take a shot in the dark ♡̷̷ˎˊ˗

[shotinthedcrk]

wont you take a shot in the dark?

⁠♡ when im not with you, my heart keeps shaking. - There's always a Bucky for everyone.

Hi, I'm Shane (she/her), 26, and still stubbornly in love with Bucky Barnes. Occasional writer, full-time menace. Let's be friends! You can also support me over on Ko-fi!

[shotinthedcrk]

been a bit i know but been in and out of the hospital again so i cant write much between that and still showing up to work. I’m still working on the Bridgerton AU i swear and another from the universe of the arranged marriage with Mafia Bucky which is intertwined loosely with a recent hospitalization of mine lmao 😭 i hope to be back again soon, for now im just lurking and liking fics i can read when im in a better headspace. Hope you guys are well 💕

[winteryn]

VIBE CHECK

18+ | MDNI

PAIRING: best friend!bucky barnes x female!reader SUMMARY: your best friend has been in love with you since you were kids. he makes sure you don't skip meals, shows up at your dorm during late-night study sessions, scowls at campus idiots trying to get your attention... and apparently now he even offers to fuck you to give your brain a break. WARNINGS: she/her pronouns for reader; set in college; best friends to lovers; best friend!bucky; whipped!bucky; protective!bucky; reader has hair; size difference (I just love beefy men so much ❤️‍🩹); light angst; unrequited love (according to bucky); mutual pining; jealousy & slight possessiveness; swearing; fluff; he uses A LOT of pet names & basically behaves like a boyfriend?; smut; (soft)dom!bucky & sub!reader; praise kink; sex toys; kind of guided masturbation; slight degradation; brief use of pussy pronouns; crying (bc reader feels too good 👅); pussy slapping; orgasm delay/control; edging; spitting; oral (f receiving); fingering; nipple play; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); multiple orgasms; overstimulation; messy & rough sex; squirting; creampie.  WORD COUNT: 14k A/N: this one-shot is extremely self-indulgent, sorry 🥲 I'm so happy it's finally up again, it's just so important to me 🥹 I think this is porn without plot? well, there’s a bit of plot I guess, lmao. I apologize but the smut part might be a little all over the place because l wrote it while studying for an exam and getting ready for a little trip. hope you’ll enjoy 💛 ps: sorry to all the interstellar fans for eventual mistakes, I've never seen it but I needed something to match bucky's love for physics and space.

Bucky is halfway through a problem set in the library, equations spread out in messy sheets all over the desk and coffee going cold at his elbow, when he checks the time on his phone and feels that familiar tug in his chest. He’s not even close to being tired, could easily grind through another two chapters, but his focus has thinned to a thread. So he closes his notebook a little too decisively and mutters something about calling it a night, about being exhausted. 

Steve looks up slowly, deeply unimpressed. His eyes are screaming do you think I was born yesterday? but Bucky refuses to meet them. He shrugs, trying to appear casual, and shoves his laptop into his backpack like he’s annoyed at the implication.

Steve’s mouth twitches knowingly. His friend’s body has been betraying him for a while: knee bouncing incessantly, jaw tight, eyes landing back to his phone every few minutes.

Bucky has been pulling this move for years and usually Steve would drag it out by raising a brow, asking if he should send flowers already. Sometimes he’d start humming a wedding march under his breath until Bucky’s ears burn red and he threatens to blacklist him from future study sessions. But tonight, his friend just watches him for a second longer than necessary, taking in the barely concealed anticipation in the way Bucky adjusts his puffer jacket, then checks his phone twice in the span of two minutes, clearly hoping for a text.

Steve just nods once and Bucky perceives the mercy like a gift.

The walk back to the dorm is automatic at this point; his feet know the path too well, from the shortcut through the nearby park—technically closed at night but still accessible thanks to the worn patch in the bushes—to the way the lights flicker near the humanities building every fifteen seconds. And the exact amount of steps it takes to reach your floor. 

The rhythm of his footsteps carries just enough weight that they draw a satisfying echo from the tile. Although Bucky thought about surprising you after not seeing each other for almost a week, he wants you to notice the noise. You hate unexpected knocks, always have. He remembers you mentioning it to him once, shrugging like it was no big deal, but he is too observant when it comes to you. Something simple like a knock rattling the silence never fails to make your shoulders tense up and your heartbeat accelerate, eyes widening just slightly. That’s why he ensures each footfall is deliberate, loud enough for you to acknowledge a presence in the hallway but soft enough not to hurl your brain into panic.

When he finally reaches your door, Bucky lets his hand linger on the frame. He knows you’re inside from the quiet tapping of a keyboard and the occasional muttered curse over some paper you’re clearly taking too seriously.

The knock is gentle, barely there. “Open up, doll. Campus security’s doing a wellness check.”

“Bucky?” Your voice comes soft, but cautious. Once the door is opened, he takes a step forward and tugs you into a hug, your arms wrapping around him without thought. 

“Hi, sweetheart. Hi, angel. Hi, my little overachiever.” He murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss there, then another to your temple.

Your surprised laugh is half-muffled by his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescue mission.” He promptly exclaims, pulling back just enough to study your tired features. With his hands cupping your cheeks, he looks into your eyes with a feigned frown. “I could feel you stressing from the library, baby. It was like a disturbance in the stratosphere." 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not—”

He narrows his eyes, and you hesitate just for a second.

“... That stressed.” Your voice fades into a whisper.

“Mh-mh.” He leans down and presses a long kiss on your forehead. “Keep telling yourself that, doll.”

Bucky nudges the door shut behind him with his foot while guiding you backward into the room, as if he’s lived here with you his whole life. His backpack drops to the floor, forgotten, only for him to engulf you back in his arms. 

“You’re freezing, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “Why is your dorm always a sauna in the summer and an arctic tundra in winter?”

You giggle quietly, pulling back just enough to brush a little bit of snow off his shoulders. “It’s just particularly cold these days.” 

“Just these days?” He scoffs. “It’s inhumane. I’m having a very serious conversation with your RA about this.”

You grab his sleeve reflexively. “Please don’t.”

He blinks down at you, an eyebrow suspiciously raised. “Why not?”

“Because she already scowls at me every time we pass in the hallway after you cornered her about the radiator in the bathroom.” You mumble. “I told you it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“It clanked in the middle of the night, and then you would jolt awake and never fall back asleep.” Bucky defends instantly.

“Still... she looks at me like I personally filed a lawsuit against her.” You argue weakly.

“Good. Maybe she’ll think twice before ignoring the pipe orchestra in your bathroom at three in the morning.”

“Bucky.” You reprimand him jokingly, squeezing his torso once.

“Shh.” He whispers, his gaze alert as it scans the room. He immediately spots your laptop and a pile of books and binders stacked like some kind of intellectual barricade on your bed. “You’re really going to bury yourself in all this tonight?”

“I have a paper due next week.” You admit, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Bucky doesn’t miss the way your shoulders suddenly slump, as if resigned. “I… just wanted to get a head start.”

He crouches in front of you after carelessly throwing his jacket on your desk chair, his hands blanketing yours perfectly. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

You peer at him through your eyelashes, noticing the exact moment his expression melts into something softer, something only you are allowed to witness. Cupping your face gently, his thumbs brush your cheeks with such tenderness you almost tear up. “When was the last time you took a break?”

You sigh. “Buck—”

“Not a ‘I-scrolled-on-my-phone-for-five-minutes’ break. I’m talking about a real one.”

You look away, suddenly feeling a scorching heat taking over your neck. You know how much he hates when you overwork yourself to the bone, and the thought of disappointing him of all people makes your stomach churn with shame. 

Bucky exhales dramatically, pulling you back into his chest with a swift move that makes you yelp. “You’re working too hard, baby. Way too hard. You’re gonna burn yourself out if I don’t intervene.”

You are always three steps ahead, always prepared for some invisible emergency no one else has even considered yet. And not just on an academic level. He’s watched you fix things for others for years. You dig through your bag without looking and somehow produce exactly what is needed. Band-aids in three different sizes—yes, three. A little pouch of medicine: painkillers, allergy tablets, something for stomach aches because “campus food is unpredictable”. Extra pads tucked into the side pocket; two packs of tissues; hand sanitizer clipped to the zipper. A tiny sewing kit because one time someone’s button popped off and you decided that would never happen again in your presence. Mints. Lip gloss. Hair ties. Bobby pins. A small comb. A portable charger that’s always somehow fully charged. A granola bar “in case someone forgets to eat”. Bucky literally recoiled when some tomato sauce fell on Kate’s jeans last month and you were handing her a stain remover pen before she could even acknowledge the stain.

He’s seen you pull each of those things out at least once, along the relief on people’s faces when you quietly fix their problem before it becomes embarrassing. You never make a big deal out of it, always ready to reassure them with a smile. 

You also remember everything, from birthdays to when your friends have their exams. 

Natasha gets migraines when she’s stressed, so you make sure to always carry that specific brand of painkillers that works for her. You keep peppermint gum too, because you once read online it helps, and you don’t even like peppermint. 

Steve forgets to eat when he’s buried in his art projects, so you text him reminders and shove protein bars into his hands without ceremony. You’ve memorized his deadlines better than he has, and you once stayed up proofreading his paper even though you had your own due the next morning. 

Sam swears he never gets sick, yet you still bring extra throat lozenges when he starts losing his voice—the consequence of him being president of several clubs and giving one motivational speech after another. 

Kate is very confident in herself, but she panics before every presentation. You sit in the front row each time, smiling and nodding at her like a proud mom. You never dwell on the mistakes or the stumbles; instead, you point out the strongest parts of her speech: the clever phrasing, the insights she came up with on the spot when the professor started asking questions, the arguments that actually landed. You always highlight the good things, the moments that matter, and she leaves the room feeling lighter, even when she doubts the quality of her work. 

Wanda pretends she doesn’t get cold, but you pack an extra scarf in your bag anyway. You also walk slower when she’s overwhelmed, never pushing, just hovering gently in case she needs you. 

Yelena acts all fearless, but you always suggest ordering something sweet at the end of a meal, because you know she won’t unless someone tags along. 

Every preference. Every weakness. Every tiny crack people try to hide… you smooth them over without them even noticing. And you do it without expecting anything in return, like it’s nothing. 

Your brain is constantly scanning, ready to cushion the fall before it happens. You’ve somehow made yourself responsible for the comfort of everyone around you, and Bucky loves how capable you are, how steady your presence is to the point everyone gravitates toward you without even realizing. You’re the calm center, the one people trust, the one who fixes things.

But sometimes… sometimes it makes his chest hurt, because he sees the cost. You don’t sit down until everyone else has, nor you relax unless someone forces you to. You’re always the one refilling glasses before your own, the one staying behind to stack chairs or wipe down tables even when it isn’t your responsibility. In study groups, you’re the last to pack up, double-checking that everyone understands the material before you even glance at your own notes. You answer texts at two in the morning because someone’s panicking about something, and somehow their anxiety becomes yours, sitting heavy in your chest until you’re sure they’re okay. If a friend is upset, you carry it with you for the rest of the day, replaying their words, wondering what else you could’ve said, what more you could’ve done.

You have this way of absorbing other people’s burdens and slipping them into your own pockets as if they belong there.

And Bucky wants—selfishly, desperately—to be the one place where you don’t have to take care of anything.

With him, you don’t need your emergency kit.

With him, you don’t need to think ahead.

He carries the snacks; he argues with the professor; he deals with the guys who don’t stop staring. He drives, fixes, calls, confronts, handles. You are free to flop dramatically across his lap, and steal his fries. You can let your eyes squeeze in frustration and complain about your professors without trying to solve anything, or fall asleep mid-movie, because you know he’ll carry you to bed.

You trust him to handle the world so you don’t have to.

He wants to take the weight off your shoulders so permanently that you forget it was ever there, because his affection does not sit politely in his chest. It calls for you. It rattles through him like something alive that needs to breath.

Bucky has loved you for so long that he can’t remember what it felt like before. He tries, sometimes, to pinpoint the exact moment it shifted from childhood attachment to a blade pressed under his ribs, not deep enough to kill him, but the wound pulses every time he breathes, as a reminder. 

Maybe it was the day you grabbed his hand on the playground and refused to let go when another kid tried to tease him for the scar on his left arm, the one he got trying to prove he wasn’t scared of the ramp behind the old basketball court. Maybe it was during your first ever movie night in middle school, when he sat completely still for three hours after you fell asleep on his shoulder to not wake you up. 

Or maybe it was gradual. Like erosion. Like water carving into stone until there’s no version of the rock that ever existed without the river running through it.

He only knows there’s never been an end.

Bucky often reflects on the fact that he’s the safest place you’ve ever known. You trust him in a way that is almost sacred. You curl into him without hesitation. You change in front of him without thinking twice. You press your cold hands under his shirt because you know he’ll yelp and then immediately tug you into his chest to warm you. Bucky finds himself more often than not lying in his own bed and thinking about this, about the way you trust him with your entire body, with your happiness, your quiet and your sadness. But not with your heart. At least, not in the way he wants.

You look at him like he’s home, like he’s already yours. Like there’s no risk of losing him—and he would never give you a reason to think otherwise. That’s the cruelest part. Bucky would stay even if you never loved him back. He’s been staying since he was fourteen and realized that the reason he wanted to punch that boy at the school dance wasn’t because the kid stepped on your shoes, but because he made you laugh too hard. He’s been staying since you cried over your first breakup and let him hold you as he tried to ignore the way his jaw clenched every time you said your ex’s name.

Taking care of you comes so easy to him, maybe too easy. Sam once told him it borders on ridiculousness. But you have no idea what it costs him. You sit in his lap and kiss the corner of his mouth by accident, giggling, looking away too fast to notice how he freezes for a second too long.

You have never kissed him on the lips, though.

Bucky thinks about that more than he should.

He’s prepared for everything: skipped meals that make you dizzy in the middle of a lecture; all-nighters where your eyes get glassy and you insist you’re “fine” as your fingers tremble around a pen; the way you grind yourself down for grades like your worth depends on them. He’s prepared to sit at the kitchen table while you bake and pretend not to want to smooth the wrinkle between your brows when you frown in concentration; or to kiss your lips after you feed him a dollop of custard, because you trust him enough to tell you if it sucks.

He’s also prepared for every guy who thinks your softness means easy access. For every hand that lingers too long and every flirtatious grin thrown your way.

He is not prepared for the possibility that one day, you might actually want one of them.

Bucky watched it happen more often than not. Smiling politely while some guy leans a little too close, and pretending he’s not tracking every movement, cataloging whether the guy’s hand drifts lower than it should.

He never interrupts. He simply waits. Because if you step back even half an inch, he’s already beside you. If your smile falters, he’s glaring at the idiot. If you look even slightly uncomfortable, he’s casually sliding an arm around your waist.

Possessive enough to send a message, but not enough to claim you.

And sometimes... it’s just unbearable. 

You call him dramatic when he scowls, laughing as you remind him that you can handle yourself just fine. And he knows you can. He was the one who taught you self-defense in high school, for fuck’s sake. It’s just that Bucky wants to be the only one who gets to see that soft little grin of yours when you’re on the brink of sleep, to hear your muttered curses when your fingers fumble through a tangle of yarn. Or watch you get genuinely angry over a dumb misunderstanding while reading one of those romance novels of yours that leave you sighing dreamily at the end.

The territorial edge of these thoughts leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but the shame dissipates as soon as one of those guys smiles at you, making room for something ugly and hot that crawls through his chest and makes his jaw ache.

Bucky has imagined telling you.

It never gets far.

In his head, the words sound steady, confident. 

But you’d blink, go quiet… look guilty. And he would rather cut his own heart out than see you blame yourself for his own feelings.

So he keeps quiet, and pours his love into other things, like gently drying your hair after you shower, and giving you little forehead kisses—Bucky knows you adore those because you unconsciously shiver each time. But also calling you sweetheart and angel and doll, and all those other pet names Natasha deems ‘corny’ with a grimace. Like they don’t mean anything deeper. He touches you, constantly. Not because he’s careless, but because he’s greedy. The contact reassures him that you’re still here, that you’re still choosing to be by his side, even if it’s not in the way he yearns for.

From time to time, when you fall asleep in the crook of his neck, Bucky presses his mouth to your hair and breathes you in like it’s something he could survive on, his arms tightening around you just how you like. It’s become his favorite thing to do ever since you told him how safe and cocooned you feel in his embrace. 

Because when you’re awake, you might see the way his breathing changes when your fingers trace absentminded patterns on his chest, or the way he shivers when you call him Jamie—you are the only one allowed to do that. 

You might finally understand that every innocent kiss is just him restraining himself.

So Bucky lets himself slip only in the dark, when no one can see the awe twinkling in his eyes whenever you are around. He’s balancing on a thin line as it is; one wrong move and the entire “best friends” foundation cracks. And he swallows it all. The jealousy, the hunger, those three treacherous words that rise too close to the surface every time you look up at him with those pretty eyes. 

But loving you is perpetual. It hums under his skin when you let yourself melt into his hugs. It sits heavy in his stomach when your lips brush his forehead with a quick kiss before you run to class. It blooms sharp and hot every time someone asks for your number.

He wonders if he ruined himself by loving you that young, because no one else has ever fit right by his side. Yet, he would rather have you like this than risk losing you by asking for more. Even if sometimes it feels like his heart is stretched too tight in his chest. Even if when you look at him, tired and soft and wrapped in his comforter, he has to glance away and breathe through the urge to kiss you until you’re both left wheezing.

With him, you just get to exist. And if this is the only role he ever gets to play in your life, he’ll take it. 

Bucky has always thought of himself as the equivalent of an oversized hoodie that’s been worn too long.

Comfortable, warm, easy to grab when you’re cold.

But not the thing you pick when you want to feel special.

Bucky presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. When he reaches the side of your neck, his lips linger just enough to receive a squirm in return and a giggle that softens his smile into the most tender thing you’ve ever seen.

“Bucky.” You whisper, half-scolding, half-laughing.

“What?” He asks innocently. “I’m just appreciating my favorite person.”

“You’re distracting me.”

“Good.” He hums, preening inside. “That’s the point, baby.”

Moving onto your bed, his hands tug you gently until you stumble back. “C’mere. Sit with me.”

Lying down, he looks at you expectantly, blue eyes prettily begging you to follow him.

“James seriously, I have to finish—”

“Nope.” He grabs your wrists and pulls you forward so you’re kneeling right between his thighs. His hands settle on your hips like they’ve always belonged there, and you shiver, hoping he’ll blame it on the heating not working properly in the middle of winter.

“You need to breathe, angel. And you breathe better when you’re not spiraling over footnotes. Look at you, you chewed on that pen like a stressed little squirrel.” He teases, guiding you until you’re reluctantly lying on your front. “You’re too precious to suffer like this. Not on my watch.”

You huff softly, but you don’t dare move away. The knowledge that you trust him to this extent, that you allow yourself to bend your strict study routines for him, floods him with a quiet, overwhelming happiness that makes his heart ache in the best way.

“You know,” Bucky starts softly, brushing his nose against your temple. “You don’t have to be in charge with me.”

Your shoulders drop just a fraction, and he takes that in with a hint of a satisfied smile.

“I’ve got it, okay? I’ve got you.” He continues with a lower voice. You finally go completely slack in his hold, the curve of your body molding against his chest as your ear presses on his left pec.

And God, he would stay like this forever if you’d let him.

Bucky kisses the top of your head again, tracing a path with his lips that ends on the apple of your cheek. “See? There’s my girl.” He murmurs. “You’re adorable, angel. Did you know that? Ridiculously, impossibly adorable.”

“And you’re impossible.” You mumble, eyelids threatening to close under his tender attention.

“I know. I know, sweetheart.” He murmurs, pretending to pout. “I can’t help it. It’s a curse, really. You’re just… irresistible when you let yourself go.”

“But you adore me.” He quickly adds.

You don’t answer that, yet he pretends to ignore the way his heart skips when you squeeze your arms once around his torso. A hand comes up to run up and down your back slowly. Protective. Possessive in the quietest way. 

“If anyone bothered you today,” he mentions casually, jaw tightening just slightly. “I’d like names.”

You burst out laughing and Bucky tightens his hold just a little at that, a fuzzy feeling tingling in the back of his head as his ears are blessed with his favorite melody. “Calm down, stud. No one bothered me today.”

“Good.” His thumb brushes absent circles on your lower back. “Because I don’t feel like scowling at freshmen tonight.”

“You always scowl at freshmen.” You peek up at him, impossibly cute with your cheek smushed against his chest. The urge to kiss you is so strong he almost shortens the distance between you.

“They look at you.”

“They look at everyone.”

“Not like they look at you, baby.”

There’s a small silence after that, but Bucky fills it quickly.

“Anyway,” He glides over the topic, his voice suddenly too high to sound nonchalant, so he clears his throat. “You’re done for the night. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“I’m a concerned citizen.”

You lift your head just enough to squint at him. 

“Chronic overworking, severe lack of cuddling, and acute stubbornness are very serious conditions.” His fingers walk up your spine as he lists your “symptoms”.

You snort, letting your head fall back to its previous resting place. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mh. Tragic, really.” Bucky shifts, scooting back against the headboard to settle against the myriad of pillows you accumulated throughout the years, tugging you with him. “Prescription says: cuddles, a movie, and you,” he pats his chest, wiggling his eyebrows. “Right here.” 

You laugh again, softer now that you have given up. “Alright, alright, Dr. Barnes.” You know he hates when you roll your eyes, but you do it anyway. 

“Ha! Victory!” He whispers triumphantly.

You shake your head, the corners of your mouth betraying you as they lift just slightly when you reach for your laptop. Once you settle back down, you automatically curl into his side, like it’s muscle memory. It’s always been that simple between the two of you.

He shifts immediately to accommodate you, one arm sliding around your waist as the other tucks behind his head. 

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” Bucky mentions casually, low like a secret you are only meant to know. “You always work so hard. You’re so good—too good.”

Your fingers tighten in his shirt, but you only nod, pressing closer.

You’ve never known what to do with praise. It slides off you most of the time, makes you fidget, causes your eyes to drop to the floor like you’re being accused of something you don’t quite believe. And it’s not as if Bucky’s new at this—he’s been telling you how brilliant you are, how capable, how kind, and pretty since you were small enough to swing your legs off a playground bench. He’s never once missed a chance to compliment you.

Still, every time he does that, your shoulders go tight for a second before you remember it’s just him. Just Bucky. Not judging, not measuring, not expecting you to live up to the compliment. You never thank him with words, just burrow closer, like you’re doing now, hiding your face against his chest as if you can tuck the warmth of his words somewhere safe. They feel so fragile, so precious, and you are still learning how to hold them properly.

“What are we in the mood for, sweetheart, mh?” His words are gentle near your ear. “Something brainless? Something with explosions so I can complain about the physics and you can pretend to be impressed?”

You shift slightly, tucking your leg over his thigh. He adjusts immediately, never failing to make space for you, hand tightening just a little at your waist to keep you steady.

“Blanket?” A small shiver and a nod are enough for Bucky to lean sideways awkwardly, reaching for the fluffy lilac fabric lying on your second desk chair, nearly falling over in the process.

“Careful.” You snicker.

“I’m graceful.” Bucky insists, dragging the blanket back triumphantly. “Military precision.”

“You almost tripped over the air.”

“Well, the air started it.”

He drapes it over the both of you, smoothing it at your hip, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head like it’s part of the ritual. 

“There,” he hums. “Contained.”

His chin settles then on the top of your head. “So? If you don’t choose in the next minute, I’m putting on Interstellar again.”

You go rigid at that. “James.”

“What?” He quips, entirely unapologetic.

“You made me watch that at two in the morning.”

“It’s a masterpiece.”

“It’s almost three hours long.”

“It’s cinema.”

“You paused it every five minutes,” you accuse, lifting your head to glare back at him. “You had diagrams, Bucky.”

He grins, completely unashamed. “You said you wanted something educational.”

“I did not say I wanted a physics lecture in my pajamas.”

“You loved it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I fell asleep during the wormhole explanation.”

He gasps softly. “How dare you!”

You burst out in an incredulous laugh. “You started calculating stuff on the back of a takeout receipt!”

At that point Bucky chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating against your cheek when you drop your head back on his chest.

“You’re impossible.” You mutter, going back to scroll through movies you’ve already watched, and rated, with your best friend. “I need something easy. My brain’s fried.”

“Easy,” he repeats thoughtfully. “So no space, no time paradoxes—”

“No academic lectures.” You add firmly.

“Fine, baby.” He sighs. “But one day you’re going to sit through the docking scene without complaining.”

“You cried during the docking scene.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

With a clear of his throat, he squirms awkwardly under you. “It’s just... well done.”

After finally picking a mindless sitcom you’ve both seen a hundred times, he sets the laptop on his thigh, adjusting the angle so you can see as well, then shifts again so your body is draped more comfortably over him, leaving his free hand to lie on his chest. You reach forward absently and lace your fingers with his, causing Bucky to go still for half a second, before his fingers squeeze yours back. He presses another kiss into your hair, hoping you won’t hear his heart do something embarrassing in his ribcage.

“Comfy, pretty girl?” He asks softly.

“Mh.” You sigh. “You’re warm.”

“Good. Means I’m doing my job.”

Huffing a quiet laugh at that, you just curl closer.

Bucky pretends to focus on the show, but really he’s more aware of the slow sound of your breathing. His thumb keeps stroking your side, tracing slow, absent circles that leave goosebumps behind, even with the soft fabric of your sweater separating him from your skin. Every so often he presses a kiss into your hairline, or your temple... just wherever he can reach without jostling you too much.

When you shiver again, Bucky perks up.

“Still cold?”

“No.”

He narrows his eyes playfully. “Liar.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You shivered.”

“I just—” You stop, realizing you have no explanation that you can give him.

You can feel his grin into his next words. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You smack his chest lightly, and he laughs—soft and low—then catches your hand to press a quick peck on your knuckles.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “This is violence against your concerned citizen.”

Though the small crease in your eyebrows has finally smoothed out, your fingers keep twitching in his shirt, and your jaw ticks every few seconds like you’re biting back thoughts. The tightness in your shoulders is very much alive and burning under your skin, your breathing shaky at the edge each time you exhale. Bucky can’t help but glance down at your leg shifting under the blanket every few seconds. 

He lets it go on longer than he should.

His thumb traces the same slow path over your side, patient, grounding. Pressing his lips briefly to your forehead, he waits for you to melt into him the way you usually do. But instead, you sigh. It’s a little, quiet sound, but it carries too much weight.

“What is it?”

“Oh? Nothing, sorry.” Your reply is quick and rehearsed, and Bucky doesn’t like that one bit.

“Hey,” his arm squeezes your torso once. “None of that, sweetheart. You know you can tell me anything.”

At that point you shift onto your back with a slow exhale, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just…” You hesitate for what seems like an endless amount of time to Bucky, like you’re deciding whether it’s worth saying out loud.

“I keep thinking about that paper. I should finish it by tomorrow, because we haven’t made any progress with that group project I told you about last week. I’ve sent four messages on the group chat to ask when we should meet and no one has read them.” A small, frustrated laugh bursts out of your chest. “I feel so dumb for chasing them, but at this point I’ll have to finish it by myself.”

His jaw tightens.

“You know that’s what they want you to do, right? They’re gonna take all the credits while you try to finish the entire presentation by yourself on top of your own assignments. You’re not supposed to carry all of that, baby. It’s not fair.” He frowns. “You’ve already got enough on your plate and you need to rest.”

“I know.” You groan, momentarily closing your eyes. “But I hate not having any control over it.” Words pick up speed as your eyes flit over the surface of your white ceiling turned orange by the warm lamp on your nightstand. “Everything’s half-finished and sitting there waiting for me, and I can’t stop thinking about it long enough to breathe.”

Bucky lets you vent at your own pace, because he knows better than to rush you. You try to sound calm, reasonable, like this is just another thing to manage, but he can feel the pressure running through your veins, the strain that causes your voice to shake at the end.

“I can help you.”

The words leave him before he can fully consider them.

You immediately turn your head to give him a reproachful look. “James.”

“What?”

“No.”

“Why—”

“You have your own stuff to do—”

Bucky shakes his head, pushing himself up on one elbow so he can look at you properly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It sounded like it.”

“You know I’d write all your papers if you’d let me, but you’re such a little spitfire, angel. You’ve got this ridiculous way of holding yourself to every rule, every detail... I love it, but damn, you’re stubborn as hell about doing things your own way.” A faint exhale of a laugh slips out the both of you despite the tension. “But I meant, I can help you not think about it.”

You study him carefully, brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Aren’t we already taking a break?”

That question sits between you, innocent, and Bucky swears the room is starting to spin. 

His mind betrays him with an image so vivid it nearly steals the air from his lungs: you beneath him, pliant and warm, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and your mouth soft against his, muffling your sweet little pants and moans. Just that morning Bucky woke up from the most wicked of dreams. It was of you, of your mouth, of your bare skin. He was touching and kissing you everywhere. His sheets were drenched in sweat and his underwear embarrassingly sticky when the sunrays split through the curtains to hit him with a brutal dose of reality. He tried jerking off in the shower, but the ache is always there, thrumming.

His eyes close briefly.

This is not the time.

But the truth is sitting at the back of his tongue, heavy and impatient.

“Maybe,” he starts slowly, choosing each word like the world might explode. “You just need something stimulating enough that forces your brain to focus on one thing.”

“Like what?”

His heart is pounding so loudly he’s certain you can hear it. He can’t believe he’s really going to say it.

“I just—” He swallows. “Have you ever thought about… I don’t know… sex?”

It feels as if someone snatched the word from his throat and let it fall between the two of you, like a sturdy stone being violently thrown into a still lake.

You don’t react immediately, but you recoil a little, taken aback. 

“I didn’t mean it like—” Bucky winces, suddenly aware of the very small distance between your bodies. So he stands up, cheeks flushed as your eyes follow him. “I mean, I did mean it, but not in a...” He exhales sharply. “God. That sounded worse.”

You blink at him, and Bucky runs a hand through his hair, pacing at the edge of the bed like he’s trying to outrun his own suggestion.

“I just meant,” he tries again, cautious now. “Sometimes when your brain won’t shut up, you need something… physical. Something that makes you focus on anything but your thoughts.” He gestures vaguely between you, not quite daring to point. “We’re—We’ve always been—I mean, there’s nothing we haven’t shared, so it doesn’t have to be weird. It could just be...”

You tilt your head. “What?”

“I…” His mouth opens and closes pathetically twice, the words dying in his throat as you adjust yourself, now sitting upright with your legs crossed. “It’d just be… us.”

The room is plunged into a religious silence, broken solely by the low hum of the old fridge near the kitchenette and the faint sound of your labored breaths. It makes Bucky want to bury himself alive.

Your fingers keep fidgeting with the blanket.

“It’s been a long time.” You quietly admit.

He stops abruptly in his quest of digging his own grave by walking up and down your room.

“What?”

You stubbornly stare at your hands, chin tucked down.

“Since... the last time I had sex.”

His stomach drops.

“How long?” Bucky croaks out, trying to sound nonchalant but he fails miserably as he almost chokes on his own saliva.

You hesitate for half a second, then mumble. “Since Chris.”

The name lands awkwardly between you, like a relic from another lifetime. Those five letters drag up memories Bucky thought he’d pushed down beneath the careful armor he’d worn around you for all these years. You wailing against his chest in his bedroom, the smug grin on Chris’ face every time he crossed you in the school hallways, and Bucky pretending he didn’t want to hunt that asshole down.

His throat suddenly goes very dry. “High school Chris?”

You nod, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

Bucky lets out a disbelieving breath. “That was... years ago.”

You swallow. “I know.”

“You haven’t—” He can’t finish the sentence, but you understand.

You shake your head, biting your bottom lip.

His brain struggles to process that. Bucky had convinced himself there had to be someone. Some random fling at one of the frat parties he couldn’t attend because of some last-minute visit to his family, or an assignment started too late. He spent so many nights lying awake waiting for your text reassuring him that you were home, safe and sound, telling himself he was being ridiculous, that of course you had allowed someone to touch you the way he wanted to.

But now this revelation feels like being shoved off a cliff, blindfolded in darkness.

“So,” you start softly, like you’re testing the word. “You believe… sex would help.”

He swallows, nodding once. “It might.”

You glance at your best friend, then away again. “You’ve thought about it.”

It’s not a question.

Bucky huffs nervously. “I mean, I’m not blind.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His right hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”

There’s a moment of silence that makes Bucky wonder if being completely honest was the right choice.

“Recently?” You perk up.

He almost laughs at that. “Define recently.”

You try not to smile, and Bucky steps closer again, slower this time, like approaching a skittish wild animal.

“I’m not trying to make this weird.” He clarifies quickly. “I can go away, or—or we can pretend I never said anything and I’ll go back to being your emotional support distraction machine.”

Your head snaps up at that, a spark of hurt flashing in your eyes. “It’s not weird, and you’re not my emotional support distraction machine.” A frown settles on your features, and Bucky’s heart thuds at the adorable sight.

“I was joking, sweetheart.” He reassures you gently.

“I know, but I don’t like you calling yourself that. You know you are everything to me.”

“Yeah?” He strangles out, and you nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

“You are everything to me too.” 

The air feels different now. Thicker. You glance at his mouth, just for a fleeting moment, yet his blue eyes—too bright, too earnest, like they’d strip you bare if you let yourself crack the slightest bit—catch that instantly.

“Should we do it?” You ask, almost daring him.

Bucky hesitates—not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants it so much he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you were to accept his absurd offer.

“Only if you want to.” His voice cracks. “I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or something. We’re just...” He gestures between you helplessly. “We’re us.”

Your silence stretches just long enough for his chest to start caving in. Bucky examines your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, annoyance… anything he can work with. But you give him nothing.

Just a clean slate of neutrality.

The shift inside himself is dreadful, hope morphing into humiliation. Of course he pushed too far. You’re stressed, allowing yourself to be vulnerable around him and what does he decide to do? He suggests to have fucking sex with you.

Bucky takes a step back without meaning to, already bracing for the fallout. What would you do if he confessed right now? Telling you he’s loved you since scraped knees and shared headphones and walking you home because “it’s on my way anyway”. That every girl who approached him felt like a placeholder. That he’s swallowed the ache years ago, and locked the longing somewhere unreachable, so it would never hurt you.

“Forget I said anything,” he mutters, already stepping back from your bed. “That was out of line. You’re overwhelmed and I just made it worse. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Even the pet name that has been lightning your eyes up since high school tastes bitter now. 

She’s trying to figure out how to let you down gently.

She’s contemplating if this will change things between you two.

She’s wondering if she’s been leading you on without realizing it.

She’s suspecting you’ve been trying to get in her pants all along.

Bucky moves another step back, running a hand over his face. “I—”

“James.”

He looks up immediately, and you’re suddenly watching him like you’re going to cry.

“I haven’t done this in years.” You repeat softly. “So if I’m bad at it—”

His stomach drops. “You won’t be.” He rushes out.

You observe him with a rueful smile, shoulders dropping as if suddenly freed from an unbearable weight. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He frowns, blushing violently at how certain he sounds.

Your sigh sounds like it’s been living in your chest for years, and after you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together. “What happens now?”

His heart is pounding so hard it almost drowns out the show still playing in the background.

“Now,” he says carefully, stepping closer. “I ask if I can kiss you.”

You hold his gaze. “And then?”

“And then, if you say yes,” he continues, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m going to do it. Just once. And if you hate it, we pretend it never happened.”

You don’t hesitate, your body unconsciously leaning forward as he kneels in front of you.

“I won’t hate it.”

That confidence nearly unravels him.

“So… can I?” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough around the edges, his hunger leaking out after holding it back for years.

At your tiny, shy nod, that carries more weight than anything he’s ever felt, his chest tightens, almost forgetting how to breathe. His hand lifts slowly, almost reverently, and cups the side of your face, his gaze focusing on the action. His thumb brushes along your jaw, gentle, before his eyes flutter close for a fraction of a second, enough to carve this moment in his soul. When he opens them, his breath hitches at what he sees: your pretty, trusting eyes fixed on him, openly giving him permission.

You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head just slightly, leaning into the touch, and that tiny motion nearly stops his heart. 

Bucky exhales softly and bravely leans in, lips brushing yours in a featherlike, tentative contact—a question posed in motion. It’s the gentlest of kisses, meant to taste the waters, to ask if you want this as much as he does. You respond immediately, pressing against him, and in that moment, a spark ignites in his chest. 

Every sensation is magnified. The softness of your lips against his, your eyelashes brushing his cheek as you close your eyes, your quiet, pleased sigh… Each one sends shockwaves through him.

His other hand reaches your waist, tentative at first, just enough to anchor you against him. He doesn’t pull, allowing your body to find his to its own volition. The pressure is grounding, careful, and each subtle shift of your weight beneath his palm leaves him more certain, more addicted to the feeling of you.

Your hands slide to his chest, light at first, then press more firmly as if to claim the space that’s always been yours to take. His fingers twitch instinctively, tracing lines along your sides, feeling the curve of your ribcage, memorizing the rhythm of you in his arms. That’s when he deepens the kiss, still careful not to overwhelm. Your lips part just a bit, yielding, allowing him to savor the sweetness, the trust. And your hair is caught under his fingers as he tilts your head slightly to explore without breaking the fragile balance. The clean, floral scent of the body lotion you recently bought mixes with something inherently yours, filling his senses, grounding him while simultaneously setting his nerves ablaze. You make a high, almost imperceptible mewl that sends heat straight to his crotch, prompting Buck to lean into you just a little more, confirming that this—this closeness, this softness, this moment—is real.

Time stretches, the show hums unnoticed, the bed creaks faintly beneath the weight of you both, and your breathing mingles with his, shallow and intoxicating. Every tremor of yours is loaded with anticipation, your heart racing in tandem with his.

Finally, Bucky pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing. 

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers, voice raw and breathy, as if saying it louder would shatter this dream he never wants to wake up from. “Just… gorgeous.”

Your smile is just short of shy as you press once more into him. He tilts his head, capturing the soft warmth of your lips again. Your sternums touch, and one of your hands grasps the hair on his nape, eliciting a low groan out of him. This time, Bucky kisses you as if he wants it to bruise, his mouth heavy against yours, trying so desperately to burn himself into you. You’re trembling in his tight hold, yes, but Bucky is barely holding together the pieces of a lifetime spent loving you in secret. His teeth graze your bottom lip in the middle of it all, leaving behind a surprisingly nice sting that makes you shiver. He wants to kiss you forever, even against the merciless ache in his lungs. 

His hands finally gather the courage to move, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, slipping under the cotton of your oversized sweater to graze your bare skin, a moan shamelessly falling into your mouth.

“Bucky.” You whimper as his lips trace an unmapped path along your jaw. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He gently nibbles a sensitive spot just under your ear that you didn’t even know existed. You shiver again, feeling the curve of his grin against your bare throat. “What is it, doll? Talk to me.” He presses an open-mouthed, heated kiss on the crook of your collarbone, suckling until you squeak.

“I’m—” You gasp. “It’s hard.” You blurt out. “To... to come these days.” Your voice fades into a whisper. “Too much stress. I can’t focus.” 

Bucky stills at your timid confession. He presses your foreheads together to quietly stare at you, all blown pupils and this dazed, adoring expression that makes your stomach flutter. “That’s okay, angel.” He stops your anxious blabbering. “What do you usually do?”

“What?” You gape at him, not expecting that question. 

“What do you do when you’re alone, baby?” 

“I have… toys.” Your cheeks feel so hot you start sweating.

“Show me.” 

“You—You want to watch me while I…?” You squeak, eyebrows shooting up.

His jaw clenches at the thought, cock already half-hard since your lips touched for the first time, before he nods. “Will you let me, darling?”

“But—”

Bucky calls your name, steady and serious. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course!” The way those words fall from your lips, offended that he would even hint you don’t, elicits a boyish laugh out of him. 

“Then let me help you.”

There’s a beat. A long, awful, charged beat.

“Okay.” You whisper.

“Yeah?” He perks up a little too enthusiastically.

“Yes, yes Bucky.” You bite your bottom lip, trying to hide your amusement.

“Where are they?”

“Um, second drawer of the nightstand.”

Once the box is opened, Bucky’s mouth goes completely dry, so much that it almost hurts to swallow. 

His brain stops. Just… fully refuses to work.

It’s ridiculous how fast heat climbs up his neck, spreads across his chest and then drops straight into his stomach. 

A shockingly realistic dildo, a bullet vibrator, a suction vibrator connected to the curled end of a dildo, another dildo, and it vibrates too... 

Pull yourself together, it’s just silicone for fuck’s sake.

But it’s yours.

And suddenly his mind, traitorous and vivid, supplies images he has spent years trying not to picture too clearly. You, laughing. You, stretching in one of his large hoodies. You, soft and sleepy in his arms. You, riding one of these fucking toys. You, spread on his bed with that thing stretching your pussy just enough to burn deliciously. You, moaning and whining and calling his name, begging to make it better with his—

And under the mortification, something else coils low in his crotch. Crude, shameful… disrespectful.

“They’re just toys.” You mumble, promptly looking away. “Right?” 

“Yes!” Bucky rushes out, hating the way you seem to make yourself a little smaller, as if embarrassed. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m sorry. It’s just… I never knew you…” He trails off absentmindedly, exhaling harshly as his blue eyes trace your curves. His hands slide slowly to your waist, thumbs brushing small strokes over your hipbones as if he’s reacquainting himself with something he’s known forever but is allowed to touch differently now.

“Let me make you feel good. Can I?” Bucky murmurs, momentarily forgetting about the protagonists of his future dreams. He guides you back until he has you propped against your plush pillows by the headboard, their fuzziness and the soft plaid comforter under you easing your nerves just slightly.

You nod, certain but coyly.

Bucky then leans in carefully, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth first, gently.

“Does this feel good? Here?” Half-lidded eyes burn into yours, your breath catching in your throat at the tenderness, and you nod again, quickly.

He smiles against your skin and shifts slightly, lips brushing along your jaw. Slower, lingering.

“What about here, mh?”

You bite down on your lower lip, the smallest sound trying to escape your throat before you swallow it back. Another nod.

His hand slides up to cradle the side of your neck, thumb warm beneath your ear as he presses a kiss just under it. He feels the way your pulse jumps, feels the way your shoulders tense before melting again.

“Oh,” Bucky hums quietly. “Definitely here.”

Your fingers curl into his shirt as a reflex, grounding yourself and him both.

Moving lower, his lips set over the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, charting your skin like an astronomer tracing a constellation he’s spent a lifetime hoping to find.

“Here?” 

You nod too fast this time, and Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you, all twinkling eyes and clenched jaw. 

“You don’t have to be so quiet,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against your lip to free it from your teeth. “I wanna hear you.”

That only makes it worse.

You shake your head slightly, and he chuckles under his breath, so terribly fond. 

“No?” He whispers, leaning back in. “You don’t want me to hear your sweet sounds?”

He kisses your mouth this time, taking your chin between his fingers and making sure your tongues touch in a slow dance. And you don’t disappoint, rewarding him with the most precious of moans.

“Good job, sweetheart.” Your next breath is shaky, gaze avoiding his as Bucky reaches lower to brush his mouth on the sliver of belly exposed by the raised hem of your sweater.

Another nod, and Bucky smiles against your skin, teasing.

“Mh, still nodding at me?” There’s no bite to it. “Cute, but I know you can give me more.” Your hand slides then into his hair as a response, tugging lightly, and Bucky almost breaks his composure. He exhales sharply, forehead dropping briefly to your stomach like he is the one being unraveled.

“You like that, huh?” He sighs, voice low. “Making me lose my mind over you?” The corners of your mouth lift mischievously, and Bucky has to grit his teeth to not smile at the adorable sight.

“Careful, doll.” His thumbs slide along your hips, adjusting himself so he can go even lower. “I might just return the favor… in a way you won’t forget.”

Your breath hitches, and his lips return patient, learning you like a sacred treasure.

“Here?” His mouth lands on your hipbone, and you nod, pressing your lips together.

“And here?”

A kiss on your thigh that again gives him a nod in return.

“And what about here, angel?”

Your breath stutters, and this time you can’t stop the high whimper that slips free.

His lips... kissing your clothed pussy.

Bucky stills for half a second to make sure he heard right, before a smug grin brightens his features.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thought so.”

Once he’s climbed back up, hands back at the curve of your waist, he squeezes the flesh, relishing in your startled squeak. “How often do you use them?” He glances between your cloudy eyes and your tantalizing lips as you cling to his broad shoulders.

“What?” You mumble dizzily, blinking as if waking up from a soft dream.

“The toys.” 

“It—It depends if—” A gasp interrupts you as he starts mouthing down your jaw and neck. “If I’m in the mood—Bucky.” You sigh, tossing your head back when his fingers dig into your sides.

“Mh?” He barely acknowledges you.

“Tickles.” Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt. His grip eases a little, stroking the skin as if to apologize. He goes back to your lips just in time to swallow your wanton whine. Meanwhile, his right hand grabs the box.

“What’s your favorite, sweetheart?” He asks, planting a kiss on your cheek that feels too pure compared to what you are about to do. Gulping, you sit more upright to examine your secret stash as he holds it between you two, his left hand gently splaying over your thigh to comfort you.

Your hand snatches the purple dildo that vibrates, your cheeks instantly heating up as Bucky leans back over you with a satisfied smile, kissing you with more love than hunger. His tongue runs along your lower lip, and when granted permission, he meets your tongue in an eager dance.

“This okay?” He pants in your mouth, his fingers having traveled to the waistband of your sweats without you even noticing it. His lips have you so dizzy your brain has been turned to complete mush, so you can only nod, already tugging him back to you as he lowers your bottoms, tossing them somewhere on the floor. You whimper in protest when Bucky doesn’t move, taking a moment to examine your panties, something that you were entirely unprepared for. 

“You’ve been this wet the whole time, baby?”

Oh.

You feel your eyes widen, jaw going slack as you notice exactly what he was referring to. Glancing away in embarrassment, your hands shoot up to cover your face. You knew you were aroused, but hearing your best friend declaring it so crudely just makes you want to hide under your sheets. Your core throbs just a little, hot and aching under the uncomfortable fabric and his intense attention. Your fingers part shyly just in time to see Bucky reach for your centre, flinching as two fingers start a slow rubbing motion with just enough pressure, and an occasional pinch of your nub. Your slick seeps through, turning the cotton to a darker color, and Bucky groans as his digits get sticky with your arousal, his other hand undoing the belt and then unbuttoning his jeans for some room for his erection.

Your stomach churns as you bravely tuck your palms under your chin, finding him still staring at that stain. It’s really happening, you realize at once, particularly vulnerable now that your best friend looms between your spread thighs. 

“Your shirt, can you…?” You croak out softly, and that’s when Bucky’s head shoots up, hands clumsily going for the hem of his sweater. You then wrap one hand around his neck to bring him back into a kiss as you let the other wrap around the dildo. Still devouring your lips, his fingers focus now on your panties, holding them from both sides until an abrupt rip echoes in the silent room.

You gasp, eyes snapping wide open just in time to see his hand carelessly toss your ruined underwear over his shoulders. Unbothered by the fact that he literally just tore the fabric in two, his whole body tenses at the faint click, followed by a low buzzing noise. The toy comes to life in your hand, tingling your palm, and you consider the sensation for a short moment, before pressing the button again. 

“Fuck.” He exhales harshly, his forehead falling on your shoulder to brace himself as he feels your body tense beneath his, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat when you press the tip of the toy firmly against your clit.

“Can I—” He clears his throat, voice so rough you can hear restrain bleed through. “Can I look, princess?” He could come right now, completely untouched, but your comfort comes first. Always. 

“Ah—yes, yes please!” Your eyes fall shut.

“So fucking pretty.” Swallowing back a growl, his hips shift unconsciously. His palms land on your thighs, thumbs stroking the skin at a calming pace. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmurs, darkened eyes glancing up at your scrunched-up features.

“Open your eyes, baby. Let me look at you, c’mon.”

The command is soft but you obey instantly, eager to show Bucky just how good you can be for him. 

“Good girl.” The proud praise elicits a whimper out of you before you can swallow it. Your urge to please him definitely goes beyond eating reminders and proper breaks between your study sessions. 

Your hips jolt up unconsciously when you start grinding the toy against your clit after pressing the small button once to let it vibrate faster. Your free hand scrambles to grasp Bucky’s wrist in attempt to find some sort of comfort while you let yourself fall blindly into the pleasure.  

“Feels so good, right?”

Your eyes drift over his face, half-lidded, drinking in the stubble darkening his jaw, the perfect line of his nose, the smug curve of his smile, each contour and shadow marking him as impossibly beautiful. Scorching heat hums between you, and you feel it not just in your skin but deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like it could tear you open. Every brush of his lips, every press of his palm, every quiet sigh that slips from him drives you closer to breaking open, like stepping through your front door after the world has worn you down, when the pull in your chest finally bursts and you can only surrender to its force.

“Bucky.” You call out to him absently, panting. 

“Say it again. My name.” His voice is suddenly deeper, you can see his throat bobbing.

“Bucky.” You moan, raw and louder this time, even if your face feels like it just bursted in flames. 

“Good girl.” He notices the exact moment you register the words, a shiver shaking your body as your eyes close again in pure bliss.

Yes, a good girl. His. 

“Wanna hear you say my name like that all the time.” He groans. “Why don’t you show me how good she can take this little toy of yours?”

You twitch, aching with the desperate need to put the dildo back, to indulge in the cruel vibrations until you fall over the edge. Yet your body complies without hesitation, sliding it inside your soaking core. 

“Shit.”

You draw the dildo back out again, relishing the drag, setting a slow and steady pace with your wrist as a wanton moan falls from your parted lips. “Oh Bucky.” 

“I’m right here, okay?” He grits out, exhaling harshly as his gaze traces your body. “C’mon baby, put on a show for me.” 

Thrusting harder, your eyes roll back as your pussy clenches tightly around the toy in its desperation. 

“Good girl.”

All of a sudden, Bucky’s hands, warm and so familiar yet new as they explore your bare sides, glide under your sweater, until your chest is exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom. 

“That’s it, baby. Keep that pretty hole stretched for me.” He encourages, his tongue licking his bottom lip as he looks in your hazy eyes, before slowly leaning down. 

His breath is hot on your skin, that’s the first thing your brain registers. You close your eyes in anticipation as he tenderly kisses you, then moving down to leave soft pecks on the swell of your breasts that send shivers down your spine. His thumbs brush your nipples so gently, indulging in every little gasp, but it’s not long before his lips close around a hard peak, both nipples receiving sweet suckles that gradually turn meaner. 

“Why were you hiding these pretty tits from me, doll mh?” His eyes glance up, slyly grinning when his teeth bite down a little harder and your back jerks up. 

“You’re drooling, baby. Can’t imagine what’ll happen when I split you on my fat cock.” The needy, desperate whine is out of your mouth the second the thought enters your mind. He licks his way up, from the side of your breast to your damp cheek, before firmly grabbing your jaw. His fingers keep your mouth open, only for a globe of his spit to land your tongue.

“Swallow.” 

Gasping, you quickly follow his order, a hint of humiliation swirling chaotically in your belly. It only makes your core throb painfully.

“Beautiful.” 

“Bucky please.” 

“Please what? Need words, angel.”

Your mouth opens and closes pathetically a few times, before you can string a proper sentence together. “I want—fuck—I need you.” You eventually whimper out. 

The deep groan rumbling in his ribcage goes straight to your stomach. “Good girl. Wanna see you come once around it, watch you moan and gush as you beg for me to touch you. And then I’ll make you leak for days.” His lips attach to your neck and collarbone, his rough words muffled by your soft skin.

You nod eagerly, whimpering as you pick up the pace, pushing the dildo as deep as you can, and it’s not long before you’re floating again, light like a fuzzy cloud of pink cotton candy. This is the best torture you’ve ever experienced, docile to his orders and exposed to his adoring eyes, but you really need more. You need him to fuck you like an animal, to have his strong hands that until now have only handled you with care to ruin you to tears and hold you down as his cock carves its shape inside you. 

Bucky coos, observing your reaction meticulously, your legs twitching impossibly wider as you let your head hit the headboard. “That’s it. It’s been so long since anyone has fucked you like you deserve, and now my princess needs me to take care of her, isn’t that right sweet girl?”

“Only you, Bucky. Only you can do it.” You whisper.

His shaky exhale gives his anticipation away. “I will, baby. I will.” His eyes lock on your trembling form. “Fucking hell, doll, you’re perfect.” His lips are again all over your face, your lust-glazed eyes unable to do anything but flutter shut with desire. “My pretty girl, all mine.”

It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

“You ready to come for me, sweetheart?”

Nodding enthusiastically, the sound clawing out of your throat is pitiful. You love being stuffed and pounded, but having an orgasm just from it? It’s not something that comes easy to you. All at once, this feels like a cruel punishment. You need more, but pleasing Bucky is necessary, something stronger than the urge to rub your clit.

“Bucky.” You wail, squeezing his wrist.

He gently soothes his palms along your thighs and the effect is immediate. You melt into the mattress at the warmth of his skin, yet your chin wobbles pathetically. “What is it? I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me.”

“I need—can I touch it, please?”

Bucky sits back on his heels with a playful smirk, the urgent worry disappearing at once. “You can’t come if you don’t touch your pretty little clit?”

“No.” You shake your head, a thrill of excitement racing under your hot skin. “I—I hit it sometimes too.” You reveal quietly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

His eyes widen, Adam’s apple bobbing. His whole body goes still, stripped of every shred of cockiness. “What?”

You quickly slap your hand against your pussy, glancing up at him to find him licking his lips like a wolf ready to sink his fangs into its coveted prey.

“Sweet girl, you like being rough with your pretty pussy?”

At your eager nod, your best friend swears every ounce of oxygen has vanished from the room.

“Then slap it for me.”

You swiftly pull the toy out just enough to bring your hand down with a sharp smack. The shock of the impact makes your body jolt, the sensation recoiling through your core as the wet sound resounds lewdly in his ears.

“Fuck!” Your pussy is so tender, yet the slap only spurs you closer to the edge. 

“Again.” 

You smack your flesh harder, gasping at the delicious sting. Alternating a few thrusts of the dildo to the little spanks, you are not sure you’ll be able to wait for his permission to come if Bucky keeps ordering you around. 

“Just like that, don’t stop.” Humming thoughtfully—his cock hot and painfully hard, still trapped in the confines of his underwear—Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to regain at least a fraction of self-control before coming untouched just by witnessing the girl he yearned so long for losing herself to this debauchery. 

“You’re doing so well for me. One day I’ll make you come just by slapping your pussy, I promise.” Your reaction is immediate, hips twitching up and mouth forming a lovely circle around a loud whine. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My dirty, little girl.” His fingers smush your cheeks together with a cocky smirk. “You want another one, doll?” 

“Please.” 

“So fucking sweet.” He growls. “Go on.”

Tears start running down your cheeks unprompted. “’M so close.”

Nuzzling your jaw, he cups your face with such tenderness, appealing directly to that part of you that would do anything for him. “Beautiful… so, so beautiful. Wanna come for me, baby?”

You nod enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He coos. “C’mon then, put that stupid toy to use.”

“Oh my God.” Your eyes roll in the back of your head as you bring the toy back on your clit, the knot in your belly ready to snap violently. At this point you’re far too close to what you’ve been craving to care about your neighbors hearing you.

“Fuck! I’m coming—Bucky!”

“Let go, doll. You have been such a good girl for me. Make me proud, and I’ll reward you by licking your pussy clean after, okay?”

The tight knot in your lower belly finally snaps. You are at your pleasure’s mercy, your thighs trembling and your aching pussy clenching helplessly around nothing.

“There you go. You’re so fucking perfect, so good for me. Love you so damn much, angel.”

The toy ends up dumped somewhere on the bed as your entire focus shifts on your breathing, your head flopping back to look at the ceiling, utterly exhausted and still quivering from the leftover pleasure.

Without wasting a minute, Bucky is already kissing his way down your body, gently and attentively, until he stops between your legs, resting his head against your inner thigh, two fingers leisurely running from your clit down to your entrance. 

Your reaction is immediate as your body lurches. “Bucky.” 

He softly parts your glistening folds with his thumbs. “Look at this pretty mess.” He whispers directly into your core, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

As Bucky lazily flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, your body suddenly feels like it is going to implode. A strangled gasp falls from your lips when he slips a finger in, his mouth moving to thoroughly savor every drop of arousal from your previous release on your inner things.

Bucky decides then to busy himself with your clit again, and your body stiffens. 

“Bucky! Sensitive!” You choke out, a hand shooting down to grasp his wrist while the other fists a handful of your bed sheets.

“‘S okay, I’ve got you, sweet girl.” With a mumble, he slips another finger in, making you cry out.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” You almost scream, thighs snapping close around his head.

Bucky growls at the pressure, hungrily nursing on your throbbing clit as his nostrils flare, your scent making him dizzy as he literally buries his face in your core. It’s so messy, with his saliva dripping down his chin and the insatiable need to please you driving him wild. You can feel its intensity from the way his starved tongue laps at you, every flick sending biting sparks down your spine.

Your mind and body are both spiraling out of control, thoroughly consumed by the exquisite sensation of his fingers stretching you so deliciously. 

His eyes stay fixed on your crumpled features, his hand imprinting its shape on the soft flesh of your thigh to stop himself from humping your bed like a beast, so close to his own release that he could come right there with a single brush of the mattress against his cock. 

He pulls away with a wet squelch, groaning in delight at the intoxicating taste. “Make a mess on my face” He rumbles, chest heaving. “Wanna taste you every day on my tongue.” His mouth latches back onto your clit, sucking on it with a steady rhythm, producing such humiliating, sloppy sounds. 

His fingers strategically curl up, massaging that sweet spot of yours, leaving you teetering on the edge of sublime release. His arms shake with pent-up desire, still, Bucky makes sure to take his time with your trembling body.

“I’m gonna—fuck, please please don’t stop!” You cry out, fisting his hair and he grunts. 

“Give it to me, doll. Use me.” 

You obey, literally humping his face. “‘M gonna come.” You sob, hips frantically driving into his face. “Jamie!” His tongue abuses the poor nub while quickly pumping his fingers even as your walls clamp, your slick pouring into his eager mouth, soaking his stubble. 

“Breathe, angel.” Slowly retracting his fingers, his eyes study your face, your inner thighs burning raw from the way he rubbed his facial hair all over your core. He brings his fingers to his mouth, making a show of licking them clean as he crawls forward to hover over you again, his bulge now impatiently pressing against the fabric for your attention.

“Holy shit.” You huff, on the brink of passing out.

“One more.” Bucky kisses you.

“What?” You squeak out, still dazed yet blinking at him more awake than ever. 

“One more, baby.” He implores, his hand soothing along the curve of your hip as you faintly catch the rustling of fabric. “You were crying so prettily for my cock before, don’t you want it anymore?”

Before your lips can part around an incredulous laugh, a weight settles between your folds. Your eyes shoot down as his length is gradually coated in your slick. 

Thick, long, with veins running along the flushed skin.

“Shit.” He grits out, mouth watering at the sight of the mess you are making on his cock.

“I’m gonna come inside you, sweetheart. Ask me for it, ask me for my cum.”

“Please, Bucky.” You swallow back a whine, nails digging into his skin. “Make me yours.”

He shushes your blabbering gently, cupping your cheek. “Look at me.” He orders, your vision blurry from all the unshed tears. “I’m here, pretty girl. Just a little more patience and we’ll watch it leak out of you because it’s too much for you to keep inside.” The reverence in his blue eyes makes you shiver as he takes in your pleading gaze. The way his thumb traces your lower lip, so tenderly and hypnotizing, has him unconsciously leaning forward, until your mouths join in a slow dance.

Your name comes out of his mouth in a low murmur against your lips. “Thank you for letting me have you like this.”

You’ve been yearning for his touch for what seemed like a never-ending lifetime. Every fiber of your being has ached for him, and now that you have him like this, warm and gentle and staring down at you as if you are the missing piece of himself he was searching for all along, you can’t ignore it anymore.

“I love you, Bucky.” You blurt out, tremblingly grabbing his face with both of your hands, bringing him down for another kiss—hard and desperate and filthy, your heart beating so fast you’re convinced it’s going to escape your chest anytime now.

With flushed cheeks, Bucky pants, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “Sweetheart,” he soothes dotingly, an ache to his voice that creeps through the tenderness as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes you in, brought to his knees by three simple words.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of this. Of you. I can’t pretend anymore now that I know what it feels like to have you in my arms, knowing that you’re mine...” Bucky swallows, eyes falling down on your chest before tentatively lifting up to meet yours.

You have never seen him like this. Hesitant. Never around you.

“You are mine, right?”

“Always have.” You breathe out, and with a broken groan, he takes your face in his hands, kissing any part he can reach: from your neck to your collarbones and then your breasts, latching onto a nipple. Moaning, you indulge in his warm tongue taking care of both nubs as his length slowly humps your wet folds. 

“You feel it, angel? This is what you do to me.” He murmurs, humming at your nod. “Such a good girl.”

“Your good girl.”

That earns you a feral kiss. “I have to be inside you.” Bucky pants as your lips messily meet once again. “Now. I can’t take it anymore, need to feel you—Christ.” You break with a sharp cry when his tip encounters some resistance as it finally breeches your hole.

“Slowly sweetheart, look at her opening up so beautifully for me, you—” Bucky abruptly grunts as you clench incredibly tight. Maintaining a clear head becomes tricky, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as a choked groan leaves his throat. “You need to relax for me, or else I’m gonna finish embarrassingly fast, angel.” A strained chuckle bleeds through his gritted teeth.

“Can’t. You’re so big.” You squeal mindlessly, thighs trembling around his hips as his base finally meets your core.

“I know.” His lips briefly press to your cheek, shuddering. “I know, but you’re taking it so well. God, look at you.” He swallows as his hips ease back slowly, until you can feel only the tip inside. You squeak out a pathetic whimper, hands clinging onto his shoulders. Then he bottoms out again, quicker this time. You gasp, back arching.

“Fuck!” You almost scream, your insides feeling so sensitive you feel like you are going to burst into flames.

Bucky finds a temporary steady pace, letting you melt beneath him, then bends your legs back, until they almost touch your chest, satisfied as soon as you respond with a sob of pleasure, the new angle making your eyes cross.

“Oh shit! Bucky!” Your nails leave crescent marks into his skin, toes curling.

He can’t take his eyes off you, drinking carefully in the way your eyes squeeze shut, or how your hole snuggles his cock deeper when his tip brushes just right against your walls. At some point, his wet mouth is on your breasts again, flicking your nipple some more just to listen to your pathetic whimpers and feel you arch back into him. His hips are picking up their pace, slamming against that deep spot at an almost desperate speed. When his fingers momentarily leave your hip to flick and rub your puffy clit, your lips open in a silent scream as you clench again.

“There she is.” He growls. “Fuck, it feels so good.” His thrusts turn animalistic.

“I’m gonna make a mess on your pussy.”

The shameless sound of your flesh slapping against his is so loud but you can’t hear it, too dizzy and lost in the feeling of his dick hitting your sweet spot with a new kind of precision. His muscled arms keep you safe and still for him to play with, his chest pressed against your bouncing breasts so your sensitive nipples are rubbed raw. 

“Fuck, wish you could see yourself right now.” His voice breaks when your pussy tightens.

It’s too much—his fierce, insistent thrusts, his pubic hair stimulating your clit, the way he talks to you as if he’s losing his mind, just blabbering about whatever pops into his head. 

And you? You can just take it. You scream his name, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close, legs shaky and hips trying to rock back into his, unsuccessfully. Until your climax unravels violently and you ascend to heaven. Your body freezes, before pleasure ripples through you like pure electricity. Bucky marvels with gritted teeth at the clear liquid squirting out of you and making a mess of his lower abdomen and cock, fucking you through it to prolong your pleasure as much as he can.

You squirm uncontrollably in his hold, but he keeps you firmly locked on his cock.

“Jesus Christ, fucking beautiful, sweetheart. Wish I could keep you here and make you squirt on my cock every day for the rest of my life. You’re gonna make me come so hard.” He pants, voice bordering on a snarl and features scrunched up. “’S coming, take it all, doll—fuck!”

His cum spurts on your walls to claim you fully, cock throbbing, making him groan in utter relief. At some point, some spills out and down his thick length, mixing with your creamy mess on the bed and on your ass. You decide to not acknowledge it, too embarrassed by what you have done. 

Bucky ends up collapsing over you, forearms firmly planted on the mattress to keep himself from completely crushing you, mindful of your well-being even as he feels like he is going to pass out after this powerful release, fueled by having restrained himself for so long.

You’re still shaking in his hold, exhausted and sated, but definitely more alert now that you have both freed yourselves of years of longing and pent-up sexual frustration. He’s reluctant to let you go just yet—and you couldn’t be more grateful for that, your body feeling like it’s going to crumble after your last climax—so he opts to pepper the slope of your neck in lazy kisses, indulging in your soft mewls when he finally reaches your mouth.

Bucky shifts just enough to brush a thumb over your cheek, watching your eyes flutter close and then back open, as though checking if he’s still there.

“Hey.” He clears his throat, voice hoarse.

Your lips part, words sticking somewhere between your throat and the tips of your tongue. You try to answer, but only a breathless hum escapes, and it’s enough. He leans closer, resting his forehead against yours, inhaling, grounding himself in the reality of you.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says more to himself, worry threading through his awe. “I just… I just want to know if you’re okay.”

You manage a weak nod, letting your fingers curl around his wrists. His eyes, wide and unguarded, observe you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to understand.

“You’re perfect,” he says finally, the words spilling urgently, reverently. “Every bit of you. You’re—” He swallows, shaking his head slightly, as if even language feels too clumsy for this. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed.”

A small, exhausted laugh catches in your throat, and you bury your face into the crook of his neck, letting him feel you trembling with the last threads of adrenaline leaving you. He holds you tighter, hums a random, almost inaudible melody against your hair, and for a long while, neither of you speaks. 

It feels like an eternity passes before Bucky finally cradles your face in his hands, looking a little more lucid.

“We can talk after. But you need to know, doll, you are my whole world.” His forehead presses to yours, like he needs the contact to stay upright, as if pulling away means the gravity of the moment would swallow him whole. 

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice breaking at the edges. “How long I tried to hold this in. But I can’t anymore, not after tonight, not after having a taste of what it feels like to be completely and utterly yours.” His thumb traces the curve of your jaw.

“I think I’ve loved you,” his breath hitches, because he can’t believe he’s finally saying it out loud for you to hear. No moans, no bed creaking to drown the words. Just the quiet stillness of the night, as if the moon itself is holding its breath with him. “Since I was too young to even understand what that meant.”

Your hand flattens against the rapid drum of his chest, perceiving every irregular skip, every fierce, insistent beat that has somehow always belonged to you. For a moment, it feels as if the rest of the world has fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this fragile, trembling bubble.

Your eyes glisten with tears you haven’t let fall—tiny, fragile sparks that catch the dim light like stars at night, and your chest tightens with the ache of everything you’ve held in silence for so long. All the unspoken words between you, the years of stolen glances, small touches, and secrets suddenly all converge in this single moment.

His shoulders shift, leaning ever so slightly toward you, and your fingers press more firmly, almost desperate, into the heat of his chest. 

“Jamie,” your voice quivers. “It’s always been you.”

And when you glance up at him, so radiant and so inevitably his, Bucky finally looks at you without any restraint, staying like he always has, and always will.

END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 🤍

[jamesbbcrnes]

PEOPLE WATCHING

SUMMARY: after the funeral of his sister, bucky finds himself sitting in a park. your dog crashes into him, spills his coffee, and the rest is history.

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

WARNINGS: death, sibling loss, alzheimer’s disease, grief, angst, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n (lmk what/if i should add other tags, i’m so bad at it lmao)

NOTE: hi everyone!!! this is my first tumblr fic so a little nervous 🙈. this is sort of loosely based off of my own attempt at grappling at grief?? my grandad passed away a year ago this month, and he was my best friend. my interests were mainly from interests of his own, like marvel. he was my favourite person ever. grief truly is love with just no place to go, and especially this month i resonate with that so deeply. i could talk about him forever, but i don’t won’t trauma dump the past year on my first fic post lmao— just know i love him very much. anyway!! i hope you enjoy this, hopefully the first of many. thanks for reading!! 🫶🏼

inspired by sam fender’s song, people watching.

It's a beautiful day out in Brooklyn.

The sun peeks through the clouds, shining golden rays down into the park. People are soaking up the sunshine, there are teenagers running around with their friends like they own the place, children playing games with their parents, and others just passing through. Joy radiates throughout the park, and yet here Bucky sits; grieving, aching, longing.

He misses the life he used to live. He misses the hustle and bustle of the Barnes household, the laughing of one of his sisters and the reprimanding of the other, the soft and soothing voice of his mother and the rasp of his father's gravelly voice from indulging himself to one too many cigarettes. He misses being roped into playing games with little sisters, or hauling them onto his back when one of them complained their legs were tired and he'd pretend to be put out, groaning something about his back, and they would giggle at his theatrics.

He misses when his mother insisted Steve stay for dinner, and every time he tried to decline, Bucky's mother would shake her head and practically drag him inside.

Someone's got to feed you, she'd always say, guiding him in by his shoulders, I'm worried you'll wither away!

And today, Bucky had buried the last of his past.

Rebecca had been suffering with Alzheimer's for a few years. It started off with small lapses in her memory that were just written off as forgetfulness. But then it started to occur more frequently, and then confusion followed, her personality started to alter, and she was getting stuck in memories that had long since passed.

This day was inevitable, but it doesn't make it hurt any less than it does.

Bucky had been there when he could manage, when Rebecca's daughter, Sarah, had told him she was having a good day because seeing Bucky sometimes put her in distress. Sometimes she'd look at him and remember Bucky as he was now—six foot of pure muscle with a glinting vibranium arm. Then there were others where she would blink and suddenly she transported back to an earlier time, to just a little girl clutching onto her brother extra tight, making him swear to 'fight the bad guys and then just come back home.'

When she was that little girl from the 40's, more often than not she would be angry. Shouting and telling him that he lied, that she waited and waited but her big brother never came home. Then she'd catch the glint of sleek black metal under his left jacket sleeve, and tears would stream from her eyes and the anger would morph into horror of what had happened to him.

Who did that to you, Jamie?

Why would they do that?

Ma will be home soon, she'll be so happy you're back home.

That last one always made his heart ache.

But sometimes that little girl would be happy to see him. Sometimes that little girl would insist he sat on the edge of her bed whilst she chatted about her day, naming people and places that were from a time long gone, but he would sit and indulge her anyway. Bucky would nod like he understood, make a comment that would send her giggling, and suddenly his heart would crack wide open at the sound.

His little sister, sitting in her room in the nursing home, clutching his hand with her frail one whilst she spoke.

His little sister, dying before he did.

It shouldn't have to be this way, but it was.

Just another thing to add to the long list of things that Hydra had so cruelly stolen from him.

He had left the funeral feeling numb. Sam had attended with him, sat next to him in the church pew whilst Sarah and her brother presented their written eulogy to their mother. They talk about her passion for teaching and how they grew up in a house full of laughter and love, of park trips after school and Fridays that were exclusively for movies and pizza. They talk about the endless kindness that lived in their mother's heart that she extended to everyone she had crossed paths without fail. 

Proof that Bucky's little sister had lived a wonderful life, one that she so rightfully deserved. 

But looking at the service portrait of her made his chest tighten and his eyes burn. Weathered sunkissed skin, laughter lines etched into the corners of her smiling mouth, greying hair replacing the once dark chesnut brown that she shared with her brother. 

Everyone else looks at it and sees Rebecca as she had been before she died, but Bucky looks at it and sees a younger version staring back at him. He sees the girl before he was shipped off to England, her smooth porcelain skin, rosy cheeks and that signature Barnes grin that their mother always said they inherited from their father.

Bucky swiped a lone tear from his cheek and clenched his jaw tight, looking away from the portrait before he let himself break completely.

There was a wake after the service, but Bucky didn't attend. He didn't feel like he belonged, he felt like an intruder— even during the service, filled with so many faces he didn't know. Rebecca's family and friends, people she loved and who loved her back. 

At his own sister's funeral, he felt like a stranger.

When it came to a close, Bucky wished Sarah and her brother well and slipped out quietly through the church doors. Sam offered to drive him home, but Bucky declined. He'd done enough for him already, and Bucky wanted to be alone for a while. 

So, he walked. 

There was no end goal, just unsure of what to do with himself which is how he ended up here— with a coffee from the café a block away in his hand as he sat on a park bench, people watching.

A woman marches through the park in heels, clicking with a mild sense of urgency against the paved ground. She holds her phone to her ear, her expression pinched. Bad news, or maybe just an irritating coworker. Judging by her attire and the clip of ID on her blazer label, she looks like she works in an office.

Bucky's gaze shifts to a father who jogs after his small daughters. Two identical twin girls that evidently have a penchant of mischief, with rosy cheeks, honey-blonde ringlets that bounce wildly as they bolt down the path in a fit of giggles with a stolen bag swinging between them from their hands. He doesn't look upset, he just grins as he shouts out a promise of catching them as follows after them. 

A young couple then walks past him, a boy and a girl. His arm's wrapped around her shoulders and hers is wrapped around his waist, tucked under his denim jacket. They look happy, laughing at each other and grinning like they're know something nobody else does, fingers intertwined together at her shoulder. 

He doesn't know how long he sits there for, observing the people strolling through. His coffee stays untouched, his hand curled around it still as he rests it on his knee. Bucky's attention is suddenly caught by someone's dog, a golden retriever that is seemingly on the mission of its life, as it slips through someone's spilt puddle of water on the path. The dog careens right into his knees with a yelp as its head barrels into solid bone. Cooled coffee from Bucky's takeaway cup spills and stains the dog's golden fur with espresso.

He barely has time to blink and register what just happened before the dog is scrambling back up onto four paws and tilting its head, ears perked at the sound of a voice yelling, "Daisy!"

Bucky follows Daisy's line of sight to see you jogging down the path, out of breath and swiping hair that's fallen from your ponytail away from your face. Daisy sits by his feet and wags her tail like she's the best girl in the world. Your gaze catches Bucky's, and then lowers slowly to the bitter liquid that drips down his fingers and the side of his cup, the stain on his trouser leg and then the damp patch of fur on the side of Daisy's neck.

You rub at your face with a resigned sigh.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," You breathe out, "That's... I can pay for that—"

"It's all good, it's cold anyway," Bucky dismisses quietly, "I'm sorry that Daisy smells of espresso."

You laugh softly, "Well, honestly, there's worse things that she can smell of trust me."

"I'll bet." He murmurs, watching Daisy sniff at his coffee-soaked fingers and deciding that she should lick off the excess.

Bucky cracks the first real smile he has in days, and scratches behind her ears. Daisy wiggles happily.

You huff at her audacity, gesturing weakly to the space beside him, "Mind if I sit for a minute?"

Bucky shakes his head, "All yours."

You practically collapse into the space next to him.

"She must be half Whippet," You sigh, looking down at Daisy with furrowed brows as she wiggles closer to him and pushes her head insistently into his fingers.

"She looks very Golden Retriever to me." Bucky comments.

He stops scratching behind her ears for just a second, and Daisy snuffles as she whips around to look at him in betrayal.

Daisy nudges as his hand and he arches one amused eyebrow, fingers slowly resuming their gentle scratches. Her tail whips from side to side in a blur of happiness.

You smile, and there's a moment of silence where you both watch Daisy and her wagging tail before you offer him your name.

"James," He introduces," Well, Bucky— people usually call me Bucky."

"That's an... unusual nickname for James."

Bucky chuckles, tips of his ears turning pink, "Buchanan's my middle name."

"Old school, I like it." You quip.

Conversation slowly starts to flow, and there's an odd sense of familiarity between you. There's no rush to think of something to say to combat the usual awkwardness people sometimes experience when meeting new people. Instead, any silence between your sentences comes as a comfort more than anything else without having that need to fill the gap.

Daisy lays down between you, panting softly, her head resting on Bucky's shoe.

You smile, "She likes you."

Bucky blinks, "I'm sure she likes everyone."

"She doesn't actually," You tell him, "You must've passed her test."

"What test is that?" He chuckles, and you sigh with shrug, "I don't know, but she secretly judges people and stares into your soul with those brown eyes of hers. If only I could figure out what's on that checklist."

"Free pets," Bucky offers, "And scratches. Unlimited treats."

You click your fingers like he's cracked the code, and Daisy pushes herself up and whips around at the sharp sound but smacks her nose into your knee and you wince. But in true golden retriever fashion, she shakes it off and rests her head atop your knee instead like nothing happened.

You're not entirely sure how long the two of you stay seated on that bench talking, but it's enough time for Daisy to fall asleep under your legs for shade.

Bucky asks about your job and you tell him about your work as a kindergarten teacher and your love for it. The kids who look up to you and enjoy every class you teach and how they call you miss so sweetly when they want help. You tell him about that childlike determination that makes their eyebrows furrow and their tongues stick out the corner of their mouths when they want to get something right and how you find it endearing.

When you ask about his job, Bucky answers vaguely about a job within the government. He says he can't talk too much about it, and you respect that.

You both fall into the topic of reading for a while, and Bucky looks at you like you've grown three heads when you tell him you've never read the Hobbit.

"I'm just— I don't know," You laugh, flustered, "I've just never read it!"

"Well, you should," Bucky says like his words carries great importance.

You roll your eyes, "Maybe I'll give it a go, since you're so insistent."

"You should." He repeats simply, and you huff out a soft laugh.

"What're you doing at the park in a suit, anyway?" You ask him with a tilt of your head, "On your super-secret government job lunch break?"

Bucky thinks about lying for a moment. Laughing and saying yeah, and making something up. But he's tired.

He's so tired. Of trying to navigate the world as it was now, of missing home, his parents, his siblings and Steve.

He's so tired of the resentment he still holds in his chest for Steve leaving, the overwhelming guilt of what Hydra made him become, of trying to be normal when he was anything but that.

But in this park, on this bench with a dog napping on his foot and her owner sitting beside him, talking to him normally without walking on eggshells, Bucky feels that tension in him loosen. 

You've treated him like a friend, despite having only known each other for mere hours, as someone who deserves your kindness.

So, he tells the truth. 

"I had a funeral to go to," Bucky murmurs, "it was my sister's."

You blink.

"Oh," Your voice is soft as it quietens, a small frown starting to pull at your lips, "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have. . ."

Bucky shakes his head, flashing you a quick smile, small and reassuring, "It's alright, you couldn't have known. My sister and I, we. . ."

His words trail off and then he shrugs, lowering his head, "It's complicated. She had Alzheimer's."

"That must've been difficult." 

Bucky nods, "Yeah, she. . . she had her days, good and bad, y'know? Sometimes she'd be present, and then others she'd be. . . stuck in her head, getting the days confused and not knowing where she was."

"Can't imagine what that was like." You whisper softly.

"Yeah," He breathes in deeply and holds it for a moment before he exhales shakily, catching the time fromt the watch on his wrist, "I've uh— I've got to go to her house actually, start going through stuff and help clear it out."

You frown, "Now?"

"No, but I'd rather get it over with, so it won't be hanging over my head like some dark cloud." He rubs his hands over his thighs, his jaw clenched, "I promised her kids."

"I get that," You nod, slow and soft, picking at a loose thread on Daisy's lead, "Would you. . . would you like me to walk you there?"

Bucky blinks, his head turning quickly at the offer, "You. . . that's, uh— you don't—”

You wave a hand lazily in the air, "It's alright, I'd like to. But, of course, I'd understand if you didn't want me to."

Bucky lets the offer sink in before giving a slow nod, "No, that would. . . be nice."

You wake Daisy up with a soft shake to her back, and she stumbles up to her feet sleepily, but her tail's already starting to wag ferociously.

Bucky tells you where you're going and then you both stand from the bench, Bucky throwing his takeaway cup in a trashcan, and start to walk. 

You fall into step beside him with Daisy's lead wrapped around your hand and clutched tight as she trots in front of you.

Neither of you talk now. There's no need to fill the silence with mindless chatter, you just accompany him to the house. A solid presence beside him, grounding and there if he needs someone.

Just to remind him that he's not alone.

After a few minutes of walking, Bucky clears his throat and slows to a stop outside a well-kept brownstone, "This is me."

A large door awaits him, No. 80 in gold lettering plastered on the glass pane above it. Two small flower pots of blooming red-and-yellow tulips stand on either side of the doorway with an old doormat between them.

Bucky looks up and swallows thickly at the sight.

You notice, "You can take a moment, before you go in."

He shakes his head, "If I don't go in now, I don't think I ever will." 

Bucky turns to look at you.

"Thanks, for walking me here."

You give him a small smile, "I actually just live on the next street over road, so it was no problem. . . good luck in there."

He huffs out a nervous laugh. Daisy nudges his hand with her nose, like she can sense the wariness in him. He gives her one last scratch behind her ears, and she licks his hand as he pulls away to grasp onto the stair railing, and mutters a quiet thank you as he starts up the stairs.

You take that as your cue. 

You continue down the street, hearing the click of Bucky’s shoes get quieter as the distance grows. You don't get very far until you pause for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. Daisy nudges at your leg when you stop. Your hand gently pats her on the nose before you turn on your heel.

"Hey, Bucky?" 

He head lifts from where he was staring at the lock, the key half raised, "Yeah?"

"127 is my door number, if you... ever feel like you need someone to talk to, to listen to you," You clutch Daisy's lead tighter in your grasp, "You don't always have to be alone, Bucky, you're welcome anytime."

His heart clenches at your generosity, "That's... thank you."

You nod, "It's okay. Take care of yourself!"

"You too." Bucky says softly.

You give him a wave and parting smile that turns into a huff of laughter as Daisy barks in his direction and jumps in the air, "C'mon, silly girl!"

A girl and her dog made of sunshine.

Bucky never would've thought the misery of the day would start to dampen, but it did. And he never would've guessed that the light peering through the darkness would be in the form of a kindergarten teacher and her clumsy golden retriever.

Everything happens for a reason, his mother used to say.

Bucky used to roll his eyes and wave her off like it wasn’t something worth remembering. But perhaps his mother had a point.

Maybe finding his footing in this new world wouldn't be so hard after all.

Maybe it would just take one bark at a time.

[w1nter-fairy]

✮⋆˙ one more chance.ᐟ

series masterlist | AO3

pairing: rockstar!bucky x groupie!reader

summary: After a show in Nashville, a night out turns into something much uglier when Bucky’s past collides with his present and you realize exactly where you stand in his life... or don't.

word count: 3.7 k

warnings: +18 MDNI! explicit sexual content, oral sex, multiple orgasms, rough sex, hurt/comfort, jealousy, miscommunication, situationship, Bucky Barnes needs therapy and it's a total evasive asshole in this part (!!!)

a/n; are people alergic to happiness or what? This was a request by my lovely Alice (@wintersoldier-gal) and I had to do some SERIOUS juggling to come up to this thing... fortunately is the last angst request I have for this series (yayy!!) still 2 parts more to go and then we're done. thank you for all the love you've given this series, I truly appreciate it. beta read by @herejustforbuckybarnes @buckysdecaflove & Denice ilysm<𝟑 |

Week 6, Nashville TN

Bucky suggested going to the bar across from the venue instead of just going back to the hotel or the bus.

"Industry people hang out here," he says, hand on your lower back as you walk in. "It's good networking."

Networking. Right. Because that's what you do at 11 PM after a show: network.

The bar is nicer than the places you usually go. Exposed brick, craft cocktails, the kind of place where musicians come to be seen. You're on jeans and one of the band's tee, with Bucky's leather jacket covering your shoulders, and you feel underdressed. You should've stayed at the bus.

"Relax," Bucky says, reading your tension. "You look good."

He orders some drinks and you find a spot at the bar. You're halfway through the whiskey when you see her.

She's gorgeous. Tall, blonde, kilometric legs in a dress that probably costs more than your rent. And she's looking directly at Bucky with a smile that makes your stomach drop.

"I can't believe what my eyes are seeing," you hear her say as she approaches. "Bucky Barnes. It's been a minute!"

Bucky turns and something flickers across his face. Recognition, maybe. "Hey. Yeah, it's been what? Two years?"

"Tampa," she says, and her smile widens. "Two tours ago… I can't believe you remember."

"Course I remember."

Your hand tightens on your glass while you wait for him to introduce you. He doesn't.

"God, that weekend was insane," she continues, leaning against the bar next to him. Close, too close. "I think we left the hotel room maybe twice."

Your stomach twists.

"Yeah," Bucky says with a laugh. "That was a good time."

Still no introduction, still no acknowledgment that you're even there.

The blonde's eyes flick to you finally, assessing. Her smile doesn't waver but something in her gaze sharpens. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. I'm Madison."

"Hi," you manage. You don't offer your name, neither does Bucky.

"And you are…?" Madison prompts.

There's a pause. A pause that lasts too long. You look at Bucky, waiting for him to say something: This is my girlfriend. This is my friend. Even just say your fucking name.

"She's with the tour," Bucky says finally and your heart sinks. "Travels with us."

"Oh," Madison's smile turns pitying. "Groupie?"

"No—" you start.

"Something like that," Bucky says at the same time and you want to dig a hole and bury yourself in it. Or maybe him.

Madison's laugh is light. "Well, good for you, Bucky's the best, isn't he? Absolutely insatiable." Her eyes are on you when she says it, watching for your reaction. "I could barely walk the next day, worth it though."

You feel sick. You should leave and walk away, but your feet refuse to move.

"That was a long time ago," Bucky says, but he's smiling, like it's something funny. Like this is just a fun trip down memory lane and not him letting another woman humiliate yo in public.

"Not that long." Madison counters. She touches his arm, fingers trailing down his bicep. "You still doing that thing with your tongue? God, I think about that sometimes."

Your face burns and you stare at your drink clenching your teeth.

"Madison—" Bucky starts, but he's still not pulling away from her touch.

"Sorry, sorry." She doesn't sound sorry. "I'm embarrassing you… it's just so good to see you." Her eyes cut to you again. "And you've clearly been busy. She's cute… very girl-next-door."

That was supposed to be a compliment, but her tone was suggesting otherwise.

"Yeah, well—" Bucky's hand lands on your lower back, but it feels performative, like he's just remembering you're there. "We should probably—"

"Oh, you should stay!" Madison says brightly. "Catch up, I want to hear everything you've been up to. Is the band still doing that thing where Steve writes all the emotional songs and you write all the dirty ones?"

And just like that, she's pulled Bucky into a conversation about music and touring and people you don't know. His hand eventually drops from your back… you might as well be invisible.

You sit there, nursing your drink, while Madison laughs at Bucky's stories and touches his arm and makes references to their weekend together. Little comments designed to remind that she's ben where you are, that she's had him first.

"Remember when we broke the headboard?" she says at one point, laughing. "The hotel charged you extra and your manager was so mad at you."

Bucky laughs too. "Oh shit, I forgot about that."

You want to throw your drink in both of their faces.

After fifteen minutes of this, you can't take it anymore and you stand up. "I'm going to the bathroom," you announce to no one in particular.

Bucky barely glances at you. "Yeah, okay."

Madison doesn't even acknowledges you've spoken.

You walk into the bathroom on shaking legs and lock yourself in a stall. You're not going to cry. You're not. You knew what this was. Knew he didn't owe you anything. You're not his girlfriend, he's made that very clear.

But fuck, it hurts.

You take a few deep breaths, fix your lipstick and head back out. They're still at the bar talking, Madison's hand is on his thigh now and he's not moving it.

Steve is there now too, standing slightly off to the side with a beer, watching the whole thing with an increasingly uncomfortable expression. The way he looks at you make something in you snap.

You walk up to them, and Madison turns to you with that same pitying smile.

"Oh, good, you're back," she says, tone dripping with false sweetness. "I was just telling Bucky about this amazing place in Austin. You should go sometime—oh wait." She laughs, and it's like she's pulling out a nerve. "I guess you've already been there, with the tour and all."

"Madison—" Bucky starts, but she's not done.

"It's so cute," Madison continues, looking at you like you're a child. "You traveling with them, playing groupie… I did that for a bit too, you know. It's fun while it lasts." She leans in conspiratorially. "Word of advice though, sweetie? Don't get too attached. These boys have a type and it's not 'girlfriend material'—trust me honey, you're nothing special, just someone convenient."

The slap echoes through the bar. Everyone stops doing whatever they're doing. Madison's hand flies to her cheek, eyes wide with shock.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that." Your voice is deadly calm.

"Are you insane?!" Madison sputters. "Did you just—"

"Yeah, I did." You step closer. "And I'll do it again if you say one more condescending thing to me, I'm not your 'sweetie', I'm not your 'honey'. And I'm sure as fuck not going to stand here and let you talk down to me like I'm nothing."

"Bucky, are you going to let her—" Madison turns to him.

You look at Bucky too, waiting… hoping he'll say something, defend you, claim you. But he's frozen, staring at you like he's never seen you before.

"You know what?" You grab his jacket from the back of the chair. "Fuck this, fuck both of you."

You turn to leave and nearly run into Steve.

"Hey—" Steve's hands are on your shoulders, steadying you. "You okay?"

"No," your voice cracks. "I'm really not."

Steve looks past you at Bucky and Madison, then back at you. His jaw is tight. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

"I can leave by myself—"

"I know you can, but I'm walking you out anyway." He keeps his hand on your shoulder and guides you toward the door.

Behind you, you hear Madison: "Bucky, your little groupie just assaulted me—"

And Bucky, finally: "She's not a groupie."

"Could've fooled me," Madison snaps. "The way you were introducing her—"

You can't hear the rest because Steve is steering you outside.

The cool night air hits your face and you realize you're shaking.

"That was fucking badass," Steve says.

You laugh, but it comes out wet. "I just slapped someone in a bar, I can cross that out of my bucket list."

"She deserved it." Steve's voice is firm. "She was being a complete bitch to you and Bucky just sat there and let it happen."

"He said I was just 'with the tour'," you're crying now, angry tears. "Like I'm just—like I'm nothing. Just some groupie he's fucking."

"You're not nothing," Steve looks genuinely angry. "And he's just an idiot for not shutting that down immediately."

"He was just sitting there, smiling, while she talked about fucking him, while she talked down to me like I'm—" Your voice breaks. "Like I'm just another girl, just… convenient, like she said."

You pause, then look at Steve directly. "Like when you two shared me back in Denver. That's what I am to him, right? Just another girl you guys pass around?"

Steve's face falls. "That's not—"

"Isn't it?" Your voice cracks. "You said you've done that before with other girls, and tonight he introduced me like I'm nothing."

Steve is quiet for a moment, his jaw tight. When he speaks, his voice is low and serious.

"That threesome was fucked up. I know that now." He runs his hand through his hair. "I asked Bucky if he wanted to do what we used to do on past tours… but back then I thought it was just casual for him. Just fun, I didn't realize—"

"That I mattered to him?"

"Yeah," Steve looks pained. "And I definitely didn't realize how much you were falling for him… I noticed it while we were—" He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… treated you like you were just another hookup, when it was not like that to either of you."

"Well, he did treated me like I was just another hookup."

"Well, I don't want to play the devil's advocate, but… he's terrified." Steve says. "I've known Bucky for twenty years, I've never seen him like he is with you. He's scared shitless of how much you matter. So he does stupid shit like— like sharing you to prove to himself that you. Or letting another guy hit on you..."

"That's not an excuse."

"I know it's not. He's being an asshole, and you deserves better than how he's treating you." He looks at you seriously. "You deserve someone who doesn't pull these shitty stunts like letting other women disrespect you."

Fresh tears fall. "I don't want someone else. I know it's stupid… but I want him… and I want him to want me too… not just in bed, not just when it's convenient. I want him to really choose me."

"He has chosen you. He just doesn't know how to show it yet." Steve's expression softens. "But that doesn't mean you have to wait around while he figures his shit out. You're allowed to have standards and demand better."

"I shouldn't have to demand to be treated like I matter."

"You're absolutely right." Steve squeezes your shoulder. "Which is why I will personally drive you to the airport if he doesn't get his shit together."

"Steve—"

"I mean it, you're my friend now. And I'm not going to watch him hurt you just because he's too scared to admit what you mean to him." He pauses. "And I'm sorry again for Denver."

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

Back at the bus, Steve makes sure you're settled before heading back to the bar.

"You sure you're okay?" he asks at the door.

"Yeah, thanks for the talk."

"Don't mention it. Just take care of yourself, alright? And if you need anything I'm here. And Sam too. Even if it's just to talk or to hide from Bucky."

"I will, thanks Steve."

You hear Bucky stumble onto the bus, hear Steve's low voice saying something you can't make out, and then Bucky's there, pulling back the curtains.

"Hey," he says quietly.

You don't turn to look at him, just stare at the wall.

"Can we talk?"

"No."

"Baby—"

"Don't call me that." Your voice is flat. "Not right now."

He's quiet for a moment. "What you did back at the bar… slapping Madison, that was pretty badass."

You finally look at him. "You let her talk about fucking you, you let her touch you, you didn't introduce me. You just said I was 'with the tour' and now you want what? To come in here and fuck me and pretend it didn't happen?"

He flinches at your voice. "No, I—"

"Go sleep on the couch."

"What?"

"The couch, in the back lounge. Go sleep there." You turn away from him. "I don't want you in here tonight."

"Come on, don't be like that—"

"Like what? Like someone who has self-respect? Like someone who's tired of being treated like shit?" You sit up, looking at him directly. "You let another woman humiliate me, you sat there and smile while she talked about your sex life and called me a groupie and made me feel like nothing. And you didn't say a single thing to stop it."

"I know I fucked up but—"

"Yeah, you did… so go sleep on the couch and think about it."

"Can't we just—"

"No, we can't 'just' anything. I'm done for tonight, I'm done with you for tonight." Your voice cracks slightly. "Please just go."

He looks like he wants to argue, but the look on your face must stop him. "Okay… okay, I'll go—"

He leaves, closing the curtains behind him. You lie back down and stare at the wall, tears sliding down your face. You can hear him settling on the couch, the creak of the cushions, the rustle of a blanket.

Neither of you sleeps well.

The next morning you wake up to voices—Sam and Steve talking quietly in the front of the bus.

"He can't keep doing this to her," Steve is saying.

"I know." That's Sam. "I told him last night he's being an idiot."

"Did he listen?"

"Does he ever?"

You hear Bucky's voice, rough with sleep. "I'm right here, you know?"

"Good. Maybe you'll actually hear us then." Sam doesn't sound sympathetic. "You let that woman disrespect your girlfriend."

"She's not—"

"Don't." Steve's voice is hard. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, not after everything."

There's a long silence after that. You get up quietly, grab your toiletry bag, and head to the tiny bathroom to shower and change. When you emerge, the bus is quiet. Sam and Steve must've left.

You go to Bucky's bunk and start pulling out your things: your clothes, your toiletries, the book you've been reading. You fold everything methodically, packing into your bag. You're halfway through when you hear his voice behind you.

"What are you doing?"

You don't turn around. "Packing."

"I can see that, why?"

"Because I'm done."

"Done?" He sounds panicked now. "What do you mean done?"

"I mean I'm tired Bucky, I'm tired of being treated like I don't matter."

"You—"

"Oh, I matter now? Then why didn't you defend me last night?" You turn to face him now. "Why didn't you tell Madison my name? Why didn't you shut her down when she was talking about fucking you? Why did you just sit there and let her make me feel like nothing?"

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

"That's what I thought." You turn back to your bag. "I can't do this anymore, I can't keep waiting for you to grow the hell up."

"Wait." he moves closer. "You promised. After the Eli thing, you promised you wouldn't leave."

You freeze. He's right… you did promise.

"That was before you let another woman humiliate me in public," you say quietly.

"So your promises mean nothing when I fuck up? That's not how this works—"

"Don't you dare make this about me breaking promises when you can't even— you can't even treat me with respect."

"I do respect you—"

"You can't even say my name while introducing me. You let her call me a groupie! You sat there while she talked about fucking you like I wasn't even there!" Your voice breaks. "You promised you'd do better after LA and you didn't."

"I'm trying—"

"Well, you're not trying hard enough!" You're crying now. "I promised I wouldn't leave because you promised you'd be better. And you weren't, so yeah… I'm breaking my promise because you broke yours first."

He flinches like you've hit him.

"Please," his voice is rough. "Please don't go, I'll do better… I'll be better."

"You keep saying that, but nothing changes."

"It will, I swear it will." He grabs your wrist, stopping you from reaching for your bag. "Just give me another chance."

"I gave you another chance after LA, this was your other chance."

"Then give me one more." His voice breaks. "Please, just one more."

"How many chances am I supposed to give you, Bucky?"

"I don't know, as many as it takes for me to get it right." He's pulling you closer now, desperate. "I know I keep fucking up, but I'm trying, I'm really fucking trying…"

"Are you? Because it doesn't feel like it."

"I can't do this with words," he says quietly. "I don't know how to say what I feel. But I can show you, let me show you."

"Bucky—"

"Please, let me show you that you matter, that last night was me being a fucking coward…"

You should say no, should leave while you still have some self respect left. But his hands are shaking and his eyes are pleading, and you're so tired of fighting, that you let him.

He doesn't say much. He undresses you slowly, carefully, hands soft on your skin. When your shirt comes off, his mouth is immediately on your collarbone, your shoulder, the swell of your breasts.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin.

He doesn't lose time with your bra, unclasping it and sliding it off before his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peak. His mouth follows, sucking and biting gently, making you gasp.

When you're completely naked, he lays you down on the narrow couch and just looks at you for a moment, eyes dark and hungry. Then he's on his knees between your legs.

He kisses up your inner thighs slowly, hands gripping your hips to keep you still. When his mouth finally reaches where you need him, you arch off the couch. He takes his time, worshiping you with his tongue—slow licks, gentle suction on your clit, then deeper, fucking you with his tongue until you're writhing. His hands spread your thighs wider, holding you open for him.

When he adds his fingers and curl them just right, you cry out his name.

He works you methodically, thoroughly, like he's trying to prove something with every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers. When you come the first time, gasping and shaking, he doesn't stop. Just keeps going until you're oversensitive and pulling at his hair.

"Bucky—too much—"

He pulls back just enough to kiss your inner thigh, then your hip bone, leaving a mark. His hands slide up your body, palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers as he kisses up your stomach.

When his mouth reaches your breasts again, he's rougher—sucking hard enough to leave marks, biting gently, tongue soothing over each sting. You're still sensitive from your previous orgasm, every touch feels electric.

He strips off his own clothes quickly, and then he's hovering over you, one hand braced by your head, the other guiding himself to your entrance. He pushes in slowly, so slowly, and you're already so wet from his mouth that he slides in easily but the stretch still makes you gasp.

He bottoms out and stays there, forehead pressed to yours, just breathing… then he starts to move. It's slow at first—long, deep strokes that hit perfectly every time. One hand tangles in your hair, the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. His mouth finds your neck, sucking marks into your skin.

"You're mine," he breathes against your throat.

He picks up the pace, fucking into you harder now, the couch creaking with each thrust. His hand slides from your hip to between your legs thumb finding your clit and circling roughly. You come again, clenching around him, and he groans into your neck.

"Again," he says, and it's not a request.

He shifts the angle, hitting deeper, his thumb still working your clit, and you can't, it's too much—but your body responds anyway building again impossibly fast.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Come on my cock, show me."

When you come the third time, it's almost painful, pleasure crashing through you so intensely, you can't breathe. He follows seconds later, hips stuttering, your name falling from his lips in low whispers. After a moment, he pulls out carefully and reaches for the blanket that's fallen to the floor, draping it over both of you. He pulls you against his chest, arms wrapped around you.

"I'm really sorry," he says quietly. "For last night, for not standing out for you when Madison said all those mean things… for making you feel like you don't matter."

You're quiet, trying to catch your breath.

"It's just… I'm bad at this… at saying the right things." He pulls you closer. "But you do matter. You're—" He trails off.

"I'm what?"

"Important, really important…"

Not girlfriend, not love. Just important.

You close your eyes taking a deep breath. "That's not enough, Bucky."

"I know, but it's all I can give right now." His voice is rough. "I'm working on the rest, I promise I'm working on it."

"How long am I supposed to wait while you figure things out?"

"I don't know, but please don't leave… not yet."

It's not enough, you both know it's not enough, and you definitely know you should leave but his arms around you make leaving too hard right now.

"One more chance," you whisper quietly as you finally doze off against his arms.

For now, this is what you have.

taglist: @wintersoldier-gal @bartonsparrow25 @gilwm @goobers-mcgee @spring-soldier @tw1sters @weasleyswizarding-wheezes +add yourself here

[shotinthedcrk]

The Pershing Cap (40s AU)

Summary: It’s said that when someone graduates from military officer training school, the cadet’s girlfriend, or "kaydet," traditionally wears their significant other’s Pershing cap. However, wearing a cadet’s dress cap carries a different meaning, it signals the need to kiss the cadet who owns it. This wouldn’t be an issue if you were dating Bucky—but you weren't.

AN: thank you so much for the positive response to You're Losing Me! I haven't wrote in a bit and have been trying to change up how i write so hopefully i find time to write again.

This is is an old one reposted from my AO3 so my writing style here is a little different. I think reading back to this, i prefer to use 'you' rather than 'I' when writing, feels more natural to read idk, what about you? Anyways, i hope you enjoy :)

A Pershing cap, a sign of authority. It was one of the best ways to determine who was in the army, determine who were the men I shouldn't be attached to.

When Bucky and I first met, I didn't know he was in the military.

He was bright smiles and respectful when he came in the diner. Working at the diner has given me enough experience with military men to know I never wanted to be involved with them. But Bucky was different, he brought a scrawny blonde boy-Steve, with him who had a huge cut on his lip and probably an impending black eye forming, and ordered milkshakes while holding a first aid kit. He was gentle and lightly scolding the scrawny boy for getting into another fight as they settled on a booth by the back. If the diner wasn't so busy, I know the other girls would be fighting to serve his table but life has a funny way of working because it was me who ended up serving his table.

And he kept coming back. Sometimes he was alone but often times with Steve who as I learned had a heart of gold. Steve often got into fights despite his size because he stood his ground to help anyone. As the two kept coming back to the diner, I found myself forming a frienship with the two which was how I found myself here.

It was Bucky's military officer training graduation. Despite our friendship only forming for less than a year, Bucky made sure to invite me to watch him receive his honor with his mother, sisters, and Steve.

As the ceremony finished, Bucky approached us with a smile. Hugging his mother first, his sisters, Steve, and finally me.

"Glad you could make it doll" he murmurs to my head as his sisters talked to Steve

I give him a small smile, feeling uncomfortable at the big crowd, "Wouldn't miss it for the world"

He smiles and places the cap he has been wearing that matched his uniform on my head.

"Barnes" an older man calls out and puts his hand on Bucky's shoulder as Bucky greeted him

"General" Bucky says with a smile, fixing his hair-a nervous tick of his.

I stepped to the side to give the two men a privacy as the General congratulated him saying how he knows Bucky would bring great honor to his country. I frown a bit at his remark, the thought of Bucky being shipped out still a heavy thought that reigned not on my head but also on Steve's. Steve stood to my side, the shorter man told Bucky's mom and sisters to go ahead to the diner and was waiting for me and Bucky.

"What's got you frowning?" Steve inquired looking at the two talking

"Nothing" I say a little too quick

Steve laughed before looking at me "You know it's easy to tell when you're lying", he crossed his arms over his chest with a smile "Bucky told me some of your tells"

I grumble in response, adjusting the cap Bucky put on me lower as if to hide me from the blonde man making Steve laugh.

Bucky seeing me get embarrassed makes him put his arm over my shoulder "Hey Stevie" he says with a laugh "stop embarassing my girl".

I roll my eyes, feeling the butterflies in my stomach at he called me his girl.

The general laughs joining in on the conversation as Bucky pulled me closer to him. "You know Barnes, it's military tradition that a kaydet wearing your dress cap should give you a kiss. Something about a good way to keep you safe when you're out on the field" he smiled as I feel the heat creep up to my face. "Looking forward to seeing you on the field" the general says giving a salute that Bucky returned before leaving me, Steve and Bucky alone.

"I'll go ahead" Steve smiles before walking away "We'll wait for you two at the diner."

I exhale shakily as Bucky pulls his arm from my shoulder, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"We don't have to," he says his voice calm but warm. I tilt my head in confusion urging him to go on "I didn't even know about the tradition if you were wondering."

Heat flares across my cheeks as the general's words earlier echoed in my head. "It's okay" I say a little too quick which makes Bucky tilt his head as I come closer. My hand makes it's way to the back of his head as I pull him close to my face and kiss his lips, catching him in surprise.

It took a bit but Bucky's hand makes it's way to my hips as he pulls me closer, opening his mouth to kiss me back feverishly with a smile.

We pull back a bit and keep our foreheads close as we catch our breath. I keep my eyes closed as the embarassment of my action gets to me. When I open my eyes, I find the blue eyes that has been the closest I've had to a home staring back at me with a smile as his hand touches my face gently.

"I like you" Bucky breathes out "been planning to ask you out properly, take you to dinner and ask you to be my girl since I met you" he smiles as his hand traced invisible lines on my cheek, looking at me with love "sorry I kept chickening out"

I smile and pull him back for a soft kiss at his confession "I like you too" I whisper as I take his hand in mine.

[hellomrweird]

Always love me some 40s bucky

I gotta agree with you there, I find you alot more natural to read than I in stories for myself. I think the first person is deceptively the harder POV to pull of in any story, as it leans to being an unreliable narrator (unless thats what you going for) and can easily take people out of a story. It’s really really hard to write thoughts down in first person that down sound strange. THis is all my preference however.

[shotinthedcrk]

thank you for this! As of writing i have fully switched to using you rather than I in my writings. And i do agree how it can take people out of the story, rereading this made me realize even more how i'd love to rewrite this one day though!

Anyways thank you for this, and thanks for reading!

[shotinthedcrk]

Miracle

Dirt Bike Racer! Bucky x Ex! Reader Summary: A year since you left, Bucky was finally back in his hometown on the final stretch to win the FIM Motocross World Championship. He leaves a ticket under your name hoping for a miracle. CW: accidents, surgery, childhood friends to lovers to exes to eventually getting back together, spoiler that this talks about losing a limb

There's a saying that goes, you fly too close to the sun, and you burn.

Throughout his life, Bucky Barnes has heard it from almost everyone close to him.

It started when he was 7 and wanted to learn to skateboard like Tony Hawk. His mom told him that before he left the house, and tried the highest ramp available in their town with only a week of practice. He broke his arm that day. 

The next was when he asked his dad for a motorcycle for his 18th birthday so he could pursue his dreams of dirt bike racing. He crashed during senior year during an offhand race. Nothing broken this time, just a concussion and a bruised ego. His determination was still intact to chase after his dreams.

And then there was you, the only constant in his life who allowed him to fly high because you promised you'd always be there to catch him.

From the days of playing at the playground as a bunch of 4 year olds up to when his career took off as a Dirt Bike Racer, you stood beside him. Sponsor calls, press conferences, races, and even to his eventual addiction, you name it.

You were there.

Bucky knew he fucked up the moment you walked out the door.

His career has been going well since his name got picked up.

Win after win, from local competitions up to his road to FIM Motocross World Championship. His head got bigger and bigger.

From light drinks to alcohol becoming something he drank more than water, then to dipping his toes in drugs, he started losing himself from how high he was flying.

And that was when you put your foot down.

He was too drunk that morning, and just like you said, you were tired of picking up after his mess. So you left.

The memory still burns in his head a year after. He's still not better than he used to be.

But at least now, he's finally honest with himself.

With a sigh, he continued putting his motocross body armor on.

He was finally back in his hometown and though it was one of the final stops before the finals, all he could think about was you.

No one has felt right parallel to his body since you.

He needed somebody. No, he wanted you to come back and be that somebody but he feared you probably don't even care enough to come see the show anymore.

Bucky hears his name called from the speaker, his sign to get his head back on the race and get to his position.

But even when he swung his leg over his motorcycle as the crowd's cheer got louder, he still couldn't get you out of his head.

"Hey Buck, you good?" Sam appears by his side with a concerned look.

Letting out a rough exhale, Bucky nods and forces a smile. "She here?"

Sam frowns, knowing exactly who he was asking for. "Last I checked at the box an hour ago, her ticket is still unclaimed."

Bucky nods with a rueful smile before putting on his helmet.

"Hey," Sam stops him for a second. "You sure you're good?"

Bucky closes his eyes and imagines your face for a moment before speaking, "you know how it is." So much for his miracle.

He hears his name called and Sam has to let him go, "just be careful out there man."

Bucky gives a passive thumbs up before getting into position.

Focus. He reminds himself but the lingering thought of waking up still alone tomorrow sends a sharp pang in his chest when he remembers these were the roads he used to practice at. The same ones where you'd wait with a smile and a bottle of water as he trained.

He was spiraling as he held the brake and throttle of his motorcycle.

Focus.

He releases the brake a second too late and misses the gate placing him almost near last.

Fuck, he curses to himself as he forced himself to go faster as he vie for the holeshot.

His speed picks up as he fights from 16th place.

By lap 17 out of 20. He was placing 3rd but his body could feel the rush and adrenaline fade along with his breathing that couldn't keep up with his current speed.

The hill on the last turn by the finishing lap was starting to feel like a dangerous road but he grips with his legs tighter to keep momentum even if fear was starting to settle in his chest.

Lap 19, one more he tells himself as he finally managed to overtake and get 1st. He grips the throttle tightly when he feels something sharp in his chest hit. He knew he shouldn't, this was basic knowledge not to do.

One more lap. He tells himself over and over but when he reaches the last turn, he felt something wrong and before he could make the turn so he can hit victory his bike swivels and he loses control over his hold.

The next moment comes in flashes.

The feeling of falling. The crash. Then the sharp pain on his left arm before the darkness settled in knocking him unconscious.

But even then his last thought was still the miracle of seeing you again.

The next thing he remembers was the lights.

Bright, blinding, and like an answered prayer, the first thing he sees when the bright lights of the hospital room adjusts was you watching him by the window.

"Hey Ace," you mutter from where you stood. "How are you feeling?"

Bucky's breath hitches at the sound of your voice. The same one he's been dreaming of just to feel sane since you left.

He blinks slowly, body still disoriented by the painkillers.

Muttering your name roughly—cracked from dehydration or maybe it was relief that you were there after everything—he tries to sit up but winces when his right arm jerks against the IV line which he tries to fix before he realizes the lack of his left arm.

Panic sets in, and before he could spiral you stood by his side and held his hand.

"Hey," you say softer almost as if you knew what he was feeling.

Bucky's chest heaves like a trapped animal as tears form, the heart monitor beeping wildly as he stares at the empty space where his left arm should be.

His eyes were wide with panic and your free hand came up to the back of his head, "breathe with me, Ace."

Your voice cuts through the haze—Ace—the same nickname you started calling him in high school when he told you his dream.

He leans to your touch like instinct. His right hand flexing against yours like it's the only thing keeping him afloat. "What happened to me?" He rasps, throat raw from days of lack of use.

"You crashed," you muttered brokenheartedly as tears formed. "Lost control at the last lap, and they-"

Your voice breaks but you swallow the lump forming in your throat, "they had to amputate your arm because it got caught under your bike."

Bucky's breath stutters. The weight of your words hangs heavily in the air as he glanced down at the empty space where his arm used to be.

He's not sure if he feels it as the cold feeling of shock washes over him despite the sun shining brightly behind you.

He doesn't move but his vision blurs.

When his head clears, the beeping of the heart monitor is now steady. He feels your touch against his face despite the silence, the feel of your thumb gently wiping away the tears on his cheeks that he didn't know was there until you brushed them off.

"Fuck."

It wasn't anger. It was raw devastation tearing in his chest as silence fell. 

His eyes then met yours and it felt like something shattered behind him, "you were there?" He asked quietly, like it was the only thing that mattered.

Your lips trembled as you spoke quietly, "I know- I know I shouldn't have went after leaving-"

Bucky shakes his head to stop you, "don't." He rasps out and squeezes your hand that holds his.

"Just..." He swallows past the lump forming in his throat. "Just stay." He muttered quietly, eyes pleading.

"Please," he begs quietly this time and you felt it more when he grips your hand desperately, like you were the only thing that he was holding on to as he waited.

You nod, the relief at his request hitting you as you squeezed his hand back, "I'm not going anywhere," you finally muttered just before a nurse entered.

"Mr. Barnes," she greets pressing a button to call for the doctor as she checks his vitals. "Glad to see you finally awake," she adds before handing him a water cup with a straw that you help him with.

Bucky drank through the straw that you held, taking careful sips that relieved his throat after going so long without use.

The doctor then comes in followed by Sam, who stands by the threshold like the ever reliable friend he always was.

"Good to see you're awake," the doctor says in greeting and Bucky's eyes shift from you to the doctor before nodding in return.

The nurse lists his vitals down before the doctor spoke again, "now for the hard part-"

Bucky's grip tightens on your hand. His breathing heavy that the heart monitor betrays the spike rising.

The doctor discusses how they had to remove up his humerus that couldn't be saved from the impact, and the weight of his motorcycle that hit him.

Then he switches over to prosthetics, and rehab programs but Bucky isn't hearing any of it. His head was heavy, his hand squeezing yours—the same way they used to when he needed grounding after races gone wrong—desperately, as if it was his saving grace.

"So what does this mean for his career?" You voiced out quietly.

"With a prosthetic, if he commits to rehab and trains he could still race. But it won't be the same as before."

Bucky could feel the tears, and as if it was second nature to you, you placed yourself closer to him as the doctor continued to explain that if he had a prosthetic he could race in smaller competitions. But the chances that he could reach the FIM World Championship again was slim to none.

You hear Sam let out a quiet sad sigh as he steps forward, voice firm but gentle. "Or you can walk away now. The world won't judge. You gave yourself to the sport already."

Bucky exhales sharply through his nose as a tear falls.

"I can't," he replies in a broken voice, his throat heaving with emotion, his right hand still holding yours like it's his lifeline. "This," he chokes out, looking back at you, "it was my dream."

He takes another shaky breath as if he was holding the words in, "I worked so hard for it. I lost you because of it."

Sam stood by the foot of his bed and gave him a knowing, sad smile, "I know," he says quietly, "but maybe think about it. Your answer can wait, we can think about rehab first."

Bucky nods once, "yeah," he mutters as he lets his eyes close for a moment to reign back the overwhelming emotions he was feeling.

The room goes quiet, almost suffocatingly, save for the beeping and humming of the hospital equipment before he adds a quiet, "can we be alone? Please."

Sam, ever the reliable best friend and manager, nods and motions for the doctor and nurse to step out.

Without a word, he pulls the blind close to block the sun and pat's Bucky's leg before stepping out of the room with the doctor and nurse, leaving you two alone, standing by the side of his bed with his hand still desperately holding yours.

Bucky's grip loosens slightly as the door shuts close, his breath hitching as he stares at the empty space where his arms used to be. The reality of it—permanently gone—sinking in deep.

His shoulders shake with heavy quiet sobs as his head bows, his hair covering his face as he tries to compose himself and failing to do so.

The bed shifts with the added weight as you sit on the edge, fingers gently pulling his head against your chest, letting him seek comfort, and it isn't long before he lets himself go. Face buried into the crook of your neck, body trembling with each suppressed sobs, and his right hand gripping your shirt like he's afraid if he moves you won't be there anymore.

"I don't-" His voice cracks as he tries to talk but pulls you closer. "You were there," he finally says hoarsely, "you came back."

He pauses where his throat works around the words too heavy to say out loud, Why? I don't deserve it after everything.

You pull back to brush away the few stray hairs that fell over his face, letting your hand wander down to his cheek like how you used to do back when you were still together, before wiping the tears away with your thumb.

Bucky leans into your touch like a man starved, his eyes squeezing shut as he turns his face to press a kiss against the palm of your hand before his right hand lifts shakily to cover yours where it rests on his cheek,

"Fuck," he rasps out, voice wrecked from crying and the weight of everything that's happened—losing you, losing this part of himself—and all that's left in the aftermath.

"You're really here." It comes out half disbelieving as his hand resting on yours tightens its grip.

He exhales roughly through gritted teeth before he mutters under his breath, "I know I don't have the right to say it because I messed up so much that you had to leave for me to wake up. But God, I missed you so much."

You let out a heavy sigh, thumb tracing over his cheek as you place your forehead against his. "I missed you too." You mutter shakily.

Bucky lets out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes at the feeling of your foreheads pressed together. Somehow, despite everything, being here with you was enough to hold him together.

He turns his head slightly to press another kiss against the palm of your hand, and then another, as if needing to sear his kiss to your skin so he can still have you even in this small desperate way.

When he opens his eyes, his stare was heavy with the weight of the year that passed by apart before he asks in a voice filled with desperation, "don't go."

His whisper was hoarse, and it sounded like a broken plea. "I can't lose you." His voice breaks but he continued, "I quit drinking, the drugs. I went cold turkey when you left. I lost so much but you- you're the one thing I can't lose."

"Please, don't leave me again."

Your throat goes tight at the raw vulnerability in his voice—the pain, the desperation, the fear—and you know you should tell him no after everything. He still needs to work on himself, to find his new normal, but the way he was looking at you is making your heart ache and you can feel the last remnants of your resistance that said you were only here to make sure he was okay, slipping away.

It feels like an age has passed before you find your voice and it sounds just as broken as his, "you hurt me, Bucky."

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and nods like a man who accepted his punishment.

"I know," he rasps, tightening his hold on your hand that still held his face, "God, I know baby. I'm sorry."

He meets your gaze, his eyes glassy from the tears again, "I don't know why I let you out of my bed that day but I have been praying for a miracle that you'd come back since. I didn't call because I was scared to hear you tell me you were doing good without me. I deserved it, I know. I did-" his voice falters, cracking but he continues, "I did so many stupid things, hurt you in more ways than I can count, and I know I don't deserve a second chance for all that I put you through but I'm begging anyways."

The confession hangs like a heavy weight on your chest as the silence settles, and the beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room besides his ragged breaths and sniffles.

He didn't move, just kept his eyes on yours while his thumb ran circles on the hand he held.

"Please," he whispers again, pleading, "just don't leave." He takes a deep breath before a hoarse chuckle escapes him, "you know when I was falling just before I hit the barrier and lost control, all I thought of was you. Because if that was my last moment, you were the only one thought that brought me comfort. And then I woke up, and here you were. My miracle."

His confession shatters what little remained of your resolve to stay detached and aloof.

You don't answer immediately, instead your hand moves to the back of his hair in a comforting gesture, and your voice softens as your own tears fall, "I never wanted to leave."

A shaky breath leaves you as you continue, "even when I left, I watched every race and prayed for your safety." You smiled sadly at him, "I love you, you know? I never stopped. I just needed to bring you down before you burned yourself."

Bucky lets out a choke sound, something between relief and devastation as he pulls you closer with his one arm before burying his face in the crook of your neck. Inhaling shakily as if he was memorizing the feeling he thought was long gone.

"All this time, I thought you gave up on me already," he mutters shakily before pulling back just enough to really feel you. His hand cups the side of your face so gently.

"You were right to bring me down. I was an idiot burning myself to the ground." He mutters, "I'm never flying that high again if it means I lose you."

There was no mistaking how serious those words are—coming from the man who had always been chasing danger for most of his life—as he leaned in and kissed you. Pouring all the hurt and longing he felt.

And as he pulls away, he knows there's still so much left to do but at least his miracle came back to him, and maybe he can still heal from all of this.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦

AN: I don't know anything about motocross or anything about medical terminologies. I mostly just read up summaries and articles i could find online 😭 anyways this fic idea popped into my head when i was rewatching Boys Like Girls' Miracle music video (give it a watch if you can) then i guess it kinda jus took an angsty life of it's own. Thanks for reading!

Tag list: @butterflyeras-blog @mathcat345 @pinkrubbits (let me know if you'd only like to be tagged on the Bridgerton AU and i'll be happy to remove you) you can also join the tag list by letting me know or sliding in my ask.

[Read my other works, here.]

[shotinthedcrk]

needed a little break from writing the regency era bucky fic so working on this for now

cant promise when i'll have them out or which will go first but yay to finally having time again to write

[Read my other works, here.]

[shotinthedcrk]

One Dance

Lord Bucky x Lady Reader (Bridgerton AU)

[Read part 1 here]

It has been two months since the ball he was forced to host.

Two painful months of being plagued by the girl he found in his study and halfway through London's social season.

After the ball he hosted, your name was crowned the diamond of the season. And for weeks, every ball he attended he had watched at the sides as eligible bachelors made their intentions of courting you known all while the only interaction he could get was acknowledging smiles or simple greetings when your paths crossed.

He was attracted to you. This much he was sure of, this was the first real attraction he'd felt to anyone. Even before the war. Yet you were clearly of high society, a lady he clearly couldn't have.

Or so he convinced himself.

Bucky Barnes is a man haunted by the war. Sure, the war was over. He made it back, was bestowed upon the title of a Lord after all.

But despite his new title and place in society, he still couldn't fathom his head of deserving you. He was after all a man who lost an arm in the war and did not come back whole. Both figuratively, and literally.

Just because he came back and had a higher standing in society doesn't mean he believes he deserves a chance to even court you. He doesn't even believe that marriage was something he could deserve after all the blood he held in his hands for his country. Yet in the face of the knowledge he carried, he still wanted you regardless.

"Bucky!" His gaze from the mezzanine following your latest dance closely with Lord Arlington was broken by the familiar, annoying, voice he had known for his entire life. "There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you-"

He turned to his friend, Steve Rogers, before the man could finish his sentence.

"What do you want, Steve?"

"Have you been hiding from potential bridges again?" Steve teased as he stood next to Bucky and observed the floor.

Bucky gave him a warning glare before looking back down at you and Lord Arlington dancing, "I don't want to hear it," he mutters.

"You know I only worry for you, my friend." Steve says, trying to find what his best friend was watching. "You never participate in the dance."

"Perhaps the idea that I don't like balls should be something you remember," he mutters.

"Besides," he adds quietly, looking over at his metal arm. The latest invention by House Stark, presented by the Queen as a reward for serving his country. "Why would anyone want to dance with a man who only has one arm that is warm?"

"Buck," Steve says, facing him with a concerned expression, "you are now a man with a land, fortune, any woman would be lucky to marry you."

Bucky groans, "any woman who wants me for my status, you mean?"

"You could always marry for love," Steve suggested with a hopeful undertone, "though that requires actually meeting the debutants and not sneaking away from the floor."

"Do you hear yourself speak, Steve?" He spoke quietly now as he glanced down on his metal arm again before meeting Steve's eyes, "Marriage for love? As if a woman in high society could genuinely find love in a man who can't hold her at night without bringing in the cold?"

Steve sighs before he spoke, "but you too are part of high society now."

"I'm aware," Bucky huffs low, "but how often are marriages for love? Even when we were less, we heard the stories, you know as well as I do that most high society marriages are arranged. Love is rare-"

"And yet it's possible," Steve chimes in, cutting him off. "We may be the first in our name to reach high society but it doesn't mean we have to close ourselves off to love."

Bucky was stunned, for a moment as he glared on the floor between him and Steve before he mistakenly glanced over to you bowing to Lord Arlington as the dance ended.

Ever the observer, Steve follows the Bucky's line of sight. "Well, I see a debutant has caught your attention after all."

Bucky was about to deny but Steve was already dragging him by the shoulder to the stairs, "perhaps her dance card still has a spot. You should ask her," he suggested with a smile.

He tensed as his feet were guided closer to the floor, his eyes flickering back to Steve as he felt his heart beat faster in his chest.

"You are part of this too Buck," Steve whispers in his ear, "you have the right to ask for a lady's hand in dance."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he looks back at you, standing by the side.

Taking a deep breath as he forces his feet to move towards you, Steve slapped his back in support before nudging him forward.

The music in the room was about to start again and he could feel his heart racing as he made his way across the ballroom. His eyes were on you, and the nervousness in his chest grew with each step. As he made his way closer, he could feel the eyes of the other debutants and their mamas, along with the other participating members of high society, watching him approach you with whispers as this was the first time Lord James Buchanan Barnes was willingly seen at the floor.

"My Lady," he says with a graceful smile despite his heart in his throat, "may I have this dance?"

You turned to face him with a surprised look painted on your face, "Lord Barnes," you greeted with a polite smile before extending your arm that holds your dance card, to him.

As he takes your dance card, his fingers brush against your gloved hand and it sends a jolt through him at the briefest touch. His heart raced faster in his chest as he wrote down his name on the last empty slot for the next dance.

His gaze flickered up to meet yours again, his eyes softening.

"It seems I have claimed the last dance of the night with you." He announced, offering you his hand.

You gave him a softer smile and took his hand.

The touch sends another jolt through him and for a moment, he clenches his metal arm that he tried to hide as much as he could to keep him steady.

He leads you onto the floor, taking a deep breath before positioning himself in a proper dancing position. He places his metal hand on the small of your back with a nervous tremble before pulling you closer than he should, his flesh hand holding onto yours.

He could feel the eyes of the others on both of you, their whispers and judgmental looks, but he tuned them out and focused on you.

"I see you decided to grace the floor with your presence this time," you remarked softly as you fell into sync of a dance that you had to learn at an early age.

He chuckled softly, remembering the peaceful moment you have shared in his study many moons ago. The way you looked still etched in his head, reading by his favorite spot in the manor like a dream he holds onto.

"My friend, Steve Rogers, pushed me to join." He remarked softly with feign annoyance at the mention of his friend's name.

He spun you around on time and gracefully like he studied, to the familiar strings playing, the steps he had been watching you take with your other suitors coming to him like second nature.

"I see," you said quietly, "I'm sure a man such as yourself would prefer his solitude and his study."

He hummed in agreement as he stepped forward to the beat, a shy of a smile tugging at his lips as he spoke, "your assessment is correct, my Lady. I do prefer the solitude of my study."

You nod but couldn't help but pry, "so hosting a ball was not your idea, and the prospect of marriage is not something you have in mind?"

Bucky's metal hand grip your waist a little tighter as he tensed from your question, a hint of the insecurity he had been burying underneath coming out, but he quickly replaced it with a nonchalant facade.

"Marriage?" He echoed with an edge of what he hoped sounded as sarcasm, "no, it isn't something I see myself having."

His gaze flickered around the room, taking in the various debutants and their hopeful expressions.

"Let's just leave it at the idea of being with one person for the rest of my life..." he hesitates if he should speak the truth for a second as he met your waiting eyes when he spins you but decided to keep his insecurities back instead, "is less than appealing."

Nodding somberly, "I'd love to marry," you admit softly, "I dream of marrying for love but maybe mama was right that it's a foolish hope, and if I want it, perhaps I should learn to just love whoever I do marry this season."

The music stops, and Bucky feels his heart tighten as your words remain in his head. The sadness in your voice was evident, he could tell but what he couldn't was if he contributed to it.

"Thank you for the dance, my Lord." You say politely as you bow and let go of his hand.

He let out a small sigh as he forced a charming smile, "the pleasure was mine, my Lady."

You gave him a polite smile in acknowledgement before he watched you return to your mama, her excitement was a stark contrast to the quiet ache that was left in his chest by the distance.

For a moment, he thought of approaching you, to apologize if his words on the dance floor brought that look at the end of the dance to your face.

"You're smitten," Steve appeared beside him as he watched you leave with your mama. When you were out of sight, he finally looked at his friend who was smiling at him with a knowing look.

"Do not start, Steven." He grumbled as the crowd dispersed.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head at his friend's stubborn denial.

"Don't lie to me, Buck. I saw the way you looked at her. That was also the first time you danced with someone under your own volition."

Bucky's jaw tightens, the truth in Steve's words making his chest ache. He schools a scowl in place, shoving his hands into his pockets as they exit towards the halls of the Townshend's manor. "I do not know what you're speaking of."

Steve laughs at his friend's stubbornness that he sees through as they make their way to their carriage, "I can tell she is smitten by you too."

They enter the carriage but Steve continues once the door was shut, "You know you're allowed to want her, you know?" He says it softly this time, "we are no longer bound by our lower status."

Bucky's expression softens as he sighs. "You make it sound so simple."

"It's supposed to be," Steve says assuringly. "Perhaps you ought to visit their manor and get to know her. I know we are halfway through the season but it is never too late to show intentions if you truly feel something."

His words hang in the air for a moment as the trudging of the horse became the only sound between them. Steve didn't push. He knew he needed his words to sink into his best friend's head before he added anything else.

Finally Bucky breaks the silence he lets out a frustrated sigh as his doubts crept in to the point that his words come out strained, "do you think they'd even let me in her family's manor?"

Steve gives him a knowing smile, "Bucky, you hosted a ball months ago and they came. You are considered a sought after bachelor. If I told Sam this once he comes back from his sails, he would be harsher to you than I am."

Bucky lets out a resigned sigh as he concedes. "I suppose the worst they could do is turn me away," he mutters reluctantly.

"They won't." Steve interjected before the fear could settle in his chest.

Running a hand over his jaw, Bucky looks out to the different manors they pass through as people from the party return to their homes. "All those people, the balls, the dances, does it not get to you?" He asked quietly, "and now you have me thinking about visiting her manor, taking a step to something I couldn't even think of having before the war."

"It's better this, than fighting to have food on our table," Steve offers with a weary smile.

"I know I shouldn't complain," a guilty expression crosses Bucky's face as he looks back to meet his friend's gaze, "but I suppose, I'm just tired, Steve. Tired of trying to belong in a world where I'm not even sure I'm welcomed."

Steve sighs this time, "I understand but we're unmarried men, though we are in no deadline unlike the women to be married, it is still expected of us."

Bucky sighs again, "expected," he echoes back carefully, "sometimes I find myself wishing I was back in the field. It felt more simple than this."

Steve chuckled quietly, "the sooner we marry, the sooner we are relieved of society's expectations and watchful eyes."

Bucky lets out a sarcastic scoff, but Steve continued, "besides there were a ton of debutantes who wanted you on their dance card tonight."

"Yes, I'm aware but they do not want me in the way I would want to settle down." He sighs but adds somberly, "they want me for the fortune and status under the Barnes' name. Not the man who came back from the war."

He leaned back on the carriage as he continued, "besides none of the women in the ton look like they would want me for more than what I offer. I don't think they see beyond it, and why would they?"

The metal arm whirs in the silence as he clenches it, "would they really want a man who brings in the cold?"

Steve sighs at his friend's dejected look, "you make them sound like soulless dolls."

Bucky winces but continues, "it feels like they are," he mutters, "they're like porcelain dolls—beautiful in their expensive gowns and jewelry to look at but hollow on the inside. It's like all they want is marriage."

"And what about the girl you danced with earlier?"

At that, Bucky couldn't hide the offended look that colored his face despite how quick he tried to school it back to nonchalance.

"What about her?" He tries to feign indifference as he stares out the streets the carriage passed through.

"Was she also another doll in the sea of the ton?"

Letting out a heavy sigh, Bucky knew he couldn't lie his way out of this.

"No," he finally admitted in almost a hushed whisper. "She wasn't like them. She was... different. She felt real. In a way that it felt like she couldn't care less of where I came from before all this-"

He stops himself, realizing how much he was giving away but Steve raises an eyebrow letting the silence settle as he refuses to move from the topic at hand.

Bucky lets out a defeated sigh, the tension on his shoulders dropping as he mutters, "she did not flinch when I offered her the metal arm. She took it as if it was like the other. She made me feel like I was the man I was before the war."

The carriage stopped at the Barnes' Manor as he finished. Steve smiles knowingly, waiting for the footman to open the door. "Perhaps it's best if you join the ton in courting her."

A forlorn look crossed Bucky's face, "what chance do i have against all those gentlemen?" He mutters quietly, "we're halfway through the social season all I have done is share passing smiles and a single dance."

Steve watches him silently, allowing Bucky to let out the insecurities that festered inside of him.

"I don't know if I have anything to offer her," he continues quietly, the words that had plagued the tip of his tongue since the first encounter finally coming out in the carriage, "not when all she'll get is my money and status. Not when I can't even promise her a lifetime of happiness. I just... I fear she'll loathe me."

He huffs as the footman opens the door and walks solemnly with Steve as he continues in hush voices, "I'm war-hardened, damaged in most ways that I fear not everyone can just understand. What chance do I have in winning her when there are so many gentlemen who came from better upbringing fighting for her attention?"

"You're underestimating yourself," Steve says gently, his tone serious leaving no room for question. "You are more than your money and status, Bucky. You're loyal, smart, and kind. You have so much to offer. You survived things that those men can only read about, and you're more than a man who survived the war. You just don't see it but perhaps she will if she's the woman you describe her as."

Bucky sighs as they enter the manor, now dark as he advises the maids not to wait up for them.

"I appreciate the words, but you have known me for most of our lives Steve. You are used to the man I was and have become. She doesn't, she-"

He stops himself with resignation as he whispers, "she'll reject me."

"And how do you know that?" Steve asked, facing him as they stood in the manor's foyer, "you're rejecting her before she could even form an opinion of you and decide."

"Because I am the way I am," Bucky intercepts too quickly, raising his voice defensively and immediately feeling like a fool as he met his best friend's eyes.

"Yet she danced with you." Steve muttered.

He froze, the weight of his friend's words settling in his stomach. He had danced with you. You had taken his hand without flinching, let him lead—you hadn't looked disgusted or fearful or anything less than interested.

"She did." He muttered quietly, more so to himself than Steve.

Steve smiles warmly, knowing his point was made. "We should retire to our chambers. I believe you have an early day tomorrow."

Bucky nods, his shoulders relaxing as Steve and him made their way up the stairs and finally went on separate wings.

As he entered his room, and changed out of the evening wear, Bucky finally allowed himself to hope. Even if it was just a little, after all he still had to make his intentions known.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦

Tag list: @butterflyeras-blog

If you'd like to be tagged in this series or my other works, let me know here or slide in my ask. Thanks for reading!

AN: I know there are inconsistencies of me using capitalization for Lord / Lady so let me know if you prefer it capitalized or not in the middle or end of sentence. I'm ending here but there's more to this which I promise I am working on. Thank you again for reading, and i hope you enjoyed this as much as I am enjoying writing this.

[Read my other works, here.]

[i-liketoast]

me stalking the x reader tag of my favourite characters because I refuse to use c.ai

[shotinthedcrk]

was making good progress in writing then i saw it’s 1am and i have to be up in less than 5 hours to go to work oopsie

[w1nter-fairy]

headliner problems✮⋆˙

series masterlist

pairing: rockstar!bucky barnes x groupie!reader

summary: You and Bucky keep keep things casual, until one night, one question, and one wrong answer sends everything spiraling.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: +18MDNI explicit sexual content rough possessive sex, jealousy and misscomunication, emotionally unavailable bucky, idiots in love, mild choking (consensual), alcohol usage, hurt/comfort, crying during sex bc reader is overwhelmed. english is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistypo/grammatical mistake.

a/n: So this was a request sent by the lovely @nairafeather, this as written is set on the 4th week of tour. We still have three parts incoming! ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ anyway, enjoy. | as always, beta read by my lovely @herejustforbuckybarnes | dividers by @thecutestgrotto

read in AO3

Week 4, Los Angeles

The industry party is in full swing when the band and you arrive. Bucky is networking as usual while you go stand near the DJ, sipping one drink in silence. He keeps an eye on you in between talks, noticing the way some of the men around are ogling you occasionally. It's been around twenty minutes, when Eli Cohen finds him at the bar.

"Hey, man." Eli claps him on the shoulder. They've been touring together for weeks—The Void opening for Red Star Bruise. They're friendly. "Great show tonight."

"Yeah, you guys killed it too." Bucky orders another whiskey.

"So," Eli leans against the bar. "That girl who's always front row, she with you?"

Bucky's grip tightens on his glass. "Who, her?" He gestures vaguely to where you're standing across the room. "Nah, man. She just travels with us, helps out."

"Just travels with you?" Eli grins. "Come on, I've seen the way she looks at you."

Bucky shrugs, even though his chest tightens. "I mean… it's not like we're not together or anything. We're keeping things casual."

"So you wouldn't mind if I talked to her? Asked her out maybe?"

Bucky takes a drink and forces his voice to stay even. "Do what you want, man. She's free to see whoever."

"Cool. Because she seems sweet and she's gorgeous." Eli straightens up. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Why would I mind? I don't own her." Bucky orders another drink. "Go ahead."

He watches Eli walk over to you. Watches you smile politely when he approaches. Watches and feels like his chest is caving in. But he keeps his face neutral, takes another drink.

You don't know what to do.

Eli is being nice, perfectly nice. He's asking about your day, making you laugh with a story about the show, clearly interested in you… and you keep glancing at Bucky. He's at the bar, talking to some people. Not looking at you, like he doesn't care at all.

"So I was thinking," Eli says. "There's this great breakfast place near the venue tomorrow. You want to grab food? Just the two of us?"

Your stomach twists. "I—I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Why not? You single, right?"

Are you? You don't even know. You and Bucky fuck every night, but he's never called you his girlfriend, never said you're exclusive. You're just… there.

"It's complicated," you say quietly.

"Complicated how?" Eli glances toward Bucky. "Because he just told me you two aren't together."

Your heart sinks at his words. "He said that?"

"Yeah… I asked him if I could talk to you, after all, we're still their opening band—he said you're free to see whoever you want." Eli's hand touches your arm gently. "So what do you say? Breakfast?"

You look across the room at Bucky. He's laughing at something someone said, doesn't even glance your way. "I need to think about it," you say, and you feel sick. Like you're doing something wrong even though you're not. You and Bucky aren't together, he just said so.

So why does this feel like cheating?

"No pressure," Eli says kindly. "But the offer's there."

You last another thirty minutes before you can't take it anymore. The guilt is eating you alive. The way Eli keeps standing close, the way Bucky won't even look at you, the way you feel like you're betraying something that doesn't even exist.

"I'm gonna head back," you tell Eli. "I'm tired."

"You want me to walk you out?"

"Sure, thanks."

Eli walks you through the party, hand on your lower back, and you feel eyes on you. When you glance back, Bucky is staring… finally, he's looking at you. But his expression is cold, hard. He turns away and orders another drink.

Outside, Eli walks you to the limo and opens the door for you. "You okay? You seem kind of off."

"I'm fine, just tired." You give him a small smile. "Thank you for being nice tonight."

"Of course, and hey— think about breakfast. No pressure, but I'd really like to get to know you better. Text me if you want to."

Once Eli's out of the way, the limo starts its way to the hotel room. Through the tinted window, you see Bucky stumbling outside just in time to see you drive away.

You don't see his face, don't see him standing there, frozen, watching the car disappear. Don't see Steve and Sam rushing out after him.

You're in your room, changing into pajamas, when you heard pounding on the door. Your heart jumps. You know who it is before you open it.

Bucky's there, and he's really drunk. Steve and Sam are behind him, looking apologetic.

"She's here," Steve says with relief.

"I can see that," Bucky says, voice rough. He pushes past you into the room.

"Bucky—" Sam starts.

"We're good, you can go." He doesn't look away from you.

Steve and Sam exchange a look. "You sure?" Steve asks you.

You nod, even though you're not sure at all. "It's fine."

They leave reluctantly and the door closes behind them. Bucky keeps staring at you like he's trying to figure out if you're real. "You're here," he says.

"Where else would I be?"

"I thought—" He runs his hand through his hair. "I saw Eli walk out with you, I thought you went with him."

"I came back to the hotel alone."

"Why?" He moves closer. "Why didn't you go with him? He was clearly into you. Could give you the whole dating thing, girlfriend shit, whatever you want."

"I didn't want to go with him."

"Why not?" His voice has an edge now. "You two looked pretty cozy all night. Laughing, walking… he had his fucking hands on you."

"You told him we weren't together," you shoot back. "You said I was free to see whoever I want."

"I know what I said."

"Then why are you mad?"

"I'm not mad." But his jaw is tight, his hands clenched. "I'm just trying to understand why you're here instead of in his bed."

"Because I don't want to be in his fucking bed!"

"Why not?" He's in your space now, close enough you can smell the whiskey on his breath. "He's a good guy, stable, would probably call you his girlfriend. Take you on actual dates… all that shit I don't do."

"I don't want him."

"Then what do you want?!" His voice drops. "Because you've been eye-fucking me all night while he had his fucking hands on you."

"I was not—"

"You were, I saw you. Looking at me every five minutes while you let him touch you. It was almost like you wanted me to do something."

"Maybe I was!" You're angry now too. "Maybe I wanted you to care that another guy was hitting on me! But you just told him to go ahead like I mean nothing to you!"

"You're not nothing—"

"Then what am I?" Your voice breaks. "What am I to you,Bucky?"

He's quiet. Too quiet.

"That's what I thought." You turn away. "You should go sleep with Steve. Or Sam. I don't care."

"I'm not going anywhere." His hand catches your wrist, spinning you back. "You really think I could just watch you leave with him? You think I'd be okay with that?"

"You acted like you were!"

"I was dying inside!" His voice is raw now. "Watching him make you laugh, watching him touch you—I wanted to fucking kill him. But what was I supposed to do? I'm not your fucking boyfriend."

"Then let go of me."

"No," his grip tightens. "You want to know what you are to me? You're the first thing I think about when I wake up. You're the only person I want in my bed, on my bus—" He trails off, realizing what he you just said.

"Bucky—"

"Did you let him touch you?" His voice is harsh now. "Did you let him kiss you?"

"No! I came straight here—"

"Good," he pulls you closer. "Because you're mine. I don't care if I haven't said it right. I don't care if we haven't defined it. You're fucking mine."

"You can't just—"

He kisses you hard. You can taste the whiskey on his lips. You should push him away, should tell him he can't do this—act like he doesn't care and then claim you when he's drunk and jealous. But you're kissing him back, hands fisting in his shirt and you hate yourself for it.

He pushes you against the bed. "Lie down."

"You're drunk."

"I know what I'm doing. I need to—"

"You need to what?"

"Need to make you forget about him." His hands are under your shirt, rough and demanding. "Need you to remember who makes you feel good. Who you belong to."

"I don't belong to anyone."

"Liar." He pushes down onto the bed and crawls over you. "You belong to me, you just want me to say it. Well, I'm saying it. You're mine."

He strips off your pajama shirt, takes your breast in his mouth, and you gasp. His teeth graze your nipple, harder than usual. "Bucky—"

"You think he could do this?" His hand slides down your body, into your shorts. "You think he'd know exactly how to touch you?"

"Stop talking about him!"

"Why? You're the one who spent all night with him." His fingers find you wet and he groans. "But you're soaked for me, right? Not him, me."

He strips you efficiently, roughly, and then his mouth is on you, devouring you like he's trying to prove a point. He's relentless, fingers and tongue working until you're crying out, grabbing his hair, falling apart.

"That's right," he says against you. "Come for me, show me who makes you feel like this."

You do, shaking, and he doesn't give you time to recover. He's stripping off his own clothes, rolling on a condom, positioning himself.

"Look at me," he demands and you oblige. His eyes are almost completely dark, intense. "You think he could fuck you like I do?" He pushes inside you in one hard thrust and you cry out. "You think anyone could make you feel this good?"

"No—"

"No, what?"

"No, sir—"

"I need you to say my name tonight." He starts moving, rough and deep. "Just so everyone knows, it's only me. Only I get to be inside you. Only I get to make you scream like this."

He fucks you hard, every thrust a silent claim. His hand wraps aroun your throat—not squeezing, just holding you.

"You're mine. Say it."

"Yours," you whimper.

"Again."

"I'm yours."

He's losing control now, his thrusts getting erratic, it's too much, you feel overwhelmed. "Not Eli's, not anyone else's, just mine."

He gets his hand between you, rubbing your clit roughly and you come with a scream. He follows seconds later, face buried in your neck, your name on his lips.

For a moment, you just breathe together. Then he pulls back too look at you and freezes. There are tears streaming down your face and he's still inside you.

"Fuck," he pulls out immediately, carefully. "Fuck, did I hurt you? Was I too rough? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"What? No—" You're still catching your breath.

But he's already moving away, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to you, head on his hands.

"Bucky—"

He disappears into the bathroom before you can stop him.

The shower is scalding Bucky but he barely feels it.

He made you cry.

He braces his hands against the tile and lets the water beat down on his shoulders. He's a fucking idiot. He's everything wrong with the both of you. He gets scared and pushes you away, and then he panics and pulls you back and uses sex to make you forget that he's a mess who can't give you what you need.

You deserve more than this. Better than him getting drunk at parties and then fucking you like a jealous asshole. Better than someone who can't even admit what you are to him without being terrified.

He should let you go. He knows he should. Should tell you to go back home, find someone who deserves you, someone who won't hurt you.

But even as he thinks it, he knows he won't. Because he's so fucking selfish. He doesn't deserve you but he's going to keep you anyway because he's too weak to do the right thing. He's a selfish asshole and you should run as far away from him as possible… but he's going to hold on tight as he can and hope you don't realize it.

You give him a few minutes staring at the ceiling with a million thoughts running through your head, then pull on his t-shirt and pad to the bathroom door. "Bucky?"

No answer. Just the sound of running water.

You open the door. He's in the shower, head bowed, hands braced against the wall.

"Bucky." You step into the bathroom. "You didn't hurt me."

"You were crying—"

"Because it felt good." You move closer to the glass. "I was just… overwhelmed. They were good tears, Bucky. I promise."

He finally looks at you through the glass. "I saw you crying and I thought—"

"I know what you thought. But you're wrong." You open the shower door. "Can I come in?"

He nods, and you step under the spray with him, t-shirt and all. "Hey," you cup his face. "I'm okay, you didn't hurt me… the sex was intense, yeah, but good intense. I wanted it."

"I was so rough with you—"

"I liked it." You make him look at you. "I like when you're rough."

He pulls you close, arms wrapped around you tight, face buried in your wet hair.

There are a lot of unspoken words between the two of you, but neither of you dare to speak. In one side, you're afraid of asking for too much. Meanwhile, he's fighting with his own thoughts—his good side telling you to run away from him because you deserve better.

Instead, he kisses you desperately, his hands are holding you like you are the most precious thing he's ever hold… which you are, but he's still too scared to admit. He pulls away to look at you and feels like someone punched him in the guts. When did he let his guard down this much?

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your lips. "For tonight, for Eli, for all of it."

"I know you are."

He pauses for a moment, brushing a few strands of your hair that are on your face. "Will you stay with me even though I'm a mess?"

You look at him for a minute. This wasn't a love confession…yet. The naive part of you, the hopeful one thought it would be a matter of time until he got out of his ass and told you what he really feels.

"I'm not going anywhere," you said quietly.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

taglist: @wintersoldier-gal @bartonsparrow25 @gilwm @goobers-mcgee @spring-soldier +comment if you wanna be added to future parts.

(sorry if I missed anyone, I still figuring out the whole thing about my taglist)

[winteryn]

COUNTRY ROADS, TAKE ME HOME...

18+ | MDNI

PAIRING: dad's best friend!bucky barnes x female!reader SUMMARY: after graduating college, you return to your father’s hometown, disheartened and uncertain about the future. two years later, you have a stable job, a trustworthy best friend and a doting boyfriend who wants to spend the rest of his life with you, and dreams of kids looking like you two running around his farm. the only problem? he's your dad's best friend. WARNINGS: she/her pronouns for reader; age gap (bucky’s in his 40s, reader’s in her late 20s); pre-established relationship; secret relationship; dbf!bucky (they met when reader had already finished college); farmer & store owner!bucky; whipped!bucky; very light angst; fluff; romance; discussion of marriage and having kids; mention of bucky drinking one (1) beer (he's not tipsy nor drunk); smut; feral!bucky; implied lactation kink; nipple play; heavy breeding kink (bucky calls reader mama twice); kinda dom!bucky; bucky uses pronouns for reader's pussy; oral (f receiving); fingering; pussy slapping; squirting; overstimulation; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); rough & primal sex; doggy style; multple orgasms; creampie. WORD COUNT: 7k A/N: found out the em dash is not supposed to be separated from the words preceding and following it, and now I'm screaming. I separated them because it looked good, but I got curious and looked it up. now I want to cry because, one, the sentences look stuffy to me (idk if it makes sense, but everything is so close??), and two, of course I have to edit everything 😭 anyway, hope you’ll enjoy it 🩵

You let yourself in by sliding the key into the lock, the same one Bucky pressed into your palm five months ago. The house is a single-story ranch set back from the road, the kind of place someone builds when they plan to stay, dreaming of muddy shoes by the door, a full table, and years unfolding in the same rooms. 

The door opens with a soft catch, and you lock it behind you, standing at the entryway for a second to breath in the familiar scent: a mix of clean soap and worn leather. Underneath, a trace of hay and cedar that never quite leaves.

Bucky is still out with the guys, today it’s darts night at the bar. Your dad thought you were staying over at Wanda’s, which isn’t exactly a lie—you had dinner with her, and your friend would cover for you anytime, being the only person you trusted enough to confide in about your unusual situation. 

You hang your coat on one of the hooks by the door, before sitting on the nearby bench to slip your boots off. The house is quiet as you pass by a stack of mail sorted carefully on the console table, before your attention is instantly drawn to a familiar brown jacket draped over the back of a chair, probably a last-minute outfit change before going out. Your eyes promptly catch a hole near the sleeve once you hang it back by the front door, so you make a mental note to mend it for Bucky tomorrow. 

Fixing things is just who he is—not in a grand way, but in a thousand small ones. A hinge tightened; a cracked step reinforced; a toaster coaxed back to life with patience and a screwdriver. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him.

You met Bucky two years ago. That night, one of your dad’s friends, Sam, hosted a cookout—one of those informal gatherings that somehow turn into half the town showing up with folding chairs and enough home-cooked meals to feed a whole county.

You had just arrived, still living out of a suitcase, still feeling like a guest in your dad’s hometown. You stepped out of his truck to the distant sounds of laughter and animated chatter, when you saw him. Bucky stood by the grill, sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms dusted with dark hair, his henley stretching across a chest that looked built by years of hard work rather than any gym. His salt-and-pepper stubble was slightly unkempt, and his sun-kissed skin spoke of long days outdoors.

He wasn’t trying to impress, yet your eyes couldn't look away. 

Your dad nudged you out of your stupor. “I get to finally introduce you to Bucky. Have I already told you he owns the local feed store?” As if that explained everything. And technically, you didn’t need a recap of his whole life; after all, you had spent the past three years on video calls listening to the exact same things. 

“Today Bucky fixed the screen door. Saved me hundreds of dollars.” 

“I can’t keep up with him anymore. He and Steve are too fast.” 

“He’s such a sore loser at darts.” 

Yet, you listened to it all over again, this time eager to remember every single detail about the handsome, older man. 

Your dad was on the verge of depression when he moved back to his hometown after your mom asked for a divorce. You were worried about him, yet couldn’t do much while living on the other side of the country. Then, after a week spent reacquainting himself with the place he had left to follow your mom’s dream career, the light in his eyes gradually returned. All thanks to this James Barnes guy who he met at the store while looking for chicken feed. Apparently, their parents knew each other very well. From that day on, he and Bucky became inseparable. The farmer was well-loved by the community, especially after taking over his family’s store.

He introduced your dad to darts night and weekend morning runs, and you couldn't be more thankful for that.

When you were finally introduced to him, Bucky smiled like he had all the time in the world, his blue eyes full of a gentle attention that made you feel seen without being appraised.

The way your name rolled on his tongue made your knees tremble. Then, he shook your hand, slowly, as if to savor the feel of your skin. “Welcome back.”

Over the following weeks, you kept hearing his name everywhere. At the diner, where the waitress mentioned that Bucky had tipped them generously, again, even if he always orders the same thing. At the flower shop, where your boss Wanda would roll her eyes fondly and repeat, “If you need help, just ask Bucky. He’ll be on his way before you know it.”

Then at the hardware store, the post office, the bar...

Always the same refrain: good man. Reliable. Kind. Devoted. 

He helps without making it a favor; fixes fences for neighbors who can’t; makes deliveries after hours whenever storms hit; sits with old men who want company more than conversation. He loves his land, his animals, the rhythm of days that begin early and end with the satisfying ache of honest work. 

And with you, he was a gentleman.

He never assumed, nor rushed. When he touched you at the beginning of your relationship, it was careful, reverent even, like he understood the weight of what you were doing and refused to treat it lightly. The age difference lingered there, quiet but acknowledged in the way he always checked in, giving you room to choose him. And well, he is your father’s best friend after all. That man trusts Bucky with his own life. You don’t think ‘delighted’ would be the right word if he found out his daughter and his forty-something friend have been sneaking around behind his back for almost two years.

You lean against the counter now, posture relaxed as you fill the kettle. Outside, the stars shine brightly in the sky, an unusual sight for someone used to the constant glow of city lights. You know he’d probably come home later than usual—darts nights always run long—but you don’t mind waiting. You like this part, too. Being here alone, belonging.

You move through the house easily with your cup of steaming tea cradled in your hands, turning on a lamp in the living room, straightening a cushion that didn’t really need it. The walls tell his story without trying: framed photos of Bucky and his family posing on the porch in different seasons, several ribbons from different county fairs pinned beside a faded map of the town, and his father’s tools hanging neatly as a reminder of his hard work.

This is a man who stands firm in who he is.

You change into one of his old shirts—soft and discolored in places—and curl up on the couch with a book you barely pay attention to. 

Somewhere down the main road, laughter spills out of Barton’s Corner, the oldest bar in town, always crowded with familiar faces. Soon enough, you’d hear the rumbling sound of Bucky’s truck pulling in, older than most of the others but spotless. The kind of vehicle someone keeps not because they have to, but because it carries their story.

For now you just wait, safe and cozy.

The front door opens slowly, the sounds of heavy steps followed by the low click of the lock. Bucky walks inside, moving on instinct: his boots are lined up neatly by the door before he even thinks about it, and his jacket is hung right beside yours. The house is steeped in silence, the lamps casting that familiar honeyed glow that tells him someone has been awake recently.

His gaze goes straight to the couch.

You are asleep, a book fallen open on your chest and one arm draped loosely over it as if you’d tried to hold onto the last sentence. Your expression is unguarded in a way that makes something warm bloom in his chest. He stands there for a moment, longer than necessary, taking you in as the quiet of the night settles around him like a held breath.

It’s not the beer, he only drank one tonight, almost an hour ago. This dizzy feeling stems from something completely different. Coming home and finding you here, waiting for him to come back safely… It feels like a gift he’s still not sure he deserves.

Bucky crosses the room quietly to crouch beside your relaxed form. He murmurs your name, as gently as he can, his knuckles brushing against your arm, barely there. 

“Hey, sweetheart. You’re gonna wake up with a crick in your neck.”

You frown faintly, nose scrunching as if his voice has deeply offended you. 

“Mh.” You completely ignore him. 

A soft grin tugs at the corners of his mouth despite himself. He says your name again under his breath, then tries a little firmer, but you only bury your face deeper against the cushion beneath you, clutching the book like a shield.

He sighs. “All right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

After successfully prying the book out of your grip, placing it next to your half-empty cup, Bucky slips his arms under your body and hosts you up in one smooth motion. An exaggerated grunt falls from his lips as he settles you over his shoulder, and the reaction is immediate.

“Bucky!” You screech, eyes snapping open as you suddenly find yourself upside down, head dangling toward the floor. “Oh my God! Put me down!”

He chuckles, deep and unbothered, adjusting his firm grip on you. “You had your chance,” he playfully pats your asscheek. “I tried wakin’ you up.”

“So you thought this was a good idea?” You protest, laughter bleeding into your words.

He starts climbing up the stairs with careful steps. “I know I’m too old to be doin’ this kind of nonsense, so you’re gonna have to appreciate the effort.”

You huff, lightly thumping his back with your fingers. “You’re not that old.”

“Tell that to my knees tomorrow.” Bucky grins. “Now hush before I drop you.”

You go still, but not before squeezing his ass hard enough to elicit an indignant noise out of him. It’s in small moments like this that Bucky feels quiet joy settling deep in his chest. Making breakfast together, your laughter filling the kitchen, curling up on the couch in comfortable silence... Even the simplest, most ordinary things feel extraordinary since he met you.

He nudges the bedroom door shut with his heel, careful not to let it click shut. The room smells faintly of laundry soap and something inherently his. He adjusts his grip on you out of habit even though you’re already stirring to be let down.

“Easy.” He murmurs, more to himself than to you.

The moment he lowers you onto the mattress, you ignite like a spark on the Fourth of July. You’re on your feet in an instant, arms wrapping around his neck with enough force to knock the breath out of him.

“Hey—wow.” He guffaws, instinctively bracing himself. “Go easy on your old man.”

You make a small, irritated sound against his shoulder, half whine, half reluctant chuckle. “Stop calling yourself that.” Your face presses harder to his neck, your next words muffled against his skin. “You’re not old.”

Bucky immediately feels the sharp tension of the thought that flares to life at the back of your mind whenever he makes these jokes. He’s noticed it before, the way your smile tightens and your eyes go briefly distant. You mentioned it once during one of your late night talks in his truck, that you’ve always hated how your dad used to joke about that too, back when time started showing up in his bones, coloring his hair with grey streaks. Even when you were younger, it scared you—how fast years could slip by, how easily people started measuring themselves in what had already passed.

Bucky swallows and his arms adjust around you properly, one hand spreading solidly between your shoulder blades. “Alright.” He says softly. “I hear you.”

Your body melts into his hold at once, cheek pressing against his chest and eyelids fluttering shut. “It feels like it’s been years since we’ve seen each other. I missed you.”

He closes his eyes as well, and for a moment, the whole world reduces itself to the feeling of you: your warmth, your breathing against his, your soft hands on his skin… He lets himself bask in it.

“It’s only been three days.” He teases lightly.

You pull back just enough to look up at him, brows drawn together in mock severity. “Still too long.”

He guides your head back into your favorite hiding place with a low hum in his throat, his body mindlessly swaying side to side, settling into the rhythm of a slow song no one else can hear.

You could fall asleep just like this, content in his arms.

 “You stayed out later than usual.” You ponder drowsily.

There it is. Bucky feels heat creep up the back of his neck as he gently pulls back to properly look into your eyes. “Ah, yeah. Guess I did.”

You squint at him, suspicious and amused all at once. “Did you ask for a re-match again?”

“No.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not a sore loser, contrary to what the rumors say.” You let out a skeptical hum, prompting him to tickle your sides. You burst out laughing, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes as you beg him to stop. Bucky’s barely contained grin makes him look so boyishly pretty as he keeps teasing you, until he eventually decides to spare you.

“You know I hate when you do that.” You pant, still smiling.

He exhales a small, helpless laugh as his hands slide up to your waist, thumbs brushing familiar circles into your sides as if to ground himself. Then, when you’re finally calmed down, “I’m not going to the farm tomorrow.”

You stiffen, gazing up at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Nor to the store.”

You straighten up, now staring at him like he’s just told you the sky's been purple all along. “You’re sick.” You conclude decisively. “You have to be sick.”

He shrugs, the corners of his mouth lifting up. “Feel fine.”

“You never skip work.”

“I know.”

“But—”

“And you, my love, are skipping yours too.”

Your brows furrow, he can clearly see the gears turning in your head. “Did I—did I forget something? I didn’t ask Wanda for the day off. Is it someone’s birthday? My dad’s? Oh God, is it—”

A chuckle claws out of his throat, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek before you can spiral any further. “Baby, breathe.”

You blink at him, worry softening into confusion.

“I just… needed a day off.” He shrugs. “Life has been hectic lately. Always somewhere to be, something to fix, someone needing my help.” His thumb brushes the skin under your eye. “I figured it might be nice to slow down for a bit. Have you all to myself for once.”

Your expression shifts, surprise giving way to something hopeful and almost shy. “Just… us?”

“Just us.” Bucky nods, trying to not grin. But then you smile, bright and a little disbelieving, and he can’t help himself. He leans in to kiss you, unhurried, lingering like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your lips. Your hands cup his jaw, so soft, so sure, that something in his chest tightens unexpectedly.

He pulls away before he can sink any deeper into it, jaw tightening as he realizes his focus has pathetically thinned with a single kiss, mind slipping somewhere far more tempting. 

The tips of your noses brush against each other as his voice drops into that playful register that always gets to you, refusing to burst the quiet bubble of peace. 

“So here’s how it’s gonna go: we’re sleeping in. I don’t care that we both wake up at the crack of dawn—we’re rotting in this bed until one of us gets hungry enough to complain.”

You laugh softly. “You always get hungry first.”

“True. Then I’m making pancakes—the good ones.”

Your eyes light up. “The ones with Nutella inside?”

“The very same.” He beams, eyebrows wiggling up and down. “And then,” he continues, resuming the gently rocking motion, that teasing grin you love so much tugging at his lips. “We’re catching up on that show we started a month ago.”

“I knew you liked it!” 

“In my defense, the day we watched the first episode I spent the entire afternoon arguing with Mr. Jones over that fuckin’ tractor part he ordered. He kept insisting it was the wrong one, and you know how stubborn that old man is.” He kisses you once more, savoring the sweet taste of your lips. “Lunch is whatever you want. I’ll cook.”

You open your mouth to argue, yet he silences you with another kiss, quick but firmer in intent. “I want to.” He rasps out, forehead resting against yours. “Let me take care of you. All I need is for you to be here, nice and warm by my side.”

Your eyes soften. “You don’t have to do everything.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “I just want to.”

Drawing you impossibly closer, his hands tighten at your hips. “So,” he clears his throat, voice low and content. “We sleep, we eat, and we make love on every piece of furniture in this fuckin’ house. Sounds like a productive day, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. It really does.” You can't help but laugh again at his serious tone, your forehead falling on his chest.

“But,” you start, palms smoothing the fabric clinging to his pecs. “Since you’re taking the day off, I suppose I should warn you.”

He raises a brow. “About?”

“Me.”

He snorts. “Bit late for that.”

You gasp affronted, giving his chest a light shove that doesn’t actually create any distance between you.

“Excuse you. I was going to say that I tend to steal blankets and hog pillows, but you never notice since you’re always falling asleep before me—”

“Damn right if I do, sweetheart!” He cuts in smoothly. “And add ‘thinking out loud’ to your little list of quirks.” 

You freeze. “I do not.”

“Oh, you do.” He grins, nodding. “Especially when you’re looking for something you’ve just put down. You ask questions like there’s a second you in the room with all the answers.”

Your mouth falls open, then closes again. “That is wildly exaggerated.”

“And,” he continues, enjoying this a tad too much. “You leave half-finished mugs of tea everywhere. Windowsills, bookshelves... Even the bathroom counter.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re one to talk. You fix things that aren’t broken.”

“I told you already, it's called preventative maintenance.”

“You fixed the door hinge because it ‘sounded sad’.” You tilt your head, making air quotes.

“It was asking for help.”

You burst out laughing despite his seriousness, shaking your head. “Oh, my poor Jamie.” You sigh, slipping into a dramatic tone as you cradle his face. “Always working so hard, and not getting a single moment of well-deserved peace in his own home.”

A tingling warmth settles in his chest at the word home, even wrapped in teasing. He stills you gently, thumb brushing along your jaw, his expression turning solemn. Certain.

“Our home, my love.”

Those soft words land heavily than intended, like the final piece of a puzzle setting into place.

Blinking and caught off guard, humor drains out of your face at once. You can only swallow a fresh set of tears, a slow and real smile brightening your features as you lean into his touch.

“Yeah.” You bite your bottom lip. “Our home.”

Bucky presses his forehead to yours, breathing in the scent of your body lotion lingering on your skin since this morning, before playfulness returns to his voice, familiar.

“And for the record, I find your habits endearing.”

“Oh, now you’re backtracking.”

“Not at all. I reserve the right to complain while secretly liking them.”

Your laugh is full and bright, making Bucky feel like he’s stepping into sunlight after months spent in the shade of a dark, cold winter. Your arms wrap around his neck again, and he holds you there, thinking—not for the first time—that he wants to spend forever doing this with you. Just existing together, right here.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as Bucky lowers his face into the slope of your neck, leaving a trail of small, open-mouth kisses from the sensitive patch of skin just behind you ear, to your shoulder.

“Aren’t you tired?” You mumble, eyelids falling close as he starts leading you backwards. 

“For you? Never.” He pushes you gently until you are lying on your back, pliant and open amidst the soft sheets.

When the cold tip of his nose touches the skin of your throat, a shiver runs down your back. He inhales deeply, moaning as your scent finally melts away the rest of the day’s tension. His broad body presses you more firmly into the mattress, still teasing your neck with pecks and languid licks, while his hips start a gentle grinding motion against your core. You can’t stop yourself from squirming, your chest heaving in anticipation at the feeling of his already half-hard cock brushing your sensitive clit. 

You bite your lip, placing your hand on his belt, and after making sure Bucky is paying attention, you slowly slip your hand under his flannel shirt, gradually hiking it up to reveal more and more of his skin.

“Go on.” Comes his raspy encouragement. His blue eyes turn darker with lust, relishing in the soft pressure of your nails as you caress his belly. He shudders once, too impatient to wait. Once he removes the shirt himself, his heartbeat quickens as blood pumps hot in his veins, and travels way too fast south.

Your eyes barely manage to set on his naked chest before Bucky is back on you, devouring your lips in a scorching kiss, his hands roaming freely over your covered torso. Your back arches, arousal pooling hot in your core as he brushes the underside of your breasts, thumbs teasingly tracing the shape of your nipples.

“Bucky.” You whimper.

“Arms up, doll.” Soon, you are left in your panties. It’s way too hot in his bedroom, and yet you shiver under his intense stare, the ever consuming urge to have you closer bleeding out of his pores.

“Cute.” He flicks the little bow on the hem of your panties with a small smirk, and you let out a trembling breath, torn between hiding in embarrassment and pushing your hips harder against his hand.

“Jamie, please.” Bucky focuses on your chest now, goosebumps raising once he traces the swell of your breasts with his nose, before leaving a harsh bite.

“You’re so mean.” 

His little grin presses against your cleavage. “I know, bunny. I know.”

He looms over you, taking in the view, his breath ghosting, sliding over your hot skin until he suddenly gets fed up with his own teasing and leans in to kiss the supple flesh. He grabs one of your tits in his hand, studying your face as his thumb grazes over your nipple. You suck in a sharp breath, mouth parting around a low moan at the rough texture—proof of years spent taking care of the land.

Your eyes roll back as his tongue circles your left areola, both your nipples finally receiving soft nibbles and sweet suckles that gradually turn harsher.

“Don't stop.” You whimper melts into a gasp when Bucky delicately blows on your sensitive flesh, the cold contrast making you squirm. “Please, don't stop Bucky."

He switches from one breast to the other, using his fingers to pull and twist the neglected nipple, moaning appreciatively when your hand tugs at his hair and presses his face firmly into the soft flesh. At some point, Bucky lets his teeth gently graze your nub, biting down until you reward him with a sweet squeal.

Momentarily pulling away, he glances up at you with glistening lips, then back at your breasts, his eyes hazy.

“One day…” He mumbles, leaving a kiss on a raw nub. You suck in a confused breath.

“What?”

Your whisper is like a bucket of icy water dropping right over his body. The moment realization hits him like a freight train, horror dawns upon his features, his eyes widening, startled at his own admission.

“Bucky?” You raise on trembling elbows when he withdraws from you as if your skin just burned him. “Bucky?” You plea again, fingers desperately grasping onto his shoulder when he gives you his back, settling at the edge of the bed with his chin tipped down. 

Dreadful minutes of silence stretch between you, before Bucky finally summons the courage to speak. To lay bare the truth for you, and for himself.

He nervously fidgets with his fingers. “I’ve been trying to let it go. To be subtle.” A low, humorless chuckle echoes in the still room. “Didn’t wanna scare you off.”

Your shoulders drop at his dejected tone.

“I just couldn't stop thinking about it.” He shakes his head. “Which is stupid, right? I mean—look at me. I am in my forties, and you still have your whole life ahead of you. I don’t want you to be stuck in this damn town—”

“Bucky, hey. Look at me.” You stop him immediately, frowning. You crawl at the edge of the bed by his side, slowly guiding his chin to face you. “I am not ‘stuck’ in this town. I chose to stay here because I like it, and I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. So much, you are my whole world. But I don’t want to tie you down. I can't hold you back.” He swallows around the uncomfortable knot in his throat, words turning frantic. “And your dad—God, he’s my best friend and here I am, dreaming about marrying his daughter, about having kids who look like us running around the farm and calling you mama.”

Your throat tightens, and you swear your heart stops for a second before resuming its fast pace, as if trying to come out of your chest.

“But… when I think about a future without you… it’s just wrong. Everything is wrong if you are not by my side.”

He looks down for a second, tentatively intertwining your fingers together. His shoulders loosen a bit when you don't dismiss his touch, and the fact that he would even think that feels like a stab in your heart. When his eyes land back on yours, the storm inside has now eased into a gentle drizzle.

“I want everything with you. Even if it means your dad will hate me forever. I’ll let him punch me in the face if he wants, I’ll fix every single thing in his house—”

“You already do that.” You sniffle, biting your bottom lip to hide a smile. Bucky stops short, the corners of his mouth slightly lifting up before he cradles your cheek. 

“I hate myself for wanting this, for feeling like I'm clipping your wings, but I can't imagine my life without you. I’ll wait, sweetheart. As long as you need. And if you don’t want it? Good, okay. Means we’re spending the rest of our lives making love and—and traveling. You’d like that, right angel? You mentioned you want to see the world, and I can make that happen.” His smile is pleading, blue eyes glistening with tears. “I know this is all so sudden, but—” He swallows. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“You would really give up your dreams of having kids… for me?” Your jaw clenches in hope to keep the tears at bay, even if your voice breaks.

Bucky nods resolutely, frowning as if you’ve just asked him if the grass is green. “Of course. I just want you, my love. Just need you.” 

Your chin trembles, glassy eyes looking at the man you love—raw, uncertain, fragile in a way that pulls painfully at your heart. The sight of him like this, laid bare and willing to give up something so deeply rooted just to be with you, leaves you with a bitter taste on your tongue. And all you can think, is that you want that future too. You want him, and every piece of that life he's been dreaming about, without hesitation.

“Bucky, I want to be with you.” You choke on a sob. “And I want—” Taking a deep breath, you smile through the tears sliding down your cheeks. “Kids who look like us running around the farm and calling you dad.”

“Yeah?” He whispers hopeful, his shaky hand holding your jaw as if guarding a priceless treasure. “You really want that with me?”

You nuzzle closer into his palm, momentarily closing your eyes to bask into the familiar warmth. “I love you, Jamie. Don't ever think that you're tying me down, or holding me back from some... imaginary life you've made up for me in your head. I love you, and I want everything with you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He chokes out. “But what about your dad?” He presses his lips together, tense.

You can't help but chuckle at how adorable he looks right now. “Well, he’d better start working out. He’ll soon have a grandchild to keep up with.”

Finally, he gives you a relieved laugh. “Soon?”

Your playful smirk makes his hold on you tighten just slightly. “Well, we’re already half-naked, and there’s an empty bed right here, so...”

His breath hitches for half a second, because this is finally real: you, him, the possibility of building a life stitched together from little hands reaching for both of you, and sleepy hugs before school. All the dreams he’d never dared to voice, the small, secret hopes he’d held onto before falling asleep... They were all worth waiting for.

A squeal claws out of your throat as Bucky abruptly grabs your waist to pull you closer, filthily kissing you until you’re left clinging desperately to his shoulders. Your giggle soon turns into a gasp when you find yourself lying back on his bed. 

“Wanna fill you up so fucking bad.” He mutters, sparkling blue eyes reverently tracing your curves. “Gonna worship you every night, and still want you more by morning. You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“You already do.” Your voice wobbles pathetically, suddenly a little breathless, squirming beneath him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, doll.” He breathes you in, dragging his nose down your throat as he tightens his hold on your thighs. “I’ll stuff you full until it takes. Again and again. Fuck you against the wall, the shower—hell, even the damn barn.”

“Please!” Your pussy shamelessly throbs at the thought of him taking you right there, out in the open for anyone to see.

“But first,” Bucky’s fingers lightly graze the embarrassingly damp spot on your cotton panties. “Need to feel you around my fingers.” You whine in protest at that, but you know it’s futile. Kneeling between your thighs to keep them nice and open for him, his arm drapes over your hips to keep you still. Your panties are tossed somewhere on the floor, before he attacks your pulsing clit, alternating between steady flicks of his tongue and slow rubbing motions with his calloused fingers. Two of his digits stretch you open, your eyes rolling back at how perfectly they hit your sweet spot, until you flinch, a desperate gasp escaping your lips at the sudden sting.

“So fucking gorgeous.” A growl is swallowed back when you fist his locks. “The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmurs, dark eyes glancing up at your scrunched-up features. You can barely form any coherent word, crying out as he smacks your pussy again. 

“Good girl.” The proud praise elicits a whimper out of you before you can stop it. “Taking whatever your old man gives you so well.” His hand falls on your tender flesh a little harder this time, making you gasp at the delicious pain, back arching up.

“You want another one, doll?” 

“Please.” 

“So fucking polite.” He groans between your folds, forcing you to stay put for his greedy mouth. “Go on, make me proud and come for me.”

The knot in your lower belly snaps at his command. Your thighs shake around his head, your hole tightening to keep his fingers trapped inside you as he nurses on your nub until overstimulation sets in. 

A high, desperate sound escapes your throat as Bucky pulls away, and for a second you truly believe he’s finally going to fuck you, but his hand is back at it again, leaving quick, little slaps on your clit that make your hips jerk helplessly, straining against his muscled arm. 

If seeing your pussy drool means taking you apart until you can barely remember your own name, then so be it. 

“Fuck fuck fuck!” You almost scream, head tossed back against the pillow.

“You’re so messy, lovely.” He marvels, voice husky with arousal. His mouth latches back around your bundle of nerves, producing such humiliating, sloppy sounds. “Look at her, sweetheart, crying so prettily for me.” 

He grinds against your swollen clit once more, your legs jerking close at the raw scrape of his stubble, before he is getting out of his own clothes with a brisk motion.

Boneless and gasping for breath, you glance up at him through your damp lashes, gaping at the leisurely pace he uses to stroke his hard cock, the flushed tip copiously leaking precum.

Bucky smirks, his mouth glistening with your slick as he settles closer to your core. “My pretty girl is finally gonna let me put a baby in her.” His hand assertively squashes your cheeks together until your lips pucker, only then his tongue pushes past them, claiming you with a hungry kiss. A strand of saliva connects your mouths, thin and filthy, as he slightly pulls back.

“Been thinking about you round with my kid for months. All soft and giggling, with a ring shining on your left hand.” He confesses roughly, dragging his mouth along your neck.

Your lips part in a silent moan when his cock makes itself comfortable between your folds, the head slipping inside you without hesitation. His right palm settles on your belly, heavy and possessive, but still mindful. The pressure makes everything better as his hips speed up, immediately setting a punishing, impatient pace. 

“I’ll be good,” his voice cracks against your breast, your body shoved further up the bed with each brutal thrust. “Best husband ever. You’ll never have to lift a finger, my darling wife.”

“You’re already so good to me, Jamie.” You moan, high and helpless, inevitably clenching around him as he calls you his wife. He growls at the pressure, harshly moving your hips to meet his, the room soon filling with the shameless slaps of your skins and the wet squelch of his cock driving deeper and deeper. 

“Gonna rub your feet when they hurt, and eat all your weird cravings with you in the middle of the night—fuck mama, this perfect pussy is so tight.” His head falls back in bliss.

That’s when the hand on your belly moves lower, until his fingers are back at toying with your clit, pinching and flicking it, as you squirm under his possessive stare.

“God, you’re taking it so good. Look at you, such a pretty little thing.” He gasps, frantically moving your bent knees back until they are touching your chest, his thrusts turning cruel as soon as you respond with a delirious sob at the new angle.

“Let me hear you” He pants, his lips hovering over yours. “Tell me how badly you want it, princess.”

“So bad, Jamie!” Your nails leave red marks along his back. He moans at the delicious pain, thrusting harder. “Fuck Bucky, give it to me! Wanna be always full with you, breed me Jamie.”

The way he wrenches himself back with a snarl makes you wail, your pussy feeling pathetically empty, before he flips you on your hands and knees. The change of position is so sudden that your hazy brain can barely catch up, not until his length is filling you again, his thrusts turning messy as its tip perfectly slams against your sweet spot at an almost desperate speed. 

The maddening pace drives you forward, your nipples rubbed raw against the sheets and your arms scrambling to anchor yourself, before his thick belly pushes heavy against your back, and one of his hands traps both of your wrists under you. His other arm wraps around your waist, palming your stomach.

You can only lie there, pliant and still, as he stakes his claim on you.

“There we go, sweetheart. Are you gonna make a stupid mess all over my cock?” He coos in your ear, fingers traveling lower only to give your throbbing nub a mean pinch.

The way his hips are driving into you at such a primal pace, his strangled moans as his cock abuses your sweet spot… It’s too much. You scream his name, eyes rolling back and toes curling when your climax finally unravels, violently. Shaking and with tears running down your cheeks, you end up squirting all over his crotch and sheets, body erupting in flames and vision momentarily fading to black.

Bucky grunts when your slick slides down his heavy balls, wishing he could have his mouth on your pussy to taste it.

“Good girl. You came so hard angel, look at that.” His smile is predatory, delirious. “My turn now to make a mess, mama.” His cruel fingers fly back between your thighs, rubbing and slapping your clit only to feel your body squirm pathetically under his.

It’s only a matter of seconds before Bucky spills into you, the animalistic urge to feel his cum leak out of you and onto his cock is too intoxicating to resist.

“I'm coming, baby, fuck. Gonna come so fucking hard for you, not gonna waste a single drop.” He grits his teeth, forehead falling on your shoulder. “Take it, sweetheart, take it. Love you so fucking much.” He chokes out, and then his cock is pulsing with each spurt of cum filling you, mixing with your creamy mess. 

A satisfied sigh unconsciously falls from your lips, your spent body finally slackening as you’ve never felt so full before.

Your legs are now sore with that unique ache that seeps deliciously into your bones, yet you can’t stop the pained whimper when you try to move, still trapped under Bucky’s heavy body. He gently tries to adjust the two of you, at least enough for his arms to support the majority of his weight, but his face buries in the slope of your neck, cuddling your damp skin like a needy cat.

“Jus’ a little more.” He grunts, words slurred. “Need to make sure it takes.”

One moment, Bucky is gently rocking into you from behind; the next, you are clean and tucked under clean sheets with his arms wrapped securely around your waist, your back perfectly molded to his chest. The way his palm rests on your belly, protective and certain, makes your heart beat just a little bit faster. It makes you realize just how much of him you already carry with you.

Quietly, he breaks the peaceful silence. “You with me, sweetheart? Are you alright?”

You nod, even if your throat still hurts a little and your limbs lie uselessly, heavy and spent. Your index finger sluggishly drifts up, blindly touching his cheek as if to ask ‘what about you?’. Bucky huffs a laugh against your neck, before pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. 

“Never felt anything like this before.” He mumbles, a soft sigh of wonder slipping past him.

The room holds its breath for a moment, the quiet stretching so long it feels almost sacred. You swallow hard, before your voice finally rises in a trembling whisper. “Do you think… we did it?”

His chuckle is easy, the warm sound somehow pacifying the tension coiled in your stomach. His fingers gently lift your chin, delicately turning your head enough for your eyes to meet. 

“Don't worry, my love.” His voice is a teasing murmur. “I’m gonna keep you full until we do.”

When Steve stops the truck in your front yard, he rises an eyebrow at your house still being swallowed in darkness.

“Isn’t your daughter home yet?” He frowns at the time displayed on the dashboard. Your dad shrugs with an amused grin on his lips.

“She’s at Wanda’s.” He mocks your voice, skeptically raising both his eyebrows, and Steve does a double take.

“You still haven’t told them you found out about their relationship?”

“Oh please, you wouldn't either if you could see Barnes twists in his seat whenever I ask about his weekends.”

“You are such an asshole.” Steve guffaws. 

Your dad groans as he jumps down the red truck. “Hey! I’m allowed to have some fun too.”

END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 🩵 I know raw & older is winning the poll and I swear it's going to be posted soon!

[shotinthedcrk]

Enchanted to Meet You

Lord Bucky x Lady Reader (Bridgerton AU)

[Read my other works, here.]

AN: Life's been super busy lately so i couldn't find time to finish writing anything and i've been kind of stuck in a limbo. Anyways i have been bingeing Bridgerton so this came to be, hopefully you like my attempt at writing this au. Thanks for reading!

This wasn't his place, he thinks to himself.

Bucky Barnes was a soldier, a man forced to war for stealing food to keep his family fed in desperation. He had watched people he became accustomed to die due to Napoleon's rule. Lost his arm and lived after the Battle of Waterloo.

And now suddenly the war is over, he is home.

While he was gone, he had been bestowed upon the title, Lord James Buchanan Barnes.

But coming back from the war to a manor kept well while he was in the war by his dearest friend, Steve Rogers, filled with servants—whom he pays generously, especially coming from a family who had to steal just so they wouldn't die from hunger—quietly working, cleaning, and keeping his estate pleasant to the public while he accustomed himself to a life that is now quiet was not an easy task.

With the war over, he found that there's not much purpose other than living day to day.

These days he did not have to worry as his sister Rebecca Barnes have already married, leaving the manor of the Barnes now solely his to run as he please.

His introduction to society had been hard. He was forced to balls that he despised filled with too much noise, dancing, mamas trying to throw their daughters at him. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

With the season in motion, Steve forced his hand to throw a ball, at his home. The one solace of quiet he retreated to.

He knew his friend was right, he couldn't decline him and so he agreed.

Soon invitations were sent, the once quiet halls of his manor were decorated in arrangements of flowers that even he couldn't know where it came from.

When the party came, the estate was filled. An hour after the ball began, he was exhausted. Every eligible women's dance card were begging to have his name on it.

An hour later, Bucky snuck out to his study.

Sighing out in relief as he closed the door, he opened his eyes to find a lady in a beautiful gown holding a book he was reading earlier, sat by the nook near his window. His favorite spot.

"Forgive me, my lord." You smiled, holding the book between your fingers as if to mark where you left off, "the ball was beautiful but I am not too fond of dancing, I had to escape my mama."

He chuckled as he approached you slowly, "neither am I, my lady. It is quite tiring to be forced to dance every minute, no?"

You chuckled at his words as he stood in front of you, "I should disagree as it would be unlady like of me to admit that I do not enjoy the dancing but I do not want to lie to you."

The book in your hand was placed down as you got up, "though it is unwise for me to be here with you unchaperoned so I shall take my leave."

"Please, stay." Bucky found himself saying as you took a step to leave.

"Would that not be scandalous, my lord?" You asked with a polite smile, "I am unmarried and unchaperoned, if anyone found us it would cause a scandal for my family. And I haven't even caught your name."

He chuckles, enjoying the way the conversation was becoming. He bowed a little with a kind smile, "of course, my apologies, my lady. It seems I have forgotten my manners in my haste to escape the noise."

He raised his head, meeting your eyes, "James Buchanan Barnes, though I would prefer if you call me Bucky instead."

You gasp in realization, "my lord," you bowed, "I spoke so rash about the party. I offer my apologies."

He smiled, "It's quite alright, I found your honesty quite refreshing. The ton at the party were only speaking what they think I wanted to hear."

"I'm sure they meant well," you chuckle with a smile, "the manor is beautiful."

He hummed in approval, enjoying the sound of your laugh. "They mean to flatter me so I might offer my hand in marriage."

"Are you not interested in the prospect of marriage?" You inquired softly as he walked closer to you.

"No, my lady. I am uninterested." He chuckled quietly like it was a secret between you both, "Marriage, and children, seems to be something beyond me. I prefer the peace and quiet of the manor." He adds as he towered over you.

Nodding, a hint of sadness sat in your chest at his words. Of course, the thought of marriage with the first man you saw potential in was preposterous but you found yourself indulging in the thought, and now disappointment sat like a heavy weight on you.

"I should probably head back to the ball," you say quietly as you took a step back, "I believe there are still some spaces in my dance card."

He gave a nod, forcing a smile on his face despite the disappointment that took over when you decided to end the conversation. "Of course. Your mama might be searching for you, best to return to the ball."

"It was lovely to meet you Lord Barnes," you state, bowing once again.

For a moment, Bucky Barnes found himself wanting to plead for you to stay, yet he managed to stop himself. "And it was lovely to meet you too, my lady."

Before you could reach the door, he spoke again, "may I at least have the knowledge of your name?"

You offer your name with a polite smile, and made sure to mention your family's title.

His face lights up with a smile as he repeats your name back to you. "Beautiful name." He mutters softly as if attempting to prolong the conversation.

"I best be on my way back to the ball, my lord. Have a good evening."

He offered a polite nod as he tried his best to not let the frown that wanted to break free show as disappointment washed over him. "Yes, of course. Enjoy the rest of the ball, my lady."

Bucky watched as you bow politely before exiting his study.

When the door shut behind you, he found himself conflicted if he did something wrong especially with the knowledge that plagues him that there are suitors at the ball who wanted to dance with you.

And for the first time since he came back, he found the silence unnerving.

[singulart0ast]

what a gorgeous meet cute!! I want to know what book she was reading

[shotinthedcrk]

Thank you for reading! 🥹

And thank you for asking this omg i will yap about my process for a bit (im sorry) but because when i was planning the story out i first had a couple of books in mind to name but settled on just keeping it vague as i couldn't pinpoint yet exactly which for timeline purpose which i think if i end up continuing this fic again will be brush upon.

To answer your question, as the story takes place after the Battle of Waterloo (1815), reader was actually reading the Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe!

As mentioned, it was a book that reader found in Bucky's library which he was reading. I also had Frankenstein named as one frontrunner books but found it was written in 1818 and thought it seemed a little far off the timeline for when Bucky became a lord and how the story was set when he was just settling as a lord (so it should be around 1816-1817) so i didn't mention the title anymore as i ended up overthinking the small detail out too much lmao i hope that made sense and i answered your question!

[shotinthedcrk]

Hi Shane!

You've got mail....

Hi Daisy! Thank you for the lovely mail 💜

[shotinthedcrk]

Enchanted to Meet You

Lord Bucky x Lady Reader (Bridgerton AU)

[Read Part 2, here.]

AN: Life's been super busy lately so i couldn't find time to finish writing anything and i've been kind of stuck in a limbo. Anyways i have been bingeing Bridgerton so this came to be, hopefully you like my attempt at writing this au. Thanks for reading!

[Read my other works, here.]

This wasn't his place, he thinks to himself.

Bucky Barnes was a soldier, a man forced to war for stealing food to keep his family fed in desperation. He had watched people he became accustomed to die due to Napoleon's rule. Lost his arm and lived after the Battle of Waterloo.

And now suddenly the war is over, he is home.

While he was gone, he had been bestowed upon the title, Lord James Buchanan Barnes.

But coming back from the war to a manor kept well while he was in the war by his dearest friend, Steve Rogers, filled with servants—whom he pays generously, especially coming from a family who had to steal just so they wouldn't die from hunger—quietly working, cleaning, and keeping his estate pleasant to the public while he accustomed himself to a life that is now quiet was not an easy task.

With the war over, he found that there's not much purpose other than living day to day.

These days he did not have to worry as his sister Rebecca Barnes have already married, leaving the manor of the Barnes now solely his to run as he please.

His introduction to society had been hard. He was forced to balls that he despised filled with too much noise, dancing, mamas trying to throw their daughters at him. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

With the season in motion, Steve forced his hand to throw a ball, at his home. The one solace of quiet he retreated to.

He knew his friend was right, he couldn't decline him and so he agreed.

Soon invitations were sent, the once quiet halls of his manor were decorated in arrangements of flowers that even he couldn't know where it came from.

When the party came, the estate was filled. An hour after the ball began, he was exhausted. Every eligible women's dance card were begging to have his name on it.

An hour later, Bucky snuck out to his study.

Sighing out in relief as he closed the door, he opened his eyes to find a lady in a beautiful gown holding a book he was reading earlier, sat by the nook near his window. His favorite spot.

"Forgive me, my lord." You smiled, holding the book between your fingers as if to mark where you left off, "the ball was beautiful but I am not too fond of dancing, I had to escape my mama."

He chuckled as he approached you slowly, "neither am I, my lady. It is quite tiring to be forced to dance every minute, no?"

You chuckled at his words as he stood in front of you, "I should disagree as it would be unlady like of me to admit that I do not enjoy the dancing but I do not want to lie to you."

The book in your hand was placed down as you got up, "though it is unwise for me to be here with you unchaperoned so I shall take my leave."

"Please, stay." Bucky found himself saying as you took a step to leave.

"Would that not be scandalous, my lord?" You asked with a polite smile, "I am unmarried and unchaperoned, if anyone found us it would cause a scandal for my family. And I haven't even caught your name."

He chuckles, enjoying the way the conversation was becoming. He bowed a little with a kind smile, "of course, my apologies, my lady. It seems I have forgotten my manners in my haste to escape the noise."

He raised his head, meeting your eyes, "James Buchanan Barnes, though I would prefer if you call me Bucky instead."

You gasp in realization, "my lord," you bowed, "I spoke so rash about the party. I offer my apologies."

He smiled, "It's quite alright, I found your honesty quite refreshing. The ton at the party were only speaking what they think I wanted to hear."

"I'm sure they meant well," you chuckle with a smile, "the manor is beautiful."

He hummed in approval, enjoying the sound of your laugh. "They mean to flatter me so I might offer my hand in marriage."

"Are you not interested in the prospect of marriage?" You inquired softly as he walked closer to you.

"No, my lady. I am uninterested." He chuckled quietly like it was a secret between you both, "Marriage, and children, seems to be something beyond me. I prefer the peace and quiet of the manor." He adds as he towered over you.

Nodding, a hint of sadness sat in your chest at his words. Of course, the thought of marriage with the first man you saw potential in was preposterous but you found yourself indulging in the thought, and now disappointment sat like a heavy weight on you.

"I should probably head back to the ball," you say quietly as you took a step back, "I believe there are still some spaces in my dance card."

He gave a nod, forcing a smile on his face despite the disappointment that took over when you decided to end the conversation. "Of course. Your mama might be searching for you, best to return to the ball."

"It was lovely to meet you Lord Barnes," you state, bowing once again.

For a moment, Bucky Barnes found himself wanting to plead for you to stay, yet he managed to stop himself. "And it was lovely to meet you too, my lady."

Before you could reach the door, he spoke again, "may I at least have the knowledge of your name?"

You offer your name with a polite smile, and made sure to mention your family's title.

His face lights up with a smile as he repeats your name back to you. "Beautiful name." He mutters softly as if attempting to prolong the conversation.

"I best be on my way back to the ball, my lord. Have a good evening."

He offered a polite nod as he tried his best to not let the frown that wanted to break free show as disappointment washed over him. "Yes, of course. Enjoy the rest of the ball, my lady."

Bucky watched as you bow politely before exiting his study.

When the door shut behind you, he found himself conflicted if he did something wrong especially with the knowledge that plagues him that there are suitors at the ball who wanted to dance with you.

And for the first time since he came back, he found the silence unnerving.

[shotinthedcrk]

hello im still here, just a little busy with life but cooking something up. It's not much but i was able to write this earlier (yipee) kinda nervous to put it out as it will be my first time to write an au of this and a lot of googling about the napoleonic wars happened ahfsjashk anyways coming soon-ish