for me, daddy,â you moaned once you gained control of your tongue, then a sudden heat bloomed in your cunt, and Bucky moaned loudly, his hips moving in circles as he ground his cock deep into you.Â
âWhat the fuck,â Bucky huffed, still gasping for breath as he came down. The barbs began locking him in place, and you whimpered at the feel of them. âShh, breathe for me, sweetheart.âÂ
A single hit against that spot sent you spiralling again. âSuch a good girl,â Bucky whispered while you moaned weakly. He began kissing behind your ear while he thrust shallowly to prolong your second orgasm. âDid so good for daddyâso proud of you.â
Silence filled the room while you caught your breath, grateful for Bucky staying seated inside you â the bravery was still coursing through you, and you couldnât help but feel greedy.Â
âThat was something else,â you said finally, smiling widely.
âIâll say,â Bucky laughed, hugging you tight. âWhy didnât you tell meâmy honey having a daddy kink, huh? I coulda helped you realise it much sooner, baby.â
âI was shy about it,â you mumbled, and you attempted to hide your face, but Bucky stopped you with a sigh, his hand moving to brush your cheek.Â
âNo need to be shy with me, sweetheart,â Bucky murmured, kissing your cheek sweetly. âWhat else is my baby hidinâ, huh?â He moved so he was looming over you and ground his hips down into yours again. You went to answer, to deny answering his question, when he smirked wickedly â those fangs on display and that damned tongue wetting his lips.Â
âDonât you worry, sweet thing,â he purred, lowering himself so his nose brushed against your temple and his lips brushed the side of your head. The breath left your lungs like he had stolen it. âDaddyâll find out.â
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pairings: bucky barnes x reader, natasha romanoff, sam wilson, wanda maximoff
warnings: flustered!reader, bucky teasing her. I havenât written for him in so long i hope htis doesnât suck
about: flustered part 2!! requested
âI have no idea what youâre talking about.â
You say it very matter-of-fact, yourself nearly believable. Metal bumps against plastic, narrowed eyes trained on collecting the last of your yogurt.
âOh, no idea, huh?â Natasha accuses, crossing her arms against her chest. âYouâre a liar.â
You scoff, glancing at her for credibility. âIâm not lying.â
Sam frowns, leaning in close to your face. You stare right back at him over your yogurt cup, bewildered.
âI canât tell,â he says, disbelieving. He turns to Natashs. âAre we sure she knows?â
âShe is right here,â you snap. âAnd she thinks you both are insane.â
âHis effect on you should be studied at universities,â Wanda quips.
âWhat effect?â you cry, letting whatâs left of your breakfast clatter to the table.
âCome on,â Sam starts, observing you closely with a hopeful smile beaming although obscured. âYou know you turn into a dopey idiot when RoboCop comes around, right?â
âDonât call him that,â you mutter, a little quieter. âAnd I do not. Weâre grown-ups, Sam. Who are together. In an adult relationship.â
ââM not saying youâre not,â Sam shrugs. âI justâŚâ He squints. âI need to hear you say it. You canât seriously not see it, Iâm concerned.â
âI donât need your concern,â you argue. âAnd I donât know what you want me to say.â
âYouâre a competent person,â Sam starts.
âThank you,â you deadpan.
âNormally. And then⌠Bucky, like, smiles at you, and you get all⌠gooey.â
Your brows pull together. âWhat does that mean?â
Immediately, all of your friends fall into an array of âgooey.â Natasha stares up at the ceiling with doe eyes while Sam fans himself, falling over the counter. Even Wanda has cradled her chin in her palm.
âYou guys are awful,â you declare.
âI should film your interactions,â Sam says in turn. âAre we awful⌠or are we accurate?â
âYouâre awful,â you respond promptly. âAnd I genuinely canât see where youâre getting this from because--â
âHello.â Bucky.
The show begins.
He catches your eye and smiles, eyes crinkling in a promise that itâs genuine.
Your reaction is immediate, features melting like butter in the sun at his appearance. âHi.â You straighten and blink fast, clearing your throat. âHi. Hello, Bucky.â
He raises an eyebrow and says hello again, curved in amusement. When he says your name, itâs devastating.Â
The others can see it happen, the moment your resolve begin to crumble in unsteady hands and trickle into Buckyâs. He sidles up next to you, familiar, wonderful heat kissing a bare stripe of your skin. Pathetically, you freeze up. Itâs only for a moment because itâs him, because youâre overwhelmed, because your ribcage feels like itâs closing in around your heart, a shocking heat at the bottom of your stomach, but the team notices anyway, sharing a distinct look you can sense.
You turn to him, that line of itchy warmth crawling up your nose and into your eyes. Heâs very pretty up close, eyes a green below ocean and smile a notch above cocky.
âYou look nice,â he says casually, brushing his lips right below your eye.
âThank you,â you breathe. Heâs done this so many times, and not once has it dimmed your reaction. He looks at you like heâs proud of the fact and squeezes your hip. You feel as though he wants to kill you. âYou.. you too.â
Unexpectedly, he dips down int the dip between your shoulder and your neck, his chin grazing your necklace. âWhyâs everyone staring at us?â
Youâre a little dizzy. With him, itâs like your surroundings are heightened and gone all at the same time, like itâs just you and him and the lovely sparks beneath your skin. You shrug. âTheyâre perverts.â
Bucky laughs. ââCourse. I already knew that. Donât know why I asked.â He steps away from you in favor of the coffeemaker, but youâre stuck in the few seconds before, reminiscing on the heat of his skin sticky on your collarbone. Like a sweet, awful honey.
Natasha raises an eyebrow at you, you frown; you just get so caught up in his eyes.
âCâmon.â Buckyâs hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you from the kitchen and away from prying eyes. He has a mug in his fingers. One of yours, with a grinning Garfield dragging something along a faded white background.
âDo you know,â you start finally, standing close to him in the elevator, âthat our friends think I act weird around you?â
âHow so?â
âGooey. That I go gooey around you.â
âGooey?â he repeats thoughtfully, a canine concaving his bottom lip. âYou? No.âÂ
âThatâs what I said.â
âGood,â he says. ââCuz thatâs ridiculous,â he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you. As if expecting something, a hand goes to support the dip of your back quickly.
âYeah,â you mutter indignantly, leaning into him. âYeahâŚâ
Itâs love, you think. Prickly, overwhelming love that makes you want to hold his face in your hands and kiss him till you canât breathe, and the cost of the image is the cost of the action when it comes to him.
He hums against your lips, grinning at you when you pull away. âYou do this on purpose,â you accuse, its bite harmless with your breathlessness.
His pupils bounce between your features, his shoulders jumping with a shrug. âDunno what youâre talking about.â He kisses you again, that same heat that stifles you crawling up his neck.
And they would stay in there until the sun sets, every day for the last sixty-four years. And now heâll have to do it unaccompanied, with her now living only in his misty memories and to live life alone.
Summary: You can't take your eyes off him, but you're pretty sure he doesn't know you exist. All you two really need is a little push.
Warnings: 18+, language, flirting, suggestive situations, kissing. Idiots. Rom com silliness.
Credits: thank you to my lovely beta reader @christywantspizza ⤠divider by @firefly-graphics
Challenges: for Bucky Barnes week @buckybarnesweek2022, prompt - pining.
Find the prompts here.
Masterlist
You'd stopped listening to your music a good ten minutes ago, letting the earpiece dangle at your collarbone. In fact you weren't sure you'd moved at all and, to be honest, you weren't really bothered.Â
Across the gym, Bucky racked the weights and stretched his arms up to the ceiling, his tank top lifted, revealing a strip of muscle that was just begging to be licked. You wanted to press your thumbs into the V of muscle at his hips, trace each defined abdominal with your tongue. It should be illegal for him to leave the house, he's too hot. Surely cars crash when they drive past him, people must fall over themselves, you'd definitely walked into a door onceâŚokay, twice. He was too much.Â
You sighed again before your mouth was forcibly closed.Â
"You're drooling," Natasha said, leaning against the side of the slow moving treadmill. "You want some smoothie?" She released the straw from between her teeth and offered the drink up.Â
"No, no. I'm good." You sighed, eyes still trained on the super soldier across the room. He wasn't even sweating. Did he even need to lift weights? You'd seen him lift a car before, surely this wasn't even a challenge? Maybe he just liked being in here, giving everyone a show, like a public service.Â
"You sure? Because I slowed you right down and you didn't even notice." Natasha grinned around her straw, worrying it between her teeth and slurping obnoxiously.Â
"Oh. Right. Sorry."Â
"What are you doing here anyway? Didn't you say just last week 'if you ever see me run, Tasha, you run, because I'm being chased'?" She mocked, doing a surprisingly good job of mimicking your voice.Â
"What?"Â
"Are you even listening to me?" She laughed, poking at the treadmill again until it stopped.Â
"No." You let your eyes drift back to Bucky, but he was gone. You whipped your head around looking for him, only to catch a last glimpse of him leaving. "Ugh, his dick is big, I just know it." You slumped down onto the stationary treadmill.Â
"So. James, huh?" Natasha chewed her straw thoughtfully. "How interesting."Â
Shit. Did you say that out loud?!Â
"No, Nat, no no no."Â
The redhead started following Bucky out of the door. As fast as you could, you gathered your water bottle and towel chasing after them, but it was too late. Natasha leaned into Bucky's side and whispered something conspiratorially before looking back at you and waving.Â
Fuck
You found Natasha later in the Avenger's kitchen, corralling her into a corner.Â
"The fuck did you say, Tash?" You hissed.Â
"How did you get in here?" She jumped up onto the counter, her expression calm.
"FRIDAY let me in. Tell me. Now. "Â
"What the fuck did I say to who?"Â
"To Bucky!" You grabbed her knees and squeezed. âWhat did you say to Bucky?âÂ
"Ohhh, to James!" She tapped her chin dramatically, pretending to think deeply about the question. "Some stuff."Â
"Natasha. This is serious. Please." You bit back the tears, the sob rising in your throat and dug your fingernails into her thighs.Â
âWait, youâre really into him?â She tilted her head to the side, examining your red rimmed eyes and clenched jaw. "I thought you were just staring, but you like him."
âPlease, just, donât tell anyone, especially Bucky. I donât need that kind of humiliation.â And you left, finally letting the tears spill down your cheeks, what were you going to do! You worked so closely with the team you didn't think you'd be able to bear it if they all knew.Â
Fuck
At least you were safe at your desk, writing reports, in the quiet where no one would bother you. Natasha couldnât embarrass you down here because she said âoffices give her hivesâ, so sheâd never visit. And you were also safe from yourself because Bucky didnât know you existed and had no reason to visit this floor of the Tower.Â
But you weren't completely safe. When you returned from lunch you found Steve in your office, looking over your books and trinkets, enjoying the view from your window.
"Captain Rogers, how can I help?"Â
"Steve, please, you spend enough time hanging around with Nat, I think we can move past all the Captain nonsense." Steve sat down opposite your desk, moving your cushions around to get comfortable.Â
"Steve. How can I help?"Â
"It's more personal than, uhm, professional shall we say."Â
"RightâŚ" you shuffled some papers on your desk nervously.Â
"And it might be a little awkward for you to talk about. But I was speaking to Nat and-"Â
"Oh god." You dropped your forehead to the desk and banged it twice.Â
"Are you okay?" Steve placed a hand gently on your forearm.
"No, no, I'm not okay because I told Tash not to say anything and what does she do? Goes and talks to his best fucking friend and now - oh God. Please. Please can you make the ground swallow me up?" You kept your forehead on the cool surface of the desk, banging it one more time for good measure.Â
"What do you mean told his best friend? My best friend? Bucky?! What would Nat have to say about Bucky that would make you so embarrassed?"Â
You lifted your head to look at Steve, his blue eyes so wide with confusion you could all but see him thinking.Â
"Oh...oh. You're embarrassed about Bucky? Did he do something to you?"Â
"Ergh no, god, I wish. He's done nothing apart from be perfect and amazing and totally out of my league." You slapped your hand over your mouth.Â
"Did you mean to say all of that or..?"
"No. Definitely not! Please go before I make it worse."Â
"Okay, but before I go I still need to talk to you."
"Shit, yes, go on?"Â
"Can I get Laura's number? From damage control?"Â
"Is that it? You come for Laura's number and I spill my guts to you. Jesus. I'm getting fired today, I just know it. I can't give you her number but I'll tell her you asked, how about that?"
"Fine. But remember, you have Laura's ear, I have Bucky's." Steve winked as he left, smiling his signature Captain America smile at your colleagues.Â
Fuck
"Come on, grumpy gills, I know you'll be good at Pool, just have to give it a try." Sam dragged you over to the huge table in what Tony affectionately called the 'rec room' but was more like a personal arcade next to his cinema suite.Â
"Sam, I don't know, you go back to playing with Bucky. I'll just-" You tried to turn and reach behind you for your drink but Sam kept his grip firm, steering you over to the table...and to Bucky.Â
God, he looked good. His black t-shirt stretched tight over the top of his chest and biceps, but tapering to his waist. In contrast his sweatpants were loose at his hips, riding low on one side when he bent down to break.Â
"You'll do great, take Sam's turn." He handed you the chalk and a spare que with a smile that made your knees weak. All you could do was clutch the cue tightly and approach the felt, bending a little you tried to line up your shot.Â
"Sam, you gonna let your teammate miss this shot or what?" Bucky laughed.Â
Sam looked over the shot and stepped forwards. "It's okay, you just need to-"Â
"No way, you've lost teammate privileges." Bucky shouldered him out of the way, crowding in close behind you and whispering, "you can be on my team instead."Â
You jumped at his voice, his breath fanning over the back of your neck and sending a tingle down your spine. His body was so close you could feel the heat coming from his chest, briefly touching your back on every inhale. "I'll take care of you, don't worry." His left hand cupped your hip to keep you still while his right nudged your cue over and lifted it onto your own fingers.Â
It was too much, his proximity making you sweat and desperation rush through you. You were sure he could smell how wet you were. Stepping back you found yourself even closer, his body moulded to yours.Â
"I gotta. I gotta go- sorry, see you around." You dropped the cue and ran out of the room, tears coursing down your face.Â
Everyone knowing you liked Bucky was one thing, but it felt like they were making fun of you now and it hurt, deeply, like a knife twisting in your stomach every time you saw him.Â
Your phone pinged as soon as you made it back to your apartment.Â
đˇď¸Natđ¸ď¸ - did something happen with you and Bucky?!Â
â¤ď¸ - No đŤ he doesn't like me like thatÂ
đˇď¸Nat đ¸ď¸ - didn't look like that from where I was sitting...Sam knows btwÂ
Fuck
Wanda perched on the end of your desk, moving your pens and post-its around. "Are you not going to come to movie night then?"Â
"I think I've probably humiliated myself enough for an entire lifetime, thanks, so no." You didn't look away from your screen, clicking through your schedule...nothing, blank. No appointments, no dates, no fun.Â
"Bucky won't even be there, if that's what you're worried about." It was clear that Wanda was aiming for nonchalant but her sideways glance gave her away.
"Shit, does everyone know?"Â
"Just me, and Sam, Steve of course. Oh, yeah, and Natasha."Â
"Fine, I'll come as long as Bucky isn't going. I just want to enjoy myself without going red or sweating orâŚanything else."Â
But you couldn't enjoy yourself, could you? Even though you had a whole loveseat to yourself, your own popcorn and a big blanket. Because enjoying yourself seemed to hinge on being able to stare at a certain super soldier sharp shooter and his stupid hair and his stupid smile and the way he smells so wonderful andâŚ
"Hey, doll. Can I squeeze in here?"Â
You jumped in your seat, knocking your bowl of popcorn all over the floor.
âSorry, I didnât mean to scare you. Are you okay?â Bucky crouched down on the floor and scooped up the spilled popcorn. His shirt was riding up again, they were always riding up, this time showing the smooth pale skin of his back, a single freckle drawing your attention. Before you could reach out and touch him, he stood up.Â
âIâll get you something fresh.âÂ
He returned in less than a minute, the bowl piled high with popcorn and smelling sweet.
âOkay, shift up.â He nudged your foot with his until you scooted far enough to the right that he could sit down, wiggling a bit to get comfy and shooting you a winning smile. âPopcorn?âÂ
âUh -thanks.â You couldnât help but stare at him, his hair slightly damp and curling at his temples while the rest was knotted into a messy bun. He wasnât in work out gear or tac clothes this evening, not even jeans, but blue and green plaid pyjama trousers and alongside his signature tight black t-shirt. You looked a moment too long and felt embarrassed, heat rushing up the back of your neck. It was just so domestic, everything about him was so soft and familiar, as if you could be alone together in your own living room.Â
You hoped shovelling popcorn into your mouth would keep you busy and maybe Bucky would stop smiling at you like that and just watch the movie. But no such luck. Before long, Bucky draped his arm along the back of the seats, bringing him closer and closer.Â
âWhatâs going on, doll?â His voice tickled your ear. It was so close, breath rushing over the delicate skin.Â
âYouâd know what was going on if you were on time!â Steve threw a kernel of popcorn at him. âPipe down!â
Bucky leaned in again, âYeah well someone told me we were meeting at 8pm and weirdly I turn up at 8 and everyone is already here. Why do you think that is?âÂ
So they had set you up after all! Looking round there was no spare seat except next to you, even if it meant other people had taken up two seats. There was definitely an armchair missing too.Â
You took a deep breath in and turned into Bucky, whispering back. âI thought you wanted to know about the film?â
âI do.â His hand dropped to your shoulder, squeezing a little.Â
âThatâs James, J, heâs a cop, right? But he chases this guy whoâs super weird and meets K.âÂ
âWhy donât they have names?âÂ
âBecause theyâre agents.âÂ
âSo weâre taking a break from being agents, to watch a film aboutâŚagents.â He teased.Â
âHey, I like this film!âÂ
âSorry! Sorry!â He held both hands up in surrender, including the one that had been resting so gently on your shoulder before dropping it back down and squeezing you a little closer.
Bucky managed to go another 15 minutes before speaking again. You were surprised he was talking at all after heâd threatened to snap Steveâs shield in half if he kept talking over Singinâ In The Rain.Â
âIs the popcorn okay?âÂ
âYeah.â This time you managed to whisper without turning, without getting lost in his eyes. You tipped your head instead so that you could keep your eyes on the film.Â
âDo you want your blanket back?âÂ
âNo, thanks.âÂ
He sighed and shifted a little, his fingers tapping your shoulder and the back of the sofa.Â
âAre you comfortable?âÂ
âBucky, Iâm fine.â You turned to look at him again, hoping that heâd understand and go back to the film. You needed him to stop using that low, gravelly, voice on you because it was making you feel dizzy and weak and, Jesus, so horny. Looking at him did not help. âIâm -â He was watching you intently, focussed on each small word you said, eyes trained on yours. So, so blue. You sighed a little.Â
âAre you sure? You look sortâa sweaty.â The back of his left hand met your forehead, not cold exactly, but cool and surprisingly smooth compared to the rough, calloused feel of his right.Â
You stifled a surprised moan, hoping that you managed to hide it behind a very dramatic yawn.Â
âIâm fine!â For the second time, you spilled your popcorn everywhere. âIâve gotta go.â In the dark of the cinema room you scrambled to collect your shoes and jacket, hastily pulling them on and running down the corridor to the main lift.Â
Why did he have to be such a flirt, why did they have to set you up, why did you have to keep getting yourself into these situations!?Â
Fuck
You only made it as far as your car, fumbling for your keys in a panic. He must have picked up on your heart rate. He once said he could smell someone in a corridor, does that mean he can smell when someone is aroused? Fuck, fuck, double, triple, fuck.Â
Your keys clattered to the floor and so did you, leaning against the side of your car on the gritty floor of the staff parking. Maybe, if you were really lucky, there'd be some sort of alien invasion and the ground could actually swallow you up.Â
Instead, there was the ringing of metal against metal and the sing song chirrup of your car being unlocked. Oh good, maybe whoever was stealing your car would run you over for good measure.Â
And then.Â
"C'mon, doll. Let's get you home." Bucky scooped you up bridal style, ducking to place you gently in the passenger seat and, to your shame, clicked your seatbelt in when you sat staring at him.Â
It wasn't until he started messing with your GPS and hit 'home' you found the courage to ask him what on earth was happening.Â
"You're not well. I'm taking you home."Â
"But, why?"Â
He didn't answer straight away, but when you reached the next red light he smiled knowingly and reached over the centre console to touch your cheek. "I want to make sure you're okay."Â
You stayed silent until you reached the small town on the outskirts of the Avenger's compound. Bucky backed neatly into your driveway and rushed over to open your door.Â
"Thanks, Bucky, honestly." You let him take your hand and place it in his elbow so he could walk you up to your door. But then you both stopped, the surprisingly warm evening air, his chivalry, it all felt like a date and now your urge to kiss him was back.Â
"Do you need help getting inside?" He offered, eyebrows raised.Â
"No, I - I mean, yes. Please. If you don't mind."Â
Bucky opened the door, looking around briefly and guiding you to your kitchen. "You should have a glass of water, or juice or something." He poked about in the fridge. "To help you feel better."
"Why do you want to make sure I'm okay?"Â
He looked up, surprised. "Because I like you. I thought you knew that?" His ears went a soft shade of pink at the confession, his demeanour suddenly more guarded.Â
"You like me?"
"Yeah." He laughed awkwardly, the easy grin he'd had in your car replaced by an awkward, close lipped smile. "I thought you knew, I'm always pining after you, trying to see you."Â
Maybe you were sick because your head was spinning. The overwhelming realisation that your dreams may be seconds away from reality gave you a bubble of confidence.Â
"Pining after me? When?"Â
"Well, I didn't describe my gym routine, very loudly, for no reason. I was sorta hoping you'd come by, thought maybe I could show off a bit." If he was flushed before, now his cheeks resembled the inside of a grapefruit.Â
"Well, you do look good in the gym." The bubble was turning into fizz, filling you up and making you buoyant.Â
"And Steve knows I like you, of course, so he was going to try and arrange a double date with that friend of yours, Laura?"Â
"Is that what he was doing?!" You giggled at the thought of you and Steve awkwardly admitting your crushes to each other.Â
Bucky rounded your kitchen counter so he could stand next to you instead, handing over a glass of orange juice.Â
"But at least you came to game night. You looked so good you know? I mean- you always do. But justâŚextra, there was something about you."Â
"Nervous sweat?" You offered.Â
"No, just something that's all youâŚand then Sam invited you to play and I thought, now or never Barnes. Didn't work, but I had to try."Â
"It sort of worked." You fumbled with your glass.
"Yeah?" He nudged your hip with his own, his smile growing broader.Â
"And did you set up movie night? Come in late on purpose so you could sit with me?" You looked up at him through your lashes, biting your lip and hoping he'd say yes.Â
"No, actually that was just my bad timing. I could have sworn Wanda said 8pm."Â
"I think maybe Wanda had a hand in that."
"Well, I'm glad she did, because now," he placed your glass on the counter, taking the opportunity to step closer into your space, "now. I can do this." And he bent down kissing you gently for just a second before pulling away.Â
Your eyes fluttered closed and stayed that way even when he pulled back, too blissful to care. When you didn't move he cupped your cheeks and leant forwards again, your lips parting slightly when you felt his top lip bump your own.Â
As soon as you started to kiss back, he crowded into your space, hands on your face, your arms, your waist, your back. He scooped you up onto the counter and you wrapped yourself around him, finally feeling every inch of the muscles you'd been admiring just a few days before.Â
Bucky's kisses were as wonderful as you imagined. He tasted sweet like orange juice and this close you could smell his cologne, shampoo and something uniquely Bucky.Â
He stepped back, enough for you both to pull away, panting, and survey each other. You smiled, loving and happy and needy all at once, beckoning him back to your arms. This time he yanked his t-shirt over his head first, watching intently as you copied him.Â
"You're really beautiful, did you know that?" He marvelled at you, eyes twinkling and fingers itching. Slowly you took his hands, guiding them up your sides and to the hook of your bra, encouraging him to undo the clasp. His hands replaced the silky fabric, cupping and squeezing. His thumb rolled over your nipple drawing out a gasp.Â
His kisses were eager, then, and excited, consuming you and drawing you into his warm, solid embrace.Â
"I need to know something." You tilted your head, letting him kiss down your pulse point and onto your collarbone.Â
"Anything, doll, what do you need?"Â
"What did Natasha say to you, outside of the gym?" Your stomach twisted at the thought of all the secrets the assassin could spill, each worse than the next.Â
"She said you thought I had a big dick." He chuckled, hands on your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter.Â
"Oh." Your embarrassment burnt. "SorryâŚwhat did you say?"Â
Bucky stepped back, leaving you panting and desperate on the kitchen counter.Â
"I could tell you." He teased, taking another step backwards, fiddling with the waistband of his pyjamas. "Or, I could show you?"Â
You nodded, words lost. In one smooth movement he dropped his pyjamas and underwear to the floor.Â
