I don't like a gold rush

18+ mdni

[singulartoast]

— 𝕋𝕆𝔸𝕊𝕋 ; are you bready for it? ✎

Call me irresponsible Toast. 30s, she/her, Australian, currently obsessed with Bucky Barnes, The Pitt, dinosaurs, Taylor Swift, 007 First Light, Hermitcraft, Neopets, and kitty cats [ X ]

masterlist • AO3 • recs • no taglist: @retoast

˗ˏˋ  latest ´ˎ˗ Farmer!Bucky FaceTime call !

⚘ what happened in … May 2026 !

[buckybsdoll]

bucky waiting in the ER with you...

word count: 1054 +blue: this was written as a lil get well gift for my dear friend, my Aussie twin @singulartoast luff you toasty 💚

----------

Your arm is still bleeding slightly through the gauze wrapped around it, tiny red stains making their way through the fabric. You turn your arm to reach for your phone and wince when a twinge of pain shoots up the muscle.

It’s not a big deal, not really, but tears pool in the corners of your eyes anyway—the smell of the hospital and the cold, hard chair beneath you the last thing you want to be feeling right now. You want to be curled up in your bed, freshly showered with a hot water bottle to keep away the cold biting at your toes.

You’re staring at the clock, watching the way the seconds hand moves. It’s so slow, slower than other clocks, you think. The minutes drag on painfully, each tiny tick echoing off the floors.

You hear the sliding doors open for the twentieth time, not bothering to look towards it until you hear the sound of your boyfriend’s voice drift through the hall.

Bucky Barnes.

He sees you then, marching towards you like being pulled by a magnetic force, worry etched into every one of his features—bright blue eyes brimmed with concern, a small furrow between his brows that seems to live there permanently, now dipped even deeper at the sight of you hurt, holding your bloody arm.

“It’s just a small bite Buck, I’m fine, I swear.” You start speaking before he can get a word out, already trying to diffuse him.

His hand rests on the side of your face, thumb brushing across your cheek gently and you melt into him, letting out a shaky breath as you feel the events of the day wash over you.

“You’re not fine. We wouldn’t be in the ER if you were fine.”

You bite your lip, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Why didn’t you call me when it happened?”

You shrug, looking down at your feet, mumbling, “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

His eyes soften at that, hand coming to rest on your chin, lifting it slightly until your eyes meet his.

“Hey, look at me. You could never bother me. I want to know if you’re hurt or in pain or sick. Let me be there for you. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

Your lip wobbles slightly and you feel the lump in your throat rise at his words. You chew on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying, reaching out to him with your good arm, gesturing for him to sit.

He smiles gently before sitting next to you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side. You nuzzle closer, letting his warm scent wash over you—a calming balm after the day you’d had.

Bucky angles himself so that you lean into him fully, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His lips linger, eyes shutting at the feel of you safe, in his arms.

“Hurts Buck.” You pout up at him, angling your arm towards him like a kid presenting their scraped knee.

“I know baby. Gonna get you fixed up and then we’ll go home and get you to bed.”

The minutes drag on, softer now than before—Bucky’s presence comforting in a way you didn’t know you needed. He mumbles against your skin every now and then, “Not too much longer now sweets,” followed by a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the back of your hand.

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s asked if you’re comfortable, if your fever has gone up, if you need anything. The one time you said yes, asking for a snack, he’d come back with every possible snack you could think of from the vending machine, giving you a shrug and a “What? Choices.” when you’d rolled your eyes playfully.

When you finally see a doctor, Bucky asks more questions than you, listening intently with that soldier focus like he was being given mission instructions—which to him it was. He makes notes in his little book he carries around with him and you can’t help the way your heart lifts at the sight, despite the pain you were still in.

“Come on doll, let’s get you home.” Bucky practically carries you out of the hospital, much to your embarrassment, placing you in the car like you might break if he jostles you even slightly.

“Buckyyy, m’fineeee, leave me alone.” Your words have no bite, pushing his hands away half-heartedly, letting out a soft giggle as he buckles your seat belt, still fussing over you.

“Let me take care of you, doll.”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes playfully, a shaky laugh escaping as he moves over to the driver’s side.

When you finally get home, you don’t even bother trying to get yourself out of the car, Bucky already running over to you, carrying you inside like you’d broken every bone in your body.

He goes over the doctor’s orders with you, lining up your medicines on your bedside table, running back and forth between the kitchen and your room to grab anything you might need, setting it up next to you.

“Yeah, and then you’ve got the one course of anti—” Bucky’s mumbling to himself, eyes still frantic as he goes over everything once more.

“Bucky.”

“and then if you need anything from—”

“Bucky.” You say it louder that time, reaching for his hand.

He finally stops, eyes softening as he looks at you.

“Bucky, I’ve got everything I could possibly need and more.”

“I just want to make sure you’re—”

“Bucky, I am fine. I’ve got everything. Now will you please just come and lie down with me?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his face before smiling.

“Yeah, yeah doll I can— I can do that.”

He sinks into the bed next to you, pulling you into his side, careful to not touch your injured arm. You rest your head on his chest—big, broad and so warm. You nuzzle yourself deeper into his chest and Bucky sighs, tracing lazy circles on your upper arm, lips coming to rest against your forehead before tangling his legs with yours.

You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as your body molds into his side, tired from the day you’d had.

“Sleep sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

taglist: @daydreamgoddess14 @matchaenthusiast1111 @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @skxawngg @heldbybarnes @epiphanyrogers @sassandscribbles @thisismysafeescape @mandoloriancookie @vmprektty @daddysbitchybaby @punkrockrr @buckysdecaflove @kileyking @singulartoast @love-stucky (if you'd like to be added, please leave a comment on this post)

see my other works here: masterlist

[singulartoast]

Imma cry all over again 🥺🥺🥺

HOW DID I MISS MY HOT WATER BOTTLE MENTION THE FIRST TIME AROUND 😭

What I would’ve given to have a Bucky there to kiss my boo-boo better and take care of me that night … but this fic from you was a close second 💚 luff you sweet Blueberry

The culprit was cuddled up next to me as I read this 😒

“Hey, look at me. You could never bother me. I want to know if you’re hurt or in pain or sick. Let me be there for you. You don’t have to do everything yourself.” Your lip wobbles slightly and you feel the lump in your throat rise at his words. You chew on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying, reaching out to him with your good arm, gesturing for him to sit.

😭😭😭😭😭 but Buck you don’t understand I’m fkn stubbornnnnn (cmere baby I need a hug)

[callmehopeless]

[singulartoast]

No Good At Movin’ On

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Summary: Some flames still smoulder, no matter how many years pass since they were tended. You’re just not sure if this one should flare back to life. Tags/Warnings: Songfic. No use of y/n. Ambiguously older Bucky and reader. Ex-relationship. Consumption of alcohol but no drunkenness. Little angst and pining. Word Count: 1.3k Currently Listening: “Swore I Was Leaving” by Lady A 🎵 AO3 • Masterlist

A drink was all you came for.

It wasn't often you stepped through the door of Sam's bar, but after shearing the last of your herd in the morning and arguing with the stock agency all afternoon, you'd needed a moment away from the farm to regroup. Maybe to dull your mind a bit.

You hadn't bargained on the lone figure darkening the corner of the bar.

Too late now.

"Sam," you murmured in greeting to the man behind the bar as you dragged out a stool to take a seat. Sam nodded in your direction, his eyes shooting from you, down the bar, and back.

You didn't need your peripheral to know he'd turned to take you in the moment you stepped inside.

The rest of the room hummed with energy, jukebox playing over folks chatting and sharing a meal to wind down the week. But up here it felt electric, like it was just you and him in the whole place, with Sam the only buffer between you.

The scrape of wood on wood was your warning, your spine stiffening as footsteps approached.

And just like that, his warm voice slid over you, dark and heady like the whisky he cradled in his hand.

"Fancy seein' you here, darlin'.”

With one last fortifying breath you turned to him, and your mouth went dry.

The years had been kind to Bucky Barnes.

Everything you had admired about him back in the day had sharpened. Wisened. The worn leather of his jacket hung from his broad shoulders like a lover, the plaid beneath soft and begging for your hands to touch, then delve beneath where you knew he was all hardened muscle and mouth-watering sinew.

With a dusting of salt through his beard and kind lines etched into his handsome face, he was absolutely devastating.

His eyes dropped, taking you in from head to toe in the same way your gaze had perused him, and you swallowed thickly.

"James—"

"You used to call me Bucky. When we were friends."

Blue eyes searched yours, that crinkle of his smile and the sparkle in his eyes stirring up things you swore you'd packed away for good.

"We're friends, right?"

A memory rocked you, his words from long ago echoing through your mind.

No, we can't be friends. Don't think I can take seein' you knowin' where we've been.

"We were never good at just bein' friends." You said the words because you needed the reminder as much as he did. 

He chuckled, a low rumble deep in his chest, and you crossed your legs on the stool.

His eyes tracked the movement.

"I was just thinkin' 'bout closin' my tab. Then you came in here lookin' like that."

You know if you stay this is going to go somewhere you thought you didn't want to go again.

"I could turn back around. I probably should.”

He quirked a brow at you, still standing, his intention clear but still giving you the room to decide.

You sighed. "One drink."

He turned to motion to Sam, but the barkeep only had eyes for you. He hadn't said a word, but still he checked in, making sure whatever this was happening in his bar was on the up-and-up.

You flashed him what you hoped was a reassuring smile and nodded. Only then did he start working on your drinks, and Bucky slid onto the barstool at your side.

His thigh pressed too close and you could feel his presence like a furnace, heat radiating from him and that addictive woody scent he wore weaving its way through your fickle senses.

Conversation flowed slowly, if a little stilted. One drink turned into two, with a bowl of hot chips served between you.

“How’s Becca?” You asked, plucking a chip to munch on. The distraction was good, something for your hands to do. Something safe.

Bucky smiled fondly, his gaze somewhere off in the distance. “Yeah, doin’ real good. She’s got a little one now. I’m an uncle.”

You smiled even as something in your chest twisted. He’d always wanted little ones underfoot …

“Lucky her,” you said, your voice cracking on the words. 

He took another sip of whisky, eyes still not meeting yours, but the way his smile turned wry—you know he heard.

Familiar guitar chords struck up from the jukebox, a melody full of memories and times long past winding through the bar.

Bucky’s eyes found yours. His gaze was soft, melancholy, when he murmured, “Remember this?”

Taking a sip of amber for strength, you felt your cheeks flush hot. Of course you remembered those hot summer nights in this very bar, the town festival in full swing around you as the two of you circled on that dance floor like satellites in inevitable orbit.

“Yeah. I remember.” Your voice was lower than you meant it to be, a husky sound full of what once was.

His hands fidgeted with his glass for a moment, something tumbling around his mind the same way the glass turned in his hand. You were mesmerised by the movement, watching whisky tilt and shift, and ice clink to and fro.

His hands stilled. Your eyes trailed up to meet his.

“It'd be a shame if I didn't ask you for a dance.”

Sliding from the stool he offered you his hand, that charming boyish smile of his setting your pulse racing and your heart fluttering in ways you thought you’d grown out of.

“For old times' sake.”

You couldn’t resist. For old times’ sake.

The chorus started when he drew you close, and the lyrics whispered sweet lies of young love and endless nights. You stood with two hands clasped together and pressed to his chest between you, the other curved up around his shoulder and his wound steady across the small of your back, and fell into an easy sway with the music.

From this close you could feel every shift in his body, every rigid line held taught with restraint, and a soft sigh escaped as you rested your head into his shoulder.

What could have been?

You didn’t realise you had uttered the words out loud until you felt him lean down to you, his lips brushing the curve of your ear.

His voice was barely a breath, but his words vibrated through you to the core. “I know it ain't right to drag this along, but I'm no good at movin' on.”

Your breath shuddered and your heart beat so hard you thought your ribs could bruise. He shifted, lips parting against your skin like there was more, but he said nothing else.

Together you swayed in silence, rotating around the floor until the final chords of the song.

Parting, his hand still in yours, the two of you stood still, captured in the moment. Eyes locked and so much unsaid filled the empty space between you.

You pulled away and reached for your glass, downing another mouthful, hand unsteady when you caught his rueful grin.

"Well,” he started, voice rough. “The bar's nearly closed." His dark eyes met yours and held. "I hate bein' alone and that rock in your glass is half gone."

You swirled the ice in your glass like it was a magic eight ball, hoping to find answers in the amber depths.

All those years ago you’d thought nothing would hurt more than that final touch. Sitting here now, you think leaving with him tonight might do it.

“I have an early start,” you murmured, shrugging, like any farmer here couldn’t say the same.

Including him. Bucky’s smile turned down at the corners, and though you saw a flicker in his eyes you knew he wouldn’t fight you on this. You were grateful you could trust in him, even if a quiet whisper within wondered how quickly you would fold if he ever stood firm.

You offered him a smile. A real one. It was all you could manage.

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

He nodded, smile blooming once more in return, and leaned in. His lips brushed your cheek, soft and bittersweet.

"G’night, darlin’,” he murmured, emphasising the first word. “With us it’s never goodbye.”

I don’t have a taglist! Follow @retoast for updates!

[morggo]

had some Big Feelings after therapy regarding existence and legacies, so i channeled it all into a little sinosauropteryx on a tiny piece of scrap paper. ink and watercolor sketch, about 2x2 inches.

prints here: https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/mxmorgan/a-monument/

[nocreativejuiceleft]

tell me your story and i’ll tell you mine. i’m all ears, take your time, we’ve got all night. show me the rivers crossed, the mountains scaled, show me who made you walk all the way here. settle down, put your bags down, you’re alright now. we don’t need to be related to relate, we don’t need to share genes or a surname, you are my chosen family.

[trueheartberry]

Those people who always insist that bi women can have boyfriends are, in my opinion, not even helping bisexual women by saying that.

It can be so fucking difficult for us to identify our same-sex attraction in the first place. The presence of OSA is often an eclipsing force.

And it is so so so easy to live and die in the closet as a bisexual. We can all come up with countless excuses that keep us afraid and hiding.

I like men so clearly what I feel about women must be platonic. I desire men so there’s no way I would like vulvas and I need to stop worrying about it. If I catch myself having thoughts about women I can replace them with thoughts about men.

Doubling down all the time on the fact that we can have boyfriends only makes that closet door harder to open for other bisexual women. Other bisexual women hear that rhetoric and nod and say you’re right, let’s keep hiding.

[doomhamster]

#bi woman are constantly pressured to prioritize m/f attraction and relationships#bi women need to be told that we can be attracted to women can date women can marry women#we need to be told that sex and romance with men is always optional NOT that it’s valid#normalize never mentioning cis m/f relationships during pride month because it’s actually very important that pride is never about them

...yeah, and it's not as though any bi woman has ever been pressured to "just come out as a lesbian already" or told she owes it to the cause to prioritize women or that if she's in a relationship with a man she's "basically straight" and should be quiet when the real queers talk.

Could we maybe consider that there isn't a single unified bi woman experience or a single package solution, and that telling fellow queers "actually you're not queer enough, your relationship isn't queer enough, and pride isn't about you" never leads to anything good?

[rogers-carter]

steve rogers + "oh shit." bonus:

[bluemandycat]

my sister’s bf referred to eating cheese as “mousing out” and i’m so utterly charmed by that. can we all agree to adopt that into language.

[dipdamnderoo]

I made a thing.  Happy pride 🏳️‍🌈

[singulartoast]

　　　 #JuneJukeboxScribbles

◎ 6th — Agent 47 (Hitman; WoA Haven Island) ⇢ prompt: I don’t think I caught your name

word count: 285

“I’m an online yoga instructor. I have a bit of a following.”

“Is that so?”

The woman flicked her hair and leaned confidently against the railing of the boat. “Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

“I doubt that.”

Her giggle grated on his ears but still he did not move his gaze from the fixed point on the horizon.

Their destination.

Glistening water. Golden sands. Nothing but a light breeze and warming sunlight for miles.

The perfect getaway.

A place too perfect for murder.

Meanwhile his companion was still talking. “My schedule here is very flexible.” Again, the giggle. “Sorry, yoga joke.”

“You’re quite amusing,” he allowed, his words sparking a light in her eyes he was sure would come in handy later.

“If you like that I have plenty more. Maybe we could share jokes over drinks. You do that … don’t you?”

“Drink?”

“Joke.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Distant colourful umbrellas speckled the beach, reminiscent of the cocktail garnish no doubt served in the tiki bar on the island. The very place this yoga enthusiast wished to meet him.

They approached the pier, the only arrival point of the island, when she clutched at his arm with a grip firmer than he expected.

“I don’t think I caught your name.”

47 adjusted his light suit jacket out from beneath her grasp and nodded at the staff lining the pier. Stepping off the motorboat, he waved off the complimentary drink and stared down the attendant.

“Welcome to Haven Island, mister Rieper. Please, follow me to reception.”

She caught that—of course she did—her voice rising up like the tide.

“Rieper. Interesting name.”

“You should see my family tree. It’s to die for.”

[singulartoast]

　　　 #JuneJukeboxScribbles

◎ 4th — Garsiv x Tamina (Prince of Persia) ⇢ prompt: But I’m having such a good time

word count: 295

“Princess Tamina.” With a sweeping bow, mockingly short of custom, Garsiv rose. “Finally, an introduction.”

The gaze she levelled him could wither the stoutest of hearts. He met it head on.

“We met. Or did you forget assaulting me in the temple?”

“I remember assaulting the temple.” He began to circle the room. “You however…”

Halting at the Princess’ side, Garsiv leaned in close.

“I was told you were a beauty without equal. Not someone so easily forgotten.”

The movement of his armour as he stepped forward covered the soft breath she took.

He only heard her temper.

“I shall tell your newly conquered Alamutians the sacking of their holy city was in the pursuit of beauty. That will keep them warm at night.”

An itch grew under his skin. “We had credible proof you supplied weapons to our enemies.”

“And no forges to smelt them. So now you’ve destroyed their homes on the back of a rumour!” Despite her broad smile no warmth touched her eyes.

Garsiv felt his blood run hot, like he was moments from rushing into battle. 

He was due elsewhere. Why did he linger? Why let this woman toy with him?

“I’d heard Alamut had not been breached in a thousand years. Alamut had never before met Persia.”

Her sneer could’ve flayed him alive. “Do not flatter yourself, Prince. You and your army waited outside our gates for your brother to open its doors.” Tamina spread her arms wide, palms up, and crowed, “What a feat of strength from Persia.”

He felt his face grow warm, the hand resting on the hilt of his sword squeeze tight, and with a growl he turned and left.

The mocking lilt of her voice followed him out.

“Fleeing so soon, Persian? But I’m having such a good time…”

a/n ! Yes this is late, sorry. Have I mentioned I just like making these two argue over and over …

[loveridden1999]

[blowingbarnes]

me and @epiphanyrogers went OFF today making birth charts for Steve and Bucky and it checks out… so much…

[epiphanyrogers]

you and steve twinning on so much has blown my mind!! if i fall in love w u don’t blame me blame the stars lol

also i’m taking the w with getting 2/3 of bucky’s big 3 right!! 😌 and since we don’t know his rising sign bc we don’t have his birth time i’m going to say it’s 3/3 bc that boy is the biggest scorpio rising i’ve ever seen…

[singulartoast]

Honestly this was incredible to wake up to I just saw Truth after Truth

[aomitois]

rb and tag your favorite song that's not in english, japanese or korean

[blowingbarnes]

NETFLIX & CHILL

PAIRING: Steve Rogers x Reader WORD COUNT: 2.6k WARNINGS: domestic fluff, established relationship, steve is tired okay?, SMUT (free use implication, so much oral (f receiving), steve is a munch, fingering, tonguefucking, spit kink, spit as lube, couch sex, p in v, mating press, creampie, cockwarming if you squint, cock pronouns (like ONCE), multiple orgasms) porn with very little plot. SUMMARY: Steve gets home and there's no better way to get his head out of thinking about work than to put it right between your thighs. +fran: I'm in such a Steve kick lately, this ovulation he has me by the clit and he's not letting go. I love how fluffy this is and I too need this man to eat me out until there's nothing in either of our heads. This is straight up blond man propaganda. Here's a little nugget of a fic while I write bigger ones.

Steve Rogers, way back when, wouldn't be called uptight. 

He wasn't much of a rule follower to begin with, seeing things morally grey instead of black and white. He's always been someone that just wants to do the right thing, whatever the cost of that may be. 

Steve Rogers in present day, however, would be uptight by 2020s Manhattan standards. 

His entire presence commanded obedience. Authority. 

Steve's star-spangled broad shoulders, squared when he stood with his hands on his belt ever the proper man, drew every eye in the room to him like a magnet. 

His voice never wavered when barking orders left and right, always a man with a plan. If strategy A failed, he was already halfway through strategy B, and had already thought of a third alternative. 

The entire weight of the world had always been on his shoulders, for the better part of 108 years. 

Steve is, however, much like a working dog. He's restless. He needs a job to do, and do well, even when his actual job stresses him the fuck out.

So when he's walking up the stairs of your condo in the Village, his throat tired from yelling over gunfire, his feet exhausted from running miles in combat boots, and his shoulders tense from holding back frustration during the debrief, the sound of your voice while you talk on the phone is a soothing balm for his soul. 

He unlocked the door and walked in, the dimly lit apartment making him feel like he could finally let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. 

You were curled up on one end of the couch, throw blanket lazily over your legs as a candle burned on the kitchen isle and some trashy reality TV on, while you talked with your best friend on the phone about the events unveiling in front of your eyes.

Your weekly debrief, you called it. Steve thought it was cute. 

"Okay, but here's the thing," you were saying into your phone, eyes glued to the television. "I don't actually think she's mad about the text messages."

Steve really didn't understand half the appeal of those shows. Every week he'd come over and find some new catastrophe unfolding. Someone was cheating on somebody, someone was throwing a drink, someone was crying in a confessional interview, someone was apparently there "for the wrong reasons."

And somehow you knew every single person's name, history, motivations, and interpersonal grievances.

Steve let the door latch with a soft "click" and he dropped his duffel by the counter and shrugged his shoes off.

You turned your head at the sound immediately, your face softening the instant your eyes locked with his. 

There was something about being looked at like that after a day spent getting shot at, yelled at, and blamed for things outside of his control.

Something about knowing there was one place in Manhattan where nobody expected Captain America.

He was just expected to be Steve, or Babe, or Honey, or Stevie, or—

"Hold on," you told your friend, reaching out to him with one hand, which he knew was code for "come here and kiss me".

He smiled with the side of his mouth and complied, walking over until he was behind you, making you tilt your head back to kiss him, a little murmured "I missed you." against his lips before you went back to your conversation. 

He finished walking around the couch, laying down on top of you as you made space of his waist and torso between your legs, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled his face into your sternum.

Steve Rogers melted.

That was the only word possible for the exhale he let out as soon as your fingers tangled in his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as he let his entire weight just rest on you. 

"You okay, baby?" Your voice was low, not even a hair above a whisper, and he just hummed in agreement against the soft fabric of your tank top.

"Do you need to go? Baaabyyyy." You rolled your eyes at the phone. 

"Don't start."

"Oh, I'm absolutely starting. Did Captain America just come home and immediately turn into a golden retriever?"

Steve huffed a quiet laugh against your shirt. Your hand immediately moved to the back of his neck, nails grazing softly until you pushed your hand past the collar of his cotton shirt, scratching lightly at his back. 

If he was a cat, he'd be purring right at that moment.

"No, because listen," you told your friend, eyes narrowing at the screen. "The issue isn't that she lied." Steve watched you. "The issue is that she lied badly." Completely, utterly, disgustingly in love. "Those are different crimes."

Blue bird sky eyes that look up at you like you invented spring. Like your voice alone makes flowers bloom and birds sing. 

His chin rests comfortably on your stomach, one arm draped across your waist while your fingers absentmindedly travel back up to continue scratching at his scalp.

The way you laugh when someone says something stupid on the show makes him understand poetry. Because regular sentences in language aren't enough to explain what it feels like when somebody becomes your favorite thing in the entire world.

Steve had always been… tactile when he was tired. Like a working dog, he'd find something to occupy his mind until he was so tired, the inside of his skull was nothing but tv static.

Not clingy, exactly just drawn toward you in the same way a sunflower turns toward sunlight.

His fingers slipped beneath the edge of your thank top, resting against the warm skin of your side, fabric riding up and exposing your stomach to him as he pressed absentminded kisses against the skin there. 

Your eyes flickered to him, another kiss on the lower left side of your stomach, big calloused hands pushing your shirt a smidge up again. 

When he grazed the skin with his teeth and soothed it with his tongue, you realized what he was getting at. Some flavor of "I gotta go, love you, bye" and the call was disconnected. 

"Steve." No answer. His hands slowly came back down the length of your waist, "Steve." He was in his own little world, fingers hooking them hem of your sleep shorts and pulling them down.

You let him, because what woman in her right mind would prevent Steve from seeking comfort, specially if that comfort was eating your pussy until you saw double?

He threw the shorts somewhere in the room, nothing but a grunt here or a groan there coming out of his mouth in the meantime. 

You put your right foot on his chest softly, as to catch his attention, sparkling eyes looking up at you with a little "hmm?" to match. 

"Are you okay?"

He sighed happily. He knew you knew you didn't have to worry about him, he's a super solder, a hero, a goddamn Avenger, what could a mere civilian like you do?

But he still loved your worry. Loved… your love. 

Steve chuckled softly and kissed the inside of your ankle, something along the lines of "always okay when I'm with you" being printed against the skin of your leg as his kisses went higher and higher and higher.

He stopped quickly when he got to your core, place a wet kiss over your panties and pulling them down your legs in one swift motion. The plane of his chest resting against the couch as he settled your legs over his shoulders. 

His arms wrapped around you legs, hands resting on top of your thighs to keep you open for him. He nuzzled his face against you first, eyes closed as he licked a flat, wide strip up your cunt.

The soft gasp coming from your lips only spurred him on, your left hand reaching down to tangle in his blond locks again while your right hand rested on his forearm.

Steve looked like he was in a trance. Hypnotized by the taste of you. He hummed against you, satisfied you were giving him what he wanted. Letting him take what he wanted. 

His tongue was soft, warm, wet as it lapped against your folds. He'd tense the muscle closer to your clit and circle it with his tongue before sucking it between his plush lips, only to slow down and do it again. 

The day had scraped him raw in a hundred tiny ways, and now he was tucked into the safest place he knew.

You.

"Mmmm, that feels good…" You settled further into the couch, letting your legs fall open around his head as he lazily made out with your pussy. His right hand reached up to shove your shirt further up, massaging your breasts once they were exposed, rolling and tugging on the nipple.

His tongue zig-zagged between your folds, bottom to top, and he sucked your clit briefly, setting it free with a soft "pop" once he felt your thigh twitch. 

"Needed this," he kissed your inner thigh. "needed you." Steve leaned further down, tensing his tongue to tease your entrance, and then burying his face in your heat. 

"Oh! Oh, G— Steve, f—mmm…" you were already babbling. The feel of his hot tongue inside of you made your hips jerk, his nose nudging your clit in the process. 

The wet noises were loud enough he could hear them even though your thighs were squeezing around his head. And God, this is what he needed, plush skin and muscle tensing under him, suffocating him in all that was you. 

"Gonna co—hah!—come all over your pretty face." Steve moaned, he moaned into you, hips grinding onto the couch cushions as yours did so against his face, pushing himself to be impossibly close to you. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth again, his tongue flicking it while it was trapped between his lips. 

Your moans grew louder, sharper, until you soaked Steve's lips and chin in wet pleasure. He let you ride the wave of your first orgasm, aftershocks flowing through your body like electricity through water. 

He dragged his right hand down from your breast to rest above your pussy, keeping you where he wanted you, and used his thumb and index finger to spread you further.

"Baby, please…" It was a mix of oversensitive and hungry pleas, which Steve took as a green light to keep going. He flattened his tongue again, licking long paths bottom to top, dipping his tongue in your entrance, and then keeping the path up.

You supported yourself up mostly by your right elbow and your grip on Steve's hair, staring at the scene in front of you with your mouth hanging open, panting. 

His left hand travelled down and he covered his index and middle fingers in your slick, pulling away ever so slightly to pool spit in his mouth and let the hot saliva flow softly from his mouth onto your clit. 

His fingers drove into you slowly with a wet squelch echoing into the room, curling them towards him when he got your folds to touch his palm. "Was only gone a day, sweetheart." He pumped his fingers. "How come you're so tight still, mmm?"

He chuckled when you had no response but a needy whine, the scene was a sight, really. Captain America absolutely lost in the pleasure of seeing his girlfriend completely pliant, missing any bottoms, with her tank top bunched up above her breasts, while he had a soaked face and a raging hard on. 

Humming as he licked and teased your clit once again, this time pumping his fingers in and out, and again, again, again, until he slurped every single drop of your second orgasm, feeling you squeeze your cunt around his fingers while your thighs squeezed every thought that didn't revolve around you right out of his skull.

You pulled him up forcefully by the collar, crashing your lips together, moaning as you tasted yourself on him. Your tongue licked into his mouth like you alone could make him forget everything that happened during the mission, even without knowing details. 

Your hands grazed down his chest over his shirt, quickly finding the hem of his sweats, palming him through them. "Did you touch yourself while I was gone?" His voice was breathy against your lips, almost strained. 

You shook your head, biting your lip. "Not as good when it's not you."

Steve whined, like audibly whined at your praise as you pushed his pants down enough to free his cock. "Good girl."

It slapped against your stomach heavy, hard, and leaking, and Steve immediately reached down to rub the head up and down your slick.

"Put it in, baby, please." You sucked on his bottom lip. "Missed you so much."

Steve chuckled as he lined himself up with your entrance. "Me or him?" He didn't wait for an answer, in days like these he never did. He just pushed his entire cock in to the hilt, knocking the air out of your lungs. "Me. Or. Him?" He asked again. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, "You, baby, fuck—" you panted against his mouth, tiny puffs of air matching his every thrust. "Missed your voice, your scent, your laugh—" another harsher thrust knocked the thought out of your head. "Missed your cock too, ah!"

You felt every drag of him inside of you, the vein on the side that split into two, the bulbous head of him that notched so perfectly around the spongy spot inside of you, you'd think they made him in a lab. 

Well, they did. But you're pretty sure the SSR had no involvement in how perfect Steve Rogers' dick was. 

That was all him. 

He reached down to snake his arms under your knees, bringing your legs further up and out, until his pelvis was flush with your entire bottom. 

"That's a good girl." He sighed, pulling all the way out only to slam all the way back in again. "Always so good."

The more Steve fucked you, the less oxygen you felt you had in your lungs. Every muscle in your core was tightening by the second, everything becoming too loud, too hot, too heavy, too good.

"Gonna fill you up, sweetheart. You want that?" His lips dropped to your neck, sucking and licking on the skin there. You nodded. "But I need you to come on my cock, Princess. Can you do that for me?" 

You nodded even more enthusiastically. 

Steve licked his thumb and down to your clit it went, making your eyes cross and roll and the wave of pleasure crashed onto you again. He felt you clamp down on him, shudders licking up his spine as rope after rope of cum leaked out of him.

Steve thrusted both of you through the aftershocks, until he finally let his entire weight rest onto you as your nails once again grazed his back and neck. 

He lifted his head from where he was resting his forehead against your collarbone and gave you a peck on the lips, then another, then another, until it turned into a slow, deep kiss. 

He motioned to pull out and start to clean up, but you squeezed your legs around his waist. "Just stay with me a little longer here, Stevie." He looked at you like he always did when you asked that, when he knew you asked for it more for him than for you, but still gave in, staying with you until your breaths evened out while the TV played in the background. 

bro honestly idk what took over my body in this ovulation... I already humped my husband every single day this week. THE SHACKLES.

💌 permanent freaks taglist: @chateaubarnes @houseofhyde @heldbybarnes @iamthatonefangirl @superbassbuck @its-in-the-woods @wildflowersandvibranium @unificsation @flockoff-featherface @54nboo @earthsmightiestbenders @winterdecember18 @juniebjonesin @barnesonly @bckyslover @buckyfmd @starfire-irl @tw1sters @pinksplace @artficlly @daddysbitchybaby @globetrotter28 @epiphanyrogers @famoushoshi @avgdestitute @blobfishlol @buckysdecaflove @buckybsdoll @allthingswickedpodcast @love-stucky @singulartoast

[singulartoast]

Frannnnnnnnnnn nothing prepared me. I was not ready.

but I’m fkn ready now. I’m dry humping my bed what the fuckk

[phoenix-in-writing]

The Stork Club

40's Bucky Barnes x Reader

♪ Prompt | Hey! Baby - Bruce Channel | “I'm gonna make her mine, all mine” ♪ Summary | Bucky lays eyes on the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, and is convinced he has a shot. ♪ Warnings + Tags | Fluff, mentions of alcohol and smoking ♪ Phoenix Chirps | Evidently I'm in a 40s Bucky kick. Aren't we all though? If only he were real... ♪ Word Count | 298

⏮ Prev | Masterlist ⏯ Event Masterlist | Next ⏭

The Stork Club was not where Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes thought he would end up. An ocean away from home, next to his best friend who had just saved him from almost certain death, nursing a glass of whiskey that didn't quite have the same kick to it that it used to.

This was supposed to be a celebratory night, considering the surviving members of the 107th were now safe. Or as safe as could be considering they were in a war zone.

And yet, Bucky still felt like he was missing…something. A puzzle piece right at the edge of his needs and wants, that neither camaraderie nor alcohol was fixing.

That was, until the crowd - and even the thick cloud of cigarette smoke - seemed to part when the bell over the door jingled.

There you were, looking like you had stepped right off a cinema screen someone had produced just for him.

You barely glanced at the soldiers who all briefly vied for you attention silently. Yet when they realized you were more interested in finding whoever it was you were meeting, they turned away, dejected.

Bucky's eyes, though, tracked you through the crowd, until you found who you were looking for - Peggy Carter.

A convenience that Bucky didn't think he would've been afforded. At least now he sort of had a way to strike up a conversation with you.

"What's got you so starstruck?" Steve chuckled sliding in next to him against the bar.

Bucky just tipped his head in your direction, a smile finally appearing across his features. "See that girl? I'm gonna make her mine, all mine."

Steve followed his gaze, seeing you chatting animatedly with Peggy. He shook his head once, taking a sip of his own drink.

"Good luck, pal."

Everything Taglist: @overwintering-soldier @stanmarvelous @wint3rbarnes @barnes-babydoll @defn0tonyourleft @herejustforbuckybarnes @stesha02 @sheriff-bodecker @wherewinterblooms @miraclediviner @tw1sters @daddysbitchybaby @metal-armed-muse @avgdestitute @imtoooldforthis82 @daydreamgoddess14 @hailmary-yramliah @nachtigall127 @heavenchana @ornateglass @steelandvibranium @stkmaprang @yourmomoclockit @misswhiddless @mariamorales1998 @mistressmkay @ladymiseryy @my-drvidess @alli0-0 @buckyscaptain @larissareidbarnes @castielscaplan @juniebjonesin @angelryex

Bucky Only: @thegirlwhowaited5everok @phantom-wolf-girl @optimisticchildtyrant @sassandscribbles @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @procrastination20 @mathcat345 @highhopes1008 @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @scarletkanami @onyx8514 @dragonflydewdrop @jamesbbcrnes

Stan Characters Only: @iamthatonefangirl @cassity357 @erina00 @buckytakethewheel @buckysdecaflove @singulartoast

If you'd like to be added to the taglist comment here ᝰ.ᐟ

[phoenix-in-writing]

cont. tag list because tumblr keeps messing with me 😭

Stan Characters Only: @singulartoast

[singulartoast]

Reblogging for just me.

also because “There you were, looking like you had stepped right off a cinema screen” got me starry eyed too 🤩