more to come soon but this is what we’re working with for now!!! i’m also taking requests! my other accounts are:
ao3 - simpforpeterp
wattpad - herefromeden13
also just a warning: some of my one shots come straight from one of my oc stories but i change it to be x reader so if you feel so inclined, check out the oc stories! i pour my heart and soul into them!
!!! - smut
Adventure Time -
Nostalgia - Simon Petrikov/Reader - a short but sweet one shot in which you’re simon’s neighbor, a human. and human’s in a post apocalyptic world can find funny ways to connect
Gravity Falls -
Movin’ Out - Stanford Pines/Reader - ford gets a job at the very grocery store you work at to pay for college. lucky for you, you get to train him! enjoy
Gold Dust Woman - Stanford Pines/OC - In the summer of 1977, Stanford Pines meets a captivating woman in Gravity Falls. Long backstory short, she’s a witch from the Boiling Isles.
Daydream Believer - Stanford Pines/OC - After one year of college, Stanford Pines and Fiddleford Mcgucket are living in a car. Luckily, at the same time, a girl follows her ex-boyfriend to Backupsmore University and needs roommates.
Holidays - Stanford Pines/Reader - in which ford reminisces and thinks about what could’ve been and what once was
Look Me in the Eye - Stanford Pines/Reader - based on a daisy jones and the six scene! a one shot in which ford comes home from a crazy night with bill, pushing you to your limit
I Believe in a Thing Called Love- Stanford Pines/Reader - on the road trip to bring the kids back to california, you have to keep ford awake!
Hellaverse -
Only Angel - Lucifer Morningstar/OC - A story in which the King of Hell falls in love with a fallen angel who became the most powerful overlord in Hell, the owner of millions of souls, in less than a year. (She obtained them all on accident) (Yes, she accidentally became the most powerful overlord in Hell)
Chip on My Shoulder - Lucifer Morningstar/Reader - the reader, an angel, driven by love, follows their partner into hell, only to face betrayal and mockery. they then encounter a mysterious and charismatic man who offers surprising insights and advice.
Just Like Heaven - Lucifer Morningstar/OC - In the aftermath of a new accord between Heaven and Hell, Lucifer Morningstar finds himself pulled back into the past by the unexpected reappearance of an old flame from the beginning of time. In a big mess of concerts, big parties, and buried emotions, how could the King of Hell get her to not hate him?
Hello It’s Me - Stolas/Blitz 18+ - Stolas craves monogamy and saving a certain side of himself for one person. Blitz is…well, Blitz.
MCU
True Blue (Series) - Bucky Barnes/OC - Post-Endgame, everything’s fractured, worlds, teams, people. Bucky Barnes is trying to figure out what freedom even means, and Bianca Delgado, the most powerful Avenger no one really talks about, is hiding from the fallout of her past. She’s sunshine and sharp edges, a walking contradiction with too many secrets behind her smile. He’s quiet and coiled, still fighting ghosts in every shadow. Neither of them is looking for someone. But they keep finding each other anyway.
Helpless - Bucky Barnes/Reader - based off the hamilton song (i’m sorry and not sorry!!) you meet bucky barnes at a dinner party and it feels like falling fast. letters follow. jazz is debated.
Out of House and Home - Bucky Barnes/Reader - your old teammate you were never close with calls and brings his team of new avengers after a mission gone wrong. you realize maybe you’re more compatible than you thought.
My Baby (Got Nothing At All) - Bucky Barnes/Female Reader 18+ - you and bucky have been broken up for almost a year. neither of you have moved on. now, he’s sitting next to you at your friend’s wedding.
The Complete Knock - Bucky Barnes/Reader - you and bucky broke up. but when you find out about the new avengers? you can’t resist telling him how stupid he looks to his face
Pushing It Down and Praying - Bucky Barnes/Female Reader 18+ - bucky’s your best friend. he can be clueless but he wants to try dating again and you try to help him. but his date isn’t what he anticipated.
Aftertaste - Bucky Barnes/Reader - takes place after the end of thunderbolts, bucky comes home to you frustrated and sad and so soft.
Dysfunction - Bucky Barnes/Reader 18+ - with your boyfriend being born in the last century, some…issues arise. Or fail to.
Redemption Speed-Run - Bucky Barnes/Reader 18+ - after being freshly pardoned, bucky needs some help to look...reformed. it's hard to be reformed when you're too busy falling in love with your best friend
Debrief - Bucky Barnes/Reader 18+ - going to various galas and dinners with your boyfriend suck most of the time. but the best part is the debrief. and the sex.
Come On - Bucky Barnes/Reader - when you reconnect with an old teammate, you want privacy. but privacy is hard to get when he has a whole new team living with him.
Come On Pt. 2 - Bucky Barnes/Reader 18+ - when you reconnect with an old teammate, you want privacy. but privacy is hard to get when he has a whole new team living with him.
Give Me Something - Bucky Barnes/Reader - bucky’s your boyfriend. it’s a new relationship and when you hear him on the phone late at night with mel…you get the wrong idea
Coney Island Baby - Bucky Barnes/Reader - bucky has a crush on you. and he’s been slowly realizing that he wants you and he wants to ask you out. and what better place than coney island?
Schrucy/Peanuts -
Ever Thine, Ever Mine, Ever Ours - Schroder/Lucy: - After a semester abroad and a broken engagement, Lucy van Pelt returns to her college in California and finds herself living across the hall from her childhood crush, Schroeder, the boy who never looked twice at her unless she was singing something off-key. Now he's older, quieter, and somehow still manages to get under her skin. He’s also suddenly interested in her...which would be great, if she hadn’t stopped waiting around for him.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Stardew Valley -
Coolest Place in the World - Harvey/Reader - it’s her first day in town (be nice!)
The Dugout - Sam/OC - an excerpt from my story on AO3 Get It Right the First Time! a story in which the most famous woman in the world suddenly disappears to move into her grandpa’s old farm and reunite with her best friend from kindergarten to high school (this excerpt is from sam’s eight (???) heart event with the band)
summary: from mentor to friend, finnick odair could barely work through his feelings for alina. he still can’t. a story changing timelines from her hunger games, mentoring together, witnessing katniss and peeta’s games, the third quarter quell, and more.
warnings: canon typical hunger games violence, eventual smut
Warnings: angst, hunger games trauma, training, and violence
Finnick Odair has forgotten what exhaustion feels like. Not the kind that comes from training or swimming until his muscles burn. The kind that comes from smiling for strangers. From pretending. From letting hands that aren't welcome linger because saying no was never one of his options.
It’s been a long day. The longest “shift” he’s had in months. Possibly even years. He forgot what it felt like to be passed from room to room, he hadn’t been since his victory. He has five minutes before the next one.
Five minutes in an empty dressing room with only a mirror and a sink. He stares into the mirror and has to look away. The lipstick littered on his neck, glitter stuck to his skin. He turns on the faucet and splashes water over his hot skin. The air in this place never seems to feel cleaner. Never gets colder. It’s hot year-round.
He cleans off whatever he can with water alone and some paper towels in the corner before he has to go. He follows his escort all the way to a room down the hall that he’s never seen before. It’s strange, he was sure he’d seen all of them. He readjusts the barely there fabric around his hips before the door is opened for him.
He readjusts the way he carries himself and puts a smile on his face as he steps in before he takes a look around. The lights are bright, not the usual dim and warm lighting. And all that sits in the room is a couch and an extra armchair. And her.
“Alina? What are you- you shouldn’t be in here.” He slams the door behind him and walks closer to where she sits on the couch.
She’s dressed so casually. Her hair is still wet like she either didn’t dry it after showering or just got back from swimming. Like whatever she planned to do here didn’t matter, like she doesn’t care.
“You weren’t answering my calls.” She shrugs.
“How did you even get in here?”
She just sits in silence for a moment before taking a look around, pushing her sunglasses up on her head before she takes a long sigh.
“The door.”
“This isn’t funny, Lina. How much did you pay for this? What do you even want from me? Are you…do you want t-“ He starts, and she sits up straighter.
“What? No. No, of course not. I paid far too much for this, but I just…I don’t know.” She says, looking up at him with her hands in her lap, and he sighs again, turning around himself before slumping into the armchair.
“Alina. The games aren’t for another month; what could you possibly need from me that couldn’t wait?” He asks, leaning forward and clasping his hands together as if posing more seriously would get a clear answer out of her.
“Like…everything.”
“You have to give me more than that.”
“No one tells me anything. No one. And I know there’s more going on that no one’s telling me. How am I supposed to be a mentor in these next games if you’re all hiding something from me? I mean even Johanna-“ She starts, and Finnick’s head shoots up.
“What did Johanna tell you?” He stiffens.
“What? Nothing! But this is what I mean: why does it feel like I’m on the outside of everything? What should Johanna have told me, Finnick?” She sits up too.
“Nothing, just forget it.”
She stares for a moment before shaking her head and scoffing, grabbing her bag.
“This was a mistake; I shouldn’t have come here.” Lina finally stands.
“Oh, you don’t say?” Finnick laughs cruelly. “Whatever answers you want, you aren’t gonna get from me. Stop digging, stop coming around here when at any moment, these people can decide they want you to do the same job as me. Go sing another love song. Smile for another camera. Pretend any of this is real.”
“Whatever- I have a full say on whatever they have me do. It’s all my choices.” She leans closer to him, bending more so he can see she means it.
“You don’t believe that,” He says before his smile fades and he looks straight into her eyes. “Now, go.”
~
For his first year as a mentor, not just shadowing Mags and trying his best to learn, Finnick thought it would be easy. Just do what Mags does. Teach them the best ways to survive, go over things the Capitol usually does, ways they try to trick the tributes.
The boy is still in tears when Finnick walks into the room. The girl is no where to be found. He takes a look around in confusion before grabbing the clipboard haphazardly thrown by their escort onto the cushion of the bench seat. He flips over a paper to see her name and picture. Alina Reyes. 17. And he immediately knows he’s in trouble.
He didn’t recognize her name alone when he heard it at the reaping, he didn’t stick around long enough to see her face. He should’ve known better. The mayor’s daughter. Or as most people tease, the Princess of District 4.
They call her that because of her ability to charm her way out of district work. While everyone else was stuck fishing all the time and weaving nets, she was singing. Constantly. She was all smiles and giggling. But really, what was there to smile about? Mold over-growing in houses? Endless fishing for every other district in Panem?
The people loved her. She could probably get away with murder if she wanted to. He hates that. And he hates that the Capitol would eat it up, and they will when they see her.
He tosses the clipboard back down and walks over to place a hand down on the table next to the boy tribute.
“Where did she go?” He asks, attempting to sound calm and clear, but comes off as more threatening.
“I don’t know,” The tribute sobs more. “Somewhere up there.”
He points up the stairs to a little terrace on the train where the windows open and he sighs. He climbs up it and hears a lot of cheering and yelling. When he gets around the top, he sees her hanging out of the window and waving to people as the train takes off. She blows kisses like it’s a popularity contest.
He walks around and grabs onto her, pulling her out of the window before setting her on the seat below and shutting the window.
“No more of that. What are you doing?” He raises his voice.
“Oh, hi,” She smiles up at him and hears just stares for a moment. “I just figured…every moment where people can see me counts, no?”
He almost wants to laugh. He somehow manages to keep it in and shakes his head as he trudges down the stairs. Pretty girls never last long in the arena. Neither do the ones who thought the world would be kind to them. He'd seen enough Capitol audiences to know exactly what they'd see when they looked at her. They wouldn't see a tribute. They'd see entertainment.
"You trying to get yourself killed before the Games even start?" He calls, knowing she was following him down the stairs.
“I’m trying to get sponsors,” She frowns and he stops. “People don’t sponsor tributes they don’t remember.”
He doesn’t turn around. The look on his face would do the opposite of humble her. Because she’s right. But it does annoy him that she has to be his tribute now with Mags letting him take the lead as she helps him out when he needs it.
"Can you start a fire?" He finally turns around and she stands there, looking up at him with her slightly messy hair.
"...No."
"Can you set a broken bone?"
"No."
"Can you tie a fishing net?"
She hesitates.
"...Not really. I mean, kind of, yeah. Just not super well."
He just sighs.
"We're in trouble."
“But I have a lot more skills that you just haven’t seen yet.” She tells him.
“Oh, yeah? Like what, princess?”
“You’ll see. I can’t show all of my secrets before we even get out of Four.” She smiles and walks over to sit next to the boy tribute, immediately beginning to pick at the chocolate on the table
And suddenly he feels sure. This girl is painfully naive and doesn’t stand a chance.
Mags comes back and they all begin to eat on the train. From there on, there isn’t much talking. Instead, they watch the other reapings. Alina watches more intently than the rest. Finnick shares some comments more to Mags than the tributes on what he notices. It’s mostly surface level.
After finishing with District 12, they turn off the TV and it’s silent again. At least until the boy tribute, Barlow takes a shaky breath and rests his head in his hands. Finnick takes a look at his two tributes. One an emotional wreck, and the other…a princess.
“So,” Finnick starts awkwardly. “What do you guys think of your fellow tributes?”
Alina stares out the window at the water below them, underneath the tracks of the train before she turns to Finnick and Mags and before either of them process it, she begins to name every single tribute and their district. After that, she begins to share what she’s learned so far.
“The boy from Eight has a limp. I don't know if it's from an injury or if he was born with it, but he'll either slow people down or they'll underestimate him because of it. The boy from One smiles too much. Either he's overconfident...or he's trying very hard to convince everyone he is. The girl from Two couldn't stop looking at herself on the screen. Maybe she's vain. Or maybe she was checking to make sure she looked strong. But maybe I’m being too judgmental, I care about my looks as much as the next girl but not to that extreme.” She shrugs and leans back, crossing her arms.
Mags nods with a smile that makes Alina smile wider. But it’s a kind smile. Not a mean or proud smile. It makes Finnick do a double take. He’s never seen a tribute smile like that especially so soon after the reaping.
“That your talent then? Being observant?” Finnick asks.
“I guess it depends.” She shrugs.
“On what?”
“The sides of themselves people decide to show when it matters versus when they’re caught off guard. The more genuine side is what we just saw. I’m sure in the capitol they’ll all be different. They’ll be acting. I won’t see a lot of their true selves until the games.”
After Alina finishes, Mags reaches over and squeezes Finnick's wrist. He looks at her. She gives him a knowing look. Maybe Alina will surprise him. Or maybe she’ll get herself killed immediately.
~
Finnick stares out the window of a room he’s mostly unfamiliar with next to a woman he was previously unfamiliar with until last night. She’s still asleep and he watches the TV.
And then it’s her. Lina. Up on this big stage in the Capitol with pure spectacle as her show. She sings for the crowd, her band and dancers behind her. When they embraced singing as her hobby, he had no idea it’d turn to this. But there are worse jobs to have post victory.
He can’t help but notice what’s always there. Innuendos in songs, short skirts and tall boots, perfectly curled hair, always enough exposed skin to give away parts of her but leave the audience guessing. Tonight, the top is basically lingerie but with a skirt over it so it can pass as a costume or just a sparkly performance top.
But he can see what the Capitol wants it to give. What they want from her. The Capitol has a way of deciding who you become after you survive.
summary: bucky has a crush on you. and he’s been slowly realizing that he wants you and he wants to ask you out. and what better place than coney island?
warnings: straight fluff, female reader, she her pronouns, the word girl is used, kissing, gravity falls scene kind of, reader is accidentally given a black eye
word count: 6.2k
The New Avengers had been acting weird all day. You had tried to keep to yourself. Tried to keep busy but every few minutes or hours, you’d see one of them peeking in on you in the common room or walking in groups and looking in. And eventually, you’d catch almost all of them watching and Walker giving Bucky shit about something.
After a while, you give up on caring. You stare at your phone as you sit on the couch. At least until you hear heavy boots stepping across to you. You see them on the floor before you look up to see Bucky. He clears his throat and when you look behind him, the other New Avengers jump and scatter off elsewhere.
He clears his throat. Doesn’t speak right away.
“…Hey.”
“Hey, Bucky.” You say almost awkwardly.
“I was wondering if you want to go to Coney Island.”
You stare for a moment before looking left and right as if there were someone else he could’ve been talking to.
“Coney Island?”
“Mhm. Coney Island.” He nods.
“Like…with you?”
He cringes and looks around for a moment.
“Yeah, with me. I can drive if you want, and we can go… maybe sometime today? Or if that’s too soon we can go another day but if you want to go, we can go.” He overexplains.
You study him for a moment. The way his shoulders are tight. The way he’s bracing, like he’s expecting you to say no.
“Yeah,” you say softly.
Relief crosses his face so fast it almost hurts to see.
“Yeah,” you repeat. “I’d like that. I should probably change first though but I’m ready whenever actually, I’m not doing anything.”
“Oh. So…now?” He asks.
“Uh…yeah. Unless you don’t want to.”
“Yeah,” he says, a little too fast.
Then, quieter, almost embarrassed.
“I just didn’t think you’d say yes.”
You smile at that from the awkward way he rubs his neck.
“Oh, what? Why? I’ve never been to Coney Island.” You say happily and he gives you a funny look before fixing his expression.
“You’ve never been to Coney Island?”
“Nope.”
“But you live in New York. I thought it was always like a rite of passage type thing.” He laughs a little.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” You shrug, looking down with a smile for a moment before looking back up. “Anyway, I’ll be ready quickly. I’m just gonna go change to not be so bummy.”
You stand up and his eyes follow you every step of the way as you disappear down the hall toward your room.
Bucky stays where he is for a second too long.
He stares after you, lips parted, like his brain hasn’t caught up with what just happened. Then his mouth curves into a smile, slow, unguarded, a little stupid. He presses his lips together, like that might help. It doesn’t.
“Okay,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”
“Wow.”
He flinches.
Ava’s leaning against the doorway now, arms crossed, grinning like she just won something.
“Don’t,” Bucky warns, already doomed.
“You asked her out,” Bob says from right behind her. “On a date.”
“It wasn’t-” Bucky sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s just Coney Island.”
“Brother,” Yelena adds from behind him, appearing out of nowhere, “you are smiling like a boy who has just been handed a balloon.”
“I am not smiling.”
“You’ve been smiling for, like, thirty seconds.” Walker snorts from the kitchen.
Bucky drops his hand, realizes they’re right, and immediately tries to fix his face. It only makes it worse.
“She said yes,” he says, quieter now. Like he’s still testing the words.
“Yeah. She did.” Ava softens just a little.
There’s a beat. Then Bucky exhales, long and shaky, and straightens his jacket like he’s about to go into battle instead of an afternoon at the beach.
“I should- uh. I should make sure the bike’s ready.”
“You already filled the tank.” Yelena tilts her head.
He pauses.
“…I’ll check again.”
And then he’s gone, boots a little too fast down the hall, heart pounding, smiling where no one can see him.
Bucky wouldn’t say he has a crush on you. That’s childish and not a word a grown man with a grown-up job and a long list of committed crimes and murders in his file should be using. But god, has he started acting like an idiot around you.
He tried to ask you out last week but he forgot to actually ask you out. He had been nervous all day, slamming doors too hard and dropping everything in his hands. All of that, just to ask if you like coffee and then say “that’s cool”, and walk away.
The team realized his…infatuation, before he did. You and Bucky aren’t strangers. You first met living in the Avengers Tower the first time around when everything was simple. When the biggest problems were Thor running out of Poptarts and Clint spying from the vents.
But he somehow never noticed you then. He knew you were sweet. He knew you were funny. He remembers everyone loved you and they all thought of you like some pseudo-child they all took care of. Other than that? He kept to himself.
But after you both got trapped in a team with the other idiots, he’s noticed you. Noticed how sharp you are on missions. How your smile lights up the room. How you can be so silly and cute once you actually open up.
By the time you come back out, he’s already outside. Helmet tucked under his arm. Bike gleaming in the late afternoon sun like he’s been polishing it for an hour instead of five minutes.
He looks up when he hears the door.
“Hey,” he says. Soft. Nervous. Like it’s the first word he’s said all day that actually matters.
“Hi.” You smile, brighter than the damn sun.
And he notices you. In your baggy denim shorts that hang on your hips like you were meant to be wearing them. The light colored top that makes your eyes shine. He hates the way his heart flutters.
“I was thinking we could take my bike- if that’s okay, of course. I don’t want to freak you out if you don’t want to.” He clears his throat.
“No, no, that’s fine. I’ve never been on a motorcycle either so lots of new things today,” You laugh and step forward to look at it. “It looks awesome, Buck.”
When you call him that, his heart flutters again. Because it’s you and that damn smile. It kills him.
“Here,” He hands you the helmet. “You probably have to tighten it more. And then you can hold onto me or the bike, whatever you’re more comfortable with.”
“Can I hold onto you? Like they always do in the movies?” You ask excitedly. “You know, with my arms all-“
You show the way you’d be wrapped around him and his heart stops. And his throat goes dry but he nods.
“Yeah, whatever you want,” He tries to act cool about it. “Ready to go?”
You nod and he steps onto the bike first, you following behind him. He helps you figure out where to put your feet and everything before you go. And as he starts it, you hold onto him with a smile.
“This is so cool.” You tell him before he begins to drive.
It’s about an hour to Coney Island. An hour that goes by too fast with your hair blowing and Bucky trying to keep his heartbeat down.
Eventually, you rest your chin on his shoulder and he goes bright red. And he knows it’s just Coney Island. It might not even be a date. But he lets himself picture for a moment what it’d be like if this were your lives. If he were yours.
If you were always the one on his bike with your arms around him. If you were smiling and laughing and pressing kisses to his shoulder and neck. If he were waking up next to you with the sunlight shining just right on your skin.
The city blurs past as Bucky slows the bike onto the boardwalk. The smell of salt and fried dough hits first, warm and familiar, mixed with the faint tang of the ocean. You pull your arms tighter around him instinctively, and he can feel it, every breath you take, every shift of your weight.
“Here we are,” he says, voice quieter than usual, almost like he’s afraid to ruin the moment. The helmet tilts just slightly toward you when he glances back. “Coney Island.”
You laugh softly, pulling your head back to see it all: the bright colors of the rides, the carnival games with stuffed prizes dangling like they’re begging to be won, the Ferris wheel slowly spinning in the distance.
“It’s…way bigger than I imagined,” you admit.
He watches you take it in. The way your eyes widen at a row of flashing lights. The way your smile hits his chest harder than anything else could. He wants to tell you how cute it is, how lucky he feels, but he just…smiles too, lets the moment stretch.
“You wanna go get something to eat first? Funnel cake? Or fries?” he asks, hesitant, as if suggesting food is the safest way to bridge the tension.
“Funnel cake” you say immediately, like it’s a given. “And maybe fries before we leave.”
“Yeah…okay.” He nods, heart thumping, glad you said it so easily.
The two of you walk the bike over to the stands, helmets in hand. Every step he takes feels a little lighter, even though he’s hyperaware of the way your arm brushes his as you walk side by side. He’d call it nothing. He’d call it nothing if anyone asked. But his chest is tight in the best way, and he can’t stop thinking about how lucky he is that you’re here, right here, with him.
And for the first time all day, Bucky lets himself just…be there. No team watching, no missions, no history. Just him, you, and the bright lights of Coney Island stretching out in front of them.
You’re as excited as a kid as you walk in and look around. And the more Bucky looks around…the more unsure he is.
“Huh…this is pretty different from what I remember.” He hums before you hook your arm through his and begin to pull him to the funnel cake stand.
“When was the last time you came here?” You ask.
Bucky thinks for a second. Definitely longer than you’ve been alive.
“Probably nineteen forty-something. I don’t know, it’s been a while. Lights are brighter now.” He keeps looking around before you get in line.
You look around, spinning around yourself before centering back on him.
“Thank you for bringing me here. It’s so much more than I was expecting.” You tell him and it gets a smile out of him. A real smile.
“It’s no problem. I hope you like it. But honestly, it seems so different from what I remember. Who knows if I’ll even like it.” He shrugs.
Bucky orders your funnel cake and then pulls out his wallet to pay for it before you can say anything. And even after that, he carries it for you until you make it to a little table staring down the beach. He sets it down between you with the two forks and you slide into the bench seats of the table.
You look out at the water first and notice almost no one is swimming. That doesn’t surprise you for New York.
“I wouldn’t swim in the water either,” You say out of no where before taking a bite of the funnel cake. “I’d probably come out with a third eye and a tail. And green skin.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” He huffs a laugh before grabbing his fork to take a bite too.
He can’t hide it when he does. His eyes slip shut and he shakes his head.
“Jesus,” He opens his eyes. “Tastes just like I remember though. Even if everything else is less familiar.”
“Yeah? It’s good, huh? I hate how prissy some people are now with food. Like yeah, carnival-type food is kind of gross if you think about it too hard. I know I’m eating fried bullshit right now but it tastes good. I’m not gonna shrivel up and die from having a good time once in a while.” You hum between bites and he nods.
And he’s listening to you. Really listening to you as if what you’re saying is more important than anything. As if you aren’t just spewing whatever comes to mind. But admittedly, he does get a little distracted as he looks at you. The way you look in the setting sunlight. The way your hair moves in the wind.
“Yeah, it’s bullshit. I was born in Brooklyn, I don’t need anyone else asking if I know what a hot dog is made of when I get one. I don’t care what it’s made of. And even if it’s toxic waste, that’s all I ate as a kid so in that case, my body is already a trash bag.” He rolls his eyes with a smile and you laugh.
And he freezes subtly. Because he made you laugh.
“Same people who used to shove rocks up their noses who suddenly care.” You agree.
You look around again. Mostly people watching the others on the boardwalk before you sit up a little straighter.
“So…” You start. “Is this like more of a kiddy spot or like, everyone?”
“Eh,” He shrugs before he looks back up at you, not at the table. “Back when I used to come, the kids would be gone around 8-9-ish. I’m surprised to see so many now at 7. I guess bedtimes aren’t as strict anymore.”
You take another bite of funnel cake, licking powdered sugar from your fingers without thinking. Bucky watches quietly, fork halfway to his mouth, a little too focused on you. He doesn’t say anything, just folds a napkin carefully and sets it next to the plate.
“You’re…really organized with napkins,” you notice, grinning.
He glances up, eyebrows slightly raised, like he’s embarrassed to be caught doing something so small.
“I- uh… didn’t want it to get messy,” he mutters.
“You’re cute when you try to be sweet.” You laugh softly.
He freezes just a little at that, and you notice the faint pink creeping up his neck.
“I…thanks,” he says quietly. He looks down, pretending to check the table. But you catch him stealing glances at you out of the corner of his eye.
You decide to push a little.
“You’re awfully quiet today, you know,” you say, leaning closer. “You don’t have to just watch me eat funnel cake like it’s some kind of experiment.”
He swallows, takes a breath, and lets a small smile slip.
“I…guess I just like watching you enjoy things,” he admits softly.
“Well, then, you’re in luck. I plan on having the best Coney Island day ever.” You grin, nudging his shoulder.
That earns him a real laugh, quiet but genuine, and you notice how it makes his whole face soften. He’s trying, really trying, to stay composed and cool, but it’s failing spectacularly, and it’s adorable.
After finishing your food, you hop up and grab his hand, well, sort of awkwardly, sliding your fingers through his.
“Come on. I want to see the rides.”
“Rides…yeah. Okay.” He gives a small, surprised laugh.
You lead him over to the nearest roller coaster. He lets you pull him along, his hand tightening around yours just slightly more than necessary, and you notice it. He’s being careful, gentle. Watching for your safety but also…cherishing proximity.
Until he sees the price.
“Ten dollars? For the Cyclone?” He stops dead in his tracks and you look over.
“Hm?”
“Ten dollars. For a rollercoaster that used to be a quarter to ride,” He shakes his head before he looks at you. “Sorry. I keep saying things like that, don’t I? Probably making myself sound ancient.”
“No, no, don’t worry about that. I don’t mind. Inflation is a bitch.” You nod.
“It’s okay, we’ll still go. I’m just…can’t believe how much is different.”
The ride line moves slowly. He keeps glancing at you, a little nervous, offering little comments like:
“You…uh, want me to hold onto your bag?” He asks first.
Then a while later.
“If you get scared, we can sit in the front car. Could feel less closed in.” He tries about halfway through the line.
All subtle, quiet, small ways he’s trying to be thoughtful without making a scene.
“Bucky, you’re overthinking everything.” You nudge him again.
“I…maybe a little,” he admits, voice low.
You laugh and slip your hand into his fully this time, holding it as he lets himself relax a fraction.
“You’re cute when you’re nervous, you know that?”
He gives a breathy, small chuckle, shaking his head.
“Stop noticing things like that,” he says, but there’s no edge in his voice. Only warmth.
When it’s finally your turn on the ride, he goes first, holding the bars tightly. You climb in behind him and slide your arms around his waist, just like in the movies.
He exhales slowly, letting his body relax just enough for the ride to start. And as the coaster jerks forward, you feel him grin against your shoulder, quiet but so genuine. The wind whips past, lights flashing, and for a second it’s just the two of you, laughing, holding on, and completely caught up in each other.
When you step off, the sun is fully setting now, painting the sky in oranges and yellows. But to Bucky, you shine brighter. You fix your hair before he hands you your bag back and he sees how happy you look. How beautiful you are.
“That was so…like- it just kept going a little slow and then super fast and then just again and again.” You smile.
“I know what you mean,” He nods. “Still…a little scarier than actually flying right?”
“Oh for sure. When I’m using my powers to fly, at least I’m controlling it, you know? This, I had to let up and trust the 100-year-old coaster.” You laugh.
“Yeah, and the 100-year-old guy next to you.” He snorts.
“Hey- the 100-year-old guy held my hand the whole time so we’re chill.” You nudge him again with the brightest smile.
He smiles more shyly than before, looking at the boardwalk as you make your way to the swings he promised to take you on next.
“Hey, Bucky?” You speak up.
“Yeah?”
“Is this a date?”
The question knocks the wind out of him. He was hoping to dance around it and hoped you would get it. He never expected you to just ask. But he kind of likes that. You being forward with him. Straight. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the swings ahead.
“I…uh…maybe? If you want it to be,” he says, voice low, clearly flustered.
“Okay,” You nod before looping your arms through his again. “So…date.”
“Date.” He nods before he looks at you. A new vulnerability in his eyes.
Because now you know. Even if not to the full extent, even if it’s just a little bit, you know he’s interested. In you, in becoming something- anything with you.
You reach the swings after a little bit of a wait and another ten dollars each from Bucky, and his quietness only makes you smile wider.
“Come on, slowpoke,” you tease, bouncing slightly on the nearest seat. “Your turn.”
He hesitates for a moment before perching himself on the swing next to yours. His movements are careful, deliberate, but you notice the subtle little ways he tries to be sweet: making sure your swing isn’t too close to the edge, adjusting your seat slightly so you’re more comfortable, offering a tiny, shy smile as he waits for the ride to start.
The operator starts the ride, and the swings slowly lift into the air. He grips the chains tighter, but you notice the way his chest relaxes ever so slightly once the motion gets steady. He glances at you, a tiny, proud smile playing at his lips.
“You okay?” you ask, leaning slightly toward him so your shoulders brush.
“I…yeah. Just…not used to spinning,” he admits, voice quiet. “But…this isn’t bad. Not with you.”
“Oh? Not bad with me? That sounds like a compliment, Mr. Barnes.” Your chest tightens at how soft he sounds, and you grin, teasing. He freezes for a split second, a faint pink dusting his neck.
“I…uh…maybe,” he says quietly, looking away before daring to glance at you again.
The swings pick up speed, spinning a little faster. You lean closer, laughing as the wind whips your hair, letting your hands brush against his just to make him flinch slightly.
“See? Not scary at all,” you say between laughs.
“Yeah…” he stammers, his eyes half on you, half on the view below. “You…you’re crazy, you know that?”
“And you love it,” you tease.
He lets out a breathy laugh, and this time it’s unguarded.
“Maybe,” he admits softly, letting his hands relax just enough for your fingers to brush.
For the rest of the ride, it’s easy. Warm. Playful. Every glance, every laugh, every tiny touch carries a weight that neither of you needs to say aloud. And as the swings slow to a stop, Bucky glances at you again, shy but smiling.
“You make everything better,” he mutters, and you can tell he means it in the quiet, unshowy way only he can.
“Yeah? Guess I’m glad I came along then.” You grin, nudging him lightly.
He swallows, heart hammering, and for a moment just lets himself enjoy it: you, him, the golden sunset, the spinning swings, and the perfect, small chaos of Coney Island around you.
By the time you ride a few more rides, Bucky realizes just how much money he’s blown on you. And it knocks any other girl he’s ever been with at Coney Island out of the water. Mostly because of inflation but he thinks of it more as you meaning more. This whole experience fluttering his heart more than anything else has.
When you gasp and pull him to a game, pointing up at something, he listens. He watches you light up and he knows he’d do anything for that smile.
“Look at it!” You point at a stuffed animal among a group of stuffed animals above a carnival game.
It’s a green dinosaur with darker green spikes and white horns. And instantly, Bucky knows he has to get it for you.
“Do you want to play it? It’s some type of ball game,” Bucky looks it over before turning back to you. “You just have to throw the ball to that thing.”
You look back at it before looking up and lowering your eyes at him, flattening your mouth into a line.
“I have no aim.”
“It’s okay, we can do it…together…” He starts before looking at you funny. “Wait. How do you have no aim?”
“I just don’t.
“You’re an Avenger.”
“Yeah. With no aim.” You tell him, deadpan and he looks you over for a minute.
“How are you still alive?”
“I actually don’t know.”
He stares for a minute before nodding a little slowly at first.
“That’s okay. You try and if it doesn’t go well, I’ll try.” He tells you before he walks up to pay the man.
After that, he steps aside, gesturing for you to go first.
“Ladies first,” he says, earnest. Careful. Like he’s afraid of doing the wrong thing even here.
You take the ball from the attendant, weighing it in your hand like that might magically give you coordination.
“Okay. No expectations,” you warn.
“No expectations.” He smiles.
You throw.
It…does not go well.
The ball bounces once, clips the edge of the board, and drops straight down like it gave up halfway through.
You stare at it.
“…Yeah. See?” you say flatly. “No aim.”
“Okay, yeah. That tracks.” He laughs before he can stop himself, clapping once.
“Your turn, hero.” You hand him the next ball.
He takes it, rolling it between his palms. His regular arm. His shoulders tense just slightly.
“Alright,” he murmurs. “Should be easy.”
He lifts his arm to throw. Then hesitates. Something flickers across his face. Doubt. Calculation.
“…Hang on,” he mutters.
“What?” You tilt your head.
He switches hands.
Metal fingers curl around the ball.
“Buck?” Your brows knit together.
“Just-” he exhales. “I’ll be more precise with this one.”
That’s all the warning you get.
He throws. And it’s perfect. Too perfect.
The ball doesn’t just hit the board, it obliterates it. A sharp crack echoes as the panel snaps clean off its hinges, flying backward and the ball ricochets.
Straight into your face.
“Oh my god-”
You stumble back with a sharp gasp, hand flying up to your eye. Everything stops. The lights. The noise. Bucky’s brain.
“Oh- oh my god- oh my god-” he drops the rest of the balls like they’ve burned him, already moving toward you. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to- are you-?”
You’re hunched over, holding onto your eye as tears fall from the impact but not exactly from pain. You’re still too much in shock for real pain.
“I’m so sorry,” he blurts, hands hovering uselessly near you, terrified to touch you without permission. “I…I forgot- I didn’t- I used to- I didn’t think-”
His voice is shaking now. Fully panicking.
“That was…that was full force,” he says, horrified. “Jesus Christ, I’m an idiot.”
Then he sees your back shaking a little. And he freezes. Before he realizes, you’re laughing. You’re actually laughing.
“I think-“ you sniff through laughter, lowering your hand just enough to reveal the already-darkening skin beneath your eye. “-I think you might’ve killed me, actually.”
His face drains of color.
“Oh my god,” he whispers. “You’re bleeding- no, no you’re not, okay, that’s good, that’s good.”
He gently cups your wrist, finally grounding himself enough to touch you. His metal hand stays carefully away, like he doesn’t trust it anymore.
“I am so sorry,” he says again, quieter now. “I swear I wasn’t trying to…I just- in the forties these games were built like tanks and I was just…some guy.”
“Congratulations. You are no longer some guy.” You let out a weak laugh.
He huffs a broken sound that might be a laugh if he weren’t two seconds from spiraling.
“I should’ve known better,” he says. “I should’ve used my regular arm or- or not thrown it like I was trying to take out Hydra.”
The attendant is nervously talking about safety protocols, handing over the stuffed animal out of guilt, but Bucky barely hears it.
All he sees is you.
“It’s fine, Buck. I’m superhuman, it’ll be gone in the morning.” You shrug.
“Does it hurt?” He leans closer, voice dropping, soft and scared.
“A little,” you admit. “Mostly my pride.”
His mouth twitches despite himself.
“I’ll buy you ice,” he blurts. “Or…or cotton candy, or I’ll let you punch me in the face if you want.”
“Tempting.” You snort.
He finally smiles, small, guilty, painfully fond, before pressing a napkin gently into your hand.
“I swear,” he says, eyes earnest and wide, “I was just trying to win you a dinosaur.”
You glance toward the wrecked booth, then back at him, eye already swelling.
“…Worth it,” you decide. “And hey, technically you did win it for me.”
You gesture to where the man is standing with the dinosaur. His breath stutters.
“You’re insane,” Bucky says softly.
“And we’re gonna remember this date forever,” you reply.
He stays a little closer to you after that. His hand never quite leaves your back. He watches your expression like it’s his responsibility now. You don’t let it get you down. Your superhuman healing has already significantly brought the pain down so you don’t mind too much.
Still, Bucky walks you over to a snow cone stand, getting one with plain ice and in turn, getting extorted paying five dollars for frozen water. But he doesn’t complain. He just gently holds it against your eye like you’re something precious.
And you are. And he feels like maybe a part of his heart is always gonna be here. At Coney Island, with you. With seeing that smile still on your face after that.
He takes you to the Wonder Wheel as the sun fully goes down. The park lights are blinding. You both get into a small car on the Ferris wheel. A quiet, non-shaking one. And he sits next to you. Holding your hand.
“Thank you for bringing me here again. I’ve had a lot of fun.” You nudge him.
“I can’t believe you’re even saying that after how stupid I’ve been.” He sighs.
“You’re not stupid,” You shake your head. “I know it’s not…normal. But we aren’t normal. We aren’t normal and you’re still…this whole time you’ve been so sweet to me. Trying to put yourself out there and have fun with me.”
His eyes soften as he looks at you. And even now, even with a black eye and messy theme park hair, he’s never seen someone look so beautiful. He’s never seen a girl shine brighter than the stars on this Ferris wheel but you do. And it has his heart pounding for you.
“This is honestly…the best first date I’ve ever been on.” You tell him and he laughs softly, shaking his head.
“There’s no need to lie.”
You turn your head toward him slowly, careful with your eye, but deliberate.
“I’m not,” you say. “I mean it.”
The Wonder Wheel creaks as it carries you higher, the city stretching out beneath you in glittering pieces. The ocean is dark now, reflecting the lights like scattered stars. Somewhere below, music hums and people laugh, but up here it’s quieter. Just the two of you.
Bucky studies you like he’s trying to find the joke. Like he’s waiting for the punchline.
“You got a black eye,” he points out gently. “On a date I invited you on.”
“And I got a dinosaur,” you counter. “And funnel cake. And spinning swings. And…you.”
That makes him freeze.
The car sways just a little as the wheel pauses near the top. His thumb brushes over your knuckles without him realizing he’s doing it, slow and absent.
“I’ve been on dates,” he says after a moment. “Real ones. Fancy ones. Women who knew what they were doing. What they wanted.” He exhales through his nose. “None of them felt like this.”
“Like what?” you ask softly.
He looks at you then. Really looks at you.
“Like I’m terrified I’ll mess it up,” he admits. “And also like I don’t care if I do…as long as you’re still smiling at me.”
Your chest tightens.
“You didn’t mess it up.” You squeeze his hand.
“I hit you in the face with a ball.” He swallows.
“You panicked. You held ice to my eye like it was sacred. You apologized about twelve times. You stayed with me instead of running.” You smile.
“That’s…a low bar.” He huffs a quiet laugh.
“Not for you,” you say. “For you, that’s huge.”
The wheel begins to move again, slowly descending. Bucky leans his forehead against yours without fully thinking about it, careful not to touch your eye.
“I’m really glad you said yes,” he murmurs. “Even if I forgot to actually ask you out properly.”
“You’re bad at being subtle, Buck.” You grin.
“Yeah,” he says. “But I’m good at…this. I think.”
“You are.” You nod.
The lights below grow brighter as you near the ground. He doesn’t let go of your hand.
And maybe years from now, after missions and scars and moments that hurt more than this ever could, this is the one he’ll come back to.
Coney Island. A black eye. A green dinosaur. And the night he realized he was already in too deep and didn’t want to climb out. Not with you.
He looks at you then. His eyes fall over your features. Your soft, pretty features. The ones he feels like he’s falling for too fast.
“Buck?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you?” You ask softly. Shyly. And his heart stutters.
“You…want to kiss me.” He asks.
You nod, looking at his lips. His breathing shallows a little before he cradles your face. He keeps his thumb away from your hurt eye but holds your chin and your opposite cheek like you’re the only thing he’s ever seen.
He leans in then, pressing his lips to yours. And he melts into you. His eyes slip shut as you tilt up higher to kiss him.
Your lips are soft. Sweet. And suddenly, he feels brand new. Like he’s never kissed anyone else. Like his lips belong to you. Because honestly? He feels like he was made to kiss you. Like your lips are a perfect fit with his. Like his hands were made to hold you. Like his eyes were made to see you.
He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t deepen it. Just stays there for a second longer than necessary, like he’s afraid that if he moves too fast the moment will disappear.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only an inch. His forehead rests against yours again, breath warm, uneven.
“Okay,” he whispers. Like he’s agreeing to something important.
You smile, small and soft, and he swears it feels brighter than the lights below.
The ride slows with a gentle jolt as the car reaches the bottom. Voices and laughter drift up from the platform, but Bucky barely hears any of it. His thumb brushes your jaw again, absent, careful.
“That was…” he trails off, shaking his head slightly.
“Good?” you offer.
“Yeah,” he says, immediately. “Yeah. Really good.”
You laugh under your breath, leaning closer again just because you can. He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t pull away. Just lets his arm settle around your shoulders like it always belonged there.
When the attendant opens the door, Bucky helps you out like he’s escorting you somewhere sacred instead of back onto a noisy boardwalk. He keeps his hand on your back, steady and warm.
Outside, the night has fully settled in. Neon lights. Music. The smell of sugar and salt and summer.
He hands you the dinosaur again, like a peace offering.
“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, almost shy, “I think I finally did one thing right tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” You tilt your head.
“Yeah.” He smiles, soft, boyish, unmistakably real. “I took you to Coney Island.”
You step closer, your shoulder brushing his.
“Guess you’ll just have to take me again sometime,” you say lightly.
His heart skips so hard it almost hurts.
“…Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”
And as you walk down the boardwalk together, your fingers brushing, his smile is impossible to hide. It’s real. It’s yours.
The ride back is quieter.
Not awkward, comfortable. The kind of silence that hums instead of stretches. Your arms loop around him again, familiar now, like you’ve done this a hundred times instead of once. The city lights streak past, reflected in the metal of the bike, in the glass of storefronts, in the soft smile he can’t quite shake.
When he pulls up to Avengers Tower, the engine cuts and the sudden quiet feels loud.
He walks you inside anyway. Of course he does.
The elevator ride is short, but Bucky stands a little straighter, hands tucked into his jacket like he’s not sure what to do with them anymore. He glances at you once, then away, then back again.
Your floor dings.
He walks you down the hallway like it matters. Like this part counts just as much as the rest of the night. When you stop outside your door, he slows, reluctant.
“Well,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess this is…goodnight.”
“Guess so,” you say, smiling.
Neither of you moves. He clears his throat.
“I had a really good time. I mean…I know you already said that, but I just wanted to-”
You step closer before he can spiral. Close enough that his breath stutters.
“Bucky?”
“Yeah?”
You reach up, gentle, careful of your eye, and kiss him again.
This one’s slower. Softer. Less surprise, more certainty. His hands come up instinctively, one settling at your waist, the other resting warm against your back, as if he’s finally allowed to hold you now. He kisses you like he’s grateful. Like he’s trying to remember it.
When you pull back, he’s smiling again. That same stunned, happy smile.
“…Okay,” he says quietly. “Yeah. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Buck.”
He waits until you’re inside. Until the door clicks shut. Only then does he turn and head back down the hall, heart full, mind spinning.
And for the first time in a long time, Avengers Tower doesn’t feel so empty.
Bucky’s apartment is dim except for the warm glow of a single lamp, the tv playing the show you’ve started together, and the city lights bleeding through the blinds. You’re curled up on his couch in one of his shirts, half-asleep, half-waiting for him to finish whatever “work call” he stepped away to take.
He’s in the kitchen now, voice low, finishing the chilli he bought earlier for dinner.
You don’t mean to listen, you try not to, but his tone makes your eyes snap open.
“…Mel. Come on,” Bucky sighs, exhausted and frustrated, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just… give me something.”
Your stomach drops.
You sit up straighter, pulse pounding. The way he says it…the familiarity…the desperation…Your brain fills in blanks that maybe aren’t there.
You hear him pace.
Another sigh. Deeper this time.
The kind of sigh he only uses with you when he’s trying to get you to open up.
Your chest tightens.
You shouldn’t be jealous. You know you shouldn’t. But the way he says her name, Mel. The way he softens just a little. The way he sounds like he needs her-
It hits you like a punch.
You stand up, moving quietly, telling yourself you’re not the type to jump to conclusions. Except…you are. When it comes to him, you always are. Even if she’s working for the public figure he’s helping take down.
He hangs up a moment later with a tired, “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”
By then, you’ve gone on to full survival mode. Your relationship history hasn’t been great. And you trusted Bucky all the way until you heard that and now you feel like the same person you were the last time someone you love fucked up. You walk carefully and slowly into the kitchen and he’s there, staring at the counter.
When he notices you, he looks up and smiles.
“Hi, babydoll. Episode done already?” He mumbles and you nod, grabbing your purse.
“Yeah, it’s done. Twist ending, I won’t spoil it. But, um…I think I’m actually gonna go home tonight.” You say quietly.
“Home? It’s midnight.” He says, confused.
You had told him before that you’d spend the night. And now, you stand in front of him. In his shirt, in the tiniest shorts he’s been staring at all night, in just your socks. Until you walk around the corner to where your shoes were and you slip them back on.
“Yeah, I know. I forgot I’m supposed to meet Sam in the morning for something.” You clear your throat and he raises an eyebrow.
“I can drive you. I had a whole plan for tomorrow morning. I was gonna make you some breakfast, some coffee,” He mumbles before he comes up behind you, hands holding onto your stomach before he kisses your neck. “Give you something else, if you want it.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I just…I should go.” You gently push him off before grabbing your water bottle from the counter.
He freezes when you push him away. Not angry, confused. That’s worse.
“Hey,” he says softly. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” you answer too fast.
Bucky watches you for a second, eyes narrowing just a touch. He knows you. He always knows you. That’s part of why this feels so dangerous.
“You don’t leave like this for nothing.”
You shrug, turning your back to him as you screw the cap onto your bottle. Your hands are shaking. You hope he doesn’t notice.
“I just don’t feel great.”
“Bullshit.”
It slips out before he can soften it. He sighs immediately after, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Sorry. I just- you were fine ten minutes ago. When we were watching our show.”
You swallow. Ten minutes ago you didn’t know there was a Mel.
“Guess I changed my mind.” You laugh quietly, humorless.
“That doesn’t just happen,” he says. “Not with you.”
There it is. That familiar tone. Gentle, coaxing, like he’s trying to talk you down from a ledge. It makes something in your chest snap.
“Why don’t you just have your other girlfriend come over and keep you company?” You accidentally snap.
He goes quiet for a moment as he looks you over.
“My other girlfriend?”
Realization dawns slowly on his face. Then disbelief.
“…Wait. Is this about Mel?”
You don’t answer. Which is answer enough.
“She’s no one, she’s Valentina’s assistant.” He accidentally laughs.
“And yet, you’re calling her at midnight.” You shrug.
“I called her earlier and she didn’t call me back until now. I’m sorry it got into our time together but-“
“If you heard the way your voice changed when talking to her-“ You start with a scoff.
“My voice changed to what? Undercover business stuff? Then yeah, my voice changed. So what? You’re my girlfriend. You’re the one in my apartment right now. You’re the one in my shirt, the one I was kissing like five minutes ago.” He steps closer to you.
Too close.
Like proximity will fix it.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he continues, softer now but edged. “You’re reading into nothing.”
You take a step back. Instinctive. Protective.
“You don’t get to tell me what I heard.”
“I’m not-” he exhales sharply. “I’m telling you what it was.”
“And I’m telling you how it felt,” you shoot back. “Which you don’t seem very interested in.”
“Because it doesn’t make sense.” His jaw tightens.
“That’s not your call.”
Silence. Heavy. The kind that buzzes in your ears.
Bucky runs a hand through his hair, pacing once like he’s trying not to explode.
“You think I’d risk this? Us? For some staffer?” He scoffs.
“I don’t know what you’d do,” you say honestly. “That’s kind of the problem.”
He stops pacing. Turns to you slowly.
“I’ve been nothing but honest with you. About my past, about everything.”
You laugh again, quiet, sharp.
“You’ve been selectively honest.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is acting like I’m crazy for being uncomfortable.”
“You’re accusing me of cheating.” His voice drops.
“No,” you snap. “I’m not. And maybe if you listened or cared a little more-”
That lands wrong. You know it as soon as you say it.
Bucky’s expression shutters. Hurt flashes before he can hide it.
“You don’t think I care about you?”
“Right now? No.”
“That’s bullshit.” He stiffens.
“Is it?” you challenge. “Because every time something pulls your attention, I feel like I’m waiting my turn.”
“That’s your insecurity talking.”
The second it leaves his mouth, he knows.
You go still.
“…Wow,” you whisper.
“I didn’t mean-”
“No, you did,” you interrupt. “You just didn’t think about how it’d sound.”
“I can’t be responsible for every bad experience you had before me.” He rubs his face, frustration bleeding into his voice.
“And I can’t pretend they don’t exist just because it makes you uncomfortable,” you fire back.
“I’m not any of your exes. I’m not…I’m yours. I’m all yours. And you…I’ve never been happier with anyone else. If you think I’m bullshitting or lying then I don’t know what to tell you.” He exhales.
“What am I supposed to think? When your voice gets all soft like that? Like you talk to me? And when you have to leave the room I’m in to talk to another girl?” You ask.
“I’m sorry. I was trying not to bother you with boring work stuff while you were watching our show. I know you picked it, it means more to you. But I…Mel is nothing. I’ve only met her in person like once or twice, I don’t even know. But I promise you, I-“ He goes quiet for a moment as he looks at the floor. “I care about you. More than anything. I left work early today, did you know that? I left early to go get us dinner, to buy you flowers, and dessert, to make you feel special. Because I…I love you. I’m in love with you.”
The words hang between you.
I love you. I’m in love with you.
They don’t land the way they should. They never do in moments like this.
Your chest aches. Not because you don’t believe him, but because you do.
“That’s not fair,” you say quietly.
“What?” He looks up.
“You don’t get to say that now,” you whisper. “Not like it erases everything.”
“I’m not trying to erase it,” he says quickly. “I’m trying to explain.”
“It feels like you’re trying to win,” you admit. “Like if you say it out loud, I’m supposed to calm down and feel stupid for ever doubting you.”
His mouth opens. Closes.
“That’s not what I mean.”
He steps toward you again, slower this time. Careful. Like you might shatter if he moves wrong.
“Then tell me what you need,” he says. “Because I’m standing right here.”
“I don’t know. I just…I needed you to hear me. Not correct me.” You shake your head.
“I am hearing you.”
“No,” you say softly. “You’re defending yourself.”
That one lands deep.
Bucky’s shoulders slump just a little. The fight drains out of him, leaving something tired and scared behind.
“What else am I supposed to do? Make you think I don’t love you? I don’t know how to do this perfectly,” he admits. “I spent most of my life being used or alone. When something good happens, I don’t always realize I’m supposed to protect it instead of just… holding onto it as tight as I can.”
“I just…you sounded the way you sound when you talk to me.” You sigh, rubbing your palms over your eyes.
“I meant it. I…mean it. Every single word. I’m gonna be good for you. I promise. Because god, I…I’m so in love with you,” He breathes out. “You have me and if you think you don’t, please just trust me. Because you’re the only person who’s ever seen me like this. So soft and needy for you. Because I am. I’m a beggar for you. I love you. Just…don’t go. Please. Stay the night. I can sleep on the couch, you sleep in my bed. Just please don’t go. I want you. I’m always gonna want you. I’ve known you since way before we were even dating. The love space of my heart is yours. Only yours.”
“Bucky,” You start before sighing, seeing the way he’s looking at you. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch. I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”
“Yes- yeah- you can. You, you’re the only one for me, you could do anything.” He shakes his head.
“I’ll stay but can we talk again in the morning? I just need to go to bed.” You say softly. And he nods. Accepting anything you’ll give him because his heart aches at the thought of you going home. Of you leaving and being away from him.
“Okay,” He nods. “We can talk in the morning. Whenever you want. If you need me, I’ll…be over here. Wake me up if you need anything.” He whispers.
You look up at him. You both look tired. Soft and desperate. You lean in then to kiss his lips. Soft, careful. Sweet. He kisses you back, his eyes fluttering shut as he melts into you. He whispers your name against your lips before you pull away. He didn’t expect you to kiss him so it completely softens him to mush for you and when your eyes fluttered open, his are still closed.
And when his open, they’re so full.
Because how could you not know?
How could you not feel it in everything he does that he loves you and only you? He’s been acting like an idiot since you met because he wants you.
“Goodnight, Bucky.” You try to smile but you look unsure and that kills him.
“Goodnight. I love you. So much. More than anything.” His voice breaks.
The hallway feels longer than it did earlier. Quieter. Like the building itself knows something slipped.
Because tonight was supposed to be such a good night. He had just been holding you on the couch before the call. He was supposed to carry you to bed when you fell asleep. Hold you close, kissed your face, your hands, your head, everywhere. He was supposed to fall asleep holding you, wake up next to you.
And now, he’s asleep on his own couch. With a tiny blanket. Wishing he were holding you. Wishing he were whispering in your ear how much you mean to him. He doesn’t get soft often for people but for you, it comes easily. It’s natural.
Because god, you do it for him. You’re funny and strong but also so beautiful, it messes with his head. And you’re so silly with him, you’re never afraid of him. Never unsure.
He’s never been so happy in a relationship. And he’s never been in a real relationship since the last century. He’s had hookups before you, meaningless flings. But he never thought real love was for him because of his past.
But you shook him. Brought his heart back to life and in doing so, his heart practically resigned itself to you.
His eyes burn after a few hours of staring at the dark.
He stares at the ceiling from the couch, one arm tucked under the thin blanket, the other flung out like he might reach for you in his sleep. He doesn’t move. Barely breathes.
He keeps thinking about how easily you fit against him. How natural it felt, like his body had been waiting decades just to learn that shape. To learn you. You and your pretty eyes. Your smiles. The way you laugh when you’re truly happy. How terrifying it is to love someone this much when he still doesn’t trust himself to keep good things.
“I’ll be better,” he whispers to the empty room.
The words don’t feel big enough.
The apartment creaks softly around him. Pipes. The city. Time passing whether he’s ready or not.
He turns his head toward the hallway, toward his bedroom, and closes his eyes.
That’s when he hears it.
Soft footsteps.
Careful. Unsure.
His eyes snap open just as you appear at the end of the hallway, wrapped in one of his hoodies now, arms crossed loosely over your middle like you’re holding yourself together.
You hover there for a second.
Like you might turn back.
“Buck?” you whisper.
He sits up immediately. Too fast. The blanket slides down his lap.
“Yeah,” he answers, just as soft. “Hey.”
“I…um. I can’t sleep.” You chew on your lip, eyes tired and glassy.
Something in his chest loosens and tightens all at once.
“Okay,” he says. “That’s okay.”
You take a few steps closer. Not all the way. Still cautious.
“I keep thinking,” you admit quietly. “And I know that’s not helping, but…I don’t want to be alone with it.”
He nods, swallowing.
“Me neither.”
You glance down at the couch, then back at him. Hesitate.
“…Will you come to bed with me?” you ask. “You don’t have to-I just…I think I need you there.”
The words hit him like a wave.
He stands slowly, like he’s afraid sudden movement might break the moment.
“Yeah,” he says immediately. “Yeah, of course.”
He follows you down the hallway, keeping his pace matched to yours, hands fisted at his sides so he doesn’t crowd you. When you reach the bed, you sit first, pulling the covers back.
You look up at him again. Softer now.
“Just… hold me?” you ask. “Nothing else.”
“Always.” His throat works.
He climbs in beside you, careful, giving you space until you close it yourself, rolling into his chest, tucking your face beneath his chin like it’s muscle memory.
His arm comes around you instinctively. Firm. Protective. Real.
“There,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
You sigh, the sound long and shaky, like your body finally gives up the fight. Your fingers curl into his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
He presses his lips to your hair.
“I know.”
You breathe together for a while. The quiet kind. The kind that feels earned.
“I love you,” you say eventually. No edge. No fear.
His answer is immediate, steady, sure.
“I love you too. And I’m sorry too. For making you feel like-“
“Don’t be sorry. I should…be more trusting. More open. It’s just hard because…I love you so much. And I don’t want to lose this.” You admit.
“You aren’t gonna lose me. Are you kidding? I’m stupidly in love with you.” He says softly before whispering your name. “You make me act like this lovesick idiot. I never did relationships before. Never thought I was worthy. But you made me want to try. Because god, I love you. I love going to bed with you in my arms. I love waking up next to you and seeing you at your most delicate. With your soft smiles and pretty laughs. You kill me. Every single time. No one else could ever have me the way you do.”
He takes a breath.
“And tonight I went to sleep without you and all I’ve been thinking about is you. Holding you, kissing you, loving you. I need it.” He says so honestly you feel like you might break.
He holds you tighter, fingers rubbing your back.
“I don’t need Mel,” he says quietly, almost frustrated with himself for ever thinking he did. “She’s nothing. She’s noise. You’re-”
He exhales.
“You’re home.”
You wrap your arms tighter around Bucky when he say that and he holds you. With every bit of his heart on his sleeve.
“You have me so in love and needy for you. That’s why I asked you to sleep over. That’s why I always want to see you, take you on dates. I want to be good for you.” He admits.
You don’t answer right away. You just shift closer, your leg sliding between his, your hand flattening over his chest like you’re checking that he’s real.
“You already are,” you whisper. “Good for me.”
His breath stutters. His arms tighten.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want…I just want you. I want to be the guy who loves you, who takes care of you. Who never makes you feel so…” He takes another breath. “I know you’ve had some bad experiences with love. I have too. But I don’t want to do that with you. Never with you. This means something to me.”
He goes quiet after that. Not because he’s done but because he’s choosing his next words carefully, like they matter enough to handle with both hands.
His thumb keeps moving on your back. Slow. Steady. A promise in motion.
“You don’t scare me,” he says finally. “Your feelings don’t. Your fear doesn’t. None of it makes me want to run.”
You tilt your head up just enough to look at him, and his eyes are already on you. Soft, open, unguarded in a way that still feels new on him.
“I’m here,” he continues. “Not just tonight. Not just when it’s easy. I’m here when it’s messy and quiet and scary and you don’t know how to ask for reassurance without feeling stupid.” His jaw tightens. “Because I know what that feels like.”
He shifts, just slightly, until you’re more fully tucked against him, like he’s arranging the world into something safer.
“I can’t promise I’ll never mess up,” he says. Honest. Always honest. “But I can promise I’ll show up. I’ll talk to you. I’ll choose you. Every time.”
His forehead rests against yours.
“I don’t want options,” he murmurs. “I want us. I want to build something slow and real and boring in the best way. Grocery runs. Late nights. Knowing exactly how you take your coffee. Knowing when you’re quiet because you’re tired and when you’re quiet because you’re hurting.”
Your chest aches in the good way. The way that feels like relief.
He presses a kiss to your temple. Then another. Nothing rushed. Nothing asking for more than you’ve already given.
“I love you,” he says again, not loud, not desperate. Certain. “And I’m gonna keep proving it. Tomorrow. And the day after that. As long as you’ll let me.”
You swallow, fingers curling into his shirt, grounding yourself in the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“Okay,” you whisper. It’s small but it’s everything.
His arms tighten like he’s been waiting for that word.
“Okay,” he echoes, softer. “I’ve got you.”
And this time, when you settle against him, there’s no tension left in his body. No watching the door. No bracing for loss.
Just the two of you, breathing together, holding on.
AHHH I LOVE THE FIC YOU MADE PER MY REQUEST, CAN YOU MAYBE MAKE A PART TWO WITH A LITTLE BIT OF SMUT???
Bucky Barnes x Reader
Come On Pt. 2
summary: when you reconnect with an old teammate, you want privacy. but privacy is hard to get when he has a whole new team living with him. Part 1
warnings: straight smut. fem reader, (p in v) smut, pet names, kissing
word count: 2.5k
notes: here it is!! this one picks up right where the last one left off and is basically just straight smut
Bucky ends up taking your hand and pulling you into the elevator. You laugh and drag him down into a kiss the second the doors slide shut, fingers fisting in his shirt like you’re afraid he might disappear if you let go.
“Guess that’s why you never fully turned around, huh?” You murmur between kisses, smiling against his mouth.
“Couldn’t,” he exhales. “It was… noticeable. But seeing all of them helped it start to go down.”
His hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your jaw like he needs the grounding. The elevator hums softly as it starts to ascend to his floor.
You kiss him slower this time, deeper. Less frantic. Like you finally have space to breathe. His body relaxes into yours, forehead resting against yours as he lets out a quiet laugh.
“I really thought Walker was gonna kill me,” he mutters.
“I thought Yelena was gonna ask for pictures,” you tease.
“She still might.”
The doors ding softly.
He groans, resting his head briefly against the metal wall before straightening and squeezing your hand.
“Come on.”
You don’t make it far.
The moment you’re back in his room, the door barely clicks shut before he’s on you again, hands at your waist, mouth warm and familiar, kissing you like he’s making up for every second he had to pretend you weren’t his.
You back him toward the bed, laughing softly when he stumbles, tugging him down with you. He follows easily, like this is where he was always meant to end up.
“Hey,” he hums when the kisses slow, pressing his forehead to yours. His voice is quieter now. More serious. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Are you?” You nod, brushing your thumb over his cheek. He exhales, something heavy finally leaving his chest.
“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”
He kisses you again, unhurried, reverent. Hands warm. Familiar. Safe. The world outside the room fades to nothing as he pulls you closer, like this is the only place that makes sense.
He uses his knee to gently spread your legs before slotting himself between them. You sigh, a beautiful noise, as he does and it makes him soften for you completely. Bucky comes down to kiss all along your jaw and your neck.
“It builds up for you so fast. Always.” He mumbles between kisses
You reach down to tug up the bottom of his shirt, hand sliding over his abs in a way that makes him tremble. He lightly groans against your mouth before dropping to his forearms to kiss you deeper.
He lets you pull his shirt off completely and toss it to the floor. And it doesn’t take him long before he’s trying to pull yours off. You sit up and he slowly drags it over your skin, watching and admiring everything you do. He throws your shirt with his and comes back down to kiss at your neck.
His tongue filthily drags across your neck between soft kissing and sucking before he travels down to your shoulder. He kisses around your bra strap before lowering it on your shoulder.
“Good thing we weren’t having sex down there.” You hum before his hand brushes up your chest over your bra.
“Yet.” He lightly laughs before bringing his lips a few inches above where your bra sits.
You sigh and lean back but his hand creeps behind your back to unclasp your bra. He sits up a little then to pull the straps off your shoulders. You help him take it off fully and sit up to meet him before tossing it away. His hands immediately slide up your stomach, coming up to cup both of your breasts before leaning in to kiss your forehead, your cheek, then your lips as he lays you back down.
His hands are large, they cover your chest without trying. He slots himself back between your legs before bringing his lips to the valley in the middle of your chest. He kisses and sucks there before turning his head to the side to kiss up the swell of your left breast. He comes around, flicking his tongue across your nipple in this perfect way that draws another moan out of you.
His fingers tighten around your waist as he works your nipple over with his tongue. He closes his mouth around it, sucking and taking your other nipple between his fingers. Your fingers brush through his hair as you lean your head back and moan again.
“You’re so perfect,” He breathes out. “I love you. I’m so in love with you. That’s why I do this, that’s why I can barely keep my hands off of you. Because you…”
He pauses, looking you over. He takes a deep breath, fingers coming to the button of your jeans.
“This is never just sex with you. It’s me giving everything to you.” He whispers again before coming back down.
He unbuttons your jeans fully, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring it. When he tugs them down your legs and lets them fall to the floor, he looks up at you like he’s just been handed something precious.
“You know,” he murmurs, lips brushing your knee as he straightens again, “I tried really hard not to fall this hard.”
“You’re terrible at not falling for things.” You laugh softly, breathless.
“Yeah,” he admits easily. “Especially you.”
You sit up enough to reach for him, fingers catching the waistband of his pants this time. He stills instantly, watching you with that same reverent focus, like he doesn’t want to miss a second.
“Fair’s fair,” you tease.
He huffs a quiet laugh as you work them open, shaking his head.
“You’re dangerous.”
“You like that.”
“I love that.”
You tug his pants down just enough for him to kick them off the rest of the way, and when he crawls back over you, he presses a kiss to your mouth that’s slow and grounding, like he’s reminding himself this is real.
“Hey,” he says softly against your lips. “We don’t have to rush.”
“I know.”
He smiles at that, forehead resting against yours.
“Still. Wanted to say it.”
His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing warm arcs over your skin as he eases your underwear down, eyes never leaving yours. When he tosses them aside, he leans in again, kissing you like he’s grateful.
“You trust me,” he says quietly.
“With everything.” You nod, fingers curling into his hair.
Something in his chest visibly softens.
“God,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your lips again. “I don’t ever want to be careless with that.”
“Then don’t be.” You smile, pulling him closer.
He settles between your legs again, body warm and familiar, laughter and devotion tangled up in every touch. When he kisses you now, it’s unhurried, full of promise, full of meaning, like he’s not just undressing you, but choosing you all over again.
“I’m gonna take care of you. Promise. Just lie back.” He says between kisses.
He comes back to your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth as his hand comes around where you need him most. He starts at your lower stomach and drifts lower and lower until he’s pressing his thumb to your core.
He drags it around your clit in a slow circle. Once. Then twice. Until your breath is shallow and your eyes are shut.
“Bucky-“ You lightly gasp.
He kisses you deeper, enjoying touching you like this. You’re wet already. So wet, it coats his fingers just from this. He smiles as he kisses you before he sits up to drag his boxers down. He kicks them off quickly before leaning over to grab a condom from his nightstand. The same ones that had little to no use before you.
You lie back like an angel as he rips open the wrapper, pinching the tip before rolling it over his length. You could tell before how much he ached for you. His cock already leaking and hard for you. Once the condom is rolled on, he locks your legs around his hips.
“Ready?” He asks, holding onto your thighs.
“Mhm. Ready.” You nod, leaning back against the mattress.
He places his tip in you first. He goes slow even though your body has adjusted to him from doing this often enough since you started dating. His eyes slip shut as he begins to roll into you. You lightly moan, hands holding onto his hips to bring him in deeper. His length, the way he fits, it all has your toes curling already. He’s long and thick, he fills you out just right.
You moan again, breathing out with your head to the side. His heart flutters then despite the heat and how turned on he is. Because it’s you. It’s not just anyone, not just a hookup. It’s you. And he’s been falling in love with you every day.
He slowly pulls out of you before slamming back in, faster this time. You gasp and breathe out a laugh with the prettiest smile he’s ever seen.
“Mm- that’s good,” You breathe out. “You feel so good.”
“You have no idea how good you feel, beautiful,” He lightly groans before beginning to pump his dick in and out of you. He can feel you squeezing around him every second in a way that could almost make him lightheaded. “Fuck, you always squeeze me so good.”
Your moans and whimpers fill the air as he begins to fuck you into his mattress. He lifts your legs higher, pressing even deeper inside of you. His bed creaks under you with every thrust, his hands coming around to your chest again. His head tosses back slightly as his hips meet yours again and again.
You’re both a mess from this already. It’s wet. So wet, it’s almost shocking. He reaches down to touch you again, fingers circling around your clit. His balls smack against you, wet too by now. With every push, you feel his balls again and again. And he’s whispering your name by now. Over and over again. Like this with you is something sacred. Worth protecting.
His other hand moves to press against your stomach. He tries to stabilize himself with that and it only turns you on more. He pushes against your stomach and you can feel how deep he is. How he fits like he was made to be in you. And he feels that too. How your walls clench and unclench around him as if you’re trying to pull every ounce of cum from him.
He bows his head with heavy breaths as he fucks you faster and faster. He holds onto the headboard now with his metal hand, his more human hand still rubbing at your clit. Your legs are a tangled mess now as he fucks you senseless.
“Oh god, Buck-“ You whine under him. “I’m so close. I’m- I’m gonna-“
“Come on. Give it to me, give me all of it,” He groans. “I’m gonna cum- fuck, you just keep squeezing around me. Gonna make me fill this condom quick.”
You sigh and lean back again with your head on your hand, elbow out. You feel it growing tighter and tighter in your stomach before your orgasm snaps through your body, washing over you with a loud moan of Bucky’s name. And that pushes him over.
He gasps, pushing in and out to ride you both through it as he fills the condom inside of you. His movements slow and he bows his head again. One of his hands comes to yours to lace your fingers together.
He comes back to his forearms over you, pushing hair out of your face before kissing you. He kisses your forehead, your temples, your cheeks, and your nose, before finally kissing your lips.
Bucky doesn’t move right away.
He stays right there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing evening out slowly like he’s afraid that if he pulls away too fast the moment will crack. His thumb traces lazy circles into your palm where your fingers are still laced together.
“Hey,” he murmurs, quiet and warm. “You with me?”
“Yeah. I’m good.” You nod, smiling, eyes half-lidded and loose.
Relief softens him instantly. You can feel it, his shoulders dropping, his jaw unclenching. He presses a kiss to your brow like it’s instinct, like he’s been doing it for years.
“Good,” he whispers. “Good.”
He carefully shifts, gentle even now, easing himself out of you and disposing of the condom before coming right back. No rush. No distance. Just him returning like this is where he belongs.
He grabs a warm cloth from the bathroom and kneels between your legs, hands steady and reverent as he cleans you up. He’s quiet while he does it, focused, like this is part of the promise he made earlier.
“I’ve got you,” he says softly, mostly to himself.
When he’s done, he tucks the blanket around you and pulls you straight into his chest. Your head fits perfectly beneath his chin, his arm heavy and sure around your waist, metal hand resting warm and careful at your back.
He kisses your hair. Once. Twice.
“You okay?” he asks again, quieter this time.
“Mhm.” You nuzzle closer. “You?”
A soft laugh vibrates through his chest. A laugh that he knows is only ever meant for you. So soft, so devoted. To you.
“Yeah. Better than okay.”
He rubs slow, soothing lines up and down your arm, thumb brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing you all over again. Every now and then he presses another kiss. Your temple, your shoulder, the top of your head. Like he can’t help himself.
“You know,” he murmurs after a moment, voice low and thoughtful, “I never get tired of this part.”
“Yeah?” You tilt your head up to look at him.
“Yeah.” His eyes are warm, open in a way they aren’t for anyone else. “When it’s just…us. No missions. No pretending. No running.”
He exhales slowly, forehead resting against yours.
“I don’t feel so…untethered when I’m with you.”
Your hand slides up his chest, fingers curling lightly into his shoulder.
“You don’t have to hold yourself together all the time, Buck.”
His throat works. He nods once.
“I know,” he says quietly. “That’s why I love you.”
The words aren’t heavy. They’re easy. Certain.
He pulls you closer, like he’s protecting you from a world that can’t touch you in here, and lets the room fall quiet except for your breathing syncing together.
“If you fall asleep,” he murmurs, already smiling, “I’m not moving.”
“Good,” you whisper, eyes drifting shut. “I wasn’t planning on letting you.”
His laugh is soft and content as he kisses your forehead one more time, holding you like this is the safest place he’s ever known.
“I’m always gonna want you,” He whispers as you begin to drift off. “You’re always gonna have me. My heart. It’s all for you.”
He watches as your breathing evens out. And he smiles. Because god, you take his breath away. You make everything feel okay again. And he’s never been this in love before. So he’s gonna show you every day that you’re worth it. That you’re the only one for him.
HII! I was wondering if you could make a fic, where the reader (fem) is secretly dating bucky while he's in the thunderbolts
And like bucky and reader are making out in the compound and then the rest of the team walk in, not knowing about Bucky's girlfriend?
(You don't have to make this if you don't wanna to or it makes you uncomfortable!) :3
Bucky Barnes x Reader
Come On
summary: when you reconnect with an old teammate, you want privacy. but privacy is hard to get when he has a whole new team living with him. Part 2
warnings: fem reader, kissing, former avenger reader, thunderbolts walk in on almost sex, mentions of sex/implied sex
word count: 1.7k
notes: thank you so much for the request! i left smut out for now but i’m willing to do a part 2 if you want it :) also just fyi now is the best time for requests because not only am i snowed in but i’m also sick so i’m pumping stuff out
It’s been years since everything. The fights. The losses. The noise. Now the world has finally gone quiet, maybe too quiet. Bucky Barnes has been keeping his head down in D.C., living simply and learning to breathe again. He wasn’t going to do hero work anymore. Not necessarily. He doesn’t want to.
Then everything with the void happened and he somehow ended up on a team of, putting it plainly, idiots.
And you. Not an idiot. But the one person who ever understood what it’s like to survive your own story. You were gone for months, chasing solitude and trying to keep your powers under control. And Bucky had found you for help with the void and wrangling his new circus group.
You denied, trying to stay out of it. Not wanting to bring all of that messiness back into your life. But after that, he kept thinking about you. Kept wondering about how you were. After Steve, after Tony, Natasha, all of it. So he invited you over when the team was gone.
The two of you were circling each other in the quiet city. Sharing coffee, awkward silences, late-night talks on rooftops. You were trying to remember how to be human again, and he was trying to forget what being a weapon felt like. Sometimes it felt peaceful. Sometimes it hurt like hell.
He’s different now. Softer, steadier, a little older around the eyes. You’re different too. Still powerful, still luminous, but cracked in quieter places. Together, you’re two people learning how to exist after survival, wondering if healing can really happen when the past is still sitting across the room.
One rooftop night stopped involving coffee and started involving a bottle of celebrity tequila sent by political investors. You passed it back and forth, talking about old teams, old fights, everything you’d lived through.
You asked about his new team, the one he tried not to think about too hard. He didn’t say much. He never did when you were around.
That night, you laughed more than you had in months. And Bucky laughed too- really laughed. You’d never heard it sound like that.
Then he stopped.
He just looked at you, eyes warm, expression impossibly soft. Real.
And then he kissed you.
He held your waist like letting go might mean losing everything. One kiss turned into another, slower, deeper, until the world narrowed to the space between your bodies and the city lights below. Hands wandered. Breaths stuttered. The night wrapped itself around you both.
And that turned to…more. So much more.
It turned to you messily fumbling for the buttons of his jeans, his fingers slipping under your panties, your soft moans and desperate whispers of his name filling the roof.
No one heard or saw. It was one of the tallest buildings in the city. Far away from anyone else. So it was just you two. It was you, hungrily pulling his hair and moaning. It was him, desperately fucking you until he coaxed enough whimpers and cries from you to make him finish just after you already had.
The experience was sobering. Later, he stayed over you, shielding you from the cold, from the wind that always swept through New York after dark. He kissed your lips, your cheek, your shoulder, gentle now, reverent.
And then he whispered it, like a confession he’d been holding onto for far too long.
“I want you. Not just like this,” he said quietly. “You know that… right?”
You didn’t call it dating at first.
It didn’t need a name. It was just… happening. Quietly. Intentionally.
You started spending more and more time like that, just together. Rooftops. Long walks that went nowhere. Nights folded into mornings in his room, the world shut out beyond locked doors and drawn curtains. He tried to take you out when he could, careful about places, about timing. Careful about eyes. Especially Sam’s.
It felt almost laughable, the secrecy of it. The Winter Soldier sneaking around like a teenager, glancing over his shoulder before lacing his fingers through yours. But he did it anyway. Every time. Because the risk never outweighed the reward.
He fell in love with you quietly.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. It happened in the in-between moments, in the hallways of what used to be Avengers Tower, in the way he always made sure you ate, in how his hand found the small of your back without thinking. In the way he listened when you talked, like your words mattered more than the ghosts in his head.
You stayed cooped up in his room a lot. Nights filled with laughter, murmured conversations, soft kisses that lingered too long. It was simple. Domestic, almost. And it was all he needed.
All you needed.
You brought his heart back to life without ever meaning to. Made him want to fight for something again, not out of obligation, not because the world demanded it, but because this was worth protecting. You were worth protecting.
So when the Thunderbolts became unavoidable, when missions and briefings and shared spaces started bleeding into his carefully guarded life, he kept you hidden. Not because he was ashamed.
Because he was afraid of losing the one thing that felt real. Especially if it meant keeping you out of the superhero business you were trying to take a break from.
Which is how you end up pressed against the counter in the Thunderbolts compound weeks later, his mouth on yours, hands familiar and urgent like he’s been holding himself back all day.
“This is a bad idea,” you hum against his lips.
Bucky didn’t pull away. He slips his tongue into your mouth, tilting his head down to kiss you the way he knows you like. His fingers tighten around your thighs, hiking one around his hip to kiss you even deeper.
“Bucky-“ You mumble and he smiles against your lips.
“Sorry. I just love kissing you,” He says honestly with a boyish grin on his face. “The team’s on some kind of practice mission. Training.”
He leans in again, lifting his hands to cradle your jaw. Bucky kisses you again and lets it sink even deeper. He melts his body completely into yours and just takes you in. Because he needs you. In a terrifying way he’s never needed anything. But every kiss he gets from you brings pieces of him back. Every smile of yours gets his heart fluttering again.
“I need you,” He whispers. “I’ve been falling in love with you this whole time.”
“So sentimental.” You laugh so softly against his lips before pulling him back to you. Your hand slides around the back of his neck to hold him and he completely softens for you.
“Don’t let go.” He whispers before gently lifting you up onto the counter.
He places himself between your legs and smiles again while kissing you. It’s contagious at this point. He can’t not smile while kissing you. When you make him so happy. You lean back on one hand as the other pushes through his hair and both rest on your waist. He lightly moans against your mouth and holds on even tighter.
“We can’t have sex here.” You laugh again.
“Why not?”
“Steve used to make me and Wanda pancakes on this counter. It’s weird.” You mumble but he keeps kissing.
He’s about to say something back, something teasing, something soft, when the sound of heavy boots echoes down the hall.
Bucky freezes.
You feel it instantly. The way his body goes rigid, the way his hands still at your waist.
The door swings open.
“Alright, Barnes, you break the tie, should Walker-” Red Guardian’s voice carries in first, loud and confident, before cutting off abruptly.
There’s a beat.
A long one.
Bucky Barnes is standing between your legs, hands on your hips, your bodies pressed close in a way that cannot be misinterpreted by anyone with eyes.
You’re still on the counter.
Yelena’s gaze flicks from you, to Bucky, to his hands, to the very obvious vibe in the room. You shove him off of you to protect him as if there’s still a chance of that.
“Oh,” she says flatly. “So that’s why you didn’t want her to help us.”
“Jesus- Bucky! This is a shared space.” Bob’s face goes bright red.
Alexei blinks. Once. Twice.
“…Is this the girlfriend?” he asks, sounding delighted.
Bucky exhales slowly through his nose.
You can feel his heart hammering against you, but he doesn’t step back. Doesn’t drop his hands.
“Are you kidding me?” Walker gasps. “Are you telling me you were dating the one person who could’ve stopped the Void in a second? And you just sat back and let all of us get our asses kicked by Bob?”
“Hey, it wasn’t me. Technically.” Bob clears his throat.
“That’s not the point.” Walker looks like he might actually combust.
Bucky finally moves then, not away from you, but closer. One hand comes up instinctively, settling at your lower back like it belongs there.
“She didn’t owe us anything,” he says calmly.
“Did you not also see a quarter of New York turn into shadows?” Walker Scoffs.
“Not the point,” Bucky replies, firmer now. “She owed herself peace. Something all of you seem really comfortable taking from people.”
The room goes quiet again.
“You’re different when she’s around,” Yelena hums thoughtfully. “Less… haunted.”
“Yes! Less murder-ey. More boyfriend.” Alexei nods enthusiastically. “
You snort before you can stop yourself.
Bucky huffs a laugh, then catches himself, glancing down at you like he’s checking if it’s okay. When you nod, he turns back to the room.
“Whatever. Can you keep the fornication out of the public spaces?” Walker grumbles.
“Technically speaking, this was my house first.” You shrug and Yelena laughs.
“True. Maybe you should shut up.” She claps Walker on the back before turning around to walk out.
“Let’s go too,” Bucky leans down to tell you. “I’m barely hiding my…”
He gestures down to where he’s half-hard before holding your back and beginning to lead you to the other door that leads to a different set of elevators.
summary: going to various galas and dinners with your boyfriend suck most of the time. but the best part is the debrief. and the sex.
warnings: avenger reader, pet names, kissing, oral (f recieving), (p in v) smut, unprotected sex, bucky wants to propose
word count: 4.1k
You and Bucky have been together since the Avengers days. The kind of relationship where saving the world together eventually turned into sharing grocery lists and arguing over where the socks disappear to.
After the almost world ending, Bucky decides he wants to try something new. Something stable. Something human.
So he runs for Congress.
And somehow…wins.
Which means you moved with him to D.C., where every event is fancy, every handshake is rehearsed, and every person you meet talks like they’re auditioning for a PBS documentary. Tonight was one of those events. A fundraiser, gala, political dinner thing (you’re not even sure; they all blur together).
You were polite. You smiled. You shook hands. And every single one of Bucky’s stuffy colleagues looked at you like you were a sparkly crayon in a box of beige pencils, pretty, but definitely not to be taken seriously.
Now you’re finally home.
Bucky’s hanging up his suit jacket; you’re already in your post-gala uniform: oversized sweatshirt, soft shorts, fuzzy socks, hair tied up with zero effort. You flop onto the couch, ready to decompress, rant, gossip, and make fun of rich people.
Bucky sits beside you, pulling his tie loose as you crawl under his arm like it’s muscle memory. He’s relaxed around you in a way he never is in public. No politician smile, no posture, just your Bucky.
You look up at him with that “okay, time to talk shit” expression.
“You look like you’re about to burst, sweetheart.” He laughs a little as he looks you over.
“That was such an experience, where do I even start?” You sit up a little straighter as if preparing.
He smiles softer at you. Because he loves this. Loves you. You look so happy now and beautiful and soft. You look like everything he could ever want.
“Okay,” you say, rubbing your hands together. “First of all, why do all of them talk to me like they’re explaining democracy to a golden retriever?”
Bucky snorts despite himself.
“And second,” you add, quieter now, “did you notice how none of them asked me what I do? They already know.”
He stills. Just a little. Enough that you feel it.
“They asked how I’m adjusting. Like I’m a rescue animal. They all know who I am and in turn, they all think I’m an idiot. Like did you catch that comment from Milton? “If there’s a brain in all of your hair-” You cut yourself off and shake your head. “So what, I like to do my hair nice for these things? I don’t want to look bad when I’m supporting my boyfriend?”
“He’s an idiot. They’re all idiots. They don’t know you.” He shakes his head too. He says it firm. Quiet. Like he believes it with his whole body.
“And all of their wives? They’re still laughing and asking if “there’s a ring” yet. And when I tell them ‘I don’t know, I’m not a mind reader’, they all pity me. Like Barbara told me I’ll look desperate if I stay your girlfriend forever.” You somehow keep laughing about it.
Because it’s insane, because it’s preposterous, because if you don’t laugh you might actually scream.
But to Bucky, it’s not funny at all.
Because he loves you. He’s so in love with you. It aches his bones and softens his heart to mush, and he has to press his tongue to his teeth to keep from telling you what would burn the city to the ground. Because he feels like you’re the love of his life. And right now? Yeah, maybe he has been looking for rings. Because he wasn’t always sure about marriage before but spending the rest of his life with you? Devoted to you? That’s not even a question.
“I’m in love with you,” He says softly, thinking hard to try and articulate his feelings right. “I’m building my life around you already. That should tell them enough.”
You go quiet and look up at him. And he looks down at you, pushing hair out of your face.
“Does that mean we can get a cat?” You ask softly before laughing, trying to lighten the mood.
“Doll,” He laughs. “It wouldn’t be fair to you. I work all the time, you’d be taking care of the cat the most.”
“I’m fine with that,” You shrug. “I basically do nothing now anyway. Not a lot of easy jobs in D.C. the way there was in New York.”
He goes quiet then. He looks at his hands for a moment before he looks back up at you.
“Are you happy here? In D.C?” He asks softly.
“I’m happy with you. Always.” You smile and tuck your body back against his.
“Not what I asked, beautiful.”
You sigh and tilt your head back to look at him.
“I’m happy enough.”
He says your name then. Firm. Like he knows you’re bullshitting.
“It’s just…hard sometimes,” You sigh. “I don’t have any friends here. I don’t really have a job. I mean, I do, but not a 9-5 or anything and I can’t logistically work a normal job as an Avenger. Safety concerns, I might have to leave at any point, it’s not realistic. And making friends as an adult is hard. Harder than I thought. Especially with freaky superhuman powers.”
“We can go back,” he says immediately. Too fast. “New York. Somewhere else. I don’t-”
You reach up and cup his jaw.
“James.”
He melts when you say his name. His real name. Because you say it like he’s your James.
“You shouldn’t give all of this up. I’d rather be slightly inconvenienced if it means I get to be with you like this.” You tell him before you lean in to kiss his nose and then the corner of his mouth. He loosens up for a moment from your soft kisses but he tries to come back.
“It doesn’t sound like a slight inconvenience. It sounds like I’m taking away your identity.” He grumbles.
“I mean…it’s not like my situation is for a lack of trying. Remember a few weeks ago, I tried out that workout class in the city. I just…feel like everyone already has friends and I don’t even get along with your work friends’ wives. But being home isn’t…too bad. I get really happy when you come home. And everything’s fine again because I don’t know. Moving here to be with you was worth it. Every second has been worth it.” You shrug.
And his heart breaks. Because god, he loves you. He should be the one protecting your heart. Keeping you happy and safe.
He swallows, jaw tightening, not in anger. In resolve.
“I don’t want to be the center of your world,” he says quietly. “I want to be in it.”
You blink up at him.
“I don’t want you shrinking your life down to the hours I’m home,” he continues. “I’ve done that before. I know what it does to a person.”
He shifts, turning fully toward you now, hands warm and steady on your waist.
“We’ll figure something out,” he says. Not rushed. Not panicked. “Something that’s yours. Something that makes you feel like you again.”
“You don’t have to fix me.” You search his face.
“I know. But when I say I’m building my life around you,” he says quietly, “I want it to be your life too. I…I’m trying to build us a life. Because that’s what you deserve from me. You deserve my love, my care, my devotion. And you have it. And not just because you moved with me to D.C. to chase some stupid political dream. But because you see me. Angel, you see all of me and for some reason, you still love me. So I’m yours. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel just as fulfilled. We can go back to New York whenever you want. Just say the word. Whether it be forever or a trip, just tell me.”
“You don’t have to-“
“Or if me being home makes you happy? Pick a day. Any day of the week and I’ll never work that day. It’ll be our day for me to take you out or stay home with you and show you that you have me. All of me.” His voice drops, reverent, like a promise.
You study him for a long second.
“So,” you say finally, voice light but eyes serious, “hypothetically… would Wednesdays work for our day?”
“Wednesdays are perfect.” His mouth quirks.
You smile, tucking yourself closer into his side. He holds you closer and leans down to kiss your temple.
“Good,” you murmur. “Because that’s also when the shelter does cat adoptions.”
He laughs quietly, pressing a kiss into your hair.
“We’ll talk about it,” he says.
But he doesn’t sound opposed.
“I’d do anything for you. You know that?” He hums. And you nod. Not because you’re too self-assured. But because he’s shown you again and again.
“You’re doing a good job,” You smile and kiss his cheek. “Of being a boyfriend. Of being a congressman.”
He looks you over, bringing his hand to cradle your face before he leans in. His lips gently press against yours and you sigh into it, hands holding onto his middle.
“I’m yours,” He whispers again. “I’m gonna want you until I’m dead. It’s always gonna be you.”
You don’t answer him.
You don’t need to.
You kiss him again, slower this time, like you’re pressing something into place. His hand stays warm against your cheek, thumb brushing back and forth like he’s memorizing you.
When you pull away, your forehead rests against his.
“Hey,” you whisper.
“Yeah?”
“Wednesdays,” you say. “No excuses.”
His breath ghosts a laugh.
“No excuses.”
You settle back against him, legs tangled, the weight of the night finally lifting. Outside, the city hums. Distant traffic, sirens, the low pulse of a place that never really sleeps.
“I’ll take you out on more dates. I’ll be good for you.” He whispers.
“You already give me so much.” You tell him, sitting up on your knees before coming over to sit on his lap. You plop yourself down like you belong there, arm wrapping around his neck.
“I won’t be satisfied until you’re so happy you explode,” He half-jokes before he looks up at you. “What are you doing up there, gorgeous?”
“Just looking at you,” You hum, pushing hair out of his face. “You always look so handsome.”
His hands tighten at your waist instinctively, thumbs pressing in like he’s grounding himself.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, but there’s no bite to it. Just fondness. Want.
You smile, slow and knowing, leaning in until your noses brush.
“You don’t seem too upset about it.”
His eyes drop to your mouth. Linger.
“Never said that.”
You tilt your head, pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw instead of his lips. Then another. Lower this time. His breath stutters, not much, but enough that you feel it against your skin.
“You’re being very patient tonight,” you murmur.
“You’re not.” He lets out a quiet laugh that sounds more like a sigh.
You shift on his lap, just enough to feel him tense beneath you, his hands flexing like he’s deciding whether to pull you closer or let you keep the lead.
“I missed you,” you say softly. Not just tonight. Not just like this.
Something in his expression changes, darkens, warms.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”
He leans in then, kissing you properly this time. Slower than before. Deeper. The kind of kiss that makes the rest of the room feel very far away.
When you pull back, you’re both breathing a little heavier.
“Bedroom?” you ask, voice light, eyes anything but.
He smiles. Soft, devoted, unmistakably yours.
“Yeah,” he says. “Bedroom.”
He lifts under your thighs to hold you tight before standing up. He begins to carry you through your shared apartment. The little home you’ve been building together. The one that makes his chest ache just from looking around at it because it’s so full of you. And him. And he wants this life with you so badly.
He walks you over to your bed, setting you down and immediately coming over you. He leans in to kiss you again, more passionately than before as his hand runs up to your hip. And then it smoothes down to your inner thigh as his lips travel to your neck. He’s soft and gentle with you.
He ghosts his hand up your thighs until he feels your underwear under your little pajama shorts. Bucky looks at you again, scans the look in your eyes. And all he can see is the wanting, the need for him in your eyes.
“Please.” You whisper.
He leans down to kiss and gently suck the soft skin around your neck as his hand goes to your shorts. He drags them down enough before his hand comes between your legs.
He touches you through your panties first, gently rubbing his fingers up your core. His movements are slow and careful at first but you let out the prettiest moan he’s ever heard as he does. Your hand lightly grips his shoulder as he keeps kissing you. He looks at you again as he runs his hands to the soft skin of your stomach again only to slowly push his fingers under your panties now. He rubs the bone of your hip, his lips dragging along your neck and at this point, he already has your toes curling.
He starts to pull them down with your shorts as you’re pulling the shirt you’re wearing up. You pull it up and over your head and he feels everything in him wanting you.
He kisses down your chest, dragging his lips down your stomach as he lowers himself down your body. You could almost snap in the best way. He’s slowly rewiring your brain as he kisses lower and lower. Bucky completely pulls your panties off, dragging them down your legs before lifting one of your legs as he looks at you.
“You are everything.” He breathes out, hugging your calf before bringing it up to kiss your leg.
“Oh, god, Bucky.” This light moan comes out of you as he comes back down to your body. He kisses along your hips and then down, his teeth lightly dragging by the bone in a way that makes you want to have him now.
You run your hand through his hair in the way he loves as he rests between your legs. And he realizes all over again that he wants you like this, in your joking around and laughing, in your complicated past. He just wants you everywhere.
He’s gentle as he licks a stripe up you. You gasp and your back slightly lifts off the bed at the feeling of his hot mouth on you.
“So pretty, doll. You taste…fucking perfect.” He tells you, one hand holding onto your hip before he goes back down.
He presses his lips straight to your core in a slightly sloppy but absolutely delectable kiss. He pulls you closer to his mouth and he feels his heart pounding for you. You deserve everything he could possibly give you.
He hasn’t done this, nothing like this. But he wants to make you feel good. At least half as good as you make him feel just by smiling or laughing. You have lit up every aspect of his life and he wants you to feel this and know that you have Bucky. In every conceivable way.
He runs his hands up and down your body as he does this and god, does his mouth feel like heaven. It’s hot. And also so sweet. You know his self-worth issues and know that he’s doing this just for you and maybe for himself too but because it’s you.
You try not to but he feels so good and so warm you just move your hips along his face. And Bucky could almost die and go to heaven when you do that.
“Stop,” Your chest rises and falls as he looks up at you. “Fuck, you’re- how are you so good at that?”
You laugh for a moment, still trying to catch your breath all while he’s looking at you with a small frown. He thinks he did something wrong.
“What happened? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He asks quickly, climbing back over to you.
“No, no, I- fuck, Bucky, you are incredible but I want you,” You move your hand to his chest and push him on his back. “Like this.”
He looks up at you, straddling his waist and his mind goes blurry. You are so beautiful. And so wet, he can feel it. You reach the waistband of his underwear and looks into his eyes.
“Anything, Babydoll. Anything you want, it’s yours. You have me.” He breathes out, helping you pull his boxers down.
It’s messy from then. He looks up at you on him like there’s never been anyone more perfect. You lean down to kiss all over his skin as you take his dick in your hand. He takes a shaky breath as you do. At the feeling of your hand around him with your lips kissing all over him.
You slowly drag your hand up and down. And it’s killing him in the best way. It’s a good thing the serum somehow makes him last longer because he could finish from just looking at you doing that.
You sit up on your knees and begin to line him at your entrance, Bucky gently holds onto your thigh as you do. He squeezes his hand around your thigh once as he looks at you as if to make sure you know that he wants you endlessly.
When you press yourself down until your hips meet, it’s suddenly everything. You let out the lightest moan. And you just enjoy the way he fills you for a moment. The way he fits so nicely, giving you this slightest stretch that feels incredible.
You holds onto the headboard with one hand as you begins to move your hips. You press yourself further onto him as you do and it gives you that extra friction that could have you drooling over him.
And it’s indescribable. Bucky can’t get enough of this. Of you. He sits up to kiss your skin, kissing all over your chest and around your stomach all while you quicken your pace.
His breath is hot as it fans across your skin. He tilts his head up to kiss just under your nipple as he looks up at you. You feel incredible, he could stay buried in you forever and never need to do anything else. And he wouldn’t want to. He wouldn’t want to be with anyone else, just you.
He completely leans into you and watches the pink rise from your neck to your cheeks as he looks at you. He has this completely lust-filled look on his face that’s desperate and only for you.
His lips don’t leave your skin. You’re too warm, too perfect. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck as your head tosses back. Your moans fill the air and Bucky can swear that no sound is as beautiful.
Your chests press together as you rock your hips against his, pushing him further and deeper in you. And the coldness of his dog tags only turn you on more.
The next thing you knows, he’s laying you down, not daring to leave. His dog tags drag across your body as he kisses all around your breasts, gently licking up your nipple. He does all of this while pushing in and out of you slowly and deliciously. Your body is more to the side and he feels your ass pressing against his hips as he fights not to finish.
You move over more, almost on your stomach. Both of your legs are a tangled mess as he desperately fucks yoy. You can feel his dog tags on your back now and his hand, the more human of the two, pushes through the hair on the back of your head.
You holds onto the bars of your headboard, your uneven breaths and Bucky’s quiet groans and whimpers fading into each other. He’s impossibly deeper in you, his hips pressed against your ass and it’s building up so fast. He’s hitting all of the right spots and his touch is like drugs to you. His big hands all over your body, his lips lazily dragging over your shoulder.
You didn’t even know it was possible for someone to feel this good on you. In you. But he does.
“Buck- please, I-“ You gasp out, his hand running from your ass to your hip and he feels it too. He feels it so strongly. “I’m gonna- fuck, Bucky.”
You whine out his name and he knows he’s gone for you. And just as the feeling snaps and completely rips through your body, leaving absolutely nothing left, Bucky feels it more. It’s fast and intense as he pulls out of you.
He finishes along your back and his head tilts back.
When it’s over, he doesn’t move right away. Just stays there, head bowed, arms wrapped tight around you, like if he lets go, he might unravel entirely. His breathing is uneven, not from exhaustion, but from how deeply this, you, hits him. He presses his lips against the top of your spine, trailing soft kisses across your back like you’re something sacred.
“Fuck, I’m all yours. You have me. All of me.” He whispers against your skin.
He stays close afterward. Closer than necessary. Like if he lets go, something precious might slip through his fingers.
He takes a tissue from the bedside table to wipe the evidence of the way you just undid him completely off of your back. He tosses it in the trash can and comes back to gently turn you on your side to tuck himself against you.
You’re warm and pliant against him, cheek tucked into his shoulder, fingers tracing idle shapes along his ribs. The world feels smaller now. Safer. Like the edges have been sanded down.
Bucky presses a kiss into your hair. Then another. Then one to your temple, your cheek, your shoulder. Slow. Reverent. Like he’s thanking something he doesn’t have the language for.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
“M’perfect.” You hum, barely awake.
That does something to him. Hits him low and deep, right behind the ribs. He shifts slightly, pulling a blanket over you both, instinctive as breathing.
This, this, is the part no one warned him about.
Not the battles. Not the politics. Not the fear.
It’s the way loving you feels like standing at the edge of something vast. The way it makes him want to be better without ever feeling forced. The way the idea of losing you feels unthinkable in a way Hydra, war, and history never quite managed.
You sigh softly, already drifting, and he watches your face in the low light. Bare. Unarmored. No gala smile. No polite laughter. Just you.
He gently brushes a hand over your face.
“Don’t fall asleep yet, beautiful,” He whispers. “You should probably go to the bathroom.”
You grumble, body loosening before your eyes flutter open again.
“You wait until I’m most tired to remind me.” You half-joke before sitting up and slowly slipping out of bed and heading to the bathroom.
His chest tightens.
He thinks of the way those women looked at you. The way they measured you by proximity instead of presence. The way you laughed it off like it didn’t sting.
He thinks of Wednesdays. Of grocery lists. Of cats and half-burned dinners and you stealing his shirts like it’s a given.
He thinks, very suddenly, that at the next gala someone might ask you who you are to him.
And “my girlfriend” won’t be enough.
The realization settles over him quietly. Not dramatic. Not cinematic.
Just certain. Certain that he should stop being so indecisive and just pick a ring already. Pick a spot. Pick how he wants to ask you to be his forever.
I should propose soon.
Not because of pressure. Not because of timelines. But because choosing you feels as natural as breathing, and he’s done letting the most important parts of his life go unsaid.
You come back a minute or two later and press yourself back to him.
His thumb brushes your arm, grounding himself.
“Hey,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “I’m gonna do right by you. I promise.”
You shift closer, murmuring his name like you heard him anyway.
summary: after being freshly pardoned, bucky needs some help to look…reformed. it’s hard to be reformed when you’re too busy falling in love with your best friend
warnings: female reader, kissing, (p in v) smut, unprotected sex
word count: 11.7k (guys i’m trying to change)
Bucky has technically been pardoned for all Winter Soldier-related violence. Technically. The government still requires him to attend therapy, complete community service, and show “evidence of personal growth and moral rehabilitation.”
Bucky calls it his “redemption probation run”.
You’re his best friend. Very against the whole surveillance-state vibe, but deeply committed to making sure your idiotic super-soldier friend doesn’t get re-arrested over a poorly timed snarky comment or a missed appointment. So you’re dead set on helping him.
The sun is barely in the sky when he’s startled awake by twenty loud bangs on the door. He’s tense from the moment he’s up partially because of trauma but mostly because only one person knocks at his door like a madman.
He stomps down the stairs and swings open the door. And there you are.
His hair is messy; he doesn’t have a shirt on, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips. And you look ready to start your day, wide awake.
“What the hell are you doing?” Bucky squints his eyes as the sun shines in them.
“Good morning!” You smile. “Can I come in?”
“Is someone dying?”
“Um…no.”
He stares at you for a moment.
Like you might either be the biggest idiot he’s ever met, the biggest pain, or the best person he’s ever met because at least he has someone who wants to be at his door this early.
Instead of answering, he groans and shakes his head in disbelief before stepping to the side and opening the door.
“Thanks, Buck!”
You happily walk into his house and go straight to the kitchen. You’re a blur of movement and something that looks like happiness which is strange for nearly seven am. He can barely process what’s happening before you’re opening his window.
“What are you doing?”
Before he can register anything else, you’re reaching into his fridge. He steps forward to stop you but you grab the beer and use your full Avenger level strength to toss it out the window. Glass shatters and Bucky grabs your shoulder and spins you to face him.
“Are you insane?”
“Bucky, can you stop?”
“Can I stop? Can I stop? You just threw out a full pack of beer I just bought.” He snaps.
“You just got pardoned yesterday! Are you serious? Buying beer?” You snap and smack his chest with your hands.
“I was…celebrating.”
“That’s not a good look, you don’t know who’s watching. That’s why I’m here. It’s time for your full redemption speed-run.” You tell him.
“Oh my god, but when you drink it’s okay?” He huffs.
“Because I rarely drink to block things out, I drink to have fun. You on the other hand…” You trail off.
Bucky’s jaw tightens.
“…drink like you’re trying to forget a century,” you finish, softer but no less pointed.
He looks away first.
“That’s not fair.”
“You’re right,” you say. “It’s not. That’s why I’m here.”
He exhales through his nose and drags a hand down his face.
“I didn’t ask you to be my parole officer.”
“No,” you say brightly. “You asked me to help you not go to prison. This is me helping.”
He glares at you.
“You threw my beer out the window.”
“And I’ll throw you out the window if you get flagged for ‘substance abuse concerns’ on your first week of this.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Wanna test it?” You smile sweetly.
He grumbles something in Romanian and stomps past you, opening a cabinet.
“Coffee,” he mutters. “At least tell me you’re not here without coffee.”
You light up.
“Oh, no, I came prepared.”
You drop a tote bag onto his counter. It’s obnoxiously full. He peers inside.
Green juice. Protein bars. A color-coded folder. Shots of some kind of vegetable adjacent juice.
“…What the hell is that?” he asks.
“Here, take it,” You grab one of the shots and untwist the lid. You pass it over to him and he takes it, smelling it before glaring at you. “Here, I can make it more fun. Shot! Shot! Shot! Shot!”
“Okay, stop,” He almost laughs before he lifts it to his lips and takes it. Not even a second later, his entire face is squished and he looks away to take a minute. “Fuck, that’s disgusting. What is that?”
“Some kind of ginger thing, I don’t know. Sounded healthy,” You shrug. “You’re welcome.”
You flip open the folder and start reading like a drill sergeant.
“Okay! Day one: therapy check-in at nine. Community service orientation at eleven. Grocery shopping for ‘nutritionally responsible meals’-”
“I eat vegetables.”
“Not just vegetables. We need to get rid of all these random supplements you have, get more natural stuff.” You huff.
“I don’t know if you know what my job is but-“ He starts to say sarcastically.
“We have the same job, dipshit. And I get by without taking random powders and pills.” You smile. He snorts despite himself, then catches it and scowls.
“You enjoy this too much.”
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you move around his kitchen as if you belong there.
“…You don’t have to do all this,” he says quietly.
You pause just long enough to glance at him.
“I know.”
Then you keep going.
“That’s why I am.”
He looks away again, jaw working. The humor drains just a little, replaced with something heavier.
“They’re just waiting for me to screw up,” he mutters. “One wrong move and it’s ‘see? He hasn’t changed.’”
You close the folder and finally face him fully.
“Then don’t give them the satisfaction,” you say. “We’ll beat them at their own stupid game.”
“We?”
“I run the route. You just have to survive it. And anyway, what other friends do you have?”
He shakes his head, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
“You’re insane.”
“Okay, sit down,” You take his hand and pull him over to sit across the table from you. “Don’t buy any more alcohol. You need a good sober mind. Also…you should probably dress more modestly. No disrespect, but this is probably the sluttiest outfit I’ve seen on a man.”
You gesture to his naked chest and low-hanging sweatpants.
“I was asleep ten minutes ago,” he mutters.
“And you woke up like this?” you deadpan. “In front of a character witness? Bold.”
He looks down at himself, then back at you.
“This is just a torso.”
“This is a weaponized torso,” you say. “Put it away.”
He sighs dramatically but reaches for the back of a chair anyway, dropping into it and leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
“You’re acting like they’re gonna arrest me for having nipples.”
“You don’t know that,” you say seriously. “This administration is unpredictable.”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s a flicker of fondness there. Something softer.
“Also, I can’t believe you just said the word ‘nipple’ to me.” You laugh.
“Hey, I’m a grown man.” He smiles and looks at his hand.
“You know what’s almost sluttier than you wearing no shirt and sweatpants that are basically falling off are those Henleys you wear.” You nudge him.
“Those aren’t slutty, I’m not slutty,” he says, genuinely baffled. “I’m not slutty.”
You snort.
“Bucky Barnes, you wear shirts specifically designed to show clavicle. That’s intentional.”
He opens his mouth to argue, then pauses. Considers it.
“…I just like the way they fit.”
“Exactly.”
He shakes his head, a smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. He watches you as you stand to move around his kitchen again, rummaging through cabinets like you’ve done it a hundred times. Like you belong there. Like this is normal.
And that’s when it hits him.
He’s…comfortable.
Not the tense kind of calm he’s learned to fake. Not the alert stillness he keeps around other people. This is different. His shoulders aren’t tight. His chest doesn’t feel braced. He isn’t waiting for the moment to end.
He likes the sound of you in his space. Your voice. Your laughter. The way you scold him like you’ve earned the right.
He’s not this happy with anyone else.
“You’re smiling,” you say suddenly, glancing over your shoulder.
“I am?” He blinks.
“Yeah,” you say. “Kinda stupidly.”
He frowns a little, like he’s only just realized it himself. Tries to smooth his face back into something neutral. It doesn’t quite work.
“…Must be the ginger shot,” he mutters.
You laugh, bright and easy, and something warm twists low in his chest. Unfamiliar. Dangerous.
“Don’t blame my wellness plan for your emotions.”
He snorts, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“I don’t have emotions,” he says automatically.
You give him a look. One eyebrow raised. Unimpressed.
“Sure, Buck.”
He meets your eyes across the kitchen, and for a second the joke fades. There’s something in the air now. Not awkward. Just…charged quietly. And for the first time, he thinks: I don’t want this morning to end.
“So, after we do all your mandatory stuff, I think we should do stuff that makes you look good. Like feed homeless people or something.” You shrug.
“So it’s PR now?”
“Just go get dressed, I’m hungry. We can get bagels or something on the way to therapy.”
He watches you disappear into the living room, your voice trailing off as you settle onto the couch like you’ve claimed it by right. Like you’ve always been there.
“Don’t touch anything,” he calls halfheartedly.
“I already live here emotionally,” you shoot back.
He huffs a laugh despite himself and pushes to his feet, finally grabbing the back of the chair to steady it as he stands. He feels…aware now. Of himself. Of the fact that he’s about to leave the house with you. That you’ll be beside him in public. That people will see.
He heads upstairs, rubbing at his face as he goes.
Just clothes, he tells himself. It’s just clothes.
The bedroom is quiet, sunlight spilling through the window in pale strips across the floor. His closet door creaks when he opens it, familiar rows of black, gray, navy. Practical. Anonymous. Easy to disappear in.
That’s what he usually picks.
He reaches automatically for a dark T-shirt then stops.
His hand lingers there longer than it needs to. He exhales through his nose, annoyed at himself, then pulls it back.
You said something about Henleys. About how slutty they are. But if you call them slutty, he must look good in them.
He glances farther down the rail. There, folded neatly, like he’s been saving them for something. Soft cotton. Buttons at the collar. The kind Sam once called “criminally flattering.”
He scoffs under his breath. Don’t be ridiculous.
Still…he takes one out.
Then he pauses again.
Color.
He stares at the options like it’s a much bigger decision than it should be. Dark green. Faded black. Navy. And blue.
Not loud. Not flashy. Just that worn-in blue that looks softer in daylight.
He remembers, uninvited, the way you’d once said, offhandedly, “That color looks really good on you, Buck,” like it was no big deal. Like it hadn’t stuck with him for weeks.
His jaw tightens.
“…Idiot,” he mutters, to himself, or maybe to the feeling creeping up his spine.
He pulls the blue Henley on.
It fits the way it always does. Comfortably snug, sleeves hugging his arms, collar sitting just right. He buttons it once. Then hesitates. Leaves the top button undone.
He swaps the sweatpants for jeans. Clean ones. No rips. He even runs a hand through his hair, taming it just enough to look intentional rather than freshly dragged out of sleep.
When he looks in the mirror, he barely recognizes the reason behind it.
He doesn’t look dressed up.
He looks…ready.
Downstairs, you’re still on the couch when he comes down, scrolling on your phone. You don’t look up at first.
Then you do.
“Oh,” you say.
Just that. One word. But your eyes flick over him, quick and instinctive, and something in your expression shifts.
“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious. “Is it too much?”
You blink, then shake your head.
“No,” you say slowly. “It’s…good. You look good. Pretty slutty but good.”
You smile at him, small and pleased, like you’ve noticed something he hasn’t said out loud.
“Blue was a good choice,” you add.
His heart does something stupid.
“…Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Thought so.”
And as he grabs his jacket and follows you toward the door, he realizes that he hasn’t felt like this for decades.
He steps forward and opens the door for you before turning around to close and lock it. You lead the way to his car and walk over to the passenger side where he’s following behind to open that door too. When that’s all done, he jogs over to the other side.
“Oh my god,” You say suddenly and he freezes.
“What?”
“Look at me.” You hum and sit up a little as he looks at you.
The blue of the shirt brings out the shining blue color of his eyes. Especially with the morning sun lighting up his face.
“What? What’s wrong?” He asks.
“Your eyes are so blue right now.”
He blinks.
Once. Twice.
“…They’re always blue,” he says, a little unsure, like he’s missed something obvious.
You shake your head.
“Not like this,” you say. “They’re, like…extra. The shirt’s doing something. Or the sun. Or maybe you’re just illegally handsome before noon.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, ducking his head as he reaches for the driver’s door, grateful for the excuse to look away.
“Don’t start,” he mutters.
But his ears are pink.
He slides into the seat and shuts the door, hands resting on the wheel for a second longer than necessary. He can still feel your eyes on him. Not watching like people usually do, measuring, cautious, waiting for something to go wrong, but just looking. Like you’re allowed to.
“You good?” you ask, softer now.
“Yeah,” he says immediately. Too quickly. Then, more honestly, “Yeah. I just-”
He trails off, shakes his head, and starts the engine.
You don’t push. You never do. You just buckle your seatbelt and settle back, humming under your breath as he pulls away from the curb.
And it hits him again, sharper this time.
This ease. This quiet. The silence between you isn’t something he has to fill or defend himself against. The way your presence doesn’t demand anything except that he show up.
He’s spent decades being managed. Watched. Controlled. Corrected.
But with you, he’s choosing.
Choosing blue.
Choosing effort.
Choosing to open doors and buy bagels and sit in uncomfortable rooms because you’ll be there when he comes out the other side.
His grip tightens on the steering wheel, not from tension, but from the weight of the thought.
Why does this feel different? Why does being with you feel like he could be falling for you out of no where?
In the morning light. In stupid jokes about nipples. In the way you look at him like he’s allowed to be more than what he was.
He clears his throat.
“Hey,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“…Thanks. For this. All of it.”
You glance over at him, surprised but warm.
“Of course, Buck,” you say. Like it’s obvious. Like there was never another option.
And he thinks, dimly, fiercely, that he would do just about anything to keep hearing you say his name like that.
“But let me guess. I’m buying?”
“I mean…” You start by shrugging. “If you’re offering, I won’t turn you down.”
“God, you’re such a princess when we hang out. Do you act like this with Sam?” He huffs a laugh.
“No. Sam doesn’t put up with my bullshit, he calls me out.” You shrug.
The morning is a lot. First, therapy. You sit in the waiting room looking at the trashy magazines and your phone while Bucky barely talks. Getting him to open up is the same to him as pulling out every one of his teeth.
After his first therapy session, you bring him to check in for community service. When the person at the front desk asks if you want to do it with him, you volunteer immediately.
And that makes his chest tighten a little. Because you aren’t just bossing him around. You’re trying to help him and even putting yourself in the same boat. Just to make it more bearable.
You end up volunteering at a retirement home. Bucky thought the idea was entirely stupid until he spent an hour talking to another old guy about how he got drafted in another war that apparently happened after Bucky’s. Then he realized he might relate to them more than he relates to people his physical age.
Except for you.
When you both make it back to the car, Bucky doesn’t feel any different. He thought after a whole day of this with you, he’d feel slightly more…pastor adjacent. But he doesn’t. He didn’t open up to the therapist and all he did was talk during community service.
All while you were being basically perfect, making all of the old people love you and ask you to come back. But he doesn’t hate you for that. Because he knows firsthand just how appealing your personality is to be around.
You immediately start adding stuff to a grocery list for him you’ve been working on and he looks over it.
“Do we actually have to do grocery shopping? I don’t even want to cook after all that. Retirement homes are depressing. And what’s even more depressing is that they were all technically younger than me.” He huffs as he starts the car.
“I can cook tonight if you promise to try and keep good food in your fridge in case any government people visit you.” You hum.
He glances at you.
“You…cook?” he asks, like this is new information.
“Excuse you. I’m extremely capable. I just don’t usually do it for you because you live off protein bars and spite.” You look offended.
He snorts despite himself and pulls out of the parking lot.
The grocery store is crowded in that afternoon way, parents with carts, older couples moving slowly, the hum of normal life. Bucky grabs a cart out of habit and you fall into step beside him like it’s automatic. Like you’ve done this a hundred times.
That’s when it starts to feel dangerous.
You’re reaching for things without asking. Tossing produce into the cart. Pausing in front of shelves to read labels, frowning thoughtfully.
“No more of this,” you say, holding up some aggressively packaged supplement. “This is basically sawdust.”
“It has protein,” he argues weakly.
“So does chicken. You need more fiber. Just a bunch of random protein shit and nothing else is how you get cancer. Probably.”
You move closer to him as you talk, your shoulder brushing his arm when you pass. At one point you reach up without thinking and straighten the collar of his jacket where it’s folded wrong.
He freezes.
Not because he doesn’t like it.
Because he does.
His chest feels tight. Full. Like something is settling into place without asking permission.
He follows you down the aisle, watching the way you compare brands, how serious you look choosing tomatoes, like this matters. Like he matters.
This is what couples do.
The thought hits him so hard he almost stops walking.
At the meat counter, the guy behind the glass smiles at you both.
“Cooking for two tonight?” he asks casually.
Bucky opens his mouth-
“Yes,” you say at the same time he does.
You both stop.
You blink at him.
He stares at the floor.
“Oh,” you add quickly, flushing just a little. “I mean- just, uh, helping him out.”
The guy nods like he already knows.
“That’s how it starts,” he says, chuckling as he wraps up the package. “You take care of each other.”
Bucky’s throat closes.
He takes the bag with a quiet thank-you and pushes the cart away faster than necessary. You trail behind him for a moment, then catch up, lowering your voice.
“Sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have-”
“No,” he says immediately. Too fast. He swallows. “It’s fine. He didn’t mean anything.”
But it meant something to him.
“My first thought was, ‘well yeah, there’s two of us here’.” You try to smile.
You keep shopping, but the air between you has shifted. Not bad. Just heavier. Charged.
At checkout, you’re standing close again. Too close. Your arm presses against his, and he doesn’t move away. When you unload the cart, you line things up neatly without being asked.
Milk. Vegetables. Actual food.
His food.
This is too much, his brain whispers. Too normal. Too close to something he’s not supposed to want.
As you head back to the car with the bags, you bump his shoulder lightly.
He didn’t hate it.
He liked it.
And the idea of someone mistaking you for his person didn’t feel wrong.
It felt…inevitable.
“So, when do I get to fix your life, huh?” Bucky asks, closing the trunk and walking around to open the passenger door for you.
“My life?”
“Mhm.”
“What’s wrong with my life?”
Bucky thinks for a moment. There’s nothing technically wrong with your life from the outside. But on the inside and in your head…eh.
Bucky leans one arm against the open passenger door, grocery bags rustling softly in the trunk behind him. He tilts his head, actually considering it.
“Nothing compared to mine,” he says finally. “That’s kinda the problem.”
“Wow. Inspirational.” You snort.
“No, I mean-” He exhales, searching for words he’s never been good at. “You’ve got your stuff together. You show up. You make people feel…handled. Like things are gonna be okay. Even if you don’t feel okay.”
You watch him, expression unreadable now.
“And that bothers you?”
“A little.” He shrugs, awkward.
“Why?”
Because you don’t need fixing, he thinks. Because you don’t need me. Because you’re already whole, and I’m still trying to convince the government I’m not a liability.
But he doesn’t say any of that.
“Because it means I don’t have an excuse to keep you around.” He sighs.
You look up at him. His features are soft. And he looks at you like you’re the most special thing to him.
“You don’t need an excuse. I choose to be here over everywhere else.” You tell him honestly.
He knows that. Bucky knows you. And he knows that everyone wants you, to love you, to be friends with you, to know you. And you effortlessly and maybe unintentionally give him all of that. For some reason, it’s you who chooses his silence over everyone else’s noise. His problems over everyone else’s calm.
When you get back to his house, you immediately start to cook. He washes dishes as you go and tries to keep you entertained in basic conversation. His eyes fix on the way you move around his kitchen. Like a girlfriend would.
It makes him wonder what it’d be like if you were his girlfriend. He could wake up in the mornings next to you. The way he’s seen you in hotels during missions with messy hair and soft sleepy features. He’d be wrapped around you, maybe kissing your skin. Maybe whispering how lucky he is to love you.
He’d take you out, buy you flowers, do anything to make you smile that pretty perfect way you do. He’d fall asleep next to you at night. He’d hold you and protect you, keep you warm.
He almost hates himself a little for thinking it.
For letting his mind go there so easily, like it’s always been waiting for permission.
You’re humming as you move around the kitchen, in socks now, reading the recipe off your phone and improvising anyway. You don’t ask where things are. You just open drawers until you find what you need. The stove light casts you in warm gold, and it feels wrong how natural it all looks.
Like you fit.
Like you’ve always been meant to stand there.
Bucky dries a plate he already dried once, then sets it down just to give his hands something else to do. His chest feels tight in a way that isn’t panic. It’s something quieter. More dangerous.
Domestic.
He watches the way you taste the sauce and wrinkle your nose, then add salt without measuring. The way you glance at him like you’re checking whether he’s still there.
“You good?” you ask.
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Too good.
He imagines this exact moment stretched across years instead of hours. Different kitchens. Different houses. Maybe the same stupid blue Henley folded over a chair. Maybe your toothbrush next to his, because of course it would be.
The thought knocks the air out of him.
This isn’t supposed to be his life. He’s not supposed to want this. He’s supposed to want quiet and distance and nothing that could be taken away.
But you’re already here.
Already chopping vegetables in his kitchen. Already filling his fridge. Already choosing him without asking him to earn it.
You plate the food and set one down in front of him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“There,” you say. “See? Redemption speedrun includes carbs.”
He sits.
Because of course he does.
He eats. And it’s good, too good, and it feels wrong how much that matters to him. How much it means that you made it. That you’re sitting across from him, knees tucked under you in his chair like you plan on staying awhile.
“You could do this, you know,” you say casually. “The whole…normal thing.”
“Normal?” He looks up.
“Yeah. Life. Groceries. Cooking. Not self-destructing.” You shrug. “You’re not bad at it.”
He almost laughs. Almost says something self-deprecating and safe.
Instead, something honest slips out.
“Only when you’re here.”
The room goes quiet.
Not awkward. Just still.
You don’t tease him. Don’t deflect. You just look at him, really look at him, like you’re seeing something fragile he didn’t mean to show.
“Well,” you say softly. “Good thing I’m here, then.”
Something settles in his chest at that. Heavy. Certain.
And for the first time, the idea of falling in love doesn’t feel like a threat. Not something waiting to burn him or make him feel worse than usual. It’s you. Soft and warm. Pulling him. Making him want it with you, only you.
“So…still seeing that guy?” He clears his throat awkwardly.
“What guy?”
“I thought you said you had a date last Friday.” He hums before taking a bite.
You make a face then. The date. The one you cancelled last minute because you couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky and his stupid court thing. Or just Bucky in general. You’re always just thinking about Bucky. If he’s doing okay, if he’s thinking about you, all sorts of things.
“Eh. Cancelled.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t feeling up for it. I think I’m giving up dating for a while.” You shrug.
Bucky looks away for a moment.
“I thought you were supposed to be the optimist.” He tries to joke a little.
You sigh and sit back a little. Because the truth is, you wouldn’t give up dating if it weren’t for Bucky. You’ve always kind of had a thing for it. But dating isn’t even on his radar and he only sees you as a friend so it’s pointless.
You aren’t waiting for him. Not exactly. But you can’t be thinking about him this much if you were to date someone else.
“I’m not giving up completely. Just taking a hiatus from dating.” You shrug.
“But if someone you really liked asked you out?” He says quietly.
“I’d say sure. I’m not completely opposed, I just don’t want to waste more energy trying.” You tell him.
After dinner is calmer. You sit on his couch with him and put on the trashy show you roped him into watching with you. You grab the blanket and toss it over yourself before giving him some and you sit closer to him to share it equally.
He puts his arm around the back of the couch as he watches and it’s surprisingly comforting. For both of you. Then you almost jar him.
You lean closer into his side and rest your head on his shoulder before crossing your arms. He tenses slightly and leans back against the couch to try to seem casual.
“Do you think we’re gonna die alone together?” You ask before yawning.
“…Probably. Most of our friend group is already dead, we’re probably next.” He shrugs.
You laugh, a little morbidly but it’s okay.
“That’s horrible.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” He shrugs.
“Yeah. Guess so. Wanna get married in like ten years if neither of us is married?” You ask and he almost freezes again.
“Married?”
“Yeah. For taxes and stuff. And because if I die, you’re getting everything anyway.” You tell him.
“Really? Me?” He says almost softly but with a smile.
“Yeah, you can have what little money I have and my books and cds and stuff.” You laugh.
“You can have all of my shit too when I die. Well, whichever one of us dies first. Probably me.” He tells you.
“If you die first, I’m coming right after. I literally have like one other friend.” You joke.
“It’s okay, I’ll wait for you.” He smiles and looks over at you.
He looks happy with you. Happier than he is with anyone else. His features soften as you sit together like this and you both suddenly become aware of it. Of the lack of space between you, of the way you’re looking at each other and actually smiling, laughing, enjoying it.
It’s softer than anything else either of you has ever had. Too domestic but actually, maybe not. Maybe it’s just the right amount.
“Bucky.” You whisper.
“What?”
“I think I’m getting confused.”
He goes quiet and looks at you.
“Maybe I am too.”
“Yeah?”
He nods. His hands clench at his side and he sits up a little to see you. The TV is the only light in the room, and he can see it flickering across your eyes.
“Yeah,” He swallows. “Cause I think I really want to kiss you right now.”
He barely realizes he says it before he says it. His cheeks go red, his throat dry. Stupid.
He thought it’d sound cool or sexy but he’s immediately worried it’ll scare you off. The opposite of what he wants.
The words hang between you, fragile and terrifying and real.
You don’t move right away. Neither of you does. The show keeps playing, canned laughter bleeding faintly into the room, wildly inappropriate for the moment you’re standing on.
He shifts fully toward you now, arm slipping down from the back of the couch so his hand rests on his thigh instead. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him. Close enough that every breath feels shared.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers.
“Don’t be sorry.” You shake your head.
“I don’t wanna ruin this,” he says. “You’re…you’re the best thing in my life right now. I don’t wanna touch it and break it.”
You reach out then, slow and deliberate, giving him every chance to pull away. Your fingers curl gently around his wrist.
“Bucky,” you say. “You’re not breaking anything.”
He stills under your touch. Looks down at where you’re holding him like it’s proof of something he’s afraid to believe.
“I’ve been confused for a while,” you admit quietly. “I just didn’t think you could ever feel the same way.”
His laugh is breathless. Disbelieving.
“I didn’t think I was allowed to.”
That does it.
You lean in first, just enough to close the space, just enough to let him meet you halfway. His breath stutters against yours. For a split second, he hesitates, eyes searching your face one last time.
Then he kisses you.
It’s careful. Almost reverent. Like he’s afraid of pressing too hard, afraid of wanting too much. His hand lifts, hovering near your waist before settling there like he’s anchoring himself.
You melt into it.
It’s not desperate or rushed. It’s soft and warm and devastating in how right it feels. Like the kiss he’s been accidentally rehearsing all day, every time he chose blue, every time he opened a door, every time he let you into a space he swore he didn’t need anyone in.
When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours.
His lips are pink, eyes soft. Like he’s never kissed anyone before. Even if he has, no kiss has ever meant this much.
He whispers your name like it’s sacred. Like it’s the only one worth speaking. Because kissing you is the most right thing he’s ever felt.
“I can’t breathe when you do that.” He whispers.
“Hey, you said you wanted to kiss me.” You smile.
“Yeah, I did,” He laughs a little with you. “Still do.”
“So kiss me again.”
He leans into you and kisses your lips again. It’s still slow like he wants to feel you out a little more. You pull away off and on, sharing little breaths between kisses going deeper and deeper.
It’s picking up, his lips are hungry for yours now that he’s had a taste. You sit up a little until you’re sitting on our heels, moving closer to him. Your hands cradle his face and he sighs into the kiss, tilting his head up into it.
“Can I…?” You gesture to sitting on his lap.
“Yeah- yeah, I think I might burn up if you don’t.” He nods and looks up at you breathlessly.
You slip onto his lap and he looks up at you like you might be his salvation. Like he could fall in love just seeing you like this. In this new context that makes his chest tighten and his heart aches.
He swallows, eyes tracing your face like he’s trying to memorize it in case it disappears.
“I’ve never seen someone look so…” he trails off, breath catching. He shakes his head, a quiet, disbelieving laugh slipping out. “So right. Like this.”
His hands settle more firmly at your waist now, thumbs brushing small, grounding arcs like he needs the proof of you there.
“You’re everything,” he finishes, voice low and earnest. No bravado. No flirting. Just truth he doesn’t know how to soften.
You feel it in the way his chest rises under you, in the way his gaze keeps flicking back to your mouth like it’s instinct instead of intention.
“Buck,” you whisper, overwhelmed in the best way.
“I mean it,” he says quickly, afraid you’ll brush it off. “I’ve had…a lot of moments in my life that didn’t make sense. A lot of noise. A lot of things that felt wrong even when they were supposed to be good.”
His forehead presses lightly to yours.
“This?” he murmurs. “This feels quiet. Like I finally know where I am.”
Your hands slide into his hair, fingertips warm against his scalp, and he closes his eyes at the touch like it’s a mercy.
“I don’t know how to do this perfectly,” he admits. “I don’t even know what this turns into. But I know I want it. With you.”
You lean down and kiss him again, slower this time, deeper. When he kisses you back, there’s no hesitation left, just relief. Like he’s been holding his breath all day and only just remembered how to exhale.
His arms wrap around you fully now, secure, protective without being tight. He melts into every second of it. Basking in the feeling of holding you like this, of kissing you.
And he realizes he’s been an idiot. Because how could it ever be anyone else? How could anyone else give him what you do? Love him like you do? Make him feel all the things you do? No one could. Not when you’re his best friend, the one he’s been falling in love with slowly like a hurt that spreads all throughout your body.
He kisses you deeper, hungrier, pressing up against you with his chest. You smile into it and he feels his body go weak because your smile could bring him to his knees, especially when he’s kissing you.
You sigh into it, a light and breathy moan that’s barely there but he feels it. His hands wrap completely around your body before he pulls away and gasps.
“Is this okay? Is it too much?” He asks breathily.
“It’s good, really good.” You hum before pulling him back to you, him falling to press his body up to yours.
He chases your lips and desperately digs his fingers into your waist.
“What do you want from me? I’d give you anything, just tell me.” He whispers against your lips.
“This. Just don’t stop.”
You sink deeper against him, bodies pressed flush together when his tongue gently presses into your mouth. You sigh into it and lean closer into him.
His hands lower to your hips and his breathing picks up from the way you kiss him. Your fingers tangle in his hair and he feels like this might be heaven. Right here with you.
The world narrows to the weight of him, the sound of his breath, the way your name leaves his mouth like a promise.
“Bucky-“ You lightly moan before pressing into him more.
Your moan goes straight to his dick. The sound breaks something in him. He goes still, breath catching sharp in his chest, hands tightening at your hips like he’s barely holding himself together. His eyes meet yours. Dark, overwhelmed, honest in a way that makes your pulse jump. He tenses and looks up at you with wide eyes.
“Get off.”
“What?”
He moves you gently to the side, like you’re something precious, not something he’s pushing away.
“Sorry.” He clears his throat before he grabs a pillow and puts it on his lap.
“Buck-“
“I’m not stopping if you don’t want me to,” he adds quickly, cheeks warm. “I just… I don’t wanna rush this. Not when it’s you.”
You sit there for a moment, knees brushing. The room feels calmer now, warmer.
“You okay?” you ask softly.
“Yeah. Just trying not to scare myself.”
“Too late.” You smile.
He smiles back at you. Looks over every feature. And he realizes again how beautiful you are. How sweet, how perfect, how effortlessly you undo him. How you do ridiculous things like throw a new pack of beer out the window and still have him acting like a lovesick puppy
He looks at you for a long second. Softer now. Steadier. He reaches out without thinking, thumb brushing over your knuckles where your hands rest between you. The touch is simple. Familiar. Something he’s done a hundred times before, just now it feels different.
“I want this…I just want it right. I don’t want it to feel like a mistake for you.” He breathes out.
“It won’t,” you say softly. “It’s you. It could never be a mistake. I want you.”
That makes him freeze for a second. Because fuck, he needs you. Not just like this but in every way. In waking up next to you and seeing your smiles and hearing your laughs before he’s even fully awake. He wants to be the guy you come to for anything and everything.
“I want you. Fuck, I want you, I need you,” He whispers before he sits up more and leans into you. “If we do this, we can’t do it on my couch. You mean more than that. So much more.”
You stand up off the couch and hold your hand out to him.
“Come on,” You smile. “Your bed is comfier than mine anyway.”
He smiles and stands up quickly to scoop you into his arms. You both laugh as he picks you up. It’s hard not to notice how happy he feels with you. How much lighter everything feels with you.
There’s no pressure, no overwhelming fear. Just you all over him. He just looks at you as he carries you up the stairs to his bedroom. He could swear now that you’re the only person who gets him like this. Completely careless and happy. For you. And he could promise now too that it’s always gonna be for you.
Because hearing your laugh fill his hallways? Feeling you smile against his neck? There’s nothing better.
With anyone else, he’d feel some anxiety. Some fear about being too old-fashioned or slow or anything else. But you’re his best friend. His lifeline. The only person who can still light up his entire world with one look.
When he sets you on the bed, he doesn’t join you right away. You sit up on your elbows and smile at him and his heart aches. Because of course, it’s you. He should’ve known sooner. Should’ve paid more attention.
“What?” You hum as you look up at him.
“Nothing,” He shakes his head with the softest smile. “I just…you’re so beautiful. You take my breath away.”
He knows that might be old-fashioned. Maybe the phrase has been overdone. But the way he says it makes it sound brand new. And you feel that. He’s not saying it to you to be cheesy or over the top. He means it. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
“Come here.” You laugh softly and open your arms.
He slips through them to lie on top of you, holding you for a second before kissing your lips again. He melts against your body, tongue slipping through your lips to kiss you deeper. It’s a mess of hands and light moans as his hands creep around your waist.
It starts slow and deep as if he’s worshipping you. His hands praise every inch of you, his lips telling you that he’s falling. And he’s yours. Right now, maybe even always, he’s yours.
“You have me acting like-“ He says between kisses. “Like….I don’t even know, you just made me forget.”
“Like not so serious?” You hum before smiling and pulling him down to kiss you.
And that messes with him. Because feeling you smiling like that because of the way he’s kissing you drives him insane. Because it’s your smile. The one that can make any day better just by seeing it.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” He whispers so quietly, only meant for you.
You slide your hand by his hip and look up at him before he leans down to kiss you again. His hands travel around your body to your thighs and that’s when you feel it. A hardness pressing to the inside of your thigh. He shivers and presses himself up a little.
He swallows and avoids your eyes.
“Sorry.”
“You’ve gotta stop apologizing,” You hum before pulling him back down to you. “I want this. If you do.”
“I do,” He whispers. “God, of course, I do.”
Your hands slide over his back, the spot between his shoulder blades no one has touched in years. He leans into your touch. He craves it. Bucky shivers and leans his head against your chest as he comes down to you.
“We can go slow. Can I..?” You say softly and he nods immediately.
Your hands drag slowly to his lower back before pressing him against you and there it is again. Harder now than before. His dick presses against your thigh so you readjust yourself.
You lift your legs more and push to the side a little so the bulge rests against your core. And before he can even hiss or curse or react, you gently lift your hips to his.
His breath hitches, and he freezes. The world goes still. Because that is the first time someone has touched him in a while. And the first time ever that someone he’s wanted this bad has touched him.
You let out this breathy moan as you begin to grind up against him. He gasps and grips the sheets before dropping to his forearms.
“F- ah-“ He breathes out, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Bucky-“ You whine before pulling his chest to yours.
His hands wrap around your waist before he presses against you, rubbing and grinding to get any kind of friction he can. The noises you make under him when he does is enough to drive him crazy. No one has ever sounded so perfect under him, looked so beautiful, felt so right.
Your fingers thread through his hair and he practically melts into your arms. He doesn’t do this, he doesn’t go around having sex or doing anything like this. He has before but not lately. Not since before he was with Hydra. But you feel good. Too good to resist. He can feel you get wet already, soaking through to his pants.
He runs his hand over your stomach before finding the hem of your shirt. His hands are shaking and his knees are weak for you.
“Please- can I take it off?” He breathes out hoarsely.
You nod and sit up a little so he can pull the fabric up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. Your fingers immediately fumble to his shirt and he helps you practically rip it off of himself before he comes back down to you.
He’s like a furnace, skin hot to the touch. But his dog tags are cold against your skin when they rest on your chest from him leaning down.
His lips are even hotter as they trail down to your jaw. It’s all so new. Feeling him like this, kissing him. Now, you’re feeling his mouth for the first time and it almost sucks. Because you should’ve been kissing him this whole time. Through all these years of friendship. It should’ve been him.
There was so much time wasted here. Just sharing smiles and days out instead of kisses and dates. But then again, it wasn’t really wasted. Especially not for Bucky. Because without you, he’d be a completely different person. You brought the light back to him.
He trails his lips down all the way to your collarbone. Bucky kisses and sucks the skin there while his hands rest on your waist. He makes these noises while he does. Desperate, needy, all for you.
He hovers over you for a second longer than necessary, just breathing you in, memorizing the curve of your jaw, the slope of your shoulder, the way your chest rises under his weight. Every small movement feels amplified. The tilt of your head, the press of your hand against his chest, the little shiver that travels down your spine when his lips ghost over your collarbone.
He leans down again, soft and deliberate, and you tilt into him without thinking, letting the heat of his mouth brush against your skin. There’s no rush, just the friction of bodies pressed together, the quiet shuffle of fabric, the subtle warmth radiating from him, and the way it makes your pulse hammer in your ears.
“Bucky…” you hum, voice catching in a way that makes him pause mid-kiss, forehead resting against yours, your breaths mingling. His hands slide a little lower, tracing along your sides like he’s mapping you, committing every inch of you to memory. The gesture isn’t mechanical, it’s reverent. Careful. Hungry without being frantic anymore because for you, he melts.
You can feel the tension in him, the way he’s holding back and leaning in at the same time, as if trying to reconcile decades of caution with a single, undeniable desire. And it’s intoxicating. You arch into him slightly, encouraging, daring him silently to let go.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he breathes against your neck, and you can hear it in the low tone of his voice, the same mix of awe and disbelief you’ve been seeing all day.
“I think I do,” you whisper back, pressing closer, letting your hand find his jaw and tilt his face toward yours. The contact is small, but it sends a ripple through both of you. He exhales sharply, lips parting against yours, and finally, just for a moment, he stops holding anything back.
There’s heat in the way he moves against you, a deliberate closeness that’s both grounding and electrifying. His chest presses to yours, his weight familiar and safe, and it’s not about the mechanics, it’s about the connection. The intimacy of knowing someone this well and still being shocked by how much they affect you.
You let your hands roam freely over him, not with calculation, but with curiosity and desire. Every touch is a question, and every response from him is an answer, soft and sure. His lips follow yours with the same reverent urgency, and suddenly, the world narrows to nothing but the warmth of his body, the way his fingers curl against your hips, the taste of him, the shared rhythm of breaths and heartbeats.
It’s messy and perfect all at once. Unplanned, uncontrolled, and yet entirely right. Laughter bubbles out between kisses, gasps of pleasure mix with murmurs of reassurance, and you realize that it doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be yours.
And when you finally pull back, just for a moment, foreheads touching, he smiles at you, not cocky, not teasing, but soft, entirely unguarded. You see it in his eyes: a mixture of wonder, relief, and a fierce kind of happiness that you’ve never quite seen before.
The room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing, his hands holding you close, and the undeniable, unspoken understanding that this, whatever it becomes, is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
And for the first time in decades, Bucky lets himself believe that some things are worth risking it all for. Because this doesn’t feel like it’s ruining a friendship. It isn’t ruining anything.
He leans in again, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and the heat of his breath makes your knees go weak. You’re acutely aware of every inch of him against you, his chest, the weight of his arms, the gentle press of his thigh between yours, and it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.
His hands move with a slow certainty, tracing over curves you’ve always known he noticed, memorizing them like a secret only he’s allowed to see. Each touch is teasing, exploratory, but charged with a quiet intensity that makes your skin tingle and pulse under his fingertips.
“God…” he murmurs, voice low, rough with something you don’t quite recognize and it sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t help the soft gasp that escapes you, tilting your head back, giving him more access, more permission without words.
His lips travel over your collarbone, down the slope of your shoulder, and you arch instinctively, pressing into him, letting him feel exactly how much you crave this closeness. The connection between you isn’t just physical, it’s every memory, every unspoken thought, every shared laugh and ache folded into the press of your bodies.
Your hands roam freely over him, not demanding, not guiding, just exploring, feeling, testing the limits of what this moment can hold. His reactions are subtle but telling, a soft groan, a tightened grip at your waist, a shiver that betrays how electrified he feels. And every small sound, every little motion, pulls you further into him.
He pauses for just a heartbeat, forehead pressed to yours, breathing mingling, eyes dark and molten.
“Are you…sure?” he asks, not because he doubts you, but because even in his confidence, he wants you to want this. To want him.
You smile against him, breathless, heart racing, and whisper.
“I’m sure.”
Then he’s on you again, but slower this time, like he’s savoring every reaction, every sigh, every heartbeat. It’s not about rushing, it’s about discovering, exploring, feeling every layer of tension, every tremor of pleasure. His hands move in tandem with yours, mapping, memorizing, connecting.
The world shrinks. The room disappears. It’s just you, him, the rhythm of your bodies, and the way the air hums between every touch, every kiss, every shiver. Every moment stretches out and collapses into another, and time feels meaningless except for the closeness, the heat, the undeniable need building between you.
You can feel him trembling slightly, a low hum of sound vibrating through him as your hands trace patterns that seem to spark electricity along his skin. He mirrors you, returning every touch, matching every movement with a careful, reverent intensity that makes your chest tighten in that familiar, dangerous way, wanting him, needing him, needing him to feel the same.
Finally, he captures your lips again, kissing you slowly and deeply, letting everything else, the world, the doubts, the past, fall away. You cling to him, a mixture of surrender and insistence, pressing together until the only thing that exists is this, the heat, the closeness, the delicious ache of want that’s more than physical, more than fleeting.
You revel in his kisses, the way his tongue presses in your mouth. And then you feel his fingers deftly working at the button of your jeans. Your hips lift just enough for him to be able to unbutton them and gently slip them off your hips. He sits back as he pulls them off of you, tossing them to the floor.
He looks at you. Looking like an angel on his bed. And his heart flutters. For you, only for you. No one has gotten his heart to flutter since 1942. His hands go down to undo his belt. You hear the clinking of the buckle and he doesn’t fully take it off before he’s unbuttoning and pulling his pants down.
At the same time, you sit up and reach behind you to unclasp your bra. You toss it to the side and he’s breathless again. Because you’re so perfect. And he realizes then, how could it have ever been anyone else? When there’s you.
He comes back down to you and you lift your legs enough to wrap around his body to keep him close to you. He melts against you again and takes a shallow breath from the way you feel against him.
He’s tangled up in you now, heart already gone in this mess. But it’s perfect. Large, slightly calloused hands slide down your thighs in pure admiration. They go more and more inward every second.
“Touch me,” You whimper as he does and he could almost moan at the sound.
He nods, whipped for you. And his hands slide up to brush over your underwear by your hips. Then his right hand moves inward and his thumb brushes over your core. He can feel you completely soaking the fabric and he takes a shaky breath. He places more pressure as he rubs a little over your core, thumb pressing in and moving in soft circles. You tilt your head back and sigh, leaning back completely.
“Fuck, y-you’re so wet.” He whispers before leaning down to kiss at your skin.
He takes his hands away and drags them up your stomach over your chest. His thumbs move over your nipples and he watches you. His eyes are focused on every little move you make. Like he wants to learn you like this. Like he wants to watch what makes you feel good.
Your hands slip up to gently palm the bulge in his pants and he freezes, eyes slipping shut.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.” You say softly as your hand gently rubs over his boxers.
“I’d rather jump off a building.”
You smile at him a little before looking up with your head tilted back. Bucky looks at you like you might be an angel. His angel.
“I really want this. Can we just…get to it?” You ask and he nods.
“Anything. Anything for you.” He whispers before his hands find your hips again.
His fingers hook into the sides of your panties and you lift your legs a little so he can begin to slide them down. He drags them carefully down your thighs and your calves before sliding down your ankles and setting them to the side. When his hands gently spread your knees back apart for him to sit between, he feels his knees weaken.
“I’ll take care of you. I promise. Just…tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you. If you want me to do anything a certain way- I- I will.” He nods be
You nod and let him come closer before you reach to slowly drag his boxers down his hips. You get them down just enough for his dick to come out, already rock solid for you. He helps get them off completely before settling himself between your legs.
“Is this how you want it?” He asks.
“Mhm. Just like this. Unless you don’t.”
“I do. Of course, I do. I’d take anything.” He swears before leaning down to kiss your lips. Soft. Gentle.
You smile as he does and he feels it again. The feeling in his heart that tells him this isn’t just gonna be sex. Not with you.
You pull away breathlessly and look him over. You’re both naked now. Seeing each other naked for the first time doesn’t feel weird or wrong. It feels right. Like this is what it was always meant to lead up to.
He’s strong. Toned. His muscles relax under your gaze, certain ones flexing not on purpose but because he’s getting ready for this. As your eyes fall down, he gently rubs his hands up and down your thighs. His dick is one of the best ones you’ve seen yet. He’s long in a perfect way that isn’t body splitting but looks filling in the best way. He’s thick, the head is this pretty pink color and he looks good. Good enough to make your legs go weak.
You look back up into his eyes while softly slipping his dick into your hand. He comes closer and it rests just above your stomach where your wrist lies to hold him up. He shuts his eyes and gasps lightly as you pump your hand up and down his tip. You collect the little bit of precum bubbling around his tip, gliding it over and dragging your hand down again.
“Please,” He whispers into the air. “I…I don’t do this often. I don’t show people this side of me. But you…it’s you.”
Your heart flutters as he says that and you look at him. Your other hand reaches up to brush over his cheekbones and he melts into your touch. He’s completely touch-starved in general but being touched by you only makes him more needy.
“I don’t either,” You whisper. “But I want you. I trust you.”
His eyes waver over you. He wants you. This whole experience has already been slowly resigning his heart over to you and it’s only getting worse.
You drop your hand and lean back to start hiking your legs around his hips. He gets ready too, making sure he’s settled before he takes his dick in his hand and gently slaps it against your core once. Then twice. You sigh and lean back up on your elbows.
He looks into your eyes one more time and you nod softly before he presses his tip slowly in. His grip on your thighs tightens as the breath is knocked out of him. You’re so wet, he could almost slip in you completely. He presses a hand to your stomach to almost stabilize himself for a second before he presses in deeper. He goes slower and deeper until he’s all the way in you.
You gasp and let out pretty little whines that go straight to his dick as you tilt your head back. And he’s never seen someone look so perfect. He lets out a breath and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s almost overwhelmed.
You’re so wet. So wet it’s driving him insane. And you’re squeezing him. Every muscle lightly contracting, squeezing his dick as if you want something from him and you do. And you’re tight. It feels as if he were any thicker, he wouldn’t fit without stretching you. And even no, he does a little but in the most perfect way.
You’re full of Bucky. And it feels good to be so full. And he gives you this slight stretch that isn’t painful but feels perfect.
“Fuck,” He groans before he shakily breathes out. “You feel…good. So good, so perfect. I need you.”
“Bucky,” You whine as you hold onto his forearms. “Come closer. I want to feel you closer.”
He immediately obeys, hiking your legs higher around his hips before lying down closer to you with his chest pressed to yours. He painfully slowly drags his dick out of you halfway before pressing back in. You moan, a breathy sound that’s half whine and half moan. It kills him. Because you squeeze even more at the same time. He practically hisses and moans at once.
“If you keep squeezing me like that, this isn’t gonna last long.” He gasp.
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to.” You push your hands through his hair as you cradle his head and face and he could melt for you all over again.
“Don’t apologize. Fuck, don’t apologize when you feel this good.” He grunts before he pulls back out and slams into you quicker than before.
“Ah-“ You gasp, slightly lifting off the mattress.
Your squeezing doesn’t let up. He begins fucking you for real now. He puts his hands on the other side of you on the mattress with his chest against yours and his hips desperately fucking into you. But you squeeze him like you’re trying to directly pull the cum from him and he has to try and hold back.
Your hands run over every part of him. You touch his back, his head, his shoulders. Your moans and whines fill the air as he goes faster. But when he brings his hand down, your bones relax completely. His thumb finds your club again and he presses with just enough pressure to rub circles that make you gasp again.
“Oh god, right there.” You whine and turn your head to the side to breathe out in straight pleasure.
He fucks you deeper than ever, balls pressing against you every time. And by now, everything is wet from both of you. Every time he pulls out of you he can see and hear how wet you are and how you’ve soaked his dick even more because he was already leaking pre-cum the second you kissed him.
By now, the bed is shaking. His headboard shakes against the wall but neither of you can focus on that. Not when he’s fucking you perfectly and rubbing your clit with his warm big hands.
“Fuck, you’re so…I’m gonna cum- I’m getting so close.” You press a hand to his chest and he nods.
“I’ve got you. Come on, give it to me.” He whispers before he brings his lips down to kiss along your lips to your jaw.
Your eyes squeeze shut and you become a little more aware of the bed squeaking and if anything, it turns you on more. Because honestly? No one’s ever fucked you like Bucky. On one hand, he’s sweet. And gentle. He kisses you and holds you close. But on the other hand, he’s fucking you hard and deep. Not only can he find your clit but he’s touching it and pressing it and making your toes curl with every circle.
The feeling tightens in your stomach and you gasp, especially when he begins to whisper your name over and over again like a prayer. Like it’s tattooed on his tongue. You start to finish, whining and moaning against the mattress and that does it for him. He quickly pulls out of you right before cum starts to spill out of him and onto your stomach as he pumps his dick in his hands a few more times.
And you look up, tired but oh so satisfied to see him. He’s handsome. And he has these soft noises he’s making now as he comes down. And he rests his dick on your stomach to put his hands on the mattress to steady himself. When his eyes flutter open, you see that blue again. That perfect warm blue that you’ve been falling for.
“Was that okay? Are you okay?” He breathes out before he comes back down to you to kiss your lips softly and sweetly.
And he’d drop to his knees for you right now. Because seeing you like this could make him promise himself to you. Your hair is spread across his pillow, you’re flushed, your cheeks are pink, your lips are so obviously kissed and swollen. And he’s never wanted anyone more. Never seen anything like you.
You kiss him back and his body relaxes against you. Like coming home. How could he ever give this side of himself to anyone after you? After his best friend. The one person who keeps him afloat.
“It was perfect, Buck.” You smile and push the hair out of his face.
“I’m sorry about…the mess. I’ll clean it off, I promise.” He nods and goes to stand up to get a towel or something to clean you up but you hold onto him.
“Wait,” You say quietly and he looks to you. “Just stay with me for a minute. Please.”
His heart flutters for you again and he does. He presses himself back against you to kiss you again, his hand on your waist.
He exhales against your skin, something shaky and undone, like the sound has been trapped in his chest all day and only now knows how to get out. His mouth stills for a moment, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm and uneven.
You can feel him thinking.
That familiar hesitation. The instinct to stop, to pull back, to apologize for wanting too much.
Your hand slides up his arm, slow and grounding, until your fingers curl around his shoulder. You squeeze once, firm and unmistakable.
“Hey,” you hum. “Stay with me.”
That does it.
Something in him finally gives, not in a rush, not in desperation, but in relief. Like setting something heavy down after carrying it for years. His shoulders loosen. His breath steadies. When he moves again, he’s not careful anymore. It’s intentional. Choosing.
He kisses you again, deeper this time, slower somehow, like he’s stopped trying to decide what comes next and is just letting himself be here. His hand finds your back, warm and solid, holding you like he’s afraid the moment might slip away if he doesn’t.
“This feels-” he starts, then stops, searching for the word.
“Safe?” you offer softly.
His laugh is quiet, almost disbelieving.
“Yeah,” he admits. “That. And…more.”
He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed, thumb brushing back and forth at your side in a small, unconscious motion that feels impossibly intimate.
“I don’t feel like I’m bracing for anything,” he says. “I don’t feel like I have to get this right.”
“You don’t.” You smile against his mouth.
And when he kisses you again, it’s not about hunger or urgency, it’s about trust. About the way your body fits against his like it always has, only now neither of you is pretending not to notice.
“I want you. It’s you. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before and I’m sorry if this isn’t what you want but…fuck, you have me,” He breathes out as he sits up on his elbows to see you better. “If you want me, I’m yours. I’ll be yours, I’ll be anything you want me to be for you.” He confesses.
You reach up and cup his face before he can spiral any further, thumbs warm against his cheeks, grounding him again the way you always do.
“Hey,” you whisper, firm but gentle. “No. Not anything.”
His brows knit together, confused, vulnerable, still hovering on the edge of offering you everything just to make you stay. To be the girl he gets to kiss and hold.
“I don’t want you to disappear for me,” you say quietly. “I want you. Exactly like this.”
Something in his chest tightens at that. Not fear this time, but recognition. Like being seen in a way he hasn’t let himself be seen in a long time.
“I want the man who overthinks and checks in too much,” you continue, smiling softly. “The one who shows up. The one who stays. The one who lets himself feel things even when it scares him.”
His breath catches. His eyes shine, just barely, and he swallows hard.
“I can do that,” he says, voice rough. “I want to. And I…I only do that for you. It’ll always be for you.”
You pull him back down to you then, foreheads touching, noses brushing, the space between you charged and tender all at once.
“I want you too, Buck,” you say. No drama. No hesitation. Just truth.
The relief that washes over him is almost visible. He exhales, long and shaky, and collapses into you a little, his weight warm and real and welcome.
He tucks his face into your neck, arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid the world might intrude if he lets go. His thumb traces slow, absent-minded patterns against your skin, like he’s memorizing the feeling of after.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
There’s no rush to move. No need to prove anything. Just the quiet certainty settling between you, heavy, steady, and new.
And for the first time in a long time, Bucky doesn’t feel like he’s holding his breath.
“So, tomorrow I was thinking we do the same thing,” You start and he picks his head up off of your chest and looks at you in confusion. “I’ll wake you up, I already have my alarm set. But you don’t have to do therapy again until next week.”
“What?”
“We have to do all of it again.”
“Again? Are you-“
“Just in case the government people didn’t notice.” You smile and he groans, tucking his head back against you.
summary: with your boyfriend being born in the last century, some…issues arise. Or fail to.
warnings: erectile dysfunction, kissing, oral (f recieving), A LOT of emotions, emotional intimacy, ALMOST oral (m receiving), masturbation
word count: 5.5k
note: absolutely no one asked for this but i had the idea and couldn’t help myself sorry
You knew when you started dating Bucky Barnes that not everything would be easy. But for the first two years, it was great. Perfect.
You knew that him being born in 1917 and being frozen on and off from the 1940s had some effects on him like his poor circulation. But you never thought it’d lead to this, especially to your boyfriend who’s biologically in his thirties despite being over a hundred.
You lie on your stomach between his legs, one of the more sinful sights he’s ever seen. He watches every second of it as your hand strokes up his dick before you lean forward to kiss his tip gently. Your hand pumps up him again and he sighs, trying to lean back against the headboard to get comfortable.
Only…he can’t seem to get it up. He watches you, eyes wavering. It’s possibly the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. You. Touching him like that. And in his mind, he’s so turned on.
He imagines pulling you back up to him, kissing you, fucking you senseless the way he always has before. But when he looks down, he’s soft. Not even half hard.
“Doll, it’s okay,” He sighs. “Just forget it, it’s not working.”
“Wait but maybe if I-“ You say before lightly twisting and dragging your hand up and he takes a shaky breath but still, nothing. “Hm.”
“I’m sorry.” He sighs and readjusts how he sits against the headboard.
“Don’t be sorry. Not about this.” You shake your head before gently pulling his boxers back and fixing them.
He feels his heart ache as he looks at you, how gentle you are as you fix how his underwear sits on his hips. You come back to sit next to him. He’s never seen someone look so beautiful. Never had someone mean so much to him.
He looks away, jaw clenched. Everything is hitting so hard all of a sudden. He wants you. So badly, with everything in him. But now his body isn’t cooperating. And now he’s trying to stay calm but he’s on the verge of panicking.
You are the love of his life. He knows that now even after only two years being with you because he spent more years than that as your best friend. And he can’t lose you. But what if it keeps happening?
Before all of this, your sex life was healthy. Slightly above average. You weren’t going at it like rabbits the way you were when you first started dating but almost every day or every other day, his hands were on you. He’d be fucking you into his mattress, telling you how perfect you were, kissing every inch of your skin.
And now what? You loved that. You love having sex with Bucky. He’s your boyfriend for fucks sake, he’s the one you get sex from. But what if you get tired of being patient? What if his body not cooperating is finally catching up to him? What if this is one more thing Hydra took from him?
“I really am sorry though. This never used to happen.” He breathes out as he turns to you.
“We don’t have to do anything,” You gently wrap your hands around his arm and kiss his cheek. “I just want you.”
And that could break him. Because he’s never loved anyone more. He’s never craved someone’s heart so bad, the way he craves yours.
“I want you,” He says quietly. “I’m gonna want you forever. Even if something bad happens and it’s not you and me anymore.”
You gently rub his bicep with your thumb, tracing the muscle.
“I’m so in love with you,” He whispers before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
He says it like a vow. Like a promise he’s already afraid he can’t keep.
You lean in to kiss him again, soft and slow, but he barely meets you this time. When you pull back, you feel it immediately, the way his body has gone a little stiff beneath your hands.
“It’s not you. I swear. I promise, it’s not you. You’re…a fucking angel.” He says shakily as he looks at you.
He shifts away from you under the guise of adjusting the blankets, creating a small, careful space between your bodies that wasn’t there a minute ago.
You notice. Of course you do.
Bucky stares down at his hands, flexing his metal fingers once, then stilling them. His jaw tightens like he’s bracing for impact.
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing the edge of the bed with his thumb like he’s tracing a fault line.
“I just don’t want you waiting around on me,” he says quietly. “Or feeling like you’re missing something because of me.”
“I’m not.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“What am I missing?”
“Sex! With your boyfriend! Your boyfriend, who’s supposed to be the guy you get sex from. And what else comes with sex? If you want kids? That’s not happening if I can never get hard again.” He faces you.
“Sex isn’t everything to me! If we could never have sex again, I’d still be here wanting you. And I know you’re frustrated but you’re jumping so far ahead to things. Kids come later, we don’t have to worry about that now. I’ll stand with you, I’d take whatever comes. You’re worth every second.” You tell him, taking his hands but his fall limp in yours.
“You’re the best thing I’ve ever had. Ever held, ever kissed, ever loved. I melt for you. I know you say all of that and it’s fine now but one day it isn’t gonna be fine. And now Hydra took one more thing from me, the one thing I still had. Because fuck, it was never just sex with you. It was me loving you and giving that part of me to you. And yeah, maybe it’s not everything but it’s so much. Being close to you like that? There’s nothing that adds up. To seeing you like that, all over me. Because I love you, I think you’re the love of my life.” He breathes out.
You go quiet then as you look at him.
Not because you don’t have anything to say but because you can tell he’s already started retreating, building the walls while you’re still standing right in front of him. Your hands slip from his.
That alone seems to undo him more than anything else.
Bucky swallows hard, eyes flicking up to your face like he’s bracing for the moment you finally see him differently. When you don’t speak, he fills the silence himself.
“I just-” His voice cracks. He clears his throat. “I don’t wanna keep putting you in this position. Where you’re reassuring me every time my body fucks up.”
“It’s not a position,” you say softly. “It’s just…us.”
He shakes his head.
“That’s the thing,” he murmurs. “I don’t think it can just be ‘us’ anymore. Not like this.”
You sit a little straighter.
“What does that mean?”
He exhales through his nose, eyes dropping to the bed between you. The space he created earlier feels wider now. Intentional.
“I think maybe we need to…take a step back,” he says. “Not break up. God, no.” He looks up at you quickly, panic flashing. “I just mean- physically. For a while.”
Your chest tightens.
“Because you think I’ll resent you.”
“Because I know you will,” he corrects quietly. “And I’ll resent myself. If I keep trying and failing. If I keep seeing that look in your eyes when you pretend it’s fine.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“I know,” he says. “That’s what makes it worse.”
He scoots back against the headboard, arms folding loosely around himself like he’s trying to hold himself together.
“I need to get my head right,” he continues. “Figure this out without dragging you through it. Without you having to keep proving how patient you are.”
You move closer without thinking, reaching for him again. He flinches, not away from you, but away from the hope your touch brings. And that hurts more than if he had outright pulled back.
He looks at you then, really looks at you, eyes glassy and earnest and breaking. And full of so much love for you that it makes your chest ache.
“If I lose you,” he says, “I don’t think I come back from that. So I need to make sure I don’t.”
The logic is twisted. Protective. Terrifying. And suddenly you understand: He’s pulling away not because he loves you less but because he loves you too much to risk letting you see him fail again.
The bed feels colder between you, even though neither of you has moved very far at all.
The next few weeks go by so slowly. He doesn’t come over to your apartment as much. And when he does, he’s distant. But his eyes are full of so much when he looks at you.
His heart still flutters and his chest tightens. He looks at you with so much longing. He wants you, your cute laughs, and your pretty smiles. He needs them. And he’s lessening them the more he does this. But he can’t help it.
When you first started dating, he gave you this long confession that spilled out of him. He promised to love you, to be good for you, to take care of you, and to cherish you. And now what?
He still can’t get it up. He spends nights alone in his apartment thinking about you. It’s the same every night.
He lies in the dark by himself. He thinks about you. The way your lips feel on his neck, the way your legs wrap around him and hold him close, how perfect you feel once he’s in you, the way you squeeze around him. He slips his hands into his sweatpants, fingers grasping onto his dick. It’s soft.
And no matter how he touches himself, no matter the filthy thoughts of you, of all the nights you two had. Nights where he thought the bed was gonna break from how into it you both were, from the way he was fucking you with everything he had. Nights where he fucked you slow and deep, nights where he had your toes curling with every push.
Tonight, he steps into your apartment with a little bouquet he picked up. He shuts and locks the door before looking around for you. He would almost think you aren’t home if it weren’t for the little humming and singing he can barely pick up on from the kitchen.
He slowly steps forward and sees you dumping something into the trash. But when you see him, your face lights up. And you look so completely beautiful. To him, you’re the prettiest he’s ever seen. The only one who makes his heart flutter just from smiling.
“Hi, Buck.” You smile.
“Hi, angel.” He hums and walks over, handing you the bouquet and kissing your cheek.
“What’s this for?” You ask as you look over the flowers.
“Just…for you. For being you. For being so careful with my heart.” He says quietly as he tries to smile at you despite the tightness in his chest. He still feels like he’s failing you in a way.
“I love you,” You smile more softly and look at him. “But I do have some bad news.”
“Hm?”
“I was supposed to cook dinner but dinner turned into this stupid side salad because I’m an idiot and the meat went bad and I have nothing else but random stuff in cans that don’t even go together.” .
You sigh, clearly more annoyed with yourself than anything else, tossing the trash lid shut.
That gets a breath of a smile out of him. Not quite a laugh but close.
“I don’t care,” he says quickly. “I’m just…happy to be here.”
You glance at him then, something unreadable flickering behind your eyes. Not anger. Not disappointment.
Just awareness.
“Well,” you say gently, gesturing toward the counter, “you’re welcome to stay. Even if it’s not exactly romantic.”
He swallows.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’d like that.”
You move around the kitchen, pulling out plates, opening cabinets. He leans against the counter and watches you like he always has, like committing the sight of you to memory. The curve of your back. The familiar rhythm of you existing in the same space as him.
It used to feel like home.
Now it feels like visiting.
He helps where he can, opening cans, handing you utensils, careful not to crowd you. Careful not to touch unless you do first. The restraint is deliberate. Painful.
When you sit at the small table together, the silence stretches but it isn’t hostile. It’s just…full.
“So,” you say eventually, poking at your plate. “How’ve you been?”
He hesitates.
“Okay,” he lies.
You don’t call him on it. That might be worse.
“Yeah?” you hum. “That’s good.”
He nods, eyes dropping to his food.
“I’ve missed you,” he admits quietly, like it’s a confession he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to make.
“I’ve missed you too,” you say. Then, softer: “You don’t have to disappear to protect me, Buck.”
His chest tightens.
“I’m not disappearing,” he insists. “I’m right here.”
You look at him then. Really look at him.
“Not all of you.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. His shoulders sag just a little, the fight draining out of him.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” he says. “And I don’t wanna hurt you while I figure it out.”
You reach across the table, not fast, not desperate, and rest your hand over his.
“I didn’t ask you to fix anything,” you say. “I just asked you not to shut me out.”
His fingers curl around yours automatically. Muscle memory. Love. The soft hands he’s adored for years. The ones that feel like home.
And for a second, just one, you feel him almost lean back into you.
Almost.
“I’m sorry. I want to be good for you. I want you to be happy with me. I’m so…fuck, I’m so scared, doll. I don’t want to mess this up.” He says honestly.
“You won’t. Bucky, I…I’m yours. You’ve been distant for a little bit already and I’m just an idiot, making extra food in case you stop by, texting you about random stuff just so I can talk to you, missing you. I don’t know what you think this is but I’m…serious about us.” You admit.
His eyes waver as he looks you over. He sees the earnest look in your eyes. The way you love him can always bring him to his knees.
“You deserve so much. You deserve my best. And I can’t give you my best right now. For some reason, I can’t be the man you had before,” He tells you. “I want to give it to you though. I want you to have me, all of me. You do have me.”
“Don’t pull away again,” You reach out to hold his arm again. “I’ll stay with you, we can figure it out together. You should go to the doctor either way though, Buck. If this is a circulation problem-“
“I know, I know,” He nods with a quiet voice. “I will. I don’t want it to move from my dick to my heart or something.”
He slips his fingers with yours. Soft and sure. Like he doesn’t want to hesitate when it comes to touching you. He wants you to feel that you’re the one he wants.
“Hey, beautiful?” He hums.
“Hm?”
“How about I take you on a date soon? A real fancy date with candles and music. Just me and you.” He clears his throat despite the smile growing on your face.
“Yeah- yeah, okay. That sounds perfect.” You smile that perfect way you do. The way that makes his cheeks go pink.
“Come here,” He smiles and stands up before putting his phone on your little speaker.
He puts on a song and holds his arms open for you. Because no matter how much he hurts or feels bad, he knows you probably feel the same about this situation. So he wants to make you feel special. Like the most perfect thing in the room. Because to him, you are.
“Dance with me.” He smiles.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Dance with me.”
You stand up and walk over to him. He pulls you into his arms like instinct and he melts into you. The leather of his jacket lightly clings to your skin as he takes your hand and holds you against his chest. You smile so widely as he begins to sway with you. It’s slow and warm, intimate. Just you and your boyfriend.
It’s a song he’d listen to in the forties. Some old jazz type song he’d imagine he’d one day think of his wife to. And now, he thinks about you. It’s soft, sweet. He even pictured one day singing it to his girl if he was lovestruck enough to become so cheesy. And you do make him like that. Make him feel like giving you that disgustingly cheesy and lovey-dovey side of himself.
“I was never pushing you away because of a lack of love. You know that, right? Because I- I love you. More than anything.” He says quietly.
“I know. I know you.” You smile and pinch his cheek.
He pulls you closer to him and leans his forehead down to yours. Deep down he feels like you deserve so much more. But at the same time, he’s so thankful you’re choosing him.
His hands rest around your waist, strong and sure. And then he gently begins to walk you away.
“I know we can’t have sex because of my…issue. But do you think you can give me something, babydoll?” He whispers before gently lifting you off the ground.
“What?”
“Do you think you’d be okay with me making you cum another way?” He whispers before tilting his chin up to gently kiss your lips. So soft and warm. His lips always melt with yours like a perfect fit. He loves it.
“You…you don’t have to.” You shake your head.
He pauses anyway.
Not because he’s pulling back but because he wants to be sure he’s standing on solid ground.
“I know,” he says softly. “I promise, I know.”
His thumb brushes slow, absent-minded circles at your waist, grounding both of you. His forehead rests against yours, breath warm, steady.
“I just want you to know something,” he continues, voice low and earnest. “This isn’t me trying to prove anything. Or make up for something I think I’m failing at.”
You look up at him.
“This is me being your boyfriend,” he says. “And loving you.”
His eyes shine, vulnerable but certain.
“I know the physical stuff isn’t everything. I know that. And I know my body isn’t…cooperating the way it used to.” He exhales through a small, crooked smile. “But making you feel good? Taking care of you? That still feels like me. That still feels right.”
Your chest tightens.
“I don’t need it to go anywhere,” he adds quickly. “I don’t need anything in return. I just…” His voice softens. “I love you. And I want you to feel wanted. Desired. Cherished. Because you are. Always. You’re always gonna be wanted by me. Even if my body doesn’t show it. I want my body to show it. I’m scared you’re never gonna believe me when I tell you that you turn me on and I find you so unbelievably sexy because my dick won’t show it. But I feel it. Only for you. And I need you to believe me because I…I’ve never been this in love before. And you deserve to feel all of that.”
Your hands slide up his arms, anchoring him there.
“Bucky…”
“I’m serious,” he murmurs. “Being with you isn’t about what I can’t do. It’s about what I can do. And I can love you. I can show up for you. I can make sure you’re taken care of.”
There’s no pressure in his touch. No urgency. Just intention.
“If you want,” he says gently. “Only if you want.”
You nod, heart full, and he smiles, not triumphant, not relieved, just deeply, achingly in love with you
He kisses you again, slow and unhurried, like he’s got all the time in the world. Like this moment matters just as much as any other ever has. His hands are steady, reverent, devoted, every movement saying this is where I choose to be.
And when he guides you closer, when the world narrows down to warmth and closeness and quiet breaths shared between you, it doesn’t feel like something missing. It feels like something kept. Like love, choosing itself again.
He gently carries you over to your bedroom, laying you down on your bed. He climbs on top of you and looks you over. Hair spread across the pillow, your cheek flushed, a soft smile on your face. And his heart beats even faster.
“How could I ever want anyone else? I couldn’t. I only want you. Only ever you.” He whispers before he leans down and kisses your lips, pushing his hands through your hair.
His lips trail down your jaw in neck in quick kisses and touches around your waist and back before sliding to your thighs. And he missed this. You. The way you feel. He missed kissing you. The perfect way you kiss him and make his knees buckle under him.
Your skin is soft under his hands. Everything you are has him enchanted and needy for you. Even just being back in your apartment does it to him. He’s had you in every inch of this apartment, spent half his lifetime here between your legs. Not because it’s all about sex or because you get him off the best. It’s because feeling close to you is better than any drug.
Kissing your lips and your skin is better than getting naked for any other person. And the fact that you’re so understanding and patient with him makes him want to promise himself to you. To promise to be yours for the rest of his life.
His lips trail down before he reaches the hem of your shirt with his fingertips.
“Do you want this off?” He breathes out and you nod, sitting up to pull it off.
“It’s too hot to keep it on.”
“Do you want my fingers or my mouth?” Bucky asks you between kisses down your chest and nibbles on your collarbone.
“Your mouth.” You lightly whine as he kisses further down your chest, turning his head to the side.
He kisses over the swell of your breast, licking over to your nipple. His hands slide along your waist like you’re something precious. And part of him is annoyed right now because he still isn’t hard. He isn’t hard even though you’re so perfect and soft under him and driving him crazy.
His hands slide over your chest as he kisses down your stomach. He leaves little marks on your skin. His mouth feels like heaven on you the more he kisses and sucks your skin. You try not to feel bad when you notice he’s not hard.
It’s not his fault, you know that. Logically, you understand that right now his not being hard doesn’t mean he’s not attracted to you. But it’s hard to feel that way when usually he’s solid against you pressing your thigh and grinding against you and now, he’s soft and just kissing you for you.
You tilt your head up to the ceiling and rest your arm over your forehead and you breathe. Your eyes slip shut as you try to get back into it after the bad thoughts. His fingers work deftly at unbuttoning your shorts and pulling them down your hips. Once they’re tossed away, he’s picking up your legs and resting himself between them.
He turns his head to the side and kisses the inside of your thigh, nibbling along the soft skin, and sucking to leave little bruises.
“Bucky-“ You sit up on your elbows to look down at him.
“Yeah?”
“Just wait a minute.” You sigh and lie back down. And between your legs, he stills and suddenly his chest tightens with guilt.
The words are soft. Careful. But they still land like a blow.
Bucky stills immediately, hands freezing where they are. Like he’s afraid even breathing wrong might break something. His chest tightens, guilt blooming fast and sharp, because he knows that tone. He’s heard it before, not from you, but from himself, in his own head.
He lifts his gaze slowly, searching your face for reassurance and somehow bracing for disappointment at the same time.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “Did I- did I do something wrong?”
You shake your head quickly, already hating the way his voice dips, how careful he suddenly sounds. He shifts back just a little, giving you space even though you didn’t ask for it, like it’s instinct now. Like retreat is his default.
“No,” you say. “It’s not that.”
He swallows, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back to you.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “We can stop. We don’t have to do anything. I’m good, I swear.” Too fast. Too practiced.
He starts to move off you, already assuming the worst, already preparing to put himself away.
“Buck,” you say, reaching for his arm.
He pauses, tension radiating through him.
“I just-” You exhale. “My head got loud for a second.”
That makes his jaw clench.
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I should’ve checked in more. I should’ve-” He cuts himself off, frustration flickering. “I just wanted to take care of you.”
His heart aches. He really did want to take care of you and not just with an orgasm. He wanted to make you feel desired and needed by him. He wanted you to feel like the only one for him because you are. Despite all of the places he feels like he failed you or has messed things up, you deserve to feel like the prettiest, the most perfect, the only one he’s in love with.
“I know,” you say softly. “I know you did. And I still want you to, I just really did need a minute. I do want this, I want anything you’ll give me.”
He looks at you more softly, like he’s watching you make a mistake. But he can’t stop you, he can’t bring himself to try and change your mind.
“Do you want me to keep going?” He asks gently, thumb rubbing circles on your thighs.
You nod and lean back against the mattress, looking up at the ceiling.
“If you change your mind again, tell me. I’ll stop if you need me to. And I’ll reassure you even more if I need to that none of this is because of you. It’s not your fault.” He himself before he gently goes back down your body to kiss your thighs.
He nibbles closer and closer in a way that makes your breath hitch. And he relaxes a little then because he can feel your thoughts leaving. He can feel you getting more into it.
He holds onto your hips to pull you closer. Fingertips ghost over your panties with his thumb pressing a little harder as he rubs your center. You gasp and melt back against the mattress. Bucky has always been pretty good at touching you like this. But even more so now that he wants you to try and fulfill you the way he usually does with his body.
He’s trying to be extra good for you right now. It’s already been two weeks since you’ve had sex. Way longer than usual. And he knows you might be a little wound up. That upsets him because he’s the guy who should be taking care of you. Of your needs. Making you cum when you need it, reminding you that you’re his entire world and he feels responsible for taking care of you in this way.
It’s sweet at first. The way he gently kisses your core over your underwear. The fabric is soaked through because of him, it makes him feel calmer. More natural and confident because if he can do that to you, he can hopefully give you an orgasm that matches up to the usual way. Even if he does go down on you a lot anyway, this time is more special.
He gently pulls your panties to the side with the metal fingers. He leans in and brushes his thumb over your clit again, rubbing in on it immediately after. He watches you underneath him. Toes curling, head tilting back. It’s beautiful.
“Buck-“ You whine.
“It’s you. It’s only ever gonna be you for me. You drive me crazy.” He breathes out before he hikes your legs further around his shoulders.
Heat pools into your stomach as he gently kisses your core. He pulls away and rubs at your clit with his thumb before leaning back down to kiss the skin with a little tongue.
His tongue then slips through your folds, licking a stripe up. His mouth is hot and has you melting. Your thighs have marks from where his fingers are holding you. He can’t get enough of you. He’s leaned completely forward, devouring you with a hunger that doesn’t come out often.
His tongue slides over every spot that makes you gasp and tangle your fingers in his hair. His lips are swollen pink right now, wet from you and his saliva. Every move he makes manages to be so tender while also turning you on even more. Bucky would do anything for you. Anything. And when he sees you like this, he realizes even more that he’s gonna do whatever it takes to keep you satisfied and happy and in love with him.
“You taste so good, always taste so fucking perfect.” He groans before going straight back to your clit.
His mouth begins to suck on the most sensitive spot and you gasp, hips pressed up against his tongue. His tongue comes now in quick flicks that have you sitting up on your elbows and whimpering. It’s worship, what he’s doing. It’s always been worship when it comes to you. You bring him to his knees.
“Oh- God, Bucky.” You whine and pull his hair between your fingers.
You can’t help but gently lift your hips again and again, pressing against his mouth. You lightly grind against his tongue before he slips it inside of you. His piercing blue eyes stare up at you as he groans against you, sending vibrations shooting through your core.
You whine and pull his hair even more before he kisses your clit again. Bucky dives straight back in to suck on your clit. You feel the heat pooling in your stomach, tightening, and threatening to break loose.
He gasps for a moment before pressing his mouth back to your core in another kiss while his tongue glides all over. And that does it.
You gasp and tilt your head back, moaning his name as the band in your stomach snaps and your orgasm hits you. The first one since the last time you had sex with your boyfriend.
His tongue works to ride you through it before you lie back down and breathe. He kisses all over your skin on his way back up to you. He’s slightly to the side of you as he lies there and looks at you, pushing your hair back.
“You’re perfect,” He whispers so reverently. “We’re gonna figure this out. I promise. But until then, you tell me when you need this from me. When you need anything from me and I’ll give it to you.”
You watch him say it. I’ll give it to you. Like love is a one-way transaction.
You swallow.
“But what about you?” you ask quietly.
He stills.
“What about me?” he says, almost distracted, like the answer is obvious.
You push yourself up on one elbow, searching his face.
“You keep saying you’ll take care of me. That you’ll give me whatever I need.” Your voice wobbles just a little. “But I can’t give you anything back.”
His mouth opens. Closes.
“That’s not-” He exhales. “That’s different.”
“There’s really nothing else I can do for you?” You ask softly. “Because yeah, you can still touch me and make me feel good. But what about you?”
“You’re…I’m so in love with you. I’d take anything you’re willing to give me. And I know it’s been this issue that I can’t get…hard right now. But I’m gonna fix it. For both of us. I’ll go to the doctor or start doing something differently. I don’t want you to worry about it. I’ll figure it out. But before that happens, I will happily go down on you whenever you want. ” He tries to lighten the mood at the end.
He smiles at that. Soft. Not a huge grin but enough to try and comfort you.
And it’s enough. Because he didn’t lose you. He won’t lose you.
summary: takes place after the end of thunderbolts, bucky comes home to you frustrated and sad and so soft.
warnings : none! just fluff and slight angst ig
word count: 3k
You saw the mess on the news, on every station. Pictures of your boyfriend with a new team titled the New Avengers. The backlash/confusion erupted because it was publicly known that you had been working with Sam. It all got so loud, so you turned off the TV. You were scrolling on TikTok for less than a minute before videos were rolling in about how doomed the world is if these are the heroes.
Seeing video after video either calling your boyfriend an idiot, un-shielding political regimes, and power scaling gets tiring. Especially when Sam calls you to bitch for two hours. It’s exhausting. Emotionally and mentally. So you stare at a random book you got from Bucky’s table as you wait for him. Well…sort of.
You weren’t intentionally *waiting* for him per se; you were more lounging around his apartment in his clothes, hoping he'd come back soon. You napped on his couch, enjoying the way the air smells like him.
So now, you lie on his couch with a blanket and stare at the page of this book when the door opens. You hear keys drop on the counter and a loud sigh, the way dogs do sometimes as if they aren’t little pampered freeloaders.
You sit up a little and turn to see Bucky rubbing his forehead and taking a deep breath.
“Hi, baby.” You speak up wearily.
“You saw, didn’t you?”
Silence.
“Yeah, it’s kinda everywhere.”
You watch as he kicks off his shoes and groans, setting his stuff down and walking over to where you are.
“Fucking- why does this shit always happen to me? What is my luck?” He complains.
“Woah, are you okay?” You ask as you look him over.
He has some dirt covering his limbs. Maybe a little blood but you can’t tell. He’s still slightly breathless but mostly pissed off. Pissed off doesn’t even begin to describe it.
“Can I-“ He goes silent before gesturing to where you are. Like he wants to lie with you on the couch. “I can take my shirt off so you don’t get dirty.”
Before you can even respond, he’s pulling his shirt over his head and setting it on the table before looking at you. He looks similar to a sad puppy. And yet so impossibly cute.
Well, cute for being a hundred-year-old assassin trapped in a 30-year-old’s body.
“Yeah, of course. Come here.”
You open your arms and he practically melts on top of you. He slowly lowers his body weight onto yours before resting his head by your neck on your chest. He lets out another breath and you feel his bones relax. He only ever seems to relax like this with you.
He feels every single bone in his body go soft as he melts against you. And he feels better.
Bucky has had, not the worst day of his life but, a pretty bad day. And after all of the press conferences and random meetings he was thrown into, he just wanted you. To hold you and relax against you like this.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers against your collarbone before kissing it so softly.
“Why? Don’t be sorry.”
“I didn’t say anything. I didn’t speak up or try to defend the name. It’s the Avengers, it’s everything you cared about when we met. And I know you care still, that’s why you’ve been working with Sam. And what have I been doing? A stupid political speed-run.” He mumbles.
“Bucky, Valentina is an idiot. It’s not too late for you to speak up or do something. But if you want to, you should do it now. Sam is…so pissed. He called to bitch at me for two hours already.” You sigh, tracing small lines up his bare back with one hand while the other plays with his hair.
He tries not to be distracted by your comfort. Your soft movements that make his chest ache. Now, being with you, he wants to forget all of it. All of the outside noise. He wants to give his attention to you and not to whatever is happening outside.
He gently places a hand on your stomach and smoothes it up your waist.
“You have no idea how good you feel.” He mumbles against the skin of your chest as his eyes shut.
“Buck.” You laugh a little at his change in topic.
“What?” He presses another kiss to your collarbone.
“It’s serious. Really. And I…I just don’t want you to fall into something else that you feel forced into. You’re always telling me how you never want to be a mindless soldier again, how you want to speak up and do your own thing. Now’s the time, if any, to do it.” You tell him and he shakes his head.
“I know. I swear, I know. I just don’t know how.” He admits quietly.
He buries his face into your skin. He feels almost pathetic. He was the Winter Soldier and now he’s completely melting for his girlfriend. But it’s hard because fuck, he loves you. With everything he has. Not just because of how sweet and perfect and funny you are. But because you feel like home now. Coming to you, no matter where you are, feels like home to him. He craves it.
There’s no better feeling than you for him. Having you, holding you, kissing you, touching you wherever you need him. He’s gone for you. Only for you.
“Are you really not hurt or anything?” You ask softly to slightly switch the subject and he shakes his head.
“No. I’m okay. I just had to come home.” He breathes out.
“Good,” You hum before kissing his cheek. “The bad news is I didn’t get food or anything.”
“I don’t need food.” He shrugs as he begins to play with the string of your sweatpants.
“What are you doing?” You laugh slightly.
“What am I doing?” He huffs a little with a small smile. “Just looking at you.”
“With your hands?”
“Mhm.” He nods before he kisses your cheek, then kissing a little lower by your mouth.
“Hey, you’re getting so handsy and you’re barely home.” You laugh more.
“Because I’m stressed and pissed and I come home, you’re sitting here looking like an angel. An insanely beautiful angel who got me to fall in love with her.” He hums before he leans down to kiss your nose.
“You’re being avoidant. There’s so much going on right now and instead of calling your publicist or something you’re trying to get in my pants.” You joke.
“I’m not a horny teenager trying to ‘get into your pants’, I’m just stressed. And you make everything feel okay and…I love you. I’m in love with you.” He says quieter now.
The joke dies in your throat.
His words hang there between you, fragile and real and not dressed up in charm or teasing. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it, like he’s afraid that if he does, it might be taken back.
You reach for him anyway. A hand at the nape of his neck, thumb brushing slowly, grounding.
“I know,” you say.
His breath hitches. Just barely.
“I love you too, Buck.”
He lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been stuck in his chest all day, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. But you don’t let him sink completely.
“That doesn’t mean you get to hide,” you add gently. “Not from Sam. Not from the world. And not from yourself.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes tired but open. Listening.
“Baby,” You hum. “I love you more than anything. But at a certain point don’t you wonder why now, post-Hydra and post Winter Soldier, you still just let people throw you around? I mean you let Valentina put you in a team you were never really a part of? And you say nothing? You wanted your autonomy and freedom and now you have it. So use it.”
His jaw tightens, just a little, like he’s holding something back. Then he exhales, slow and tired.
“Because when I let other people decide,” he says quietly, “I don’t have to live with the consequences.”
Your chest tightens.
“When someone else gives the orders, I don’t have to wonder if I ruined something. Or if I chose wrong. Or if the world ends up hating me because I opened my mouth.”
He finally looks at you fully then, eyes raw and unguarded.
“Freedom sounds great until you realize it means everything’s on you.”
You cup his face, forcing him to stay with you.
“Buck,” you say softly, “you’ve been taking responsibility for things that were never your fault your entire life.”
His throat bobs.
“This?” you continue. “This is the first thing that actually is yours.”
He leans into your touch like he’s bracing himself. Like you’re his safe space in a conversation that pushes him.
“You can’t just keep letting people push you into things and still be under someone else’s control and then be upset and frustrated because you don’t have control of your life. Nothing is holding you back now.” You tell him before kissing his forehead and then his cheek.
“When you kiss me like that my brain stops working.” He mumbles. You smile, nose brushing his.
“Good,” you whisper. “But I need you thinking right now.”
He exhales, a quiet laugh in his chest.
“Only you would say that while holding me like this.” He says as he tightens his arms around you.
“Only you would need it,” you reply fondly. “And anyway you practically wedged yourself on this tiny couch with me so if anything you asked me to hold you.”
“I just…I feel like I’m always so lost and you’re just so sure of everything. Like how do you always come out on top no matter what happens to you?” He hums.
“I prefer when you come on top.” You say, one-track mind blocking out his comments.
“Some of the things you say make my jaw drop.” He huffs a laugh against your neck.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, brows raised, a tired smile tugging at his mouth.
“But see?” he says quietly. “That. That’s what I mean.”
“What?” you ask innocently.
“You make everything feel lighter. Even when my head’s a mess, you just-” He gestures vaguely between you. “You joke, you tease, and suddenly I’m breathing again.”
You soften at that, thumb brushing along his jaw.
“I joke because if I don’t,” you say gently, “I’ll start worrying. And if I start worrying, we’ll both be a mess.”
He huffs a small laugh, then sighs.
“I don’t wanna mess this up,” he admits. “With you. With Sam. With…everything. And it’s not just about that. It’s about Steve.”
“It’s always about Steve.”
“Because!” He groans before holding on tighter to you and sighing. “He’s an asshole. Or I guess he was an asshole. I would’ve never done what he did. He was in this time longer than I was in a way. He was still himself and living in this modern day and yet he still just couldn’t grow up and deal with it? So what it’s not the forties anymore? I was messed up about it too at first but then I snapped out of it and realized that a world where I don’t have to pay for stamps to talk to people is a better world.”
“What are you even talking about right now?” You ask him. “Are you going senile on me already?”
You snort softly, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek.
“Careful,” you say. “You’re gonna start sounding like a cranky old man yelling about technology.”
He huffs, forehead dropping to your shoulder again.
“I’m serious,” he mutters. “He got to choose. He always got to choose. And he still-” His jaw tightens. “He left. He handed Sam the shield and just…left the rest of us to figure it out.”
You let that sit for a beat, fingers tracing slowly, grounding lines along his spine.
“You’re mad because you feel like you’re cleaning up a mess you didn’t make,” you say gently.
His breath stutters, just a little.
“Yeah,” he admits. “And because everyone keeps expecting me to be like him. Or at least be quiet and grateful.”
“They’re all idiots. You can lift a car over your head with one hand, don’t listen to anyone else. Tell me about your ‘new team’.” You hum.
“Oh my god, they’re all idiots, doll. Every single one of them. Except Nat’s sister, I guess.” He sighs.
“What? She’s on the team?”
“Somehow. Oh, and John Walker of all goddamn people. Hey, wanna know something funny?” He asks.
“What?”
“You know how you told me that thing about his wife leaving him? I threw it in his face just because I thought it’d be funny,” He smiles before he frowns a little and suddenly goes still. “Wait, are you okay? Fuck, I’m sorry I didn’t even think about it, you were in the area. Did you- did the void-“
“No, no, I was fine,” You shake your head and he leans up to kiss your cheek, under your eye, your nose, the corner of your mouth. “I was honestly asleep though so I could’ve been in the void but I don’t know I think I would’ve woken up if that was the case.”
“Dollface?” He hums.
“Yeah?”
“I was trying to get into your pants a few minutes ago.” He hums.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah.”
“I couldn’t tell. It’s not like your hands were about to dip into my sweatpants or anything.” You laugh.
He snorts quietly, forehead dropping back to your shoulder.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, fingers flexing at your waist before very deliberately pulling them back like he’s catching himself. “I was gonna be subtle about it.”
“You?” you scoff. “Subtle?”
“Hey,” he says, lifting his head to look at you, mock-offended. “I can be subtle.”
“You literally just announced your intentions like a weather report.”
A corner of his mouth twitches despite himself.
“Okay, fine,” he admits. “I was hoping maybe I could forget about everything for five minutes.”
Your teasing expression softens, thumb brushing under his eye.
“I know,” you say quietly. “But you don’t actually forget things. You just stack them up until they crush you.”
He watches you for a second, like you’ve just read something off his ribs.
“…Yeah,” he breathes.
You shift just enough to sit more upright, still close, still warm.
“We can be idiots later,” you say gently. “Right now I want you present.”
He nods, slow and sincere.
“I am,” he says. “I swear. I just-” He hesitates. “Being with them today made me feel like I was back there again. Like I was being pointed in a direction and told it was my purpose.”
Your jaw tightens just a bit.
“And you hate that,” you say.
“I hate that it still works,” he corrects. “That I still freeze instead of pushing back.”
You press your forehead to his.
“Then don’t freeze,” you whisper. “Not here. Not anymore.”
His hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, careful, reverent.
“You make it sound like I can just…decide,” he murmurs.
“You can,” you say. “You already do. Every time you come back to me instead of disappearing.”
His breath stutters, just barely.
“You don’t even know what that does to me,” he admits.
You smile softly.
“I think I do.”
He stays there with you, eyes closed, holding on like the world outside can wait, because for the first time all day, it finally can.
“You should stay off of Instagram for a while.” You tell him.
“Oh trust me, I was planning on it. So…we have no dinner, huh?” He looks up at you.
“Nope. What do you want?”
“Honestly?”
“Don’t say it.”
“Why not?” He smiles boyishly.
“Because you might as well have the word ‘horny’ written on your forehead.” You huff a laugh.
He laughs, real and warm this time, the sound rumbling against your chest.
“Okay, yeah,” he admits. “Fair.”
“So?” You lift a brow.
“So,” he sighs dramatically, like it costs him something. “I was gonna say you.”
“Bucky.”
“What? I said honestly.”
“You are unbelievable,” you mutter, but you’re smiling despite yourself.
He grins, unapologetic, then softens when he sees your expression. He leans into you completely. His heart always comes undone just looking at you. You’re the only person who can get him like this. Soft, needy, practically begging for you.
“But,” he adds quickly, “I can be normal. I can eat food. Real food. Like a grown man.”
“You want a medal?”
“Maybe,” he shrugs. “Or a kiss.”
“Focus.” You giggle and tap his forehead lightly.
He groans, flopping back just enough to stare at the ceiling.
“This is cruel and unusual punishment.”
“You just told me you loved me and then tried to derail a serious conversation with innuendos,” you point out. “This is consequences.”
He turns his head to look at you again, eyes softer now.
“I meant it,” he says quietly. “The love part. Not the derailing. Okay, maybe a little the derailing.”
You lean down, brushing a kiss to his temple, gentle, grounding.
“I know you meant it,” you say. “That’s why I’m not letting you hide.”
He exhales, long and slow.
“You already know how stupidly in love with you I am. You’re the only one. I promise,” He says quietly, lifting your hand over his heart. “You’re the one I come home to. The one I’ve given myself to so many times. I want you for as long as you’ll let me have you.”
“I’m so in love with you, Buck. No one talks to me the way you do.”
“I know you think I’m just horny for the sake of it now but I’m not. It’s just…you’re my safe space. You have me lying on top of you shirtless kissing you, that says so much. You feel better than any place I’ve been. And now you’re sitting here looking perfect, wearing my clothes, after the worst day I’ve had in a while where I’m so stressed and I just…ugh.” He sighs and looks you over.
“Baby?”
“Hm?”
“You can get into my pants whenever you want, I’m just playing hard to get.” You start laughing.
“You didn’t need to tell me that, but I appreciate it.” He smiles.
summary: bucky’s your best friend. he can be clueless but he wants to try dating again and you try to help him. but his date isn’t what he anticipated.
warnings: female reader, use of the word girl in regards to the reader, kissing, (p in v) smut, protected sex, A LOT of emotions, emotional intimacy, not totally dirty it’s a mix of fluff and nastiness. no use of y/n. also some stuff goes wrong and he’s a sweetie about it
word count: 7.6k (sorry)
Bucky’s pacing. He’s got that look again, the nervous, overthinking one he gets whenever something involves emotions or, God forbid, romance. Tomorrow’s his first real date since 1946.
You’re sitting cross-legged on his couch, watching him try on his third shirt and fail to hide his panic behind a casual shrug.
“She’s just a person, Buck,” you say, grinning a little. “You’ve fought aliens and gods, I think you can handle dinner and a drink.”
He shoots you a look.
“Dinner and a drink don’t usually end with me wondering if I even remember how to…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.
“How to what?” You raise an eyebrow.
“You know what.” He groans.
Oh.
You do know what.
And for a second, the room gets weirdly quiet. Not uncomfortable, just heavy. His voice drops when he continues.
“I haven’t- I mean, it’s been decades, doll. What if I’ve…forgotten how to be good at that? What if I mess it up? What if I freeze?”
You try to think for a second. There are a lot of things you could say, most of which are not very comforting. You don’t want to make his feelings worse but you also don’t understand where this is coming from. Especially from your best friend. The same one who’s never even said the word “sex” to you.
“Buck…” You start wearily. “I get what you’re saying, but also, I don’t think you can just forget how to have sex.”
And from the look on his face after that, you can tell he wasn’t expecting you to say it so bluntly.
“I- wait a second, I never said-“
“Wait, were you not talking about sex?”
“No, I was but…”
“But what?”
“Look, I never said I’d forget how, I said I’d forget how to be good at it. I mean, I know the actual…act is natural or whatever the hell type of evolutionary thing I can blame, but being good at it? It’s not a natural talent type of thing.” He grumbles.
You break eye contact and look at your hands. And it’s very obvious you’re struggling again to not make his concerns worse. He watches you and sighs. He knows that look. In any other situation, it might make him smile, proof that you care enough to search for the right answer. But tonight, it just reminds him how scared he is.
“Maybe it’s not natural talent in the traditional way but…you know, some people can move more easily.”
Bucky looks scandalized from the second you say ‘move’. He could almost start to mentally calculate the difference between your birth years but he chooses not to. He clears his throat and looks away, suddenly very interested in the floor.
“I didn’t mean-” he mutters. “You don’t gotta explain it like that.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.” You snort despite yourself.
He risks a glance back at you, something vulnerable and searching in his eyes. All over his face.
“Yeah, well. You’re the only person I could.”
That lands heavier than anything else he’s said tonight. You soften, uncrossing your legs, leaning forward just a little.
“Buck. Being ‘good’ at it isn’t about moves or whatever you think you missed while you were…gone.”
He swallows.
“It’s about paying attention. And you’re kind of incredible at that. When you want to be, anyway.” You smile.
“You just had to throw that last part in there, didn’t you?” He shakes his head and finally, you see a smile.
“Your date is gonna be perfect.”
Your smile hits him then. You really do believe that. And it’s earnest and sincere. You want him to be happy. Bucky sees it all over your face. It makes his chest ache because he knows he has you. He’s always gonna have you no matter what.
“Yeah. And maybe we won’t even…do it, you know?” He tries.
“Yeah, maybe you won’t. You don’t have to either way it’s all up to you guys. And the energy.” You shrug.
He nods, like he believes you. Or wants to.
There’s a pause. A long one.
“You ever think,” he says carefully, “that maybe the energy’s the hardest part?”
“What do you mean?” You glance up at him.
“Like…you can do everything right. Say the right things. But if it’s not-” He shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave yours.
He stops himself.
“If it’s not what?”
“If it’s not with the right person.”
The room goes quiet again. Different this time.
“Who’s the lucky girl anyway?” You try to lighten the mood, smiling so he can feel more comfortable.
He sighs and rubs a hand down his face. For some reason unknown to him, he didn’t want to get into that with you. It’s weird. It feels like mixing two worlds that shouldn’t be exposed to each other. Not because he thinks you’d be unsupportive but it just feels wrong.
He’s potentially trying to date this girl. And you…you’re his lifeline. One of his only friends. You’re the only one who he feels like understands the way he is. He can let go around you. To you, he feels like this should be so minuscule and unimportant but it’s not.
“Her name is Alice. She’s the waitress from the diner by my house. The blonde one.” He shrugs.
You nod, like that explains something.
“She seems nice,” you say. And you mean it.
He studies you for a second, like he’s looking for something he doesn’t quite understand.
“Yeah,” he says softly.
Another pause.
“You’ll tell me how it goes, right?” you ask.
He hesitates. Just for a beat.
“Yeah,” he says again.
But the word doesn’t sound like a promise.
Later, when you leave, Bucky stands alone in his apartment, staring at the door long after it closes, trying to figure out why the thought of tomorrow feels less important than the way you smiled at him tonight.
The next morning is worse. He wakes up alone in his bed with impending doom about his date. He’s not necessarily scared but he’s unsure and…yeah, maybe a little scared.
As he looks in the mirror, he realizes he just wants your comfort. But he doesn’t want to beat a dead horse. There’s no point in calling you if you’re gonna say the same things you did last night. He doesn’t want to bother you again.
The steam is still slowly fading from the mirror so he can see himself. And he sighs. Shouldn’t he be hoping for sex? Should he be planning? He hasn’t bought condoms since the last century. Could he ask you what to buy? Would that be weird? Why does it always come back to you?
Bucky presses his palms to the sink and leans forward, head dipping.
Jesus.
He exhales slowly, fogging the mirror again. When he straightens, his reflection looks calmer but the ache in his chest hasn’t gone anywhere.
He checks his phone. Nothing from Alice yet. That shouldn’t disappoint him. It shouldn’t mean anything at all.
Instead, his thumb hovers over your name.
He doesn’t press it.
He tells himself it’s nerves. Habit. That you’re his comfort because you’ve always been there, because you make things feel steady and familiar.
But standing there in his quiet apartment, jacket laid out on the chair, future waiting politely at the door, Bucky finally lets himself think the thing he’s been avoiding.
Comfort isn’t supposed to feel like this.
To add insult to injury, Alice chose your favorite restaurant. The place downtown with the lighting and ambience you call whimsical.
He almost laughs when he realizes it.
The host leads them to their table, and Bucky nods politely, pulls out her chair, does everything right. Muscle memory. Courtesy drilled into him decades ago. Alice smiles at him like this is already going well.
He wonders if you’d tease him for how stiff he looks. If you’d cover your mouth and try to stop your laughter as if he couldn’t tell anyway.
They order drinks. She asks about his week. He answers. She talks about work, about a coworker he can’t remember the name of five seconds later. He listens, he really does, but it all feels like standing in the background of a conversation instead of inside it.
He keeps thinking about how you’d already know this part.
How you wouldn’t need the explanations. How you’d read the pause in his voice and fill in the gaps for him without making him feel stupid or slow.
Alice laughs at something she says. He smiles automatically, a second too late.
He tells himself to focus.
Three hours pass like that. Talking. Eating. Smiling at the right times. Every so often, something about the place catches his eye, the way the lights reflect off the glass, the song playing faintly overhead, and he thinks about the last time he was here. With you. How you’d leaned across the table and said something half-serious, half-joking, and made him laugh without trying.
He realizes, distantly, that Alice is still talking. And it’s not you across from him. With your bright eyes and soft smiles that make him feel like he’s doing something right.
He nods again.
He hates himself for the relief he feels when there’s a lull in the conversation. For the way his mind fills the silence with you instead, your voice, your expressions, the way you look at him when you’re trying to be gentle.
It isn’t that Alice is boring. She’s kind. She’s trying. It’s just that none of this feels…necessary.
When the check comes, he reaches for it immediately. Not because he’s eager to impress her, but because it means the night is ending.
Until it isn’t.
For some reason, he lets her smile and kiss him. He kisses her back. He kisses her deeply and tries to feel it out.
He lets her get into his car. Lets her tell him where the nearest empty parking lot is. Lets her climb into the backseat and pull him along.
But when she’s on his lap, kissing him, his head tilted back against the seat, he’s wishing it was you.
He hates himself for that.
Alice’s hands are warm, familiar in a way that should be comforting. Her mouth moves against his like she knows what she’s doing, like this is easy for her. Like this is what the night was always supposed to lead to.
He tries to respond. He really does.
He kisses her back, lets instinct take over, lets muscle memory guide him but it feels like he’s watching himself from somewhere far away. Like he’s doing all the right things without actually being there.
Your face keeps intruding. Not like a fantasy. Like a fact.
The way you’d look at him right now, soft, attentive, asking without words if he was okay. The way you’d slow down the second you felt the shift in him. The way you’d notice.
Alice shifts against him, murmurs something he doesn’t quite catch, and that’s when it hits him, sharp and undeniable.
This isn’t nerves.
This isn’t rust.
This isn’t fear of being bad at something.
It’s absence.
Because he’s picturing you. What you’d feel like. Your soft skin, your sweet perfume that comforts him now. The way your lips always look so soft and warm, like if he kissed you, he’d never be able to stop,
He gently stills her, hands firm but careful. She looks at him, confused but not upset.
“Hey,” she says quietly. “You okay?”
He swallows. The truth sits heavy on his tongue, too big, too messy to explain.
“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”
He waits for her to be angry. For her to say something that will make this easier.
She doesn’t.
And as awful as it makes him feel, the only thing he can think is that she still isn’t you.
As soon as he’s alone in the car, he drives.
He doesn’t think. He doesn’t hesitate. He just turns the wheel and lets instinct take over, like something deep in him already knows where he’s going.
It isn’t strange. Not really.
It’s you.
It’s the way your heart has been pulling at his without him realizing it. In this ache in his chest that hasn’t gone away all night, that won’t subside until he’s looking at you.
He wonders what you’re doing right now. Probably sitting on your couch, scrolling on your phone. Probably looking soft and warm in that way you always do when you’re comfortable.
You’d smile at him if he showed up. Ask how the date went.
And you’d genuinely want to know. You’d want him to have enjoyed it. Want him to be happy.
He grips the steering wheel tighter.
He couldn’t.
Not when his thoughts were full of you. Always full of you.
He parks outside your building and just sits there for a moment, engine ticking softly as it cools.
He doesn’t get out right away.
He thinks about how easy it would be to turn around. To go home. To pretend tonight didn’t mean what it clearly did.
But the ache in his chest doesn’t let him.
He shuts off the car and walks to your door. Knocks once, gentle, uncertain.
When you open it, surprise flickers across your face. Then concern.
“Buck?”
And that’s it.
Just his name, said the way you always say it, like it matters.
The words he practiced on the drive dissolve instantly. All he can do is look at you, standing there in soft light, real and solid and right.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. He isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for. Everything, maybe.
You don’t push. Don’t ask questions. You just step aside and let him in.
And as the door closes behind him, Bucky finally understands the thing that’s been haunting him all along.
He didn’t forget how to be good at anything. He just forgot that the place he feels safest, is yours. That your smile lights up his world. That it’s always been you, you pull him out of his funks. You make him smile. You’re sweet and perfect and he’s never needed anything more.
And god, does he want to kiss you. He should be kissing you. Instead of her, instead of anyone else. Why should anyone else get this side of him? When he wants to give it to you. When you deserve it more than anyone. Because you’ve been bringing his heart back to life since he met you.
Since you started making him smile and taking him out of the house. Inviting him to do little things like get coffee or go to the store. Even if it’s just because you didn’t want to be alone or some other reason he doesn’t know about, it made him feel like a person again. You make him feel like a person again.
“I was trying. I promise, I was. I wanted to enjoy the date but I couldn’t.” He breathes out as he looks at you.
“Buck, that’s okay. It was your first date, don’t beat yourself up about it. What happened?” You ask as you cross your arms and look up at him.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He says suddenly with a shaky voice.
You go silent. You look up at him and his face- it’s so earnest, it hurts. He’s slightly shaky and his cheeks are pink. You’ve never seen him like this. His usually sharp blue eyes go soft as he looks you over.
“You…what?” You speak up.
“I was thinking about you the entire date. About how much easier everything feels with you. And you- you’re so pretty and warm and- fuck, I sound like such a sap.” He sighs.
He pushes a hand through his hair to try and settle himself. But it’s hard because you’re standing there, looking at him like a goddamn angel.
You don’t laugh. You don’t tease him. You don’t move away. You just stare at him for a second, like you’re trying to make sure he’s real.
“Buck…” you say softly, and the way his name sounds in your mouth almost makes him flinch. Not because it hurts but because it matters.
“I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just dumped that on you like that. I just didn’t know where else to go,” He winces a little, already bracing himself. “And I definitely didn’t mean to figure it out like this. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Especially you.”
“Hurt me how?”
His eyes flicker up to yours, terrified and hopeful all at once.
“By wanting you,” he admits. “By realizing I already do. God, I do.”
“But you…you just had your date and Alice and-“
“And the whole time I was wishing it was you. Wishing I was talking to you and laughing with you and you know what? Even when she was kissing me in my car, I was thinking about you. Wishing I was kissing you,” He steps closer and he breathes out, breaking eye contact to look away breathlessly. “The date was nothing. It was fine but I knew it wasn’t right when I felt more just hanging out with you like I do almost every day. You make me feel more even when you’re just on your phone not even paying attention to me. And maybe that sounds sad and desperate but you’re my best friend and I-“
He stops then and puts a hand on your couch, breathing again. He sighs like he can’t tell if he wants to kiss you or tell you even more how he feels. But he can’t choose or even think about anything.
So you do it.
Everything feels hazy and slow motion as you step up to him, pulling him by his jacket to kiss you. He leans down into it and practically melts against your skin. You make a light hum noise into it as his arms wrap around your waist. He’s taller than you and practically bent over just to keep kissing you.
“I think I’ve been falling in love with you since we met.” He whispers against your lips.
You let out a shaky breath and cup his face and he looks at you, eyes impossibly soft. His eyes are deep and full of so much. So much that’s only meant for you, for your eyes only. He looks at you with a type of reverence you can only read about.
“Please tell me this means something to you.” He pleads as his eyes flutter shut, his forehead pressed to yours.
“It does. It means everything.” You nod and his eyes open again.
“Yeah?”
You give him a little ‘mhm’ before pushing your hands through his hair. It’s soft under your fingers, he’s soft for you. His heart aches as he watches every flicker of your eyes, every blink, every glance to him.
“I’ve wanted you for a while, Bucky.” You admit as you look him over.
“Why didn’t you say anything? I mean, I know I just fully realized it but if you said something- I swear, you would’ve had me on my knees.” He says as his fingers lightly travel across your waist.
“Because, I don’t know. You told me you wanted to try dating again, then you found someone, but I didn’t think you even noticed me that way. And clearly I was kinda right.” You laugh a little as you look at him.
“I’ve always noticed you that way. I just…I guess I don’t think that hard about stuff,” He gently teases himself to make you smile and you do. “Maybe I’m a brainless idiot. But I’m a brainless idiot who wants you. Only you. I’d do anything. Anything you want from me, it’s yours.”
“Anything?” You gently tease as you look up at him and suddenly he feels it. Heat in his body. A heat he hasn’t felt since the last century.
He takes a shaky breath and looks you over. Suddenly, filthy thoughts rush into his mind. Thoughts he’s pushed away in fear of wasting your honor or making you uncomfortable. But you feel perfect in his arms. And you kiss him like he’s never been kissed before.
He swallows hard and nods.
“Anything. My heart, my mind, my body…all yours.” He breathes out.
“Are you still scared to have sex?” You half-joke, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“No. Not scared, not with you. If you want it, anyway. If you want it from me, I…I’d give it to you,” He says quietly, his eyes searching yours in case he’s said too much. “Was that too nasty? I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it was good,” You smile and laugh a little, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “It was kinda hot.”
“Yeah? Well, then, I’m sorry. That’s probably the hottest I’ve got. And I wasted it two seconds in,” He smiles a you know instantly that he’s trying to make you smile. Because it’s you. “Can we…?”
“Yeah. Let’s go to my room.” You hum and slip your fingers through his.
“You’re so…” He breathes out as you begin to lead him to your room. He lets you pull him in and shut the door. He just looks at you in awe. “You’re so beautiful. And funny. And sweet. And I- I want to be good for you. I’ll do anything.”
“You don’t have to try to be good for me, Bucky. It’s you.” You tell him honestly as you sit on your bed. And his cheeks go pink, his heart flutters. Because fuck, how could it have ever been anyone but you? Not even a full-on date with a waitress had him feeling the way you do. Just looking at him.
He sits next to you and looks at you. He gently slides his hand over to your thigh, looking at you almost unsure. And you nod reassuringly. Then your hand slides to his shoulder.
“Is this okay?” He whispers in the darkness of your room.
“Yeah. Is it okay for you?”
He nods, body facing you already. Like he’s at your service, waiting to give you whatever you want from him. And not because of his old instincts, not because of any Winter Soldier bullshit. He does it because you are the one thing in his life he can’t lose.
You said he didn’t have to try and be good for you, to be himself. But you’re all he has left in this post-blip world. Other than Sam but he doesn’t count. Not when they barely get along or talk these days. But you, you are everything.
He leans down to kiss you this time, gently capturing your lips with his. It’s soft at first. Not at all like on his date. He gently kisses you like something worth worshipping. Then he gently sweeps his tongue across your lips, wanting to kiss you fully. You let his tongue slip past your lips, into your mouth and you sigh.
It feels good. Unlike any kiss you’ve ever had before. He gently explores your mouth with his, tilting your chin up. Your hands travel up his back, one resting on his upper spine and the other coming to the back of his neck.
“God, you feel good.” He breathes out shakily before he lowers you onto your mattress.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” He nods before he presses his lips to your jaw. You let out the prettiest sigh he’s ever heard as your head tilts back, giving him more access to your soft skin. “You feel better than anyone else and we aren’t even…doing anything yet.”
You spread your legs for his body to slot between and you feel it then. He’s half hard in his pants already, his pelvis pressed against your thigh.
“I’m sorry.” He pulls away for a moment.
“Don’t be sorry,” You hum and push the hair out of his face. “You feel good too.”
“I haven’t done this in a while. So please tell me if anything doesn’t feel good.” He whispers against your skin before kissing down to your neck. You lightly moan then, a moan that goes straight to his dick.
You sit up a little against his chest to begin to pull your baggy t-shirt off. With nothing underneath. And he stills as he looks at you, part of him feeling like a teenager again.
“Fuck,” He practically whines as he looks at you. “You…”
He can’t even finish, he drops to bring his lips to keep kissing all over you. And as his lips trail lower and lower, you raise your chest ever so slightly.
“Do you want me to…?” He asks softly and you nod.
“Please, Buck. I need it.” You respond breathlessly and he gently places his lips back to your collarbone.
Your body’s on fire now, his lips hot and soft as he kisses everywhere. He gently nibbles on the skin before placing his tongue over it. And then he goes where you want him. His lips trail down the valley of your chest, your legs wrapping around him tighter.
Your fingers then find their way back to his hair, tangling through his shorter hair. And then he does it, he lightly trails his tongue over the swell of your breast, bringing it to circle over your nipple. You lightly gasp and your chest rises a little.
“Bucky- god.” You moan out as he does and he gets harder by the minute.
“I want you. I need you, you feel so- so good. I want this. With you, I only want you to have me like this and I mean it.” He whispers.
“Please.” You tell him as your fingers trail down to his abs, your fingers slipping under his shirt.
He freezes up as your skin makes contact with his. Your fingers smooth their way over his abs then around to his lower back. Then, to his shock, you lift your hips a little at just the right spot to meet his. And as if you’re trying to kill him, you begin to grind your hips against his.
His eyes squeeze shut and his hands go straight to your hips as your core presses against where his pants grow tight.
“I- fuck, it’s you, it’s you. It’s only ever gonna be you.” He gasps lightly against your skin as he leans down to kiss you again as you grind against his bulge.
You can feel how big he is just from that. It’s enough to make your knees weak. Your panties are ruined already, wetness growing between you both. As he kisses your lips, one of his hands finds your chest, thumb brushing over your nipple as he feels you up.
“Take your shirt off- please.” You ask him and he doesn’t hesitate. Within two seconds, his shirt is off and on the floor of your bedroom.
“I’m gonna be so good for you. I promise. You’re gonna get all of me, pieces no one else has ever had. I swear. It’s only for you. You have my fucking heart too, not just…this, not just sex.” He says, completely breathless as he looks at you.
“Bucky?” You breathe out.
“Yeah?”
“Are we…like dating? Or do you want to try? Just more than this, anything more than this.” You ask.
He pauses for a second as he looks at you. The only person his heart is craving, begging for. Of course, he wants more with you. He wants everything with you. He’d be your boyfriend if you wanted him to be and he’d be so good for you. He’d remember every anniversary, every special event. He’d make you breakfast and dinner, bring you coffee just the way you like it, kiss you whenever you need it. He’d give you everything.
But how does he say that without scaring you off more than he probably already has? You aren’t even official yet and he’s basically told you he loves you.
“Yeah. Anything you want, anything,” He nods, trying to keep it simple. “Just tell me. If you want a boyfriend, you have one. If you want just friends with benefits or something…you have me. I’d take anything.”
His voice is soft, almost sad at that last part. And it could almost break your heart. Because even if you told him you only wanted one thing from him, he’d still give you that part of himself.
“I just want you. All of you. I want a boyfriend. I want you.” You breathe out and his chest tightens again.
“Then you have me. I’ll take you out after this, okay? On a real date. To show you that this isn’t nothing to me. You mean so much more to me than just quick sex in your apartment.” He tells you honestly.
You pull his body closer to yours then. It’s hot in the room now but it somehow still feels perfect. Like it’s just the two of you, no one else in the world. Like he’s yours and you’re his and everything else outside doesn’t even matter.
Just when his heartbeat starts to calm, you bring your fingers to the button of his pants. He freezes with both hands on the mattress on top of you as he looks up into your eyes. Your fingers work deftly to unbutton his pants then move to the zipper.
He reaches down to help you with his pants, fingers slipping into the waistband to pull his pants down to his knees before he starts kicking them off himself. You smile a little to yourself at how cute he is, how hard he’s trying to be good for you.
He notices it, looking up at you. You laugh a little. This light and beautiful laugh he’s been slowly falling in love with.
“What’s so funny?” He smiles.
“Just this. Me and you. It feels right. But it’s a little funny. I’m not used to seeing you in this context.” You hum as your fingers slide over his collarbones.
He huffs a laugh before he quickly grabs your thighs and hikes them higher up his hips in a way that makes you both laugh before the pleasure sinks in of his bulge pressed flat against your core.
It gets quieter for a moment as the feeling brings the heat back to your stomach. You look up at him, doe-eyed and seductive before you slip your fingers through the band of your panties.
“Can you help me get these off?” You ask him softly.
He nods quickly, hooking his fingers through the band before lightly dragging them over your hips and down to your thighs. He sits back a little to drag them down your knees and calves before tossing them away.
You slowly spread your legs again for him to see you. And his knees go weak. He comes back down on top of you to kiss your lips. So softly and sweetly.
“You’re everything.” He whispers before he kisses the corner of your mouth.
“Can I take yours off?” You ask softly and he nods.
“Yeah. Anything for you.”
Your fingers slip into the band of his boxers and slowly drag them down past his hips. His dick slips out then and you look at it. It’s bigger than you thought it’d be in all your years of friendship. He looks at your eyes to make sure everything’s okay. You press your hand to his stomach and smile at him.
“Do you have-“
“Yeah. Yeah, I just bought some last night.” He quickly sits up and reaches for his pants, reaching into his pocket and grabbing a condom.
You look up at him as he tears open the wrapper. He looks focused as he looks at it. He pinches the tip and begins to roll it on. You just admire him. The way his hair falls perfectly. The way his eyes shine in the moonlight. His muscles are perfectly toned, his facial hair especially sexy tonight as if he knew you love looking at him when he has a little bit.
You’ve always kinda had a thing for Bucky. It started when he moved in with the other Avengers and the family dynamic was thrown off for you. Because to put it simply, you didn’t want Bucky to be your family. You wanted him in other ways. But then everything else happened and so much went wrong and well…he grew his hair out in a way you didn’t prefer. And he was a friend. A good friend.
And then everything shifted again and again and again. And you wanted him. But he meant so much to you, you didn’t think it was worth ruining because you knew he didn’t feel the same. Until now.
You get so lost in your trance looking at him that you don’t notice how long it’s taking. And then you see his face.
“Uh…”
“Hm?” You hum softly before you look down at his dick again.
“It, uh…doesn’t fit.”
Oh. You look down and see that yeah, it doesn’t. And then you burst out laughing despite yourself. Bucky stares at you in shock for a moment as you turn your head to the side and laugh into your pillow. And then he laughs too.
“It’s not funny.” He says while laughing and looking at you.
“What kind of condoms did you buy?” You laugh and look back up at him.
“I don’t know, none of them had sizes or anything so I just picked a box.” He shakes his head despite the growing smile.
He looks at you in the moonlight. His best friend. The girl he’s hoping is officially his girlfriend now. Just laughing and smiling despite being naked underneath him. And you look perfect. The prettiest he’s ever seen.
“I think I might have one.” You laugh and sit up, your hair already a mess from all the making out plus your laughing fit as you reach over into your bedside drawer:
“You? Have a condom? I thought you were just complaining about being celibate like two weeks ago.” He huffs another laugh.
“I walked into this bar and there was a bachelorette party and they were like ‘Oh my god it’s the Avenger girl, give her a bag’ so they gave me this-“ You pull out a little party favor bag from your nightstand and untie the thing again before pulling out a condom that says ‘Wrap it before you tap it’ in pink glittery writing. “Before I left and I was taking pictures and stuff with them.”
“Wrap it before you tap it?” He huffs before he tears it open and looks at it.
You lean back onto the mattress and look at him. He looks back at you with pink cheeks and the cutest smile. He seems a little nervous but happy nonetheless, a type of happy he only ever is with you.
He rolls this condom on more easily and looks at you. He gets lower with you and hikes your legs around his waist. But his eyes never leave yours. Your pretty bright eyes that leave him feeling defenseless.
“Are you sure you want this? With me? I haven’t had sex in so long and I…want you to feel good. I want you to enjoy it.” He says softly.
“I’m sure,” You nod. “I want it because it’s you. Bucky, you’re my best friend. I trust you.”
He leans down to kiss your cheek. His hands slide to your thighs as he looks into your eyes.
“If it doesn’t feel good, teach me how to touch you. Tell me how you like it. I’ll do it, I want you to finish too.” He whispers as he leans into you completely.
“Okay. I will.” You nod and he leans his head down to kiss your shoulder. He needs you to feel it. Even here, even when it’s so hot, that he’s been falling in love with you.
You hold onto his back as he lines himself up at your entrance. You gently scratch his back and keep one hand in his hair before he slowly presses inside of you. You both gasp quietly, the room suddenly so silent other than both of your little noises as you adjust to each other. He’s only halfway in, not wanting to rush it but you already feel so good. You’re warm and so wet for him. It drives him crazy. And the worst part?
You’re squeezing him. So much. So much so, his head falls to rest on your chest and he shuts his eyes.
“Fuck, that’s- that’s good.” He gasps again a little before he presses inside of you a little deeper. You moan as he does, his dick filling you. He presses a hand to your stomach to stabilize you both as he enters you all the way. His balls press against you and you sigh, leaning your head back.
He’s big. Not so big that you feel like you’re gonna die but big enough to feel overwhelmingly good. It’s a tight fit, him giving you this perfect stretch that makes your toes curl. You can’t help but squeeze around him.
“Bucky- That’s so good. You feel so good.” You whine and he ever so slightly rocks against you.
“I feel good? You feel…fuck, if you keep squeezing me like that, I’m not gonna last long.” He shuts his eyes again.
“Please move.”
He nods and begins to gently pulse his hips, rocking in and out. You moan again, tilting your head back and letting your arms rest against the mattress.
“Is that good, gorgeous?” He asks before gently nibbling on your ear.
“Mhm. Lift my legs a little higher.” You tell him and he does, changing the angle while holding your thighs.
It feels so good. He feels good. You bring your hands up to your chest, lightly pulling at your nipples as he fucks into you. He moves faster and makes sure to keep your legs where you like as he begins to gasp and groan into it. He’s impossibly sexy like this. His hair falls into his face as he fucks into you with his mouth slightly open.
He whispers your name over and over again like a plea. It’s the perfect sound.
“Bucky?” You breathe out through the waves of pleasure hitting you.
“Yeah, babydoll?” He lightly grunts before he slows a little to look at you.
“Can you touch me?” You breathe and he nods.
“Where?”
You gently take his hand and bring it between your legs. You bring his thumb where it feels good and sigh, taking shallower breaths the second he touches there. He begins to rock into you harder, groaning and calling out your name. He gently rubs his thumb around your most sensitive spot and he can tell it’s good for you.
He can see it in the way your muscles relax in certain areas and tense in others. He can see it in the way your eyes shut and you hold onto him so tightly. He can hear it in how you whisper his name and nod your head with little ‘yeah’ breaths and ‘right there’ comments you give him.
He’s never felt so good with anyone. He feels safe with you. Not just the safe you feel when you know your door is locked or you made sure the oven is off. But safe like knowing your heart is in the right person’s hands. Like knowing you’re naked for a girl who isn’t judging you and is just taking what you give, helping you make her feel good.
He drops his head and gasps the more you squeeze around his dick. He leans down to kiss anywhere he can reach as he pumps in you faster and faster, the feeling building up in him.
“Ah- I’m close, I’m so close. Are you? Are you almost…?” He breathes out. “I don’t want to finish unless you do.”
“I’m close,” You nod. “Don’t stop- please.”
He nods his head too and leans down to keep kissing you, pumping his dick so deep that you can feel him in your stomach. You’ve had sex before. But never like this. He’s so eager and knows how to touch you just from the look on your face. Bucky knows you better than anyone. He can read every look on your face and know what you’re liking the most. He pays attention to you. He wants you to feel good.
“You’re so gorgeous, baby,” He moans. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever- fuck, I’ve ever even looked at, let alone touched.”
Your eyes squeeze shut as he talks to you, kisses you, fucks you so good you can barely breathe.
“Are you sure it’s been a while?” You joke even though he’s pounding you into your mattress.
He laughs a little before he laces his fingers with yours and brings your hand up to kiss. You look up at him then as he readjusts himself inside of you before he pushes back in a little harder and faster, his other finger still working your clit. Your legs are shaking by now and he feels himself about to finish. He pumps his dick in faster and faster as he holds onto your stomach with his other hand.
That movement from him, not even on purpose, snaps the band in your stomach. You gasp and loudly moan, sitting up on your elbows as you cum around his dick while calling his name. He presses into you three more times before your squeezing gets to him and he starts to spill inside the condom, riding you both through your orgasms.
He slowly pumps in and out before he steps and lowers to his forearms on top of you. He’s breathless as he pushes the hair out of your face to look at you.
“Was that okay, beautiful? Are you okay?” He asks before his thumb brushes over your cheekbones.
You nod, still catching your breath. You tilt your head back and let your eyes flutter shut for a moment and his chest tightens. He’s never seen someone look so beautiful. Not as beautiful as you look. He leans down to press quick kisses around your face. He kisses your cheeks, your nose, under your eyes, and your forehead.
Once you fully ride out your orgasm, you pull him closer and hold him, pushing your fingers through his hair again.
“That was so good, Buck. I don’t know if I believe you being rusty.” You joke and smile at him. He looks at you with such soft lovestruck eyes and he laughs.
“I’m plenty rusty. You just make everything better. Easier. You make everything okay.” He says, his voice soft and gentle before he leans down to kiss your lips. He’s soft and so deep and tender.
“I want to be your girlfriend. For real.” You tell him and he nods.
“Then you are. I’m your boyfriend. And as your boyfriend, I’m gonna stay with you all night and take care of my girl. And tomorrow I’m gonna make you breakfast and kiss you as long as you want me to. I’ll give you anything you want from me.” He tells you, taking your hand and holding it by his heart.
You smile at him. He’s sweet. He looks so soft and happy with you right now. Because he is. You brush your hands through his hair and he melts into your touch. He leans down to rest his head by your neck and he gently kisses the skin there. It’s soft and warm and he wonders then why he ever thought he could be with someone who isn’t you. Why would he ever even try to kiss someone else?
Especially now that he knows what kissing you feels like, it’s ridiculous that he wanted to try and date a girl who wasn’t you.
“You did so well, baby.” You say softly and kiss his cheek. That validation is everything to him. It’s all he needs. Especially because it’s you.
“Yeah? You felt good? You finished and everything?” He asks just to make sure and you nod.
“Understatement. I came so well. I feel like my bones are just relaxed now.” You tell him.
“Me too. Everything in me is just calm. And completely obsessed with you, craving you,” He says softly. “I’ve had sex before but never like this. You made me feel like myself again.”
“Really?” You ask softly.
“Really. I mean, fuck, I was calling you gorgeous and babydoll, I felt like I had myself back from before everything went wrong. Before every ounce of charm and confidence I had was tortured out of me. I’m glad it was you. I’m glad it was you and not here. You’re the only one who gets to see every side of me. Even the soft sides that crumble for you.” He smiles.
Morning comes slowly.
You wake up tangled together, his arm heavy and warm around your waist, his breathing steady against your shoulder. For the first time in a long time, Bucky doesn’t wake up braced for the day.
He just wakes up with you. With the girl he wants to be good for in every aspect of life. He wants you. Wants you to feel as lovestruck and happy as he does just being next to you.
He presses a sleepy kiss to your temple when you stir, murmuring your name like it’s something precious. Like it’s real. And it is.
Later, when he’s standing in your kitchen, barefoot and soft and making coffee the wrong way, he glances over at you and smiles, easy, unguarded.
summary: you and bucky broke up. but when you find out about the new avengers? you can’t resist telling him how stupid he looks to his face
warnings: hamilton reference if you squint. no smut but mentions of sex and an aftermath of sex
word count: 2.3k
“Jesus Christ!” Bucky hisses and turns around to pace for a second at the sight of you. You sit at his kitchen table with the chair turned to the door like he missed his curfew. “How did you even get in here?”
“The door.” You shrug as he fully comes in and closes the door.
“No fucking shit, I mean, how do you just spawn places when I least expect you to be there?” He groans.
“New power. Anyway, you look like a fucking idiot.” You cross your arms and look up at him.
“What else is new?” He sighs.
“The New Avengers? Really?”
“Look, it was an accident.” He scrubs a hand over his face, jaw tense like he’s biting back a dozen different answers and none of them are clean.
“How the fuck-“
“Valentina. We didn’t even know she was gonna say that and then she did and now we’re this team and-“
“Sam is pissed. You’re not gonna be The New Avengers for long, that’s for sure. I wish I could see what’s happening in that mind of yours to see why you didn’t just shut her down up there.” You challenge him further as he takes off his jacket and sets it on the counter.
“I thought breakups were supposed to mean we didn’t see each other anymore.” He mutters.
“Says the man who texts me every other night to f-“ You start.
“And that’s all it is.”
“That’s not what I’m here to talk about.” You shift, suddenly tense. “This team is bullshit, and you know it.”
“Is it? Or maybe you’re just looking for a new excuse to stay tangled up in my mess, like always.”
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? Seriously. Take a look around and tell me who you think is in your apartment right now,” Your voice is firmer. “No, Bucky. I don’t want to be part of your team.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” He laughs once, sharp and humorless.
You stand now, slow and deliberate, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor like a warning.
You’d been broken up for only six weeks. Six long weeks. And by the second week, he started texting again. Asking if you’d come over. Make him feel less empty. And it worked every time but when you left, he felt empty again because he lost the one good thing he had. The congressman bullshit pushed you away.
He was never home, never answering texts or calls. He got distant and you still don’t know why. And you know it’s wrong to keep coming back to him but it’s hard and you still feel some sort of ownership over his heart. Like it’s still yours. And maybe it is.
He hasn’t slept with anyone else. Hasn’t even looked at anyone else. He just goes to work and comes home again and again. But this isn’t about your relationship on the surface. It’s about work.
“Sam told you he was asked to reform the Avengers. And you, inventing a whole new genre of stupid, don’t say a word when fucking Valentina- the woman who you’ve fought with and have never ever agreed with once, calls your new team the New Avengers. What kind of bullshit is that, Bucky?” you snap, voice rising. “You knew what that name meant. You knew it would split the whole thing in half, and you still stood there and let her say it like it was gospel.”
His mouth opens, then shuts again. He doesn’t have an answer. Not one he’s proud of. You don’t wait for one.
“You think Sam’s mad because of some branding issue? He’s mad because you let her name you something you didn’t earn. Because we’ve been out here for years trying to clean up this mess and you just...cosign her vision like it’s fine?”
“I didn’t cosign anything,” he says, low and dangerous, stepping closer. “I was blindsided. You think I liked it?”
“I think you liked the silence,” you say, heat behind every word. “Because the second you push back, you’re responsible. And God forbid Bucky Barnes actually own something.”
That one lands. He flinches. Just slightly, but you see it. You keep going.
“You wanna lead a team? You wanna be in charge of second chances and redemption arcs? Then fucking act like it. Don’t let Valentina control the room just because it’s easier than picking a side.”
He looks away, jaw clenched tight, like if he lets go, it’ll all spill out. It’s hard for him to handle this. To handle you. You’re the only person who ever calls him out on his bullshit. The only person who says exactly what you mean, to his face, and with enough conviction that means you’re calling him out because you love him. Or loved him. He’s not quite sure anymore.
“This isn’t about me wanting to be tangled up in your mess, Bucky. I’ve already been tangled in it. What I want- what I wanted, was for you to be someone I could count on. And you proved over and over again that I couldn’t.” You take a breath, steadying.
Silence again. He finally meets your eyes.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. But here we are.” You almost laugh.
He takes a step forward, slowly.
“You still love me?”
You don’t answer. Not with words. You just stare at him, and something in your chest crumbles. He nods once, more to himself than to you, voice quieter now.
“I haven’t slept with anyone else.”
“I know.”
He takes another step, and now he’s close enough to touch. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t dare.
“I should’ve said something up there,” he says. “Should’ve shut her down. Should’ve called Sam the second it happened. Should’ve told the world that the real Avengers didn’t start with me.”
“You should’ve,” you echo, softer.
“And I should’ve fought harder for us.”
Your breath catches. He’s looking at you like the world’s already ending, and he’s choosing this moment to finally tell the truth.
“I didn’t know how,” he whispers. “But I wanted to.”
Silence falls again. He waits. This time, you don’t let it last.
“I didn’t come here to forgive you,” you say. “I came here to tell you to fix it.”
He nods, slowly. Like he hears you. Like he means to try. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough. For now.
“Just stay.” He sighs as you start to put your clothes back on.
“Early meeting.”
“Stay.” His voice is rougher this time, low and tired and close to pleading.
You pause, fingers frozen on the hem of your shirt. You don’t look at him yet, because if you do, you’re not sure you’ll leave at all.
“Bucky…”
“I know,” he says. “I know what you said. I know this doesn’t fix anything. I know I broke it. But I just-” he exhales sharply, like he’s trying to push the ache out of his chest. “I sleep when you’re here.”
You turn then, slowly. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands laced. His knuckles are still bruised from the last mission. His eyes look older than they did yesterday.
“I sleep when you’re here,” he says again, softer this time. “And I just want… one night.”
You cross the room before you can talk yourself out of it.
“I don’t want to be a band-aid.”
“You’re not.” His gaze lifts to meet yours. “You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.”
It’s not a promise. It’s not enough. But it’s the first honest thing he’s said in a long time. And it breaks something in you that was already cracked wide open. So you let your clothes fall back to the floor. And when he pulls you into bed, it’s quiet. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just still, for once.
His arm drapes across your waist. Your fingers trace the scar near his collarbone. Neither of you says anything for a moment.
“I know you’ll never believe me but I really didn’t want this,” He starts softly. “Do you seriously think I’d hear Sam tell me about restarting the Avengers and I’d just- I know I was a bad boyfriend sometimes but I like to think I’m not a bad friend.”
“I don’t know what I believe.” You shake your head.
“You know me.” He says as he looks into your eyes now.
“Do I?”
“Yes. I- yeah, you do. You know me. And I’m sick of taking orders from people I don’t want to. I’m sick of doing missions and things I don’t want to do.” He breathes out.
“So don’t. Don’t do any of it. Do what you want to do. You always say that, act like that. But you always go along with it because you think it’s noble or right but if you aren’t happy doing what you’re doing then what’s the point of it all? You’re Bucky Barnes, people’s expectations for you are already all over the place. You can afford to do whatever you want. Go off the grid, start a talk show, become a celebrity chef. I wish I could do that.” You tell him.
“Why can’t you?”
“Look around. The world is falling apart, lines are being drawn, and people are looking to me to be some sort of weird tie breaker. Asking me to pick a side. You or Sam.” You shrug.
The words hang in the dark like a challenge neither of you wants to face head-on.
“I never wanted it to be like that. I didn’t mean to turn this into a war.” Bucky’s brow furrows.
“Well, that’s the thing about wars,” you say quietly. “No one ever really means for them to start. They just…light a match.”
He doesn’t respond right away. Just stares at the ceiling like it might offer some sort of answer. His thumb brushes gently over your skin, absentmindedly, like grounding himself in the feeling of you still being there.
“You shouldn’t have to choose,” he finally says. “Not between me and Sam.”
“I shouldn’t,” you agree. “But that’s not how this works anymore.”
“If I asked you to pick me… would you?” His throat bobs as he swallows.
You don’t answer. Not immediately. Your hand stills on his chest.
“I’d want to,” you admit. “But I don’t think I’d like the version of myself that would pick someone just because I love them, not because it’s right.”
He flinches, but he nods.
“I’m not asking you to compromise yourself,” he murmurs. “I just…I don’t know. I don’t know how to keep fighting when it feels like everything I do pushes you further away.”
“Then stop fighting against things. Fight for something. Something that matters. Someone.” You roll onto your side to face him, your voice softer now.
“You still think I’m someone worth fighting for?” His eyes flick to yours.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
That gets a small, almost broken sound out of him, part relief, part heartbreak. He shifts closer, forehead brushing yours. When he thinks about his future, he thinks about you. And he doesn’t know how to stop that. How to want anything or anyone else.
“I want you,” He whispers. “I still want you. All the time. All over me. You can think whatever you want but you knew me. You know me. So fucking well.”
“You broke up with me. You blamed it on the age gap. Do you know how shitty that felt?” You whisper.
“I just felt like I was hurting you every time I started to spiral. But after you found me that therapist, I- I think I’m doing better. And now, I find myself wishing I were yours again. I never wanted to belong to anyone after everything with the Winter Soldier shit. But nothing felt better than being yours. I fucking loved being your guy.” He whispers.
Your breath catches, and your hand finds its way back to his chest, right over his heart. You can feel how hard it’s beating. Like his body’s still bracing for you to pull away. You don’t. Not yet
“You were mine,” you whisper. “Every version of you. Even the broken ones. I never asked you to be perfect. Just honest.”
“I didn’t know how to be.”
“I know.”
His eyes close like that admission physically hurts. And maybe it does. Maybe this is what healing feels like, splintered and slow and wrapped in regret.
“I’d never had someone look at me the way you did,” he says. “Like I wasn’t a weapon. Like I was just…a man. Like I could be loved without it being out of pity or penance.”
“You are just a man, Bucky. And I didn’t love you because I felt bad for you. I loved you because you were mine, and I was yours, and I thought we could actually build something that lasted.” You blink hard, fighting the burn behind your eyes.
“We still can.” He brushes a thumb along your cheek, featherlight.
You let the silence stretch again, long enough for the weight of everything unsaid to settle between you.
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?” His voice drops.
“Of doing this again. Of letting myself believe you’ll stay. Of choosing you and then watching you disappear when it gets hard again. I’m scared of people saying I’m stupid for taking you back.” You whisper.
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t say I won’t. He just shifts even closer, his hand curling gently around the back of your neck, grounding.
“I’ll earn it back,” he says instead. “Every day, if I have to. I’ll show up. I’ll stay.”
You search his eyes like you’re looking for the catch, for the part where this turns back into a dream. But all you see is sincerity. Raw, quiet sincerity.
“You don’t get to leave again,” you say softly. “Not after this.”
