hi!!! i'm sami (she/her), and i'm trying to be a better writer. i mostly do bucky barnes fics, and i'd love to take any requests people might have, but either way, stay for a drink, and feel free to read what i've worked on so far! <3 (p.s. this is an 18+ bar! pls don't make me call the bouncer!)
red velvet bucky's found solace in a seductive jazz speakeasy, a perfect escape for whenever he isn't busy saving the world. but there's a new band performing tonight, and the lead singer has him questioning everything he knows about being a gentleman.
smile, you're on camera! you accidentally find out what neighbor!bucky really does for work. and he's more than interested to show you how professional he can be. pornstar!bucky. pt. 2
private show your shitty boyfriend wants to go to a strip club for his birthday. one of the dancers is desperate to give you the attention you deserve. stripper!bucky. pt. 2 pt. 3
snowed in after a brutal breakup, all you want is a snowy escape in the mountains. what you get is a cabin that's very much occupied, a dangerously attractive roommate, and no exit strategy. you plan to avoid the situation by visiting the town center. often. such a shame the weather has other ideas. lumberjack!bucky. pt. 2 pt. 3
say please you weren't supposed to be in this position. especially not with bucky barnes. but now you're burning, and he's on the other side of the door. silent. fighting himself with every breath. he does his best to stay away, until you say his name. sex pollen trope!
summary | brooklyn, 1937. bucky barnes is nineteen, cocky, and absolutely doomed the second he lays eyes on you. the girl with the mean stare and the pretty eyes. too bad you want nothing to do with him.
tags | 18+ (MDNI), unprotected sex, praise kink lite, slight breeding kink, piv, 1930s brooklyn, pre-war bucky barnes, soft!bucky barnes, historical racism & sexism (not graphic, but acknowledged), flirty bucky barnes, reader stays mean just to keep him humble, smut with FEELINGS, raw dog wedding night, bittersweet as fuck, persistent bucky barnes, spitfire reader, heartbreak with historical seasoning, hurt/comfort, angst is a love language, grief and loss, this was supposed to be romantic what happened, no happy ending (yet)
a/n | idk man. i was listening to the scientist and suddenly remembered what pain feels like. this one’s for the people who crave softness and suffering.
part one of two. thinking about making bucky pull a steve. don’t ask when part two is coming.
likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨
ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
divider by @uzmacchiato
June 1937
The summer of ‘37 was the kind that left everything a little sticky. Air thick with heat and exhaust, shirts clinging to spines, tempers short, and soda warm before you could even finish it. Bucky Barnes was nineteen, broke, restless, and convinced the city had nothing new to offer him.
He and Steve were loitering outside a corner store in Sunset Park, passing a bottle of corner-store pop between them like it was something special. It wasn’t. It was flat. Warm. But it was cold enough to keep holding, and cheap enough to split.
Steve was saying something. Probably about Roosevelt or the paper or how his landlord was a prick—Bucky wasn’t really listening.
Because then you walked by.
Just like that.
Didn’t look at them. Didn’t even glance. You were carrying a paper bag under one arm, something tucked beneath—maybe laundry, maybe groceries, didn’t matter.
What he remembered first wasn’t your dress or your shoes or the exact curl of your hair. It was your face. The expression you wore like armor—that hard-set look like the world already owed you something and you were tired of waiting.
No sign of the slightest smile.
But Bucky’s eyes stuck to you like heat. Watched you walk, watched the shape of you move with purpose, your mouth set in a sharp line like you were already pissed off at the day.
Steve was still talking.
“…you even listening to me?”
“Yeah,” Bucky muttered, without looking away.
Your steps clicked against the pavement—steady, unbothered. You didn’t walk like someone who wanted attention. You walked like someone who dared people to look at you. Like if they did, you’d ask them what the hell they were staring at.
And Bucky… yeah. He was screwed.
His grip tightened on the bottle, something shifting deep in his chest—like recognition. Like that’s her.
Didn’t know your name. Didn’t know where you were going. But there was a sudden, clear certainty that whoever you were, you were about to fuck his whole life up in the best possible way.
Steve finally turned, following his gaze. “What?”
Bucky just shook his head, lips parted like he wanted to say something clever and couldn’t remember how to speak. You turned the corner and disappeared. Gone.
But that look you wore stayed burned behind his eyes—like the kind of girl who'd fight you for looking at her wrong, and then light your cigarette when you lost.
He let out a breath, low and stunned.
Steve nudged him with an elbow. “You're drooling.”
Bucky didn’t even blink. “I’m marryin’ her.”
Steve snorted. “You don’t even know her name.”
“Don’t need to,” he said, almost to himself.
He wiped the sweat from the back of his neck and handed Steve the soda bottle.
“Let’s walk,” he said, already pushing off the wall.
“Where?”
“Same direction she went.”
──────────────────────
It took him three days to find you again.
Three days of walking the same stretch of sidewalk on his way to nowhere, buying soda from the same shop, lingering too long on corners like some dumb mutt hoping to get kicked.
Steve told him to give it up—“she’s probably got five guys chasin’ her already”—but Bucky didn’t care. There was something about the way you carried yourself that stuck in his ribs. Like a stone under his skin.
And then there you were.
Tuesday afternoon. Sun high, shadows sharp, and you were standing outside the laundromat, elbow-deep in a basket of clothes, muttering something under your breath as a slip fluttered down into the gutter.
Bucky moved before he thought. Bent down, grabbed it, held it out with what he thought was his best smile.
“Careful,” he said. “Brooklyn wind’ll steal your whole life if you’re not lookin’.”
You looked up at him.
And immediately? Nothing. No smile. No spark. Just a don’t-fuck-with-me expression you wore like a second skin. Your eyes flicked from the slip to his face like you were trying to decide if he was worth the breath.
Then you snatched the fabric from his hand. “Didn’t ask for help.”
Bucky blinked, thrown off for a second. “Yeah, no, I know—just didn’t want you losin’ your laundry, sweetheart.”
That earned him a look. Sharp and flat. “Call me sweetheart again, I’ll put this laundry pin through your eye.”
Bucky straightened slightly, trying not to smile. “Feisty. I like that.”
You rolled your eyes and turned back to your basket. “You like attention. That ain’t the same thing.”
He followed, hands in his pockets. “So what’s your name?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m askin’.”
You paused, gave him a once-over that made his skin prickle. “Then ask someone who gives a damn.”
Bucky actually laughed—short and surprised, hand rubbing the back of his neck like he couldn’t quite believe this was going the way it was.
He tried again, nodding toward the storefront. “You work here?”
You didn’t answer. Just pushed the basket with your hip and kept moving.
Bucky trailed behind, undeterred. “You always this friendly or is today just special?”
You stopped. Turned. And with a perfectly flat voice said, “Look, pal, you’re real pretty and I’m sure that works on girls who don’t know better. But I’ve had a long shift, my back hurts, and you sound like every other dumb boy with too much time and not enough brains.”
Bucky stared at you, lips parted slightly.
And you? You just turned and walked into the laundromat like the conversation never happened.
He stood there a good thirty seconds. Long enough for someone to push past him and say, “Move, Romeo.”
He scratched the back of his neck. Smiled to himself. Didn’t get a name. Didn’t get a number. All he got was insulted.
And all it did was make him want to see you again more.
──────────────────────
He didn’t know how he found it exactly.
Just that one day, a two weeks after getting verbally steamrolled outside the laundromat, he was cutting through side streets with Steve, and there it was—a little salon tucked off the corner of 9th. Pale yellow awning, scuffed tile windows, the smell of hot combs and hairspray leaking out onto the sidewalk.
Bucky stopped walking.
Steve kept going half a step before looking back. “What?”
And Bucky—eyes locked on the storefront—just muttered, “That’s her.”
It was instinct. Like gravity. He walked past three times before working up the nerve to go in. Didn’t have a plan. Just knew he had a stupid need to be near you, and maybe hear your voice again, even if it was calling him an idiot.
First time he walked in, it was under the pretense of “askin’ for his sister.”
“Thought maybe she’d like a cut, y’know? Something fancy. Special occasion.”
You didn’t even look up from your client. “Tell her to buy a brush and keep walkin’.”
He stood there a minute longer, waiting for a glance that never came. Left empty-handed and humiliated. Steve laughed about it for two days.
But he came back. Again. And again. Stupid errands. Lost jackets. “My ma said she saw someone in here she thought she knew.”
Nothing worked.
Until one day, he was lingering near the front pretending to read a flyer, and one of the old ladies in the chair said it. Clear as day. Your name.
He nearly dropped his soda. Filed it away like treasure. Rolled it around in his mouth later that night like it was a secret only he knew.
After that, he stepped it up.
Every few days, he’d bring in coffee—two sugars, light, the way he guessed you’d like it. One for you, the rest for the other ladies.
Donuts. Cream-filled, jelly, cinnamon twist. Let them pick first. Left yours in the middle of the table with your name on the bag like a dare.
Didn’t even try to talk to you at first. Just set things down, tipped his hat, and left. Sometimes you wouldn’t even touch it. Other times it’d be gone when he came back, the empty bag tossed in the bin.
He held the door once when you were carrying a box inside. You didn’t thank him. He said “Morning” once and you looked him up and down like he was an insect and said, “Didn’t ask.”
He complimented your dress and you replied, “Didn’t wear it for you.”
And Bucky was completely, stupidly, head-over-heels.
It was the way you never budged. The way you treated him the same whether he was trying to be charming or quiet or sweet. You didn’t soften. Not once.
And every time he left that little salon, hands empty, pride bruised, he just told himself: next time.
Next time she’ll smile. Next time she’ll say my name. Next time she’ll give me something back.
He didn’t even know why he was trying so hard.
It wasn’t like you looked at him twice. Wasn’t like you batted your lashes or leaned closer or gave him anything to work with.
But maybe that was the whole reason.
Maybe it was the way you carried yourself—like a woman who didn’t need anything from anyone, and would fight God Himself if He told her to sit down and smile more. Maybe it was the way you glared at him like he was a walking headache. Or the way you never bent just because someone wanted you to.
He liked that. Hell, he loved that.
Didn’t say it yet—wouldn’t for a long time. But even then, standing in the doorway of a salon that didn’t want him, holding two dozen coffees and a bag of melting donuts… he knew. You were gonna ruin his whole goddamn life.
And he couldn’t wait.
August 1937
There should’ve been a holiday in her name.
James Buchanan Barnes would’ve gotten down on his knees and thanked every higher power that ever existed for Mrs. Tiana Jackson—owner of the little salon on 9th, master of the hot comb, war general of the hair dryer, and in his opinion, God’s finest creation.
Because without her, you never would’ve said yes.
It happened like this:
He was doing what he always did—loitering, trying to play it cool, pretending to look at the newspaper stand across the street while sneaking glances through the salon’s dusty window.
You were inside, sweeping. Same look on your face you always had—like someone had ruined your day by breathing too loud. He was used to it by now. Kind of loved it, if he was honest.
Then Mrs. Jackson came out. Tall, regal, no-nonsense.
“Boy,” she said, squinting into the sun.
Bucky looked around like maybe she meant someone else.
“You,” she pointed. “With your sad-ass little coffees and your ‘oh I’m just passin’ by’ routine. Enough.”
Bucky blinked. “Uh—”
She didn’t give him time to fumble. Just crossed her arms and stared him down. “You want a date with my girl, you ask for one. Like a man. You ain’t gon’ get her attention playin’ delivery boy.”
He blinked again. Then, quietly, “She keeps sayin’ no.”
Mrs. Jackson sucked her teeth. “She says no to everybody. If she said yes right away I’d be worried she’d lost her damn mind.”
Then, a beat later, eyes narrowing, “You clean?”
He straightened. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You respectful?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You believe in Jesus?”
“Uh—yeah. Sometimes. My ma makes me go to church.”
She waved her hand. “Close enough. I’ll talk to her.”
And just like that, she turned around and went back inside.
Bucky stood there frozen. Didn’t even know what just happened. Only knew that twenty minutes later, you stepped outside in your smock, hair tied back, arms crossed, and stared at him like he’d done something deeply inconvenient to you.
“Ms. Tiana says I gotta give you one date so you’ll stop lurking like a damn raccoon.”
Bucky blinked. You were serious.
“Well?” you snapped. “You takin’ me somewhere or what?”
He scrambled for words. “Yeah—yes. Of course. Uh… Coney? I was thinkin’ Coney Island.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“You better not ask me to pay for anything.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
You didn’t smile. But you didn’t say no. And that was the beginning of everything.
──────────────────────
He blew every cent he had on that first date.
Paid the full fare for the subway ride, bought two entry bracelets, three games of ring toss, one lopsided stuffed bear, cotton candy, popcorn, a hot dog, and a ride on the damn Ferris wheel even though he was scared to death of heights.
You didn’t act impressed. Didn’t pretend to swoon or giggle or fall into his arms.
But you let him walk beside you. Let him carry your coat when it got warm. Let your shoulder rest against his for one whole minute during the fireworks without saying anything.
And that was more than enough.
September 1937
He started walking you home after shifts.
At first, you made it clear it wasn’t romantic.
“This doesn’t mean anything. Just means I’d rather not get jumped on the way back.”
And Bucky had nodded, hands in his pockets, grin barely restrained.
“Of course. Strictly security detail.”
But by the fourth walk, you didn’t say anything about why. You just waited near the door until he showed up.
It was always late—around 7 or 8, after the last rollers were set and Mrs. Jackson had chased everyone out with her broom. The air would still smell faintly like hairspray and hot comb grease, and you’d be tired, but not too tired to roll your eyes when he handed you a coffee “just in case you didn’t get one earlier.”
And you’d talk. Not always about anything deep—sometimes just about annoying clients, or the weird smell on the subway, or how you thought the woman who lived above you was hiding a man in her closet.
You told him you hated Sunday silence. That you always turned on the radio the second you woke up, even if it was just the weather. You told him you liked dogs but couldn’t stand when they drooled. That you never trusted a man who wore suspenders and a belt—“that’s someone who don’t believe in himself.”
And once in a while, when the street was quiet and you weren’t in the mood to snap at him, you’d ask about him. Just little things at first. Offhand. Like you didn’t really care.
“So what’s your old man do, anyway?”
He told you. Everything.
Told you about the auto shop his pops ran in Red Hook. How he used to sneak in after school just to play with the tools. How he burnt his hand on a radiator once so bad his ma nearly passed out from the smell.
Told you about Becca—“my little sister, born with lungs like a foghorn and a punch like a boxer.”
And about Steve. “He’s got a mouth on him. Picks fights with guys twice his size and expects me to drag him out of it. Which I do. Every time. Like an idiot.”
You asked, “And what do you do, besides play babysitter?”
And he’d told you.
That he liked science.
“Not the school part. Never had the grades. But I like when stuff works. Like machines. Or—like chemistry. The way certain things react. Chain reactions. I used to sneak into my pops’ garage and try to build shit outta scrap. Mostly got yelled at for makin’ a mess.”
You didn’t laugh at him. You didn’t tease.
You just hummed, thoughtful.
“Huh.”
That “huh” stuck with him the rest of the night.
You didn’t smile at him all the time. You didn’t giggle or soften just to make him feel special.
But the sarcasm got lighter. The edge in your voice wasn’t always a blade. Sometimes it was just… teasing.
And to Bucky, that was the best part.
You weren’t changing. You were just letting him in. Little by little.
He could handle the sharp comments—
“You got a face that says ‘I’ve never worked a day in my life’.”
“And yet here I am, workin’ hard to impress you.”
“You’re not doin’ great.”
“So you do think about me.”
You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”
But your mouth twitched when you said it.
And the more time he spent with you, the less he clung to the version he’d built in his head.
You weren’t just the girl with a mean glare. You were warm when no one was looking. You loved quiet mornings and hated the sound of ticking clocks. You could spend hours curling someone’s hair and still complain about your own. You liked lemon candy and hated being touched when you were mad.
And he loved learning all of it.
Every single detail—earned, never given freely—felt like something sacred. And for the first time in his life, Bucky wasn’t chasing the idea of someone.
He was falling for who you really were.
March 1938
It had officially been six months.
Six months of walks and coffees and late-night bodega snacks on your stoop. Six months of him pressing kisses to your cheek when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Six months of you pretending you hated it and him pretending he didn’t notice that you didn’t really pull away.
And then one night, you were sitting on the fire escape outside your apartment, both of you sharing a cigarette, the sky too humid to sleep. He passed the smoke back to you, tapped ash off the edge, and just said it.
“You should marry me.”
No fanfare. No flowers. Just that soft voice, that quiet belief like he was stating something obvious. Like of course you should. Like the world would make more sense if you just did.
You looked at him sideways.
“You been dropped on your head recently?”
He grinned. “Only once or twice. But I’m serious.”
“You don’t ask a girl to marry you when you still don’t know how she takes her eggs.”
“Scrambled, extra salt, sometimes hot sauce,” he shot back. “Don’t test me. I pay attention.”
You blinked at him. Then rolled your eyes. “Still no.”
He just nodded, like he expected it. Took another drag and leaned back against the metal.
“Okay. Can we at least call it what it is?”
“What’s that?”
“You’re my girl. Whether you like saying it out loud or not.”
You went quiet for a second. Chewed your lip.
Then shrugged.
“Fine. We can go steady. But if you start sayin’ corny shit about goin’ to the sock hop or wearin’ your class ring, I’ll kill you.”
He smiled at you like you’d handed him the moon.
─────────────────────
Three months after that, he asked again. Different tone this time. Quieter.
You’d just come back from visiting your aunt in Harlem, hair windblown, dress wrinkled, tired from the train. He offered to rub your feet, and you almost kicked him in the face.
“Let me marry you,” he said, head in your lap, fingers toying with the edge of your skirt.
You looked down at him, a little caught off guard. “Again?”
He nodded. “You’re the only thing that makes sense.”
You exhaled.
“Still no.”
But you said it slower this time. Like the door wasn’t locked anymore—just not open yet.
Some nights, when the streetlights buzzed and your legs ached from standing all day, he’d come over and just sit on the floor while you read.
Didn’t ask for attention. Didn’t need conversation.
Just wanted to be near you.
He’d rest his head against your knee and you’d pretend not to notice the way his thumb traced circles against your calf. And when you finally looked down at him—book lowered, eyes soft—he’d whisper,
“I’m in love with you, y’know.”
And you’d sigh like it annoyed you.
“I know.”
But sometimes, if you were really tired, or if his voice was too gentle, or the way he looked at you was too much, you’d lean down and gently press your lips against his.
Didn’t say it back. Not yet. But he never needed you to. He already knew.
─────────────────────
September 1938
It was raining that night. Hard, loud—the kind of storm that made everything feel heavier, like the city was pushing down on your shoulders. You were already in a mood before you even got home. Long shift. Two appointments no-showed. One woman complained her perm “felt judgmental.” You were soaked by the time you climbed the stairs, your hair pinned up, shoes squeaking.
Bucky was already there.
Sitting on the couch, eating something out of a paper bag, shirt damp around the collar. He looked up when you came in, that easy grin sliding across his face like it always did when he saw you.
“You look like a pissed-off umbrella.”
You rolled your eyes, dropped your bag by the door, peeled off your wet cardigan with a huff. “You’re hilarious.”
“Want some fries?” he offered, holding the bag up.
You didn’t answer. Just walked over, sat down beside him, and kicked your shoes off. He handed you one of the fries, still warm, still too salty. You ate it anyway.
The storm cracked outside. You leaned back against the couch, legs pulled up underneath you. The apartment smelled like rain and grease and that clean smell he always carried—soap, metal, a little bit of something woodsy.
He reached out and started unpinning your hair, gentle, like it was something he was allowed to do. You didn’t stop him.
“Rough day?” he murmured.
You hummed. “Mhm.”
Another crack of thunder. You watched the window for a while, his fingers still gently untangling your hair.
Then—without thinking, not even looking at him—you said,
“I love you.”
Just like that.
Soft. Barely louder than the rain.
You didn’t realize you’d said it until the words were already sitting there between you, full and irreversible.
Bucky’s hand froze in your hair.
You blinked. Felt your heart kick up in your chest, throat suddenly tight.
“…Shit.”
He turned to you slowly. Eyes wide, mouth parted like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right or if he’d hallucinated it.
You didn’t look at him. You looked at the floor. The wall. Anywhere but him.
“Forget it,” you muttered. “Wasn’t—doesn’t matter.”
But his hand found your jaw, gentle and steady, tilting your face toward him until you had to meet his eyes.
And he looked at you like you’d just handed him the entire world wrapped in newspaper.
“Say it again,” he said, voice quiet.
You hesitated. Chewed your cheek. Tried not to shake. But you looked at him—that stupid, sweet, persistent man who’d chased you for months, who knew how you took your eggs, who carried your heart like it was something precious.
So you exhaled.
“I love you.”
And he kissed you like that meant he could finally breathe again.
Six Years Later... October 1944
It wasn’t even a real leave. Just a short gap. A few days between chaos—enough time to catch his breath, wash off the blood, come home and try not to look like he’d been to hell.
You hadn’t seen him since the rescue. Since Steve came back from Europe with a look in his eyes you didn’t like and a new kind of strength in his step. The story of Captain America made it into the papers worldwide.
You read it twice. Once for the facts. Once to make sure Bucky’s name was really there.
When he showed up at your door, you stared at him for a long time. He looked like himself. And didn’t.
The lines in his face were deeper. His posture was different. Shoulders pulled tight. Eyes too alert.
But when he saw you, he softened—not all at once, but enough.
“Hi,” he said.
You didn’t say anything. Just stepped forward, reached for him, hands framing his face like you were afraid he’d vanish if you blinked.
His arms wrapped around you like they’d been waiting. And for a while, you just held each other in the hallway. No words. Just breath.
That night, you sat on the floor in your apartment. You made him soup and he ate two spoonfuls before pushing it away and pulling you into his lap. He didn’t want food. He wanted you.
You curled into him. He smelled like salt and gunpowder and the cheap soap they gave the soldiers.
“I thought you were dead,” you whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Later, he looked at you across the room like he was trying to memorize every part of you before the morning stole it away. Then he stood up.
“Marry me.”
Same words. Same voice. But this time it was different.
You looked up at him slowly. “You’re really askin’ me that again right now?”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t try to charm you. He just knelt down in front of you, hands braced on your knees, and said, quieter this time—
“I don’t want to go back without knowin’ you’re mine.”
“I don’t want to die and not be your husband.”
And your heart—the one you’d spent years guarding, protecting, locking behind your sharpest words—cracked wide open.
Because he wasn’t asking like he expected a yes.
He was asking like he needed something to hold onto.
You exhaled. Voice low. Tired. Soft.
“Yeah.”
He blinked.
“Yeah?”
“Yes, James. I’ll marry you.”
And his breath left him like a punch to the chest.
He kissed you so hard it hurt. Like he was trying to seal the promise with his whole body.
That night, you stayed tangled in his arms, and when he held you in the dark, you could feel his body trembling.
──────────────────────
His suit didn’t fit.
It was borrowed. A little too short in the sleeves, a little too tight across the chest. Bucky kept tugging at the collar, muttering about the damn thing choking him.
Steve helped him with the tie.
“You look fine,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“You look like someone’s about to be real lucky.”
The ceremony was in the back room of a church that still smelled faintly like paint and old hymn books. The windows rattled when trucks passed. The priest’s shoes squeaked every time he shifted weight.
You wore a white dress that didn’t cost more than twenty dollars—borrowed from Mrs. Jackson’s niece. It didn’t fit perfectly, and your hem snagged twice on the floorboards, but your lipstick was steady and your hands didn’t shake.
Your girls from the salon showed up in their Sunday best, hair pinned tight, eyes shining. They cried more than you did. Mrs. Jackson stood at the end of the pew, arms folded, mascara smudged, muttering, “About damn time.”
Bucky's ma cried too. Quietly, dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief that had your initials stitched into the corner. His father clapped him on the back like he was proud and mourning at the same time. Becca couldn’t stop grinning. She whispered, “You look like a movie star,” when you walked down the aisle.
You rolled your eyes. But you smiled too.
Bucky couldn’t stop looking at you.
Not in a showy way. Not like he wanted to impress anybody. He just kept staring—like every time he blinked, he had to double-check that you were still standing there. That this was really happening. That he hadn’t died in that Hydra pit and dreamed the whole thing.
When you reached him, he whispered under his breath,
“Hi.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t start cryin’, Barnes. I’m not carryin’ you outta here.”
He grinned. Didn’t say anything else.
The vows were short. Stumbled. A little awkward.
The priest said do you and do you and you both said I do like you meant it—like it cost you nothing and everything all at once.
And then he kissed you. Quick. Hands trembling. The second you let him go, he pulled you back and kissed you again—slower, deeper, his thumb brushing your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real.
Everyone clapped. Someone whistled. You didn’t care. You were busy holding onto your husband.
──────────────────────
The reception was whatever you could throw together in two hours. Store-bought cake. Bottles of soda. Half a bottle of whiskey passed between friends. Someone had a radio and turned it up loud enough to fill the room.
You danced once—shoes kicked off, laughing as he spun you like an idiot with no rhythm.
You muttered “you’re terrible at this,” and he grinned and whispered “married me anyway, though.”
And yeah—you had.
And he’d never been happier in his entire goddamn life.
─────────────────────
Your dress was long gone by the time you two came home. Thrown somewhere by the door. His tie still hung around his neck, loose and crooked, shirt half-unbuttoned like he never quite made it all the way.
The bed creaked beneath both of you, cheap springs groaning in rhythm with every thrust—but neither of you cared. The room smelled like sweat and skin and lavender soap, and Bucky had his forehead pressed to your neck, breathing hard, mouth working between curses and kisses.
“Fuck—can’t believe—” he bit down gently on your shoulder, groaning into it, “—can’t believe I get to fuckin’ have you like this all the time.”
Your nails dragged down his back, half on purpose, half because you were too far gone to control your hands. His hips stuttered once, and he let out a sound that didn’t even sound like a word.
“Christ, keep doin’ that,” he muttered, voice rough, buried in your throat. “You’re gonna kill me. Gonna put me straight in the ground.”
You laughed—breathless—and it made your walls clench around him. He let out a loud grunt.
He slowed down, just for a second, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in so deep your thighs trembled.
“You laughin’?” he asked, voice hoarse and playful. “On our wedding night?”
“Maybe if you’d shut up for five seconds—”
He thrust again—hard enough to knock your sentence clean out of your mouth. Your hands flew up, catching around his shoulders for balance, nails digging in.
“There she is,” he grinned against your cheek. “That mean streak.”
You gasped as he shifted the angle, hitting something that had you seeing stars. Your head fell back against the pillow with a soft thump, and Bucky followed, mouth on your neck again, licking sweat from your collarbone like he couldn’t get close enough.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “Fuckin’ gorgeous. Always actin’ tough. Always talkin’ shit. But look at you now.”
You tried to talk—to throw something back at him—but he rolled his hips again, slow and thick and deep, and all that came out was a strangled little sound you’d deny later.
He laughed. Actually laughed—the cocky fucker—and kissed your cheek like it was the sweetest thing in the world.
“I married the meanest, prettiest girl in the world and now she’s underneath me, makin’ those pretty noises like she’s gonna cry.”
“Keep talkin’,” you panted, eyes fluttering shut, “and I swear I’ll throw you out the window.”
“After I finish, right?”
You bit his shoulder. He groaned.
Then he grabbed your thigh, pulled it up around his waist, and snapped his hips hard enough to make the whole headboard bang into the wall.
He didn’t stop. Not for breath, not for mercy. Every thrust was rougher than the last, not cruel, but desperate—like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how deep he pushed, like something in him was clawing to stay inside you and never leave again.
His hand was on your jaw now, thumb brushing your bottom lip, and you bit it. Not hard, just enough to make his mouth fall open on a curse.
“You little—fuck—"
You grinned, but it dropped fast when he slammed into you again, angle brutal, rhythm relentless. He was sweating all over you, body pressed tight, his hips punching up into yours like he was trying to fuck a prayer into your bones.
The old bed frame rattled under the assault, headboard thudding against the thin wall in time with the soft slap of skin on skin. Somewhere in the room, something clattered to the floor—probably the lamp.
Neither of you looked.
“You feel that?” he rasped into your ear. “That’s what you do to me. Fuckin’—look at me. Look at me when I say it.”
You tried. You really did. But your eyes were fluttering, legs shaking, body going boneless around him.
“Eyes,” he demanded, voice gone dark and wrecked. “Come on, baby. Let me see you.”
You dragged your gaze up to him, and what you found there was filthy. Love-drunk. Obsessive. His lips were red and swollen, brow furrowed, hair sticking to his forehead in wet curls—he looked ruined.
Ruined by you.
“Fuckin’ love you,” he gasped out, like it hurt. “My girl, my wife, fuck—no one’s ever gonna touch you like this. I’ll kill ‘em. I swear to god—”
You clenched around him so hard he choked on the moan.
“Yeah?” you managed, voice cracking. “That how you’re gonna talk to your wife?”
“I’m gonna ruin my wife.”
And he meant it. God, he meant it.
One of his hands slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit like he’d been born to do it. No rhythm, just pressure, frantic, and it sent you flying so fast you barely got a sound out—just a sharp inhale and then your whole body locking up around him.
He felt it. Felt everything.
“Ohhh, fuck—there it is—fuck yes, that’s it, sweetheart, that’s it, give it to me—”
You came hard, back arching up off the mattress, legs shaking, one arm flung around his neck like a lifeline. You were so tight around him he couldn’t even move anymore—and still, he didn’t stop.
Didn’t give you a second to catch your breath.
“Again,” he grunted, hips stuttering, voice cracking. “I’m not done. You still got more in you.”
And you wanted to say no. You meant to say no.
But when his mouth found your throat again, open and wet and messy, and he started fucking into you like a man possessed—
You nodded.
You’d give him anything. Let him take all of it.
He cursed again—under his breath now, low and ragged, like the words were scraping up his throat with every thrust.
“Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—Jesus, baby, I can’t—”
You could barely hear him over the blood rushing in your ears, over the broken, wet slap of skin-on-skin. You were still twitching underneath him, whole body oversensitive, nerves fried, mouth hanging open from the last orgasm that still hadn’t let you go.
And Bucky? He was losing it.
The pace faltered—not by choice, just exhaustion. Hips jerking, breath catching, forehead pressed against yours now like it was the only way he’d keep from floating away.
“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he whispered, voice all torn up. “So fuckin’ tight, shit—I could stay right here forever, I swear—”
You whimpered—high and small and ruined—and his whole body shuddered.
One more thrust. Then another. Then another.
And then he froze.
Buried as deep as he could get, fists clenched in the sheets, jaw locked. A sound ripped from his chest—not a moan, not a growl, just a raw, broken noise—and you felt it.
Hot. Deep. All of it.
He stayed like that for a long second. Entire body shaking, pressed to you like a man who’d just barely survived something.
You didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.
He was still inside you, still twitching slightly, breath hitching against your collarbone like he couldn’t quite come down.
“Holy shit,” he rasped finally, lips brushing your jaw. “I think I saw God for a second.”
You let out a breathless laugh, weak as hell.
“Wasn’t God, honey. Just me.”
He grinned. Groaned. Then collapsed fully onto you, heavy and warm and there.
His hand found yours, messy and fumbling, and you tangled your fingers in his on instinct.
Neither of you moved. The room was a mess—pillows everywhere, sheets damp and twisted, the bedframe crooked, and one of your earrings definitely lost forever in the floorboards.
But Bucky just kissed the center of your chest. Soft. Slow. Like he had all the time in the world.
You were still catching your breath, chest rising and falling against his, when he muttered it.
“Jesus Christ. That felt a hundred times better without the rubber.”
You blinked. Let that settle for a second. Then pushed yourself up just enough to look at him.
“Did you really just say that?”
He gave you this shit-eating grin, all flushed cheeks and messy hair, absolutely pleased with himself.
“What? I’m not wrong.”
You huffed, half a laugh, half exasperation. “You’re such a man.”
“Married one, didn’t you?”
“Regrettin’ it already.”
“Nah.” He reached up, palm warm as it curved around the back of your neck, thumb tracing your jaw. “You love me too much to regret it.”
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t pull away. Your body was still humming—thighs aching, heartbeat slow and heavy. His skin was damp under your palms, his chest still rising fast, and your legs were still tangled beneath the sheets.
He tugged gently, guiding you until you gave in and let him pull you up and over, your chest flush to his now, lying on top of him like he’d wanted from the second he saw you in that cheap little white dress.
“That’s better,” he murmured, hands sliding lazily up your bare back. “Stay like this. Just for a minute.”
“Your heart’s still racin’.”
“Whose fault is that?”
You huffed, resting your cheek against his collarbone. You could feel it—his heart, hammering under your palm like it was still trying to catch up.
“I think we broke the bed,” you mumbled.
“Worth it.”
“You’re gonna have bruises.”
“Again. Worth it.”
You lay there in silence for a moment, the kind that only comes after everything’s been said with bodies instead of words.
Then, quieter—
“You really mean it? No regrets?”
His hand found your jaw again, thumb brushing the line of your cheek, guiding your face up to meet his.
“You’re my wife,” he said. Not dramatic. Not poetic. Just certain. “I’d do it all over again tomorrow. Every bruise. Every busted bed frame. Every last second I get with you.”
Your chest tightened, heat blooming in your throat, your ears. You leaned forward and kissed him once, slow, and he sighed into it like it fixed something inside him.
Then he slapped your ass and said,
“But also, definitely for the perks of never havin’ to use rubber again.”
You groaned.
“You’re lucky I love you.”
“Nah,” he grinned, dragging his fingers up your thigh. “I’m lucky you’re stuck with me.”
His hands kept drifting—lazy and slow—tracing the shape of your spine, the curve of your waist, the backs of your thighs. Just touching. Like he couldn’t help it.
You were quiet for a while. Comfortable.
Then he broke it—naturally, predictably.
“D’you think Mrs. Jackson knows we’re doin’ this?”
You snorted into his chest. “Why the hell would you say that?”
“She’s terrifying. She probably senses it. Like a sixth sense.”
You tilted your head, smiling. “She did tell me to make sure you don’t break me before the honeymoon’s over.”
“See?” he grinned. “She knows. She’s out there with a belt in her hand right now, waitin’ for me.”
You laughed, low and sleepy. He kissed your temple like it was the most important thing he’d ever do.
“You’re so fucking stupid,” you mumbled, half fond, half exhausted.
“But I’m your husband now. So that’s your problem.”
“Unfortunately.”
He smiled, quiet now. The kind of smile that didn’t reach his mouth so much as settle in his eyes.
His hand smoothed over your back again, softer this time. Then up, slipping under your jaw to tilt your face toward him. You met his gaze—and the look there was different. Still playful. But deeper. Like he was seeing through you a little.
“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitated. “You just got real quiet.”
You shrugged. “Just thinking.”
“’Bout what?”
“’Bout you leavin’ again.”
His thumb stroked your cheekbone once.
“Don’t,” he said. “Not tonight. Please.”
You blinked at him. That please wasn’t something he used lightly.
“Just want one night where it’s not hanging over us like a fuckin’ ceiling fan with a loose screw,” he added, trying to soften it.
“That’s specific.”
“It’s from Steve’s apartment. Thing’s one gust away from killing someone.”
You smiled again, tired. “Alright. I won’t bring it up.”
“Thank you.” He leaned up and kissed you, slow and lingering. Then pulled back just enough to whisper, “I want to remember this like it was the only thing that ever existed.”
You pressed your forehead to his. “It is. Right now, it is.”
The room had gone still again. The storm outside had softened to a lazy drizzle, tapping against the window like fingers drumming on glass. The kind of night where time felt loose. Like maybe it’d pause if you just didn’t move.
Bucky’s thumb was still drawing shapes against your shoulder. His other hand curled around your hip, holding you like he was anchoring himself.
“If we could go anywhere right now,” he murmured, voice low and slow, like he was thinking out loud, “no war, no rules, no uniforms—just you and me. Where’d you wanna go?”
You didn’t answer right away.
He didn’t push.
You shifted, cheek resting against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his breathing. Let yourself actually think about it—what it would mean to be free. To be seen fully. To walk into a room and not have to shrink or brace.
Then you said it.
“Paris.”
He looked down, brushing your hair back. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “I read once French women can vote. And work. Wear what they want. People actually look at them there. They’re not invisible.”
Bucky was quiet. Listening.
“And there’s not all this… bullshit segregation,” you added, voice softer now. “You can just be. It sure as hell ain’t perfect, but it’s different.”
You weren’t trying to be emotional. But it settled between you anyway.
He pulled you in a little closer.
“Paris it is, then,” he said after a beat. “When this is all over, I’ll take you there.”
You let out a short laugh. “You ever even been to Paris?”
“Not yet,” he said. “But I’ll get us there. We’ll see the Eiffel Tower and get wine drunk at some sidewalk café. You’ll wear one of those little berets and yell at rude waiters in French. I’ll carry your bags and try not to get us arrested.”
You smiled. “You don’t speak a word of French.”
“Doesn’t matter. You'll learn. I’ll just stand behind you lookin’ handsome and confused.”
You laughed then—real and quiet—and kissed his collarbone, your fingers idly tracing the edge of his ribs.
He didn’t joke after that. Just let the silence come back, but it was different this time. Softer.
“You’d look good in Paris,” he murmured eventually. “All that sunlight on your skin. Red lipstick. Little heels. Men starin’ at you like you invented God.”
“You’d lose your mind.”
“I’m already halfway there.”
You smiled into his chest, lips brushing his skin.
“We’d need passports,” you mumbled.
“We’ll figure it out.”
You paused. “Think we’ll get that far?”
He looked at the ceiling for a long second. Like if he stared hard enough, he could make the future come faster.
“I have to,” he said finally. “I gotta believe there’s a version of this where I make it out, and we get to live like people. Just… people.”
You didn’t say anything. Just pressed your chest flat against his and let him feel how steady your heartbeat was.
You were scared. He knew that. But for now, you both let yourselves believe.
Paris.
Sunlight.
A different kind of life.
October 5th, 1944 ended up being the best day of his life.
Not because it was perfect.
The suit didn’t fit. The weather didn’t hold. The priest forgot your names for a full twenty seconds before recovering with a cough and a prayer.
Not the easiest. But the best.
He remembered the way you looked coming down the aisle—not beaming, but glowing, just that usual sharp set to your jaw like you were daring the world to say something about your borrowed dress.
He remembered the heat of your palm in his when you said I do. The way your voice didn’t shake. The way his did.
The way Steve clapped so hard after the kiss, the priest flinched. The way Mrs. Jackson cried and pretended it was from the cake being too sweet.
The way your mouth found his shoulder later that night, and the way you said I love you without looking at him—like it’d kill you to say it twice.
He remembered the smallness of that room. The creak of the bed. The radio playing something slow and old from the windowsill.
He remembered falling asleep with your leg thrown over his, your hand on his chest, your voice slurred from sleep when you whispered,
“Don’t leave me yet.”
And he hadn’t answered. Because they both knew he would.
─────────────────────
October 6th was the last time he ever saw you.
The morning came too fast.
Neither of you slept much. You tried, curled around each other, sticky and sore and full of unspoken fear—but your eyes kept opening. His hands kept wandering.
The air was crisp, bright enough to sting your eyes when the light hit the window just right. You’d made coffee, strong and burnt, and he’d pretended it was perfect just to watch you roll your eyes.
The radio was humming something soft, and he was sitting there shirtless at the table, dog tags catching the sunlight while you muttered about laundry.
It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t anything worth a headline.
Just a kitchen that smelled like coffee and bacon. Just you in his undershirt, hair wrapped up, humming under your breath as you hung a towel near the stove to dry.
And Bucky, sitting there like a fool, thinking, this is it.
This was the thing men fought wars hoping to get back to. This was the reason he could go back out there and face whatever came—because he’d found something worth coming home to.
He watched you all morning. Every small thing you did. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way you balanced on your toes to grab a jar off the top shelf. He didn’t say it out loud, but he thought, if this is all I ever get, it’s enough.
Later, he walked you down to the station before he caught the train back to base. The sky was blue, clean, with that early-autumn bite in the wind. You were bundled in your coat, pretending not to be worried.
He kissed you three times before he left. Once on the mouth. Once on the forehead. Once just below your jaw, where your pulse beat steady under his lips.
“Paris,” he’d said softly.
“Paris,” you’d echoed.
He looked at you one last time. Tried to remember everything. The way your eyes looked in the morning light. The shape of your mouth when you were trying not to cry.
And then he got on the train. And didn’t look back. Not because he didn’t want to. But because he couldn’t.
If he looked, he might jump off.
But he remembered how you looked standing there at the corner—hands shoved in your pockets, watching him go. The hem of your coat catching in the wind. That stubborn tilt of your chin.
That picture stayed with him, bright and solid, long after everything else blurred.
─────────────────────
February 1st, 1945 was the day he stopped being Bucky Barnes.
It didn’t feel like an ending. It just felt cold.
The mission had been shit from the start—too exposed, too fast, too high up in the mountains. The wind had cut through him like knives. The metal under his boots had groaned with every step. And the enemy fire didn’t stop, not even when they’d taken out the guards.
He remembers the sound before anything else. Steel shearing. Wood cracking. Steve shouting his name.
Then—Air. Empty, brutal air. And then nothing.
He didn’t die. He should’ve.
But instead, he woke up on a table. Stripped down. Strapped in. Voices in a language he didn’t understand. Hands on his body. Drills. Screams. Metal.
Over and over.
He forgot his name, eventually. That part came easy.
They made him forget everything—
Every boyhood memory. Every alleyway scrape. Every walk through Brooklyn with Steve. Every kiss, every laugh, every morning in that tiny kitchen with you in your robe, swearing at the broken faucet.
It all faded. Until there was nothing left but orders and silence. But there was something they couldn’t erase.
A flicker. A shape. A feeling. A woman.
No name. No clear face. Just warmth. The feel of fingers in his hair. The scent of something sweet on skin. The sound of a voice, soft and scolding at the same time.
It never made sense to him.
Because the Soldat wasn’t supposed to feel comfort. He wasn’t supposed to need anything.
But sometimes—in the dark between missions, when the chair had gone quiet and the handlers weren’t watching—he’d dream.
Not of missions. Not of orders.
But of a soft shape pressed against his chest. A mouth at his ear, murmuring something he didn’t understand but always needed. A laugh that felt like sunlight.
Sometimes, he’d wake up sweating, panicked, heart racing like something was missing. Something important. Something his.
He never told the doctors. Never told his handlers.
They’d taken everything else from him… but not her. Even if he didn’t know who she was, she stayed. Tucked in the deepest part of him. Unreachable. Untouchable.
Like a prayer that didn’t have words.
a/n | and y’all can never say i don’t put research into my shit — i was out here looking up the least segregated neighborhoods in 1930s brooklyn and comparing international post-war race relations just to give her one damn line about wanting to move to france.
❝ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ◞ oral (fem. receiving). hair pulling. fingering. pussy slapping. mention / alludes to overstimulation. praise. finger sucking. bondage (use of a belt).
❝ 𝐚𝐧 ◞ first posted fic…please bear with me ᢉ𐭩 my nerves are strewn around lol but i wanted to start sharing my writing
"bucky..." the heat of his tongue had you writhing underneath him uncontrollably. your fingers curl into his hair, sharply tugging at the roots. he's been relentless all night, his face buried between your thighs for what felt like hours, to the point where you lost track of how many times he's brought you to the edge. “hm?” he looked up at you through his lashes, his cock throbbing at the sight of your pretty face stained with your fallen tears. there was nothing he loved more than reducing you into nothing but a fucked out mess, and he wasn't done with you just yet.
his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips in a bruising grip, keeping you pinned to your bed. "you like that?" bucky hummed, his tongue running through your slick folds to your clit. “y-yes!” your thighs threatened to close around his head, only for him to pry them apart. "keep these pretty legs open, doll. unless you want me to spread ‘em and tie them to the bed, is that what you want?” bucky hooked his arms under your thighs, securing them atop his broad shoulders.
“n-no!” you shrieked, his lips greedily sucking your clit. “could never get tired of eating this sweet little pussy,” he moaned, his tongue working your sensitive bud over and over again, relishing how sweet you tasted. your hands pushed at his head in an attempt to get away from his skillful tongue before a yelp rips from your throat when his palm meets your glossy cunt with a harsh smack. "keep pushing me away and see what happens," bucky warned. "no more!" you begged, finding yourself pushing him away once again as his tongue prods your entrance.
you successfully nudged him off of you, relief flooding your senses when the pressure in your lower tummy dissipated. “what are you doing—” you watched bucky sit back on the heels of his feet, unbuckling his belt. "you don't listen, huh? i told you that you’ll see what happens if you keep pushing me away,” he wraps his belt around your wrists, binding them together. bucky settled himself back between your legs, his lips finding their way to the apex of your thighs. “you’ve been begging for me to eat your sweet little cunt all night, and now you can’t handle it?” his tongue circles your puffy clit.
“no…” you gasped, your head falling back onto the pillow, feeling his thick fingers slip knuckle deep inside you, stretching your overly sensitive cunt open. “no?” his fingers stroke your inner walls faster. you lift your head, finding his eyes already locked with yours. "bucky, please…it’s too much!” you cried out, your pleas falling on deaf ears. “too much? i thought my pretty little doll could take it?” his tongue flicks against your overstimulated clit.
your thighs were sticky with your slick, the lewd sound of your cunt squelching around his digits alone was enough to make him cum right then and there. “you’re taking my fingers so well, you sure you want me to stop?” bucky groaned in awe, curling his fingers, hitting that gummy spot that sent a jolt of pleasure running through you.
“just give me one more, can you do that for me?” he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his lips traveling up your body to plant sloppy kisses along the underside of your jaw. your body grew hot, the familiar coil building in the pit of your tummy. you mewled, succumbing to his touch when the pad of his thumb meets your clit, rubbing in tight circles. “yeah, you can give me one more,” bucky chuckled. he draped his arm around your waist, firmly holding you down to the mattress, making you take what he’s giving you.
“bucky!” his name rolls off your tongue with a strangled cry, your eyes rolling back in pure bliss. “there it is…” bucky cooed, admiring how breathtaking you looked, your face ridden with pleasure. "good girl, you did so good for me," he slipped his fingers out of you, tapping them against your lips, watching you obediently take them into your mouth before freeing your bound wrists. “no more…” you whimpered, the countless orgasms he pulled from you had you feeling boneless. “i know, doll. i promise,” he peppers your face with gentle kisses, “i need my pretty little doll well rested first before takin’ my cock.”
Summary: A wounded Sheriff Barnes seeks shelter in a young widow’s home, and finds himself wrapped in a warmth he no longer believes he deserves, and longing for something he thought long buried.
Crying bc it's over BUT BEYOND HAPPY THAT IT HAPPENED jsjsjs
Can't even tell you how much I love this series, old west bucky is so rare and even more when it's written to perfection, so if you love a slow burn with delicious tension GO READ THIS.
just had to make another one of these! this might become a regular thing. there’s a dabble of yelena, nat and 1 joel miller fic haha.
if there is a * next to work — that means below are other works from the same author
all works are 18+ minors please do not interact! you are responsible for your media consumption! — fic range from soft smut to dark smut to some fluff.
suckin and f**kin — @cosmicwavelengths
wherever you stray i follow — @sinner-as-saint *
— stick to me, like caramel *
— this vertigo of bliss *
— the alchemy *
tempting — @pedgito joel miller x reader
lights out — @moonlightsolo
yield to me — @mercurial-chuckles
crowd of darkness — @crowsofdarkness stucky x reader
shut up — @fandoms-writings *
— little schemer *
not in that way (series) — @jaggedamethyst
until the bed breaks (it does) — @progooner123
oh my love, side to side — @daddyjackfrost
novacane — @lanadelreyscokewhor3
say please — @whambamsami *
— private show (series) part one | part two | part three *
heavy in your arms — @buckytakethewheel
dog tags — @marvelwitchergilmore
bucky with a size kink — @barnessangel
thick arms, slow grind — @societyfolklore *
— it’s what i’m here for *
— that was mine *
science section — @neilsbeloved
on command — @buckyseternaldoll *
—mirror me *
late night — @materia-girl
hamster wars — @arkofangels yelena x reader
breeding — @citrus-library dark!yelena x reader
love, you should’ve come over — @koiiiso yelena x reader
summary: you weren't supposed to be in this position. especially not with bucky barnes. but now you're burning, and he's on the other side of the door. silent. fighting himself with every breath. he does his best to stay away, until you say his name.
warnings: 18+, swearing, smut, lowkey a little dubcon, be warned! (also mild breeding and praise stuff LMAO)
note: i haven't written anything in so long!!! been dealing with a breakup haha so this is my attempt at a sex pollen fic!!! i don't love the pacing of this, but i've been obsessed with this trope so i wanted to try my hand :) also not proof read! lmk if there's any typos/plot holes!
The air inside was damp and stale. Thick with dust and the scent of old metal.
“Smells like your room in here,” you muttered, doing your best to distract yourself from the feeling that you’re being watched.
“Cute,” Bucky says dryly, “Just stick close. Try not to get us killed.”
He always did that. Undermined you. Spoke like you didn’t know what you were doing, like you hadn’t wiped the floor with him in hand-to-hand combat since you’d met him. Like you didn’t have the training, the experience, like you didn’t know exactly what the fuck you were doing.
But you were in an old, abandoned HYDRA base, which you could only assume wasn’t exactly Bucky’s ideal trip down memory lane. So you clenched your jaw and continued with your scanning.
You both crept through the ruined hallway, weapons drawn. The flickering of the overhead lights had you gripping your pistol tighter than you’d care to admit.
The hallway stretched before you. Cracked tile, wires dangling from the ceiling, that same mildew-esque air that made you gag.
“Jesus, they couldn’t afford an interior decorator?”
It was like you could see him rolling his eyes from behind.
“They’re war criminals, not the Property Brothers,” he hissed over his shoulder.
“Wow, you know who the Property Brothers are?”
“Just-”, and you’d gotten him riled up enough that he was speaking the tiniest bit louder than he should’ve been, “just stick close, okay?”
“I always stick close,” you muttered, “you’re the one who always runs in like you have something to prove.”
He glanced back at you, lips twitching. “Maybe I do.”
You rolled your eyes.
But your pulse quickened.
You hated how much you liked him like this. Snarky. Cocky. Almost… attentive.
That stupid leather harness, the one that had been added to give him easy access to an extra pistol, that stretched across his broad chest wasn’t really helping either.
Neither did the way that his eyes met yours in the dark. Like he could hear every mortifying thought he drew out of your traitorous mind.
As much as he annoyed you, as much as you sniped and bantered and pushed each other, you were partners. There was no one in the world you trusted more in the field.
That’s why it was so terrifying when you were separated.
Bucky must’ve tripped a security system, because before either of you could react-
Clang.
A metal panel dropped, splitting the hall in two.
And Bucky was gone.
You hear gears grinding against each other, a pop, a hiss from just above you, and you look up just in time to see something drop from the ceiling. A canister, maybe.
Gas erupts in front of you, a pale green mist that you breathe in before you can even register what’s happened.
“Shit!”, you gasp, but it’s too late, “Bucky, I breathed in something-”
He was pounding on the metal, screaming your name with more fear in his voice than you’d have ever heard.
But you didn’t hear him.
Not before everything went black.
You woke up strapped to a cold chair, wrists and ankles aching against the restraint to no avail, a ball of loose white fabric stuffed so far in your mouth you couldn’t even cry for help.
Two men dressed in lab coats were standing in front of you, sickly pale like they hadn’t been outside in ages. HYDRA, presumably. The look in their sunken eyes was eccentric, crazed. They were pacing in front of you nervously, murmuring to each other in a language you didn’t understand. German, maybe.
“...zu hübsch, um es einfach zu töten…” you caught from the taller of the two as they inched closer to you.
The other, shorter man nodded. “Soll sie zuerst für uns tanzen?”
The first man smiled wickedly, reaching into the pocket of his lab coat, pulling out a syringe filled with a pinkish-purple liquid. He stepped close enough that you could smell his breath, see his yellowed snarl, and flicked the needle as he approached.
He fucking reeked.
You surged against your restraints, crying out despite your makeshift muzzle. You wanted it, wanted him, nowhere near you.
But you didn’t have much of a choice.
Ignoring your screams and your desperate attempts to pull away, the man stuck the needle in your neck and pushed, injecting whatever was in that vial directly into your bloodstream.
You couldn’t fight back, could barely move. It was too late. Whatever HYDRA concoction they’d used on you was already in you. You were probably as good as dead.
But he was close enough.
So the second he removed that needle, you clenched your jaw to protect your teeth, reared back, and headbutted him as hard as you could.
You felt the crunch before you heard it.
The man, if you could call him that, reeled back with a grunt, hand flying to his nose as blood burst through his fingers.
“Scheiße!” he managed, stumbling back, crashing into a tray of medical instruments that clattered to the floor.
The other man moved toward you in a blur, striking you hard across the face.
Not hard enough to wipe the defiant smile that you wore through the cloth that gagged you.
“You’ll regret that,” he seethed, voice thickened with whatever accent he had, “You’ll regret that when you’re begging for anything from us-”
He cut himself off. Looked down. And looked back up at you, disbelief in his eyes like you had anything to do with the red that bloomed through the stark white of his lab coat, bleeding through his stomach. His knees folded in, dropping his body limp to the floor.
The other man didn’t have time to turn before he met the same fate, lifeless and forgotten on the ground.
Bucky stood before you, panting, in front of the now-open door, gun still smoking in his vibranium hand.
He walked past you and pointed his gun at the back of the first man, the one who had injected you with something, and shot once, twice, thrice. For good measure.
Blood sprayed on the floor. Silence settled in, the only noise in the room was your ragged breath.
He finally turned to face you.
“Doll”, he murmured. His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. Raw. Almost panicked.
He dropped to his knees by the chair, eyes raking over you as he made quick work of your restraints.
The welt on your cheek made him pause.
“I’m so sorry, I- “ his hands were trembling, and you weren’t sure if it was from sheer rage or sheer terror, “what did they do to you?”
The moment your wrists were free, you collapsed forward into his chest, clutching that vest like it was a lifeline before you could stop yourself.
“I don’t-” you try, pushing off of him gently, “I don’t know what they gave me”, and your body is slowly starting to betray you, shaking all over, “Bucky, what is this?”
His eyes darted over you, seeing the way your limbs had begun to weaken, and started to look around the room.
The two HYDRA men, bodies strewn on the floor. The empty syringe. The residue of something pinkish-purple still inside.
His blood ran cold.
You felt him tense up in front of you, saw him suck in a breath, like he wouldn’t let himself believe whatever he’d started to piece together.
“Bucky…?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
“I’ve seen this before. And we need to get out of here. Now.”
He knew what came next. The way it tore through a person’s body like a match to gasoline. And the way that you were already clinging to him, thighs twitching, chest heaving-
It was already taking hold.
He had you in his arms before you could protest.
You didn’t even try to. Couldn’t. Your body felt like it was overheating, aching with a need that wasn’t yours, wasn’t fair, wasn’t natural.
Bucky moved fast, cradling you to his chest like you were something delicate, something fragile, not like the battle-hardened woman you’d become over time.
You heard more bodies drop. His boots on the tile. Felt the sunlight on your too-warm body as Bucky cleared whatever dared get in his way.
But all you could think about was the way your thighs kept pressing together, the way your nipples had pebbled, aching against the fabric of your suit. The way his scent enveloped you, something woodsy, with leather and whiskey, and a bit of mint.
“Almost there,” he muttered, almost to himself.
You buried your face in his neck.
It didn’t help.
A small cabin, off the grid. Emergency lights only. Quiet.
You barely remember getting to the safehouse, just the hum of the quinjet, the heat still in your skin.
The last time Bucky had spoken, it was on the quinjet, and it wasn’t even to you. He’d radioed in, murmuring “She’s been drugged. I need an extraction kit and a sterile space. No contact. No questions.”
He spoke like you couldn’t hear him. Like his voice wasn’t the only thing in your mind, the only sound that was permeating the haze that clouded your brain.
When you’d gotten into the cabin, he’d laid you down on the worn-out couch.
The lack of contact with Bucky’s body felt like it physically hurt.
“Fuck,” he muttered, hands in his hair, pacing now, “Fuck, fuck, this shouldn’t have happened, not to you, not now-”
“Bucky…” your voice is shaky now, “What the fuck is happening to me?”
He couldn’t stop pacing. Wouldn’t look you in the eye.
You hated that it hurt, that you wanted him to look at you. Why did you want him to look at you so bad?
“Okay,” and finally, he pauses his pacing, “You deserve to know what this is.”
You look up, desperate to catch his gaze in yours.
He crouched, so you were eye level. His voice was low, but steady, like he had to remove every bit of emotion from his words.
“It’s a…” and he exhales, like he’s forcing himself to finish his sentence, “It’s a heat serum. HYDRA used it on captives, on…me. Some kind of sick breeding attempt.”
He looks away for just a moment. Even though it hurts, you let him, before he continues.
“It makes you desperate for contact. Floods your body with hormones. Dopamine, oxytocin, pheromones- it’s like the most intense aphrodisiac you could imagine. It forces your system into a cycle of arousal and pain. If you don’t get relief, it doesn’t just hurt. It can cause nerve damage, organ stress, seizures” and he swallows, “in some cases, death.”
You would laugh. You would laugh if you couldn’t feel every nerve in your body screaming for something, anything. Anything from him.
So you settled for balling your hands up into fists, stopping yourself from grabbing him, and taking, taking, taking-
“What am I supposed to do?” you whisper.
He looks at you like he was terrified of touching you, of making it worse. Like he didn’t know he was the only man who could save you.
“I’m going to give you space,” he says softly, and you wanted to scream, “I’m going to do everything I can on my end to find a cure. I’ll call Tony, Bruce, I’ll exhaust every resource we have. I’ll stay outside this room. You try to manage it. Breathing. If you want to… touch yourself… you can. If that helps.”
Your cheeks flush even pinker, if that’s possible.
“If- if you need me for anything,” his voice cracked.
“Just say my name.”
You force yourself to nod. Let him close the door behind him, even though it feels like he’s taking all the oxygen in the room with him.
You tried.
God, you tried.
You stripped out of your suit as silently as you could, laid flat on the bed, limbs shaking.
The sheets felt too rough. The air was too heavy. Not heavy enough. You couldn’t tell.
Every inch of you throbbed with need. It felt like your blood was on fire.
It wasn’t just need, not like you’ve ever experienced it. It was like your body was starving.
Your hand slipped between your thighs, and you gasped at just how wet you already were.
But when you touched yourself, when you circled your clit, when you did more, it didn't work. Nothing worked.
Your body would clench around nothing, unsatisfied. Empty.
It didn’t help that the physical embodiment of your antidote was just downstairs.
The serum was absolutely ravaging your body. No matter how many times you could get yourself there, it wasn’t yielding. If anything, it worsened every minute you were without touch.
Without his touch.
You felt pathetic. Like an animal in heat.
You were a complete slave to the serum, and Bucky was here to witness your humiliation.
He could hear you.
You knew he could hear you. His supersoldier serum ensured that he could pick up on every pitiful noise you tried to silence.
He was sitting, back to the wall outside the bedroom, palms flat on the floor. He’d reached out to Tony, to Bruce, and the solutions were all the same.
He’d already known that. Known that reaching out was in false hope that he wouldn’t have to do what he knew he must.
What he swore he would never do to you. Take from you.
He heard everything.
The creak of the bed.
Your soft, frustrated whimpers. One choked sob. His name. Once. Barely audible.
He’d dreamed of you saying it so many times. It was better than he’d imagined, so much better.
But he couldn’t focus on any of that. He was disgusted with himself, horrified at his body’s reactions to the noises you couldn’t help but let slip. The way you couldn’t help but touch yourself, the way you had to give in to HYDRA’s puppeteering.
He wanted you. More than he’d ever wanted you over the past year, and trust him, that was saying something.
And he hated himself for it.
He was in love with you. Of course he was. He had been for months. The way you made him laugh. The way you challenged him. The way you always had his six without question.
But you’d never want him. Not like this.
And even if you thought you did, it wasn’t real. Not under this serum. Not when it came with pain and desperation.
This was not the need that he’d spent countless nights fantasizing that you’d have for him.
He’d rather die than make you feel used.
Even if it killed him not to touch you.
Even if he wanted you so bad it burned.
He was starting to wonder if he’d been slipped some of the serum, too.
You were still in the room. Still unsatisfied. Still empty.
You’d touched yourself until your fingers were sore. Until you were sobbing on the mattress, serum coiling deep in your stomach, a call you couldn’t answer.
Not alone.
It wasn’t enough.
You needed him.
You thought of his hands, rough and warm. His voice, his blue eyes, his rare smile.
You wanted him.
Not just because of the serum.
You always had.
The serum just dug up those buried urges and forced them into your mouth.
You felt like your entire body was a live wire. Like you were being ripped open. You knew he was just behind the door, could practically feel his body heat from here,
You knew he would help you, if you asked.
That almost made it worse. That it would be real to you, and to him, it’d be mercy. You’d be a means to an end to Bucky.
You closed your eyes.
Whimpered again.
You didn’t want to be a task. A pity fuck. A problem he needed to solve before it killed you.
You wanted to be wanted.
Your hands slid between your thighs again, useless and shaking. It still wasn’t enough. Your body was screaming, throbbing, wet and desperate for something more. For someone.
You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood. Tried not to cry again.
Don’t say his name. Don’t say it unless you’re ready to mean it. Don’t say it if it won’t mean anything back.
You curled in tighter.
But your body had its own voice now. A louder one.
And when the next wave hit, sharp and devastating, you broke.
“Bucky.”
It came out like a confession.
The door opened so fast it startled you.
He stood there, eyes burning.
Bucky didn’t look calm anymore.
He looked like a man unraveling, like he felt every single feeling that you felt.
He moved before you could breathe again.
“I heard you,” and his voice was hushed, like he thought raising his voice could shatter you, “You said my name.”
You whimpered, nodding pathetically, a weak hand reaching out to him. You didn’t, couldn’t care that you were entirely bare before him. The serum had peeled you raw.
His eyes dropped to your naked, shaking figure, and his whole body tensed.
“Fuck,” he breathed, “You’re…”
He stopped. Like he was catching himself before saying something he shouldn’t, something he wasn’t allowed to.
“You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”
“I need you,” you whispered, not caring about how pitiful you surely looked.
His eyes snapped to yours.
“I want to,” he said, almost brokenly, “God, I want to. You have no idea how bad I want this, want you.”
“Touch me,” and you were pleading now, inching closer to him, “Please.”
He took a step toward you. Then he stopped.
“Not unless you’re sure. Not unless it’s really me you want. Not the serum.”
His hands were clenched, like he was holding himself back.
“It is.”
“You’re sure it’s not just the serum?”
“Yes,” you weakly pushed yourself up on your elbows, voice shaking, “I wanted you before this, Bucky, I did, for so long, but now I feel like I’m gonna die if you don’t touch me, and I need you-”
He crossed the room before you could finish. And finally, he cut you off with a searing kiss.
You couldn’t count the times you’d tried to force your body to comply with your fingers, to just let you finish after you’d been trying for what felt like days.
Bucky’s lips on yours felt indescribably better.
He was on his knees in front of you, his vibranium hand tangled gently in your hair, the other arm wrapped around your waist, holding your exhausted body up.
He tasted like mint, like liquor, like something you couldn’t give a fuck about because he was kissing you-
Bucky pulled back to rest his forehead on yours.
You hated the way you wanted to cry at the loss of contact.
“If you tell me to stop,” and you could feel his warm breath on your lips, could still taste him, “I will. Even now. Even if it kills me.”
“I won’t,” you promised, hands cupping his face, fighting your need to force him back into a kiss as much as you could, but you knew he could smell how bad you needed this.
You thanked God when he kissed you again.
Hungrier, this time. The both of you. His hands were everywhere on you. His flesh hand pressed your hips into him as he climbed on top of you, the metal of his left hand grazing your stomach as it made its way up to cup your breast. The coolness of the vibranium on your feverish body made you gasp into him. You swear you could feel him smile against your lips before he slipped his tongue into your mouth, letting his thumb sweep across your pebbled nipple as he rolled his clothed hips expertly into yours.
You clutched his shirt, pulling him in deeper, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him back into you, making the both of you whine.
“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured against your lips before working his way to your neck, licking and nipping softly like he wanted to know exactly how to pull those noises out of you, “Let me help you. Let me make you feel good, yeah? You gonna let me?”
You didn’t answer, hands tugging the bottom of his shirt up, mouth wide as you exposed more of his body to your greedy eyes.
He pulled back just for a second to relieve himself of his clothes, and the feeling of his skin against yours was dizzying when he lowered himself back onto you, letting his weight pin you down as the mattress creaked beneath him.
His hands were on you, sliding down your waist, anchoring you, holding you like he was starving. He pushed you back against the pillows slowly, watching you like you were sacred, like you’d disappear if he blinked too hard.
“You’re burning up,” he whispered, brushing sweaty hair from your face. “You poor thing.”
“Bucky, please-”
“I’ve got you now,” he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, your throat, the curve of your collarbone. “Not gonna let you hurt anymore.”
You gasped when his lips closed around your nipple-hot, gentle, then rough when he sucked. Your back arched. Your thighs squeezed around his hips.
He groaned. “So fucking sweet.”
His hands slid lower, down your ribs, across your hips, to your thighs. He spread you open slowly, reverently, even as your body shuddered beneath him.
“Oh my God-” he hissed, staring at you.
You were absolutely soaked. Could feel yourself running down your thighs, spilling onto the bed.
“Bucky, I-” You couldn’t finish. Couldn’t form words with the way you were throbbing, clenching around nothing.
“I know, baby,” he whispered, thumb stroking your inner thigh. “I know, you’re so full of it, huh? You need someone to take care of you.”
He pressed his forehead to your stomach. “I’ll take care of you.”
And then his hand was on you, fingers sliding through your slick, his touch so careful, so maddeningly slow.
You whimpered, hips bucking.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, teasing your clit with slow, delicious circles. “Let me learn you.”
You gasped his name when he slid one thick finger inside you.
“Jesus,” he rasped, watching your body arch,“So fucking tight. You’re clenching so hard for me.”
“More,” you begged, “Please, Bucky-more.”
“Look at you,” he groaned, adding a second finger,“You were made for me.”
He fucked you with his fingers until you were crying, leaving soft kisses on your puffy clit until until your thighs were shaking and you were clutching his wrist and sobbing his name like a prayer.
But it wasn’t enough.
You needed more.
And he felt it.
“What do you need, sweetheart? and he nipped at your inner thigh to make you hiss before leaving a kiss on your knee, “Let me help you, yeah?”
“You,” you sobbed, “Please”
He sucked your clit in one last time before he leaned back on his heels, gazing down at you like you were on display just for him.
You moaned at the sight of him.
He knelt between your quivering legs, lining himself up, his cock thick and heavy, weeping and dark with need.
“You tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs.
You nod, knowing nothing from him will ever be too much.
“Say it,” and he sounds just as desperate as you feel, “Please, I need to hear you say it.”
“I will,” and your voice is absolutely wrecked.
That was all he needed.
He pushed in.
The stretch made you cry out.
Not from pain. From relief. Your body was finally getting what it needed. What it had begged for.
Bucky groaned low, forehead dropping to your shoulder.”
“Fuck, so tight-” he panted, “So fucking wet, so warm-”
You’re whining beneath him, ankles locked behind his hips, nails digging into his back.
“Please.”
He looked at you like you hung the stars.
Then he started to move.
He started slow.
It didn’t last.
The second you moaned, high and broken and so desperate, he snapped.
His thrusts went hard. Deep. His fingers curled around your thighs, dragging you closer, pulling you apart, angling just how he needed, until every stroke had you crying out into his neck.
You were pulsing so tight around him he could barely breathe.
“Fuck-” he growled into your skin, teeth grazing your throat, “You’re- Jesus, you’re perfect- taking all of me so fuckin’ good-”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.
All you could do was feel. The weight of him over you. The stretch, the pulse of him inside of you. The heat rolling off of both of you. The roar in your blood.
Every time he pulled back and slammed into you again, your body lit up like fire. You clung to him, heels dragging him deeper.
He groaned. Raw and wrecked. Like it was killing him. Like he needed it more than you did.
“You feel too fuckin’ good- too fuckin’ tight around me-”
You sobbed his name, head falling back against the pillows.
He chased every sound you made.
One hand slid between your bodies, his thumb rubbing rough circles over your clit.”
“That’s it, baby, give it to me,” he purred, “Come on, show me how bad you need it, don’t you need it, baby?”
Your whole body tensed.
You shattered.
Your orgasm hit so hard it knocked the breath out of you.
Everything you’d been working your body toward for the last few hours peaked.
You screamed his name, arching into his touch, walls fluttering around his cock in hot frantic pulses.
And that was it for him.
“Oh, fuck-”, he moaned, hips speeding up even more.
“Gonna fill you up, yeah? You gonna let me fill this pretty pussy up, sweet girl?”
He eased a thumb past your parted lips, forcing your hazy eyes to look at him as you sucked.
“You gonna let me? You want me to, don’t you? You want me to pump you full?” he cooed, and you weren't sure if you nodded on your own accord or if he used his thumb to ease your head up and down.
“Yeah?” he murmured, voice thick and low as sin, “You gonna let me do that, sweetheart? Let me fill you up nice and deep?”
His thumb brushed under your chin, tilting your slack, blissed-out face up to meet his.
“You want that, don’t you? Want me to pump you so full you feel me for days?”
You whimpered, helpless, your body barely moving except where he moved it, his hands guiding you up and down his cock like you were nothing but pliant heat and want.
“Good girl,” he purred, and his grip tightened just a little, possessive and reverent all at once. “You don’t even have to answer- I can feel how bad you need it.”
His vibranium hand moved to rest on your lower stomach, and you felt him even more than before.
“You feel that?” he groaned, breath stuttering, dragging you down onto him so slow and deep you could feel every inch of him stretching you open, “That’s me. All of me, sittin’ so fucking deep inside you- fuck, baby…”
You choked on a moan, barely holding your eyes open, muscles trembling, brain gone fuzzy from how full you felt.
“Look at you,” he rasped, rocking his hips up into you, sharp and controlled, “So fucking perfect. So tight and wet around me. You’re taking me so good, like this pussy was made for me.”
He gripped your hips tighter, pulling you down harder. “God, you were made for me, huh? You feel it too. I know you do.”
“Bucky-” you gasped, eyes rolling as his cock brushed that devastating spot inside you.
“Shhh,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw, still fucking up into you, slow but relentless, “I’ve got you. You just take it, sweetheart. Let me give it to you.”
His hand slid between your legs, thumb rubbing circles over your clit. Fast. Focused. Filthy.
You cried out, body jerking, the pleasure coming too fast, too sharp.
“There she is,” he breathed, voice hungry. “You’re gonna come for me again, aren’t you? Gonna come all over my cock while I fill you up-fuck, yeah, that’s it-”
“Please,” you whimpered, brain gone, body twitching under him.
“You want it?” he growled, holding you flush to him now, one hand behind your back, the other rubbing your clit like he owned you. “Want me to stuff you full? Fill this perfect pussy until you can’t think straight?”
You sobbed.
“Beg for it, baby,” he said darkly, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me you want me to breed you. Tell me you want to be mine.”
“Yours,” you gasped, desperate, shaking, not even sure what you were begging for anymore, “Yours, please, Bucky, please-”
He let out a guttural sound.
Then he slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and came with a groan so raw it made you clench around him like a vice.
“Fuck- take it-take all of it-”
Hot, thick pulses spilled into you, flooding your core, his hands holding you tight as you cried out and came again, your body milking every drop of him like you never wanted it to end, so much of him that you overflowed, could feel it seeping out of you.
You collapsed against him, boneless. Spent. Whimpering through the aftershocks.
And still, he held you. Stroking your back, whispering into your skin.
“You did so good for me, baby…So fuckin’ good. So beautiful. Mine.”
ok all done! just absolutely horrifying that im posting this on fathers day huh LMAO
Hii! I'm so in love with your Snowed in Bucky fic!! When can we expect the next part and how long do you plan the fic to be? <3 <3
hi!!! this is so sweet of you to ask, i want it to go for around 10ish chapters total, and im working on the next chapter right now! i havent posted anything in a bit and ive been slammed but i'd like to get the next chapter out by fri <3
here's an idea: a Bucky smut fic where reader is usually pretty quiet in bed and he takes it as a personal challenge. (Like somehow holds your jaw open while pounding so that you can hold any noise in and over the next two round he can hear every noise you make)
Thank you for the request! I had so much fun writing this and I hope you like it!
This is pretty much pure smut, the reader is described as female briefly. It does end fluffy though <3
Bucky wasn’t used to silence. Not during this, at least.
You were everything he could want, soft where he needed, sharp where it counted, and warm all over. But when it came to the bedroom, you were quiet. Not cold or withdrawn you kissed him back like you were starving, pulled him close like you’d never wanted to be separated again but your sounds were small. Barely there gasps, shaky breaths, the occasional hum that ghosted past his ear.
“You really think I don’t notice?” His voice was low, just barely brushing your ear. His breath was warm, his body already pressing you down into the mattress like he owned you. You swallowed. “Notice what?” Bucky dragged his metal hand up your thigh, parting you so easily with a casual possessiveness that made your breath hitch. “How quiet you are, baby. Damn near silent when I’m deep inside you.” You shifted, already wet from his voice alone. “I… I don’t mean to.”
“Oh, I know.” He kissed your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. “Know you’re not doing it on purpose. But now I need to know what you sound like when you can’t keep it in.” You blinked up at him. “I’m gonna ruin that silence tonight.” His eyes darkened. “And you’re gonna thank me for it.”
You’re already trembling, soft gasps escaping as he lays you back on the sheets. His palm ghosts over your jaw, you flinch just the tiniest bit. Not in fear. In anticipation. Like you know he’s going to push. He leans in, voice low, dangerous. “Open.”
When your lips part for him, he almost groans. Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me.
Two fingers slide between your lips, not deep, just enough to make you vulnerable. Exposed. Make you his. Now there was no way you could bite it back. Can’t muffle any sounds. Can’t shut him out. His breathing hitched as he took in the sight under him. You look up at him with wide eyes, already flushed, already wrecked before he’s even moved. “You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he murmurs, lining himself up. “Can’t wait to hear every noise you’ve been hiding.”
And when he thrusts into you; hard and deep your eyes roll back, mouth falls open wider around his fingers, and finally…
There. That moan. That sharp, perfect crack in the silence. He watches as you fall apart in real-time. Watches you try to fight it and fail. “Yeah, baby,” he growls, thrusting harder. “That’s it. Give it to me. Let me fuckin’ hear you.” Every noise you make is his reward. Every gasp, every whimper, every choked little sob it’s better than he ever imagined. He wants to pull them out of her like thread, unraveling her one noise at a time.
You cried out, the sound catching in your throat as your body arched beneath him. But you couldn’t bite your lip. Couldn’t bury your face. Couldn’t stay silent. Not like this. Not with him keeping your mouth open like a prize. “That’s it,” he growled, hips slamming into you again. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you let go.” You whimpered a high, breathy noise you didn’t even recognize as your own. “That’s my girl,” he purred, rhythm ruthless. “Let me hear that sweet voice. You’ve been hiding it from me for so long.”
Each thrust dragged a different sound from you, shaky moans, breathless gasps, one broken little sob that made his eyes flash with pure hunger.
“Think you can stay quiet with me? When I’m this deep in your tight little pussy?” he taunted, mouth against your cheek now. “I don’t think so.”
You came with a cry that echoed in the room, your voice breaks, it’s raw and breathy, your whole body tightening around him. There was no way to stifle it, no way to mask it. And he smiled as he felt you clench around him, your thighs shaking, mouth still held wide by his fingers. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop now that he had you where he’s been dying to have you.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he flipped you over, chest pressed down to the sheets, ass in the air. “Still got more in you?” he asked, cock dragging along your sensitive folds. You shivered. “Y-Yeah--”
“That’s what I thought.” He slid back in slower, then set a bruising pace, pulling your hips back to meet every thrust. You tried to hold in the whimpers, but they spilled out anyway. Bucky reached around to grip your jaw again not roughly, just firm, thumb dragging your bottom lip down. “No hiding,” he purred the reminder in your ear. “Not tonight. Not with me.” You came again, louder this time. Raw. Honest.
You were trembling in his arms, body limp from overstimulation, lips red from how much sound he’d pulled from you. He held you close now soft strokes between your thighs, kisses on your temple. But when you whined softly in his lap, trying to catch your breath, he chuckled darkly. “Still think you can stay quiet, doll?” You shook your head weakly. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”
Your throat was raw. Your body hums with the kind of satisfaction that feels bone-deep; it feels heavy, spent, and warm in a way that leaves you wordless. For once, your silence has nothing to do with shame. You’re quiet because he took everything from you, and you gave it willingly. Now, you’re wrapped in his arms, both of you still slick with sweat and breathless, your head tucked under his chin. His metal arm curls securely around your waist while the warmth of his flesh hand traces lazy circles over your back, grounding you, keeping you here.
“You okay?” Bucky murmurs, voice rough with effort and something softer…concern? Affection?
You nod into his chest. “More than okay.” He kisses your forehead. “Didn’t push too hard?” You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “No. You…It was amazing.” His gaze softens immediately, like hearing that gives him permission to relax. His thumb brushes your cheek. “You sounded so fuckin’ beautiful, baby,” he says, voice almost reverent. “Didn’t realize how much I needed to hear you.”
You smile, a little shy again. “You make it easy. To just let go.” His brows pull slightly. “I never want you to think you have to stay quiet for me. I want all of it. Every sound, every word… even the messy ones.” You laugh softly, and he smiles at the sound like it’s his new favorite thing. “I didn’t think you’d care so much,” you admit. Bucky’s hand tilts your chin until you’re looking right at him. “I care about everything when it comes to you. Even the stuff you don’t say out loud.”
You kiss him, slow and thankful. And when he wraps you tighter against him, tucking the blanket around your legs, you let yourself melt into that feeling of safety, of softness, of being so utterly heard. Maybe tomorrow he’ll tease you for the sounds you made. Maybe he’ll chase them again. But right now?
He just holds you. And for once, your silence means peace. Not hiding.
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summary: you’re fresh out of a break up, and your brother is determined not to let you dwell on your shitty ex. he thinks your annual summer trip with your shared group of friends should do the trick. you think a summer spent staring at his hot best friend will at least lift your spirits a little.
set the scene: reader and her brother live together, lakehouse is owned by readers parents and this does not take place in the mcu, reader is mid-20’s and bucky, steve, sam, natasha, and readers brother are all a couple years older.
warnings: some fluff, reader gets cheated on by john walker, very anti john walker due to said cheating, LOTS of flirting (its bucky we’re talking about), self doubt, weed and alcohol mentions/consumption, SMUT MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), bucky calls reader a slut (affectionately), unprotected sex, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!
other characters: readers brother (oc), yelena belova, natasha romanoff, steve rogers, sam wilson, wanda maximoff, bob reynolds, ex bf john walker (mentioned)
wc: 7.9k
MINORS DNI (18+)
—————————————————————————
knock knock
the third time in the past five minutes. andrew, your loving yet annoyingly persistent older brother, seemed to be determined to get you out of your bed. he succeeded briefly that morning when he had made your favorite breakfast and insisted you eat with him, though after putting your plate in the sink you were quickly scurrying to your room and shutting the door before he could stop you.
a sigh left your mouth as you pulled your comforter over your head. maybe if you pretended you were asleep, he would go away.
knock knock
“i know you aren’t sleeping y/n,” your brother’s muffled voice came through your door.
you rolled your eyes as you pulled the blanket down enough to yell, “yes i am!”
the handle jiggled, and you could almost hear the annoyed look on his face, “seriously? open the door or i’m picking the lock!”
you ripped your covers off before stomping to the door and whipping it open, meeting your brothers irritated features with a hard glare, “that’s an invasion of privacy, asshole.”
andrew rolled his eyes as he looked past you and into your room, “jesus y/n,” he muttered as he pushed past you and walked over to your curtains, sliding them open and bathing the room in sunlight.
your eyes squinted against the harsh light, blinking a few times before remembering you were supposed to be upset, “hey! i didn’t say you could come in!”
“yeah well i’m tired of my little sister living like a fuckin’ vampire,” his eyes drifted around your room, his face softening as he took in the sight that was now painfully visible to him.
tissues littered the floor around your bed, sheets and blankets that were usually tidy a crumpled mess on your mattress. the small trashcan in your room was overflowing with various pictures and gifts you could no longer stand the sight of. a small pile of stuffed animals had clearly taken the brunt of your emotions, a pair of scissors lying next to their mutilated fuzzy bodies.
when your brothers pitying gaze landed on you it was your natural instinct to close yourself off, arms crossing over your chest as you muttered a weak, “i’m fine.”
andrew just sighed as he walked over to you, hands resting on your shoulders cautiously, “not talking to anyone about it isn’t gonna help you.”
“what’s there to say?” you spat, your eyes staying fixed on your feet, “i thought my boyfriend loved me, he cheated, clearly i was wrong. that’s all there is to it.” your voice broke as you finished your sentence, emotions betraying your words as your eyes welled with tears.
you really did think john loved you. if not the traditional, head over heels type of in love, you at least believed he loved you in the way he could. he was irritable often times, but he always apologized. he didn’t love public displays of affection, but he showed his hunger for you in private. he didn’t really get along with your friends, but he was never outright cold to them.
well, almost all of them.
the one person who couldn’t seem to even pretend to like john was bucky barnes. your brother’s tall, charming, insanely hot best friend. it baffled you the first time you had brought john around to meet your friends, bucky’s usually kind demeanor hardening into a suspicious stare as he stiffly shook johns hand. bucky’s distaste for john appeared to be a mutual feeling. you watched their biceps flex as they seemed to have a mini arm wrestling match, brow furrowing in confusion before you pulled john away to introduce him to the rest of the group.
every subsequent group event you brought john to was like that. bucky would greet you with his usual hug and charming smile, before fixing john with the same stare and an utterance of his last name. wanda had convinced herself that bucky acted that way because he wanted you, but that didn’t really feel plausible to you. it’s not like john was your first partner, and bucky had been perfectly pleasant to everyone else you had dated.
in hindsight, you think bucky knew in his gut that john would ultimately be bad news.
andrew frowned at your words, pulling you into a tight hug, “that’s not all there is to it, y/n. he really hurt you. you’ve barely been eating, you haven’t talked to your friends in 4 weeks, i had to send mom and dad a picture of you at breakfast this morning to prove you’re alive.” he rubbed your back gently as he spoke, your body relaxing into his despite yourself.
tears flowed from your eyes freely, your arms still folded into yourself as your head rested on his chest, “i just… i wish he just broke up with me instead-“ your voice broke on a sob, chest heaving, “instead of fucking someone else.”
your body shook as you cried, the tightness in your chest a crippling weight dragging you into despair. your brother continued to hug you, rubbing your back gently as he comforted you. he walked you to the small couch in your room slowly, sitting down and keeping his arm around your shoulder.
your elbows rested on your knees as you covered your face with your hands, attempting to wipe away your tears even as more followed.
“i’ll be right back, okay?” andrew spoke softly before getting up. you remained in your spot, your brother returning a few minutes later with a glass of water and a box of tissues. you took them gratefully, sipping the water before dabbing at your eyes and nose. you sniffled, breath hiccuping as you calmed yourself down, andrew sitting with you and quietly observing the entire time.
once you were able to even your breathing you sighed as you ran a hand through your hair, “okay, maybe i lied about being fine earlier.”
andrew huffed a laugh through his nose, “no shit.”
you shot him a glare before you continued, “i just… i guess talking about it makes it feel real. final. and i’d be lying if i didn’t say i feel embarrassed about it all too.”
“you have absolutely no reason to feel embarrassed,” andrew said, his voice firm, “walker is the one who should feel that way.”
“i know, i know,” you sighed, fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater, “i just can’t help but feel like everyone is gonna look at me differently now. i mean i hung out with you guys way less when i was dating john, what if they think i’m just crawling back to our friend group because i got cheated on?”
andrew called your name, making you look at him as he spoke, “you know damn well no one is going to look at you differently. if anything they’ll be thrilled to be there for you. no one is gonna be upset, they just miss you.”
“even though i cancelled on our summer trip?” you pouted.
“it’s not too late to un-cancel, you know,” your brother’s face twisted into a mischievous smile.
“please be serious, i’m not just gonna tag along last minute. you guys leave in 2 days.” you rolled your eyes as you rested your head on the back of the couch.
“you’re not ‘just tagging along’ it’s your house too, idiot. and don’t act like the group chat wouldn’t explode.” your brother stood, his voice taking on a tone of finality that filled you with dread, “here’s what’s gonna happen. one, you’re taking a shower- seriously you stink. two, you’re texting the group chat and telling them you’re going. three, pack your damn bag or i’ll do it for you and i will make sure none of your socks match.”
you pouted at your brother from your spot on the couch, your disgruntled expression the only real fight you had left in you. realistically, you knew he was right. your friends had always received you exactly as you were, and you knew this time would be no different. crying into yelenas lap while wanda played with your hair honestly sounded like the exact sort of therapy you needed.
“fine. but i’m doing it because i want to, not because you told me to,” you grumbled as you stood and made your way to the bathroom attached to your room. andrew just rolled his eyes playfully before going back downstairs.
once you had indulged yourself in a much needed hot shower, you sent the text to your friends. a small smile made it’s way onto your face when you instantly received their replies:
sam 🦅: FUCK YEAH!!!
wanda 🥀: please say you’re rooming with me 🥹🥹
natasha 🕷️: thank GOD i thought we were gonna have to handle your brother by ourselves
andrew 🧸: i resent that, nat.
bucky 💪🏻: oh good my favorite y/l/n sibling is spending the summer with us!
andrew 🧸: i resent that too.
steve and bob responded with cute gifs while yelena began arguing with wanda over who got to room with you, your chest feeling significantly lighter as you witnessed your friends antics. your eyes kept flicking back to bucky’s text, heart fluttering slightly at the thought of you actually being his favorite between you and your brother. you knew it wasn’t true, andrew and bucky had been friends since you could remember. but bucky often liked to say sweet things that made you feel special, and maybe a whole summer of that was exactly what you needed. him being shirtless a majority of the the time would be a very welcomed bonus too.
typing out a couple quick replies, you put your phone on do not disturb and tossed it on the bed before you set your sights on your clothes. the thought of doing anything else felt nearly overwhelming, but as your brain flickered back to your friends’ excited reactions, you decided that no matter what this was gonna be a good summer.
john fucking walker be damned.
—————————————————————————
the drive to your family lakehouse was filled with nerves, leg shaking, constantly checking the gps, palms sweating anxiety. andrew had to nearly force you into the car that morning, only getting you in when he called natasha to yell at you. the memory made you pout, grumbling just loud enough for him to hear, “i can’t believe you snitched on me to nat.”
“well if you weren’t being a pain in the ass i wouldn’t have had to.” he swiftly retorted.
you rolled your eyes, “is that any way to talk to your heartbroken sister?”
“don’t pull that card on me when you know i’m right.” your brow furrowed deeper at your brothers ability to evade your guilt trip, a practiced art he had long since perfected.
you two weren’t the first to arrive that afternoon, a familiar gray truck coming into your view as the car pulled into the driveway. you felt a small flutter in your tummy when the owner of the truck stepped onto the front porch, charming smile spread wide across his pretty face, muscled arm raised in an enthusiastic wave. you couldn’t help the giddy grin that worked it’s way onto your lips.
you made quick work of your seatbelt and hopped out of the car, moving to walk to the trunk for your bags. before you could haul your bags out of the back, bucky was at your side batting your hands away and lifting them out of the car with ease. you laughed a bit, pulling him into a hug after he set your bags down, “i could have gotten those myself, buck.”
“when have i ever let you do the heavy lifting, sugar?” warmth crept up your neck at the affectionate term, a nickname bucky had given you in middle school. while at first it was teasing, bucky deeming you ‘too sweet for your own good’, overtime it had morphed into an endearing thing, his voice filled with warmth whenever he addressed you as such.
from behind you andrew cleared his throat, hands on his hips as he raised an eyebrow at bucky, “what so i don’t get a hot beefcake to grab my heavy bags?”
bucky made no move to release you, snorting into your hair as he said, “i’ll get sam for you.”
“good, he’s more my type anyway,” andrew rolled his eyes as he grabbed his own bags, struggling with them a bit before closing the trunk. the three of you made your way to the house, steve and sam now standing on the porch with grins on their faces.
they both greeted you with hugs, sam nearly squeezing the life out of you before placing you back down on the wooden boards. “glad you were able to make it, y/n.” sam grinned, ruffling your hair.
you groaned as you slapped his hand away, “get your grubby hands away from my hair.”
sam laughed, holding the door open for the group as you made your way inside, “my hands are clean, thank you very much.”
a sigh left your lips as you stepped inside the house, the familiar sights and smells settling comfortably in your senses. though getting here had been a mental struggle, the second you stepped foot outside of the car you knew this had been the right call.
as kids, this trip had been a tradition that started with you, your brother, your parents, bucky and wanda. every summer was spent barefoot in the grass, catching bugs and swimming until your fingers and toes were pruned. when you and your brother were old enough to drive your group of friends, your parents decided to retire themselves from the trip, claiming to be too old to deal with the antics of your friend group.
your heart clenched painfully at the memory of the last trip you took here. john had put up a fight when you told him you planned to stick to your summer trip, saying you were prioritizing your friends over your relationship. you had begged him to come, to which he reluctantly agreed after seeing the tears in your eyes. you two ended up leaving after a week, john saying he had fallen ill, though when you got back home he was dropping you off and claiming he was going to be at the gym for a few hours.
deep in thought, you didn’t notice the presence beside you until bucky cleared his throat and nudged you gently, snapping you out of your spiral as you blinked at him, “whats going on in that pretty head of yours, sugar?”
a sheepish smile made its way onto your face, “just um… thinking about last summer. i really wish i didn’t leave.”
bucky frowned slightly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. he pressed a kiss into your hair as he mumbled, “we all know that wasn’t your choice.”
your shoulders slumped as you relaxed into his body, head resting on his shoulder, “i shouldn’t have gone with him like a loyal idiot. i should have just stayed-”
bucky’s grip on you tightened as he gave you a grounding squeeze, other arm moving to wrap around you and pull you into him fully, cutting you off. “i’ve been put under firm instructions to not let you get down on yourself or dwell on the past. and i take my job very seriously, so i’ll be hearing none of that.”
a pout formed on your lips as you tilted your head up, chin resting on bucky’s muscled chest, “andrew put you up to this, didn’t he.”
the charming grin that spread on bucky’s face as he looked down at you would have made you swoon if you weren’t focused on being annoyed at your brother, “maybe, maybe not. i’ll never tell.” your jaw opened in shock, bucky laughing at your expression before patting your hip and releasing you to grab your bags. “c’mon princess, you got the single room since yelena and wanda tried to start world war 3.”
you laughed a bit as you scooped up the one small bag bucky allowed you to carry, “i’m not sure making them room together was the solution but i won’t complain.”
once you and bucky had gotten your things settled in your room he left you to unpack, giving you another kiss on the head as he did. your heart fluttered annoyingly, the stupid crush you harbored on bucky as a kid seeming to rear it’s ugly head once more.
obviously he was attractive, you would have to be blind not to see that. but it was never about his looks for you. bucky had always taken care of you, was always one of your fiercest protectors alongside your brother. it didn’t matter what the cost was to him, didn’t matter if he got suspended for punching a kid who made you cry, didn’t matter if he had to cancel a date to come comfort you when andrew couldn’t, bucky had always made it clear you were a priority for him.
really, it was his fault you ended up having feelings for him. he didn’t have to be so good, so sweet, and beautiful, and kind. he didn’t have to treat you so gently, look at you with such adoring eyes, touch you with so much care and tenderness it made you want to kiss the life out of him and then some.
you had worked hard to stop feeling the way you did, and for a time it really seemed like you had moved past your crush. but as you sat there, stewing in your thoughts, you realized it had just been laying dormant, waiting to emerge at the right time and turn you back into the nervous mess you were around him in middle and early high school.
a sigh left your lips as you sat on the bed, glad to have your thoughts occupied by something other than your breakup. maybe crushing on bucky again would help you. it’s not like anything would come of it, and if you were being honest with yourself the butterflies he gave you were a welcome feeling, bringing you a sense of childlike giddiness you hadn’t felt in a long time, not even when you were beginning to date john, or any of your other partners for that matter. no one could make you feel the way bucky did, so why not lean into it?
what’s the worst that could happen?
—————————————————————————
“you absolutely cannot tell me he hasn’t been making fuck-me eyes at you the entire summer,” wanda said from her spot beside you, lazily stretching on the blanket. you were both lying on your stomachs, tanning while steve, yelena, sam and bucky were messing around in the lake. meanwhile your brother and bob were unsuccessfully attempting to paddle board while natasha laughed and yelled instructions from her steady place on her own board.
an exasperated sigh left your mouth as you pulled your sunglasses off to shoot her a glare, “i absolutely can and will. bucky has always been sweet to me, you know that.”
“yeah because the man is so head over heels for you i’m surprised he hasn’t gotten down on one knee yet.” wanda laughed, flicking sand at you when your glare sharpened. “oh relax, is the thought of bucky thinking of you that way really the worst thing in the world?”
your expression fell slightly as you let out another sigh, “i don’t want to get my hopes up. i was already heartbroken once this year, don’t really want to risk it happening again so soon.”
wandas teasing smile softened into something more gentle, her hand reaching for yours and intertwining your fingers with a squeeze, “i’m sorry. i just mean to say… it’s clear that bucky cares about you more than anyone else. in whatever way that may be, it’s sweet.”
you returned her gentle squeeze, a shy smile forming on your face when your eyes drifted to where bucky was, all boyish smiles and loud laughs as he wrestled with sam in the water. “it is sweet. i’ll give you that.”
“thank you, i love it when you tell me i’m right,” wanda smiled.
you laughed as you sat up, adjusting your bikini top to keep your breasts from spilling over. your eyes flicked back to bucky, surprised to see his gaze now fixed on you. he said something to sam, who shared a knowing look with steve and yelena, before he began making his way over to you and wanda.
it was hard not to stare as he approached, water dripping off of his chest and down his chiseled torso in a way that felt sinful. his wet hair was pushed back, a few wavy pieces falling on his forehead. he grabbed a towel from the pile on the blanket, drying himself off.
the teasing smile returned to wandas face as she spoke, “tired of splashing around, buck?”
a short laugh was huffed from bucky’s nose as he spread the towel and sat down next to you, “just wanted to make sure y/n wasn’t getting tired of you.”
you rolled your eyes playfully as you shoved bucky’s shoulder, “who’s to say i’m not tired of you?”
bucky pouted at you, hand going over his chest in mock offense, “don’t say that sugar, you’re breaking my heart.”
warmth crept up your neck, a small laugh leaving your lips as you shook your head playfully. you grabbed your phone, checking the time before standing and brushing yourself off, “it’s almost lunch, i’m gonna go make some sandwiches.”
bucky stood before you could finish your sentence, “i’ll come help,” he smiled.
you returned his smile then looked to wanda, who shook her head, “think i’ll join nat in laughing at andrew and bob.” she said as she stood, making her way down to the water. you and bucky headed into the house, arms brushing slightly as you walked side by side. your skin prickled with goosebumps where it met his, heart pounding when you realized you would be alone with bucky while you were both half naked.
not the worst thing to happen to you.
—————————————————————————
sandwich ingredients were strewn across the counter as you and bucky worked, keeping up a light conversation as you did. bucky was complaining about steve’s snoring, groaning as he said, “seriously, i had half a mind to grab a pillow and go curl up on someones floor.”
you laughed, grabbing plates from the cabinet, blurting before you could think about the implications, “you’re more than welcome to just crawl into bed with me.”
bucky didn’t miss a beat, even as you outwardly cringed at your words, a small smirk forming on his face, “you’d let me do that sugar?”
your words stuttered as the heat in your cheeks flamed, “i-i meant like- well i wouldn’t just want you to sleep on the floor.” you turned from where you were grabbing the plates, gasping when you realized bucky had come to stand behind you.
the smirk on his face didn’t leave as he took the plates from you, fingers brushing yours lightly as he did, and set them on the counter next to you, “you’re just too sweet for your own good, aren’t you sugar?” his voice was low and teasing, holding something molten that settled in the pit of your stomach.
you swallowed harshly as you stared back at him dumbly, his close proximity to you making words feel impossible. your back pressed into the counter slightly, voice light, “maybe just for you.”
bucky's tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip before he pulled it between his teeth. he took a step closer, crowding your space more as he leaned in slightly, "yeah? you telling me you're my sweet girl?"
even as your breath stuttered, you opened your mouth to respond, but the moment was interrupted by the sound of the screen door slamming open. you and bucky nearly jumped back from each other, looking to where your brother was storming into the kitchen with natasha laughing behind him.
"you're a horrible teacher! i would have died if it weren't for steve!" andrew yelled at natasha, going to the fridge and grabbing a drink.
"he's being dramatic, he was fine," natasha said as she came to stand at your side, leaning against the counter and fixing your brother with an amused grin.
andrew glared back at her, "i'm never taking paddle boarding lessons from you again."
"good, you didn't even pay me for the first lesson." natasha quipped, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite.
you laughed as you handed natasha a plate and a napkin, moving to plate the rest of the sandwiches as well, "relax drew, the lake isn't even that deep."
"y/n i almost di-"
you cut him off by shoving plates in his hands and spinning him around, ushering him towards the door, "enough, drama queen. bring those out to the others, we'll be right behind you."
andrew continued to grumble to himself as he left. you laughed as you turned back to natasha, "what did you do to him?"
"i might have accidentally but sort of on purpose flipped his board. i'm sure he'll tell you all about it later. c'mon, i'll help you guys with this stuff," she grabbed a couple plates and a bag of chips before heading out the door, leaving you alone with bucky once again.
he hadn't spoken a word since you two were interrupted, gaze more intense than it had ever been before as you looked at him. "guess we should head out?"
bucky stared at you for a beat longer before humming and grabbing the remaining items, "i got it sugar, right behind you."
you smiled before turning and walking out the door, unaware of the way bucky's gaze drifted down your body as you left.
—————————————————————————
the lake looked like glass, perfectly reflecting the moon and stars in the clear night sky above you. you were sat on the edge of the dock, legs swinging absentmindedly as you relaxed in the peace and quiet. your friends were inside the house, drinking and dancing the night away as you often did on these trips.
the dock was your favorite place to come when you just needed a moment for air, when breathing felt too hard and your thoughts threatened to turn into something ugly. it started to feel that way a little over an hour ago, prompting you to step outside while claiming you needed to smoke a joint. now the pack of pre rolls and lighter laid next to you untouched, you had really just taken them for show.
"thought you might be out here."
you startled slightly at the voice from behind you, relaxing instantly when you saw bucky strolling down the dock towards you. he sat next to you, close but not close enough to touch. you tried to fight the disappointment bubbling in your chest. "you disappeared on us sugar." bucky teased lightly, leaning into you to nudge his shoulder against yours gently.
you gave him a half smile, your fingers fiddling with the hair tie around your wrist, "my brain was... feeling a bit overwhelmed. just needed to think."
a thoughtful look came onto bucky's face as he studied you, "penny for your thoughts?"
you took in a breath as you began to speak, "i'm really happy i came here. that i didn't let what happened completely ruin my summer. and being around you guys again has been so healing for me," you gave bucky a small smile which he returned, sliding his hand into yours and giving you a reassuring squeeze.
ignoring the butterflies in your stomach, you continued, "there's a weird part of me that just feels like i don't deserve to be so happy again so quickly. like i should still be miserable and mourning this big loss. but i just... don't feel bad about it. and that kind of makes me feel worse, you know?" you finished your rambling with a sigh, leaning your head on bucky's shoulder and wrapping your other hand around his bicep.
you were surprised when you heard bucky huff a short laugh before shaking his head and leaning it against yours, "you really are too sweet for your own good, y/n."
brow furrowing slightly, you mumbled, "what do you mean?"
"you have absolutely nothing you should be feeling bad for, sugar," bucky said, thumb now rubbing along your knuckles gently, "especially not regarding that piece of shit walker." he spat, the venom in his voice palpable when he said john's name.
there was quiet for a moment before you spoke again, "you really didn't like him, did you?"
"was it that obvious?" bucky said, the sarcasm in his voice earning a chuckle from you.
your voice came slightly quieter, as if you hoped he wouldn't hear you, "wanda had a theory about that."
bucky hummed thoughtfully, squeezing your hand again, "what was her theory?"
anxiety filled you as you shifted slightly, lifting your head from his shoulder and pulling your hand from his. bucky watched intently as you adjusted the straps of your sundress, fidgeting with anything you could get your hands on as if you could distract yourself from your own words, "she thinks you didn't like him because you want me."
bucky was quiet for a moment which you spent wishing you could swallow your words back down your throat. but when he spoke again his voice was deeper, slower, more careful. "and what do you think, sugar?"
your gaze stayed fixed on the reflection of the moon on the lake, not daring to meet bucky's eyes which seemed set on burning a hole in the side of your head. "i told her you've been nice to my partners before."
"you know that's not what i'm asking, y/n." bucky said. you finally forced yourself to meet his eyes, breathing hitching when those baby blues came into your vision. he leant in ever so slightly, breath ghosting across your cheeks, "do you think i want you, sugar?"
steeling your nerves, your response was short but certain, "i do now."
there was no denying the tension between you two any longer, the look in bucky's eyes an undeniable show of his desire for you. before you could think about it too much you were reaching for his face, cupping his cheeks and crashing your lips against his in an explosion of raw passion. bucky moved swiftly, banding his arm around your back to pull you impossibly close as he kissed you deeply.
your lips felt like they belonged against bucky’s, sparks shooting throughout your body as he kissed you fervently, as if he needed your kiss to breathe. your arms wrapped around his neck, hand tangling in his hair as his tongue slipped into your mouth. bucky reveled in the soft moans he was pulling from you, arm tightening around you as his other hand cupped the back of your neck to pull you closer.
you two spent some time like that, noses bumping, chests heaving, tongues tangling in an exchange that left your brain feeling dizzy when you finally pulled away for air. bucky rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb softly.
“wanda was right,” he spoke finally, placing another soft kiss on your lips before pulling back fully to look at you, “around the time i realized you were it for me walker came along. i might have taken my bitterness out on him.” bucky smiled sheepishly, earning a grin from you in return.
“i’m it for you?” you said, your voice slightly more hopeful than you had intended it to be.
bucky gave you the softest look you had ever seen before leaning in and kissing you again, gentler this time, his lips holding all of the adoration and love he had for you in them. he pulled away just barely to whisper against your lips, "you've always been it for me, y/n. just took me way too damn long to see it."
you couldn't help the dopey grin that broke out across your face, practically throwing yourself into bucky's arms in a tight hug. bucky laughed as he hugged you back with just as much enthusiasm, his strong arms fitting around you perfectly. "you've always been it for me too," your voice was breathless as you spoke, the truth of bucky's words still settling in.
bucky held you for a little while longer before you pulled apart, pressing a kiss on your forehead and then standing and holding his hand out to you. you smiled as you took it and stood, fingers intertwining with his as you both walked back to the house. before going inside you stopped him, grabbing the collar of his open button down and pulling him to your mouth in one last fevered kiss. bucky looked dazed as you pulled away, earning a grin from you as you stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear.
"come to my room tonight." you knew he didn't need to be told twice as you patted his cheek gently and then sauntered into the house.
—————————————————————————
bucky didn't make you wait long that night, slipping into your room shortly after everyone had gone to bed. you barely had time to get a greeting out of your mouth before he was on you, kissing you with the same fierceness he had on the dock.
he walked you back to your bed as he kissed you, hands bunching your dress at your hips as he groaned into your mouth, "fuck sugar, do you have any idea what you've been doing to me?" he mumbled against your skin as he kissed your neck, lying you down on the bed in the process. a soft moan left your lips when he nibbled behind your ear gently, legs spreading to let him settle between your thighs fully.
the thick bulge that pressed against your center made you gasp, hips instinctively jerking at the contact. bucky hissed, holding your hips down with one hand while tugging the strap of your dress down with the other. your breasts spilled out of your dress, the cool air pebbling your nipples. bucky swore under his breath before latching onto one of your breasts, tongue laving around your nipple while his fingers tweaked the other one.
you whined at the stimulation, sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your core as bucky kissed his way down from your breasts, pulling your dress farther off your body as he went. he licked and sucked at your skin, seemingly determined to leave marks wherever he could.
when he got to your stomach he slid the dress off you fully, leaving you in just your panties. his gaze was reverent as he took you in, eyes roaming your body shamelessly while he palmed the tent in the front of his shorts. you bit your lip, tugging at the bottom of his shirt in a silent plea for him to strip.
bucky smirked, grabbing your wrist gently and bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss your fingertips, "something you want, baby?" he cooed teasingly, earning a petulant whine from you as you pouted.
"gotta use your words, sugar." bucky said firmly, kissing your wrist before biting it gently, earning another small noise from you.
"take it off, bucky," you pouted, your free hand reaching to tug at his shirt. before you could grab it though bucky snatched your wrist, moving it to where your other hand was and pinning them both above your head with one hand in a move that stole your breath.
he leant over you, his weight pressing down into you ever so slightly as he spoke lowly, "i know you're used to getting whatever you want with me sugar, so i'll let that slide. but if i'm gonna entertain your pretty cunt, then you're gonna be a good girl and use some manners. you hear me?"
your body felt like it was on fire at his words, mumbling a yes as you nodded enthusiastically. bucky smiled, leaning down to kiss you before saying, "now let's try that again, sugar."
"p-please take your clothes off, bucky," your voice was a breathy sigh, bucky's dominance over you making your head feel light.
"good girl, that's my good girl using her manners." bucky praised you before pulling away to strip, leaving himself completely bare. your gaze landed on his cock as he settled between your thighs again, gawking slightly at the size as your pussy fluttered.
"can i touch you?" you said, giving him your best doe eyes though you really didn't need to. despite his show of restraint, bucky was just as turned on as you were, if not more.
he quickly guided your hand down to his cock, allowing you to wrap it around his shaft, groaning at the contact. his hips thrust into your hand as you pumped him, the slick between your thighs pooling at the effect you were having on him. you swiped your thumb across the tip, earning another groan and a jerky thrust from bucky before he grabbed your wrist gently, ceasing your movements.
"gonna make me cum in your hand if you don't stop, sugar," bucky chuckled at the confused expression on your face, kissing you softly before hooking his fingers in your panties and pulling them off your body. his gaze darkened when it landed on your glistening center, pupils blown with desire. you squirmed slightly, suddenly feeling vulnerable under bucky's intense stare. his hands on your hips stopped your wiggling, firm and grounding.
"this all for me, sweet girl?" he mumbled as he used his thumbs to spread your pussy lips apart, sucking in a breath when he caught sight of your pulsing, wet hole winking at him. as if on instinct he shifted to his stomach, barely giving you time to breathe before his mouth was latched onto your pussy and eating you out like a starved man.
his tongue ran up and down your center, dipping into your hole to collect your slick before dragging it back up towards your clit, latching his lips around it and suckling. you cried out as he fucked you with his mouth, palm slapping over your mouth when you remembered there were other people in the house. though the thought of them catching you only turned you on more.
bucky seemed to take note of the way you clenched, pulling away and replacing his mouth with his fingers on your clit as he kissed your inner thighs, "i know sugar, it's so hard to be quiet isn't it? don't want anyone to hear what a good girl you're being for me, do you? don't want anyone to catch you being my little slut, huh?" bucky cooed at you, knowing the effect his words had on you and reveling in your body's reaction to them. you whined behind your palm, hips jerking in an attempt to get bucky's tongue back on your swollen cunt. bucky just shushed you, banding his arm around your waist to hold you to the bed. "be good for me baby. you make a sound, i stop." and then he dove back in, his efforts to make you cum on his tongue doubled.
your back arched off the bed, mouth open on a silent scream as tears filled your eyes. your pleasure was overwhelming you, bucky's expert mouth bringing you closer to your release swiftly. the entire time your hand was clamped over your mouth tightly, not daring to move it for fear of ripping your orgasm away from yourself.
bucky groaned into your pussy, the vibrations making your eyes roll back into your head as you fisted your hand in his hair. when he latched his lips around your clit and gave another harsh suck the cord snapped, white hot pleasure shooting through your body as you came with a muffled cry. bucky didn't stop, his tongue working to collect your cum as your hips rolled into his face. he only pulled away when you weakly shoved at his head after coming down from your high, the overstimulation causing you to shudder.
he kissed up your body, whispering praises into your skin before latching his lips to yours firmly. your arms wrapped around his neck as his tongue slipped into your mouth, moaning at the taste of yourself.
reaching down between the two of you, you wrapped your hand around his shaft once more, pressing his cock between the soaked lips of your cunt. you both groaned at the contact, bucky thrusting between your pussy lips instinctively.
"fuck sugar, i'm not gonna last long once i get inside you. been dreaming of this tight cunt forever," he mumbled into your neck and he continued to thrust gently, further coating himself in your slick.
"don't care, just want you inside me, want you to fill me up, please bucky please," you babbled, rolling your hips up to meet his and biting his shoulder to muffle your moan when the tip of his cock rubbed against your clit.
bucky groaned into your neck, shushing you with a kiss before he pulled his hips back and sank into you in one thrust. you couldn't help the keening moan that left your mouth when he filled you, head dropping back and body tensing. bucky put his hand over your mouth before he began thrusting, rolling his hips in a brutal pace that left you gasping for air.
"gotta be quiet baby," he rested his forehead against yours as he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, "when we go home i'll take you back to my place and you can be as loud as you want, yeah? i'll fuck this perfect pussy until you're crying."
your moan was muffled by his palm, pussy fluttering at the promise of more. bucky groaned at the feeling, thrusts picking up speed as a string of curses left his swollen pink lips. he latched his mouth onto your neck, sucking and groaning as the speed of his thrusts picked up. his other hand slipped between your bodies to circle your clit frantically, his mouth pulling away from your neck briefly to whisper in your ear, "all fucking mine now, aren't you? mine to fuck, mine to love- fuck-" his voice cut off on a broken groan when you squeezed around him at his words, the possessiveness in his tone shooting straight down to your cunt.
bucky managed to compose himself enough to continue, "c'mon baby, milk my cock. let me feel this perfect little pussy cum around me," his breathy voice in your ear combined with the way he was using your body sent you over the edge, your second orgasm crashing over you in waves that had you sobbing behind bucky's hand against your mouth. he was soon after, thrusting harshly a few more times before burying himself in you fully and groaning as he filled you with his seed.
he made no move to release you as you two came down, only removing his hand from your mouth to kiss you sweetly while he stroked your hair. when it became uncomfortable, he pulled out of you, biting his lip as he watched his spend trickle out of your used hole. he had half a mind to fuck it back into you with his fingers, but one look at your sleep expression had him softening and pressing a kiss to your head before grabbing a wet rag and cleaning the both of you up gently.
he tucked you into his side after you had both dressed and settled in your bed, both now a giggly, fucked out mess.
"did you mean it?" you whispered, thumb stroking his cheek lightly where your hand rested on his face.
though you didn't specify, bucky understood. he grabbed your wrist gently, turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand before mumbling against your skin, "every single word. it's always been you. and i'm not making the mistake of letting you go twice."
you smiled before leaning up and kissing him, unable to stop smiling as you did. bucky was just as giddy as you, his lips turned up in a grin against your mouth as you two exchange giggly kisses. you eventually pulled away, settling into his side comfortably before drifting off into the best sleep of your life.
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the house was quiet as you crept down to the kitchen, intent on making a cup of coffee for yourself and bucky. you figured it was too early for anyone else to be up as they had all been drinking, so you were shocked to see your brother sitting at the kitchen island, cup of coffee in hand and a suspicious look on his face.
"rough night?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at you as he sipped his coffee.
you cleared your throat, going to grab two mugs, "i don't know what you're talking about."
"is that what we're doing now?" the look andrew gave you let you know you had been caught, but you did your best to keep your cool.
"what exactly are we doing now?" you said as you grabbed the creamer from the fridge.
"lying to our older brother about fucking his best friend?" your shoulders tensed at his words, turning to him slowly. you expected him to be angry, but you were met with a look of annoyance. "oh come on, y/n! you're getting two mugs for christs sake!"
"w-well! it could have been for... someone else!" the octave of your voice was growing higher before your brother shushed you. you bounced on the balls of your feet nervously, "are you mad?"
he looked taken aback slightly at your words, "what- no? i've had a bet going with wanda for years. i lost by the way, thanks for that. thought it would take you guys at least a couple more years of pining."
you blinked, slightly stunned by your brothers calm demeanor, "wait.... you knew?" he nodded, "this whole time?" he nodded again, "about both of us?" he nodded once more, letting out an exasperated sigh.
"i think it might have been one of the worst kept secrets of the century. but you both thought you were being so discreet, the rest of us just... let you guys have it. we knew it would happen eventually." he spoke matter of factly, as if stating the obvious.
"and... what do you think about it?" you said nervously, though your nerves were quickly washed away by your brothers warm smile.
"i think it's about damn time," he said as he stood and grabbed his coffee, "but if he breaks your heart, i'm killing him myself. same goes for you, be nice to him."
you smiled back at him as you grabbed your mugs, "i think i can manage that just fine." you bumped your hip against his before making your way back up to your room, snorting when you saw bucky sitting up in bed and pouting at you.
"i woke up alone," he grumbled, holding out his arms and making grabby hands at you. a soft laugh left your lips as you walked over to him, setting the mugs down on the nightstand before you let him pull you back into bed with a giggle. he littered your face in kisses before placing a final, soft peck on your lips and nuzzling his face in your neck.
you think not breaking bucky barnes' heart was the easiest task you had been given.
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bucky barnes would like getting his hair pulled i fear
he looks at you almost pissed when you do it. indignant and appalled that you'd dare. he's typically the one in control, he's been tortured by having his bodily autonomy taken from him so now that he's got it back he's very purposeful with it. sex goes how he wants it to go because he's the one doing it. he leads; he doesn't offer, he takes charge. so whether you yank on his hair to get him to stop biting so rough at your tits, or whether it's because you're blissed out with your fingers tangled in his hair and you can't stop yourself, once his neck rolls back he's letting out a guttural groan that sends a wave of raging heat through your sex, almost enough to make you cum right then and there, and he's stopping dead in his tracks. he looks almost possessed, eyes locked firmly and predatorily on you, something animal alight inside of them. he stares, every ounce of his attention focused on you and what you're doing.
'where the fuck did you learn to do that, hm?' he murmurs, his voice raspy and gruff as you untangle your hands from his strands of hair, 'got someone on the side i don't know about?'
'n-no,' you whimper helplessly, fingers tense from the muscle strain of tugging on his hair, 'no, i- i just wanted to, it felt right and it made you-'
'do it again,' Bucky offers, his stubble-covered jaw inches from your own as he leans in to let his breath wash over your face, 'and you won't walk for a week.'
whether that's an invitation or a threat, you can't figure out, but he's not lying.
summary: you have no idea why bucky has a deep rooted hatred for you. you two are paired up for a mission, and you find yourself facing the demons of your past while having to deal with bucky's mood swings.
warnings: smut, 18+, mdni, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers kinda, misunderstandings (?), reader is lowk very depressed here, mentions of trauma, depictions of violence, mentions of sa (not in detail), kidnapping, mentions of torture, consume media at your own risk
word count: 14.9k
a/n: im ngl idk what this is i just woke up the other day and kept writing this. i hope this keeps you guys happy while i try to figure out how i want neighborly advice to progress </3 -- also there's a lot of story building in here bc i like giving reader a backstory whoops.
masterlist
The wind was knocked out of your lungs before you could register the pain radiating through your body. You groan, shifting over to your side to force yourself up.
“On your feet,” he grunts from above you.
If this were any other moment, any other scene, the sight of the man before you– hovering above you– would have your heart beating fast for a different reason. A man made of both metal and flesh, strong, rough around the edges. He’s calculating, hard, and smells faintly of cedarwood and gunpowder most of the time. On rare occasions, you catch the scent of fresh linen and cotton.
Right now though, your heart is thumping against your rib cage angrily. This is the fifth time he’s had you on your back within the hour, and he’s not pinning you down in the way that you would secretly hope for. Not that you would ever admit or voice your delusions to anyone else. Just your own little secret to fester in the back of your mind when you think no one’s watching.
You bite back the curse bubbling in your throat, and slam your fist into the mat. You find yourself upright once more, ignoring the sudden rush of blood going through your head— the dizziness.
“You keep falling for the same damn thing,” Bucky clicks his tongue, bringing his hands up, ready to strike again.
“Not my fault you come at me like you’re trying to kill me,” you say with a frown, barely having the time to duck your head as his fist comes at your head quickly. You can't help but feel the shock that rushes through your body in that moment— he would’ve knocked you out with that swing.
“Everyone on the field will be trying to kill you,” he reminds you with a shake of his head. You know he's right, and it pisses you off. “What’s the point of training if you’re not prepared for the real thing?”
You dodge once more, but his wingspan is too large. He grabs onto your hair– the low ponytail that you had it in– and you let out a yelp of pain as you grab at his wrist, trying to claw his hand away.
“Your hair is too long,” he says, frowning. “You either need to cut it or figure something else out otherwise shit like this is going to keep happening to you. It’s always fucking down. Doesn’t it bother you, getting in your way like this?”
You don’t answer him. You don’t want to answer him– you don’t believe that he deserves to know the truth. You grit your teeth, and shift on your feet— one swift movement to slam your heel into the side of his head.
It doesn’t connect. He easily deflects, grabbing your ankle, and throwing you down. This time, a groan of pain escapes your throat. Bucky lets out a sigh above your head, and doesn’t even look at you, but you can feel the energy radiating off of him without looking at his face. Disappointment.
“I’m calling it for today,” he says. You open your eyes, finding him already walking away, leaving you on the mat.
You stay there for a few moments, trying to catch your breath with your eyes shut. Slowly but surely, the rise and fall of your chest evens out, and the room is no longer spinning. You open your eyes to stare at the fluorescent gym lights overhead, glaring.
What the fuck was his problem?
You’d joined the team as a healer. You weren’t necessarily first on the field— you spent most of your time hanging back and waiting for everyone else to come back to the jet. If anything, he needed to be training with Steve to get better at making sure no one would be able to get to you.
You were decent with guns, knew your way around regular hand to hand combat, and stealth wasn’t that big of an issue for you. You had more than enough qualifications to land you in your current position, and the backstory to match. You were brought into the team after spending most of your life under the radar, but you should’ve known you couldn’t have hidden for too long.
You fit in well with the rest of the team. They didn’t ask questions about your origins, and you never shared.
Steve and Sam had originally been mentoring you before Bucky took you under his deranged wing. At first, it was all business. Eventually, both men would start talking to you more outside of the gym and the shooting ranges. Sam started including you on his jokes whenever he picked on Steve.
The girls opened up to you faster, Natasha and Wanda including you on girl nights almost immediately. They mentioned something abiout needing more women on the team, and being more than happy to welcome you with open arms.
Where Natasha went, Clint went, which meant the sharp shooter had also taken a liking to you and often gave you various snacks whenever he came back from whatever mission he returned from. He reminded you of a dad, if you were being honest.
You had spent some time with Bruce in the lab. At first, it started with him examining your blood to understand what about your biological structure made you be able to heal, but then it progressed into a kind of bond. You found that your healing had a calming side effect that managed to keep the big guy away during tough days.
Tony's banter made you misunderstand him at first. He opened up right away with strange nicknames like magic hands. He once called you doctor once. Natasha had to explain that it meant he had taken a liking to you- he only joked and poked fun at those he thought were worth his time.
Thor sung your praises all the way to Asgard. Apparently, healers were rare and very precious back on his planet. He stated they were often targeted first as they were seen as the biggest threat to any war. Every time you were on a mission with him, you found yourself feeling ten times safer than usual.
It was only Bucky. Bucky fucking hated you, and you had no idea why. You didn’t even necessarily hate the man. In fact, you held a great deal of respect for him. His fighting styles, his command that he held in a room… All of it was something that you held with awe. You would never tell him that though. With how often he puts you down, your pride would never allow you to compliment him. You were certain that he would only scoff at you and dismiss you without another thought.
If you were really being truthful, you harbored the 'smallest' of crushes on him. You enjoyed watching him from afar. When he shut the fuck up and stopped arguing with you, he was handsome. When he didn’t pick apart every single aspect of your skillset, you thought he was smart. Your eyes would follow him more often than you would like to admit. Your heart would jump when you found out that he had gotten hurt on a mission, and relax to find out it was nothing major.
Your feelings betrayed your mind– which made all of his comments hurt tenfold. You didn’t know if he had any respect for you as a member of the team. If he found out you were on a mission, he would argue it. Say he didn’t need you there, that you were a liability to deal with if things ever went sideways.
It’s what led to these private training moments. Steve was fed up with his best friend’s anger, and proposed these borderline workplace abuse sessions.
“If it bothers you so much, you train her then,” Steve had said. Your eyes damn near bulged out of your skull.
“Cap?” you said cautiously.
“Just indulge him,” he said with a sigh. “If it gets him to stop complaining, then it’s better for you, too.”
You quietly hoped there was some part of Bucky that did hold a bit of respect for you. That the reason he even bothered with these training sessions was for your own good. You’d watched him long enough to know that he wouldn’t do anything he thought wasn’t worth his time. Yet, here you were, nursing your own injuries that you couldn’t heal on your own— well, that wasn’t the truth. You could. But there was always a price that came with that.
“He did a number on you,” Natasha says with a grin, coming into view. You sigh, and watch as she sticks her hand out for you to take. You take her hand with a grunt, allowing her to yank you up to your feet. Every muscle in your body protests at the sudden movement.
“It’s like he’s trying to kill me before anyone else can,” you murmur, rolling your shoulders experimentally. Nothing is dislodged or broken, thankfully.
“I mean, he does have a point,” Natasha shrugs, patting your back. You two went over to the benches, and she handed you a bottle of ice cold water. “If our enemies find out that we have a healer on our team, they’re gonna start surpassing the rest of us to get to you.”
You can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips as you take the water. You stare at it, knowing she’s right– knowing that Bucky’s right. “Doesn’t mean that he gotta act like that,” you murmur stubbornly.
“Maybe he doesn’t have to come at you like you have years of training under your belt, but it comes from a good place.”
You give her a look, and she smiles in return. “A good place?” you repeat, your voice dry.
“You don’t see him dragging Tony’s ass in here to do hand to hand,” Natasha said, tilting her head with a raised eyebrow.
“Stark has a metal suit with rockets,” you respond. “There’s no reason for him to need to do hand to hand.”
“What if the tech fails? Then what? Can’t rely on gadgets all the time. Just like you can’t rely on us to be your shield all the time,” she hums. “He’s only looking out for you, even if he’s doing it in the wrong way.”
“You know so much about him, huh?” you ask, eyeing her strangely.
“I’m observant,” she corrects, shaking her head. “Which means I also see the way he looks for you in every single room when he thinks no one is watching.”
“Yeah, probably to take out his anger on me,” you grunt, ignoring what she’s trying to hint at.
“And,” Natasha continues, “I see the way you stare at him.”
“With hatred and anger? I know the feeling all too well.”
“More like you don’t know whether or not you want to kiss him or fuck him.” She’s grinning now, and you can feel a heat begin to crawl up your neck and face.
You hate assassins, you decide at that moment. You hate them and how easy they can read people. You hate Natasha, and you hate Bucky. You clear your throat, intent on distancing yourself from the situation at hand. However, you don’t correct her. You don’t deny her statement either.
“I’m off to shower. We have a meeting soon– something about another mission?” You stand, taking a deep gulp of the water before you grab your bag.
Natasha sighs, “It’s always another mission.”
“I’m not going on a mission with her.”
You drop your chin to your chest, closing your eyes tight. You can feel the headache coming on and pulsing from behind your eyes. Your body still aches from the training session this morning– and the training sessions that you’d had together every day for the past two and a half weeks. It has been hell on Earth, and Bucky still refuses. The constant rejection is starting to wear you down.
“Barnes, the mission calls for the two of you. I need you to watch her front, and she’ll watch your six,” Fury says, eyes narrowing at the super soldier. He’s fed up. Everyone in this room is fed up. “In the event that you are injured–”
“Unlikely,” Bucky cut him off, dismissing the thought like it could never happen to him. Which, truthfully– it rarely has. Out of everyone on the team, you’d only seen him severely injured a couple of times. Other times were the normal scrapes and bruises that were sustained in battle; but he never even came over to you for those like the rest of the team did.
“If you get injured,” Fury sighs, correcting himself just to placate him, “she will be there to help you.”
“I don’t need deadweight with me. It’ll only slow me down,” Bucky argues, crossing his arms over his chest.
Your jaw clenches at the words, and you suck in a deep breath. Deadweight? You’ve been on more than a handful of missions yourself at this point. You’ve gained the respect of the other Avengers and worked alongside them easily. Your solo missions may never be a straight battle, but you have other strengths.
“Gonna keep talking about me like I’m not even here?” you demand, finally lifting your head to look at him.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, the nickname coming out of his lips almost mockingly. You could feel your blood begin to boil under your skin at the patronizing tone. The anger that you’d been feeling the past couple weeks is coming to the surface, bubbling and rolling over. You’re about to burst.
“What’s your fucking problem?” you start, standing up.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Steve cut in, slamming his hands on the table. Steve’s giving you a look, telling you with his eyes to back down. Reluctantly, you sit back in your seat. “Buck, she’s going on that mission with you. Bottom line– obviously you two are paired together because she needs to be there.”
Fury nodded slowly, clasping his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat, grabbing your attention once more.
“You’re going undercover.”
“Undercover,” you repeat, eyebrows furrowing.
“Yes, which is why you need to be his partner.” Fury says before he looks at Bucky, and sighs. “She’s familiar with the area and the situation– she’s been there before, and she has the information necessary in order to make this operation go smoothly. You two will be infiltrating a charity gala that's being used to front a human trafficking scheme for enhanced individuals, and she needs a dance partner.”
“Why the hell can’t it be Steve?” Bucky grunts, frowning deeply.
“Because Steve can’t dance, now can he?” Fury snaps. “I suggest you brush up on your forties’ charm, Barnes. You need to be one hell of a convincing partner if you want to fool the other guests."
The room goes silent. There's no room for fighting, not with the tone your boss just gave you. With the lack of argument, he nods.
"This meeting is over, no objections. I’ll have the mission details be sent to your rooms by the end of the day, and you two will report to leave in the morning. You are all dismissed.”
Chairs are scraped against the carpet as everyone shifts. You listen as footsteps start shuffling out of the room, but you stay planted in your seat. Dread is building up in your gut, and you might throw up if you move too fast. It’s overshadowing the ache in your muscles, the pain and anger you felt just moments ago.
Wanda stops beside you, eyebrows furrowed.
“Hey… you okay?” she whispered, a hand touching your shoulder.
No. You’re not okay. You know this gala. You know why you’re going there– and what’s waiting for you. The argument, the blow up you had with Bucky in front of everyone is no longer important to you right now. You have to suck it up, and go back into where it all began for you. You let out a shaky breath, then give Wanda your most convincing smile.
“I’m okay,” you tell her, standing. “Head just hurts from all the yelling.”
You force your feet to move, to walk. You have to pack.
You do your best to hide your anxiety on the jet as you sit opposite from Bucky. The aircraft is being operated by F.R.I.D.A.Y., and you were already informed that it would be back at the rendezvous point to pick you two up in one week's time. If you missed the loading time, you two would be shit outta luck and need to get back to base on your own, or at least contact back to let everyone know that you needed more time for the operation.
“Romanoff said you often did espionage. Why do you look so nervous?” Bucky questions, making you look up. You blink at him, pausing. He doesn’t look indifferent. In fact, he looks curious.
“Why do you care?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You watch as his face immediately turns sour at your response, and he looks away. Uncharacteristically, there’s no response. He doesn’t say anything to piss you off. Instead, there’s only silence. You wonder if Steve made him promise to be nice to you during this trip.
This would be the first mission you go on with Bucky by yourself. Usually, there would be another person here with you to act as a buffer– to shield you from him. He usually stayed in his own head during missions, but if interaction was necessary, he would avoid talking to you. You laced your fingers together and squeezed your hands tight. This would be a long week.
You’re dropped off to the safehouse soon, and Bucky mutters something about checking the perimeter while you check the indoors. Firearm in hand, you go inside to inspect. Just as the report said, it’s a fully furnished home.
It’s an unsuspecting cabin in the outskirts of a suburban town, and you two would need to drive into the city to get into the gala. It’s small, with just a living room, one bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Just the bare necessities. Everything else you two could possibly need is yourselves.
After deeming the inside secure, you check the amenities. Running water, working electricity. Someone back at the base must have updated the safehouse recently– a lot of the furniture was new. Either that, or this place was recently built and only made to look old and rundown from the outside. You find even the pantry and fridge has enough food for the week.
“Tomorrow night is the gala’s first night,” you say as you hear Bucky enter through the door, closing the door of the fridge. “Our outfits should already be in the closet.”
“Perimeter secure,” he reports, ignoring your own comments.
“I assumed, otherwise I would’ve heard fighting out there.” You cross your arms over your chest, staring at him with raised eyebrows. Bucky lets out a deep sigh of annoyance in response.
“You take the bed.”
“We can switch off every night,” you propose. Now, he looks surprised. “We’re here for a week, and that couch looks small. I’m sure you won’t complain, but I don’t necessarily think dancing will be easy if you’re stiff from poor sleep for a week.”
Bucky lets out a breath, then nods once. “Fine.”
You turn towards the hall, ready to turn in for the night, when you stop. “Barnes.”
“What?” he asks, slight annoyance coming through.
“I know you hate me, but I really need you to hide it when we’re in front of everyone tomorrow,” you say, looking over his shoulder. He pauses, and you continue, “I can’t do my job and let you do your job if you mess me up. Just follow my lead.”
His lack of response is the only answer you get from him, pushing you into the soft mattress in the bedroom.
Bucky tosses the keys to the luxury vehicle to the valet driver as another staff member opens your door, and offers you a hand. You smile graciously– practiced, perfect. This is second nature. Nothing that you learned during your time with the Avengers. This was already instilled in your bones way before you were ever recruited.
When Bucky rounds the car and comes to your side, you slip your arm through his, and feel as his body tenses slightly. You smile and lean closer into him as you two walk up the stairs.
“Act like you tolerate me or we’re both going to get gunned down before we even pass the doors,” you whisper into his ear, still smiling.
“There are no guns aimed at us,” he whispers back. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Did he even read the mission report? There were enhanced individuals all around, all being forced to work for the handler– and you had no idea who the enhanced were.
“Not yet,” you remind him, and he takes a deep breath, but ultimately relaxes beside you. He even rests his opposite hand on yours, leading you through the threshold and into the lion's den.
The gala is exactly as you remember it.
The dazzling chandeliers that hang overhead, lighting up the ballroom to ensure no one could hide in the shadows. The bustle of servants and staff members whose eyes are constantly watching you to ensure that every movement gets reported to upper management. The live band, playing at a volume just loud enough to ensure the screams from the tortured below are not heard by unsuspecting guests that have no idea that this is not a charity ball at all. The whispers and gossip of the elite members of the gala, all those who know why they are really here and are buzzing with excitement for the auction to begin on the last day of the party.
All of it makes you want to throw up just the same.
You two find a space on the side of the floor– not too out of the way that makes you both look suspicious, but not directly in the middle of all the action. Today is about scouting. Finding information. If you two could get an invitation to the auction, then you could forgo the next three nights of the gala, and only show up for the last night.
You’re sipping slowly on a flute of champagne as you let your eyes wash over the crowd.
“The servants are most likely enhanced,” Bucky whispers, leaning down from behind you. The action startles you briefly– the proximity. It makes your heart beat just a tiny bit faster, and you’re glad he’s behind you and unable to see your face. His chest is touching your back, his lips so close to you that you can feel his breath fanning against your neck as he whispers. “Their movements are too sharp, too calculated. They’re looking around as if they’re waiting for something.”
“They’re not,” you whisper back, getting a hold of yourself. You lean into him a little more as you notice someone glance over at the two of you. Bucky stiffens for just a second before relaxing, a hand coming to rest on your hip. He was adapting quickly to the part you two were supposed to be playing.
“What makes you say that?” he murmurs.
“The enhanced would be branded. Numbers on the back of their necks. Like merchandise to scan and check out when they’re bought.” It’s hard to conceal the bitterness that comes through your voice.
“How do you know that?” he asks, the hand on your hip squeezing you a bit tighter.
You freeze in place. You swallow down the remainder of the champagne and turn in his arms to smile at him. “Didn’t you read the report?” you ask, tilting your head. You watch as his eyebrows furrow, and his lips part to respond, but he never gets the chance.
The host comes out– he comes out– and calls for everyone’s attention at the front of the room. Everyone turns to look, the music quieting down but never stopping. Just played above a hush. He has no microphone, there are no speakers, but somehow his voice is amplified and can be heard by everyone in the ballroom.
“Thank you for coming tonight. I am your host, William Talbot,” the host grins, holding his arms out wide. Applause erupts from everywhere, you and Bucky joining in. “I am delighted to have you all here this week. All your donations are being put to a good cause; research towards children and young adults' infectious diseases and developmental studies. I beseech you to enjoy yourselves this week as we continue to celebrate each and every single one of you. We would not be able to save as many lives as we do at our lab if not for each of the guests in this room!”
Cheers and whistles join in on the applause as Talbot takes a deep bow, crossing one hand over his chest as he does. After he rises, he turns, disappearing back into the hallway that he came out from, the music one again increasing in volume. People start mingling around the two of you, and there are some that begin to float onto the dance floor with their partners.
“Piece of shit,” Bucky mutters, making you snort. “That’s our guy, isn’t it?”
You nod, and take a deep breath. “I didn’t expect to see him on the first night, though. We need him or his assistants– someone to get an invitation from.”
The plan had already been set– the two of you had finalized it in the car. After spending some time together in the beginning of the night to establish that you were a couple, you would end up breaking off naturally to find other people to mingle with to feel out the crowd. Find out who was close to Talbot, see who had the connection to get you into the auction.
Worst case scenario, the two of you would attend all nights of the gala trying to get the invitation and have to do this same song and dance. If, on the off chance, you didn’t get an invitation, you two would stake out the place and find the auction. It would be a lot messier, but it needed to happen.
So, you started. Bucky disappeared into the crowd and you hung out on the outskirts of the dance floor. You knew you looked lonely, nursing another flute of champagne with no one to talk to– it would give someone the perfect opportunity to approach you. These people always wanted to bite the bait, and it was only a matter of time until someone did.
“All alone tonight?” a voice came from your side. You turned, and paused. You knew this man– and you knew he had no idea who you were.
“My partner saw someone familiar and ended up heading off,” you say with a smile, “I’m just waiting.”
He let out a small scoff, shaking his head. Then, he offered you a hand. “Benjamin Talbot. You dance?”
“Talbot? That was your father up there?” you ask, placing your drink down on the table behind you. You take his hand, your smile widening despite the bile burning in your stomach.
“My old man is a little embarrassing at times. I try not to be associated, but unfortunately I am his flesh and blood,” he answers with a grin. Benjamin leads you to the floor, then stands directly in front of you. His hands fall to your waist as yours go to his shoulders. You feel that tingle under your skin– the power threatening to take over, to do what it did to save you all those years ago.
You push it away.
“You must be proud,” you laugh, shaking your head as he starts to lead you in a dance. “Your family is doing very revolutionary things.”
“What can I say?” he hums, standing a bit taller now. Boastful– and you realize this is a good angle.
“Can I assume that you’ll be taking over once your father decides to rest?” you hum. “You must be studying under him, if not already his right hand man.”
“The time may be sooner than later,” he says, his grin only growing larger. “We have a lot of amazing things planned. You’ll be blown away once you see it all.”
“Really?” you ask, tilting your head. “Like what?”
His lips part briefly, and there’s a look in his eyes. You know you’ve got him.
“Have you been invited to the fifth night of the gala yet?” he asks.
“There’s a fifth night?” you ask, feigning innocence.
He grins at you, nodding. “We’ll show off our best merchandise there– it’s much less a gala night and more of a business night. If you’re interested, I can get you and your partner an invite.”
You brighten at the words, and nod excitedly. “I would love that! It’s always a pleasure to see what the Talbots have in store!”
“Wonderful,” he chuckles, nodding. The music comes to an end, and he lets go of you. You quickly let go of him as well, watching as he pulls out two business cards from his pockets. “Address is on the back– don’t lose this. This is your ticket.”
“Honestly, you’re amazing, Benjamin. Really,” you smile at him. He pauses, then pulls out a pen from his breast pocket, scribbling something on it. Then, he hands it to you, leaning close.
“My number,” he whispers into your ear as he presses the card into your hand. “In case you and your partner don’t work out.”
A shiver runs down your spine– one of disgust. You mask it quickly, turning to him with a smirk before giving him a wink. He chuckles darkly before walking off. You wait until he’s far enough away before you turn to look for Bucky. The second you move, there’s a grip on your arm that makes you jump.
“We’re leaving,” he grunts.
“What? Bucky–!” you exclaim, shocked.
He’s all but dragging you towards the exit, and you’re barely able to stop yourself from tripping over your heels and dress. Bucky doesn’t stop even when you get to the exit, his grip on you strong enough to bruise. The valet is quick, your car pulling up in record time– and you’re thrown into the damn car, the door slammed shut behind you.
“Barnes, what the fuck?!” you scream at him once he gets in.
He doesn’t answer, and hits the gas, the two of you taking off. Bucky keeps his eyes on the road, and you see his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. You pause for a second. His jaw is clenched tight, there’s a vein popping in his neck.
“Bucky?” you ask slowly. “What happened? Who did you talk to?”
There’s no response again. He only takes a slow, controlled, deep inhale. You swallow before you settle in your seat, turning to face the road. Despite the anger he’s feeling, he’s not driving like a maniac. You’re not even sure why he’s angry right now.
Once you reach the cabin, you move to get your stuff out of the bedroom. It’s his turn to sleep on the bed tonight, after all. He must need it, after whatever he’s been through tonight. When you come out into the living room, Bucky’s just standing in the middle of it. His frame is taking up the space, and he’s staring at the wall like he wants to punch it down.
“What happened back there?” you try again, frowning. “I got us the invitations, so we don’t need to go back until auction night. We’re fine to lay low or scout out the area prior to the auction–”
“Show me the back of your neck,” Bucky cuts you off, turning to look at you. Your breath catches in your throat.
“What?” you whisper.
“Your neck. Show me the back of it,” he repeats, taking a few steps closer. You instinctively take a few steps back.
“Why the hell do you need to see my neck?” you ask, trying to will your voice to be even. It takes everything in you to not cover the area with your hand.
“I read the report. There was no information about numbers on the enhanced,” he said. You were backed into a wall. Nowhere to run. “Show me your neck.”
“What does this have to do with anything–”
“I need to know if you’re too damn close to this mission to think rationally. If you’re compromised, I’m sending you home,” he cut you off again. “Show me your fucking neck.”
Your mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” you whisper.
Bucky doesn’t respond. He continues to stare at you with those same steely eyes. You know he’s serious. His body is rigid, and he’s one second away from spinning you around and pinning you to the wall to move your hair out of the way to check your neck himself. You can only feel bitterness begin to build.
“You go on every single H.Y.D.R.A. related mission,” you say with a swallow, shaking your head. “How are you not too closely related to that?”
“That’s different,” he dismisses.
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“How?!” you exclaim, placing your hands on his chest to push him back, reclaiming some space for yourself. To your surprise, he gives in. “It’s exactly the same!”
Once again, Bucky chooses to not answer you. Whether it’s because he doesn’t have a good enough reason to tell you why it’s different, or if it’s because he has decided that you’re not worthy of knowing why he does what he does– you don’t care. You just want to get away from him. The night has been tiring enough, and you barely were out and about.
You know he won’t let you go too far without confirming his suspicions.
With a shaking hand, you turn, pulling your hair to the side.
“Are you fucking happy? There’s nothing,” you spit, staring into the wall.
You can feel his eyes burning holes into the back of your neck– your skin. Even in the low light, you know that he’s searching for something that isn’t there. Numbers that were already gone, numbers that you removed yourself.
The touch of cold metal brushing against your skin makes your breath hitch and your body straighten. Goosebumps rise where his fingers touch, and you swallow thickly. The grip on your hair tightens. You’re trembling slightly.
“There’s a scar,” he whispers. There’s a thread of concern in his voice. “From what?”
You take a deep breath and tear yourself away from his touch. You push your hair back into place, covering your neck once more and turn to face him.
“I was sent here for a reason,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. “You have your orders, I have mine. Stay out of my way, soldier.”
You shove past him, going into the bathroom. The door slams behind you with a resounding thud.
The next couple days are filled with silence. Neither of you are talking to each other, much less speaking to one another. What he does during the day doesn’t concern you, but you assume he’s trailing your targets and checking out the auction site. Meanwhile, you’ve been running scans on the auction perimeter to see if everything is set up the same way it was before. If it was, then you know exactly where the ‘merchandise’ will be located.
Bucky needs to take in Talbot– that is his mission. Yours is to evacuate and get the enhanced out of there– as many as you can, safely, without having the kill switch in their necks get activated.
You can still feel the phantom ache in your own neck, from when you ripped out the small bomb before stealing the life out of your buyer to heal yourself before you bled out.
The location may be different, the country may have changed, but nothing has really been stopped. After you escaped all those years ago, they just went into hiding. You thought they’d put an end to the program after realizing that it was possible for their enhanced to rebel against their systems.
Bucky might be right, as much as you hate to admit it. You may be way too close to this operation. It’s personal. They took everything from you. The years of pain and suffering that you endured under their scalpels and bright lights and teams of scientists meant nothing– Benjamin Talbot didn’t even recognize you all these years later. How could he? You were no longer malnourished, covered in scars and bruises, and struggling to survive.
You let out a shaky breath, and buried your face in your hands. You were trembling. It was only two more days until the auction. The invitation cards were on the coffee table, staring at you with malice. You wanted to burn the place down.
A clink of ceramic covered the cards, making you pause. You looked up, seeing Bucky placing a bowl down in front of you while holding one for himself.
“Soup,” he says, nodding towards it. Your eyes narrow at the liquid.
“Did you poison it?”
“What good would it do for me for my partner to be dead, sweetheart?” he says with a sigh as he takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch. You watched as he ate from his bowl first, gulping down the contents of what looked like chicken noodle soup– then he stopped. He reached over to swap it with the bowl he had given you, and started eating from that one as well to prove that both bowls were safe.
“Thank you,” you mutter, beginning to eat as well.
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday. You need to keep your energy up for whatever’s going to happen in a couple days.”
“I know,” you say with a deep sigh. The soup is warm, flavorful. “Was this from one of the cans?”
“Hell no,” he scoffs, offended. “I had to go into the city and get this. Whatever they stock this place with is just for war rations in the middle of winter.”
“What, and you’re unable to stomach that?”
“I have learned to enjoy the better things in life, doll.” Bucky gives you a shrug that’s almost nonchalant.
“Thought you still struggled with all of that. Enjoying things.”
“I did,” he says slowly. His next words are softer, quiet. A hint of vulnerability attached to them. “I still do.”
The three words hang between the two of you in a heavy silence. It takes a few moments before the sound of a spoon hitting the edge of ceramic fills your ears again as you two attempt to eat more of the soup, pretending that his confession didn’t just break something inside of you.
“I don’t hate you,” he finally says, breaking the silence. It makes you pause.
“What?”
“You said it on the first night. And I can feel it in the way that you look at me. I… I don’t hate you,” he confesses.
“Are you sure?” you ask dryly, staring into the soup. There’s a slight layer of oil on top of the water. “You didn’t want me on this mission, and you already tried sending me back home on a single suspicion. Not to mention, you make it abundantly clear that you think I’m too damn weak for this job.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him wince. Bucky lets out a deep sigh, and reaches to place his bowl on the coffee table to free his hands, and runs them through his hair before he speaks again.
“I look at you and I see me.”
“What are you talking about?” Your eyebrows furrow, and you look at him. He’s serious.
“You’re angry. Unsure. You have no idea where to put your energy to, and you’re just going through the motions of everything around you. You didn’t even join this team because you wanted to. You joined because you were tired of running from everyone and everything and this was the first opportunity that gave you a chance to go straight,” Bucky said, your jaw clenching in response.
“You don’t know a damn thing,” you whisper, hands tightening around your bowl.
You hate it. You hate him. You hate how he's able to read you so easily, and he's never even had a full conversation with you before. Were you this predictable? Was it this noticeable?
“I see you during every single mission we’re put on together,” he continues, sitting up straight. “You look like how I used to be. You don’t care if you die today, tomorrow, or the next day. You’re going through the motions–”
“Barnes. I suggest you stop talking.”
“This is the first mission that I have ever seen you be so worked up for,” he says, shaking his head. “When I went off into the gala, I slipped into one of the backrooms. I found files of the enhanced. I had enough time to go through some of them, and there were the successful cases at the very top. I read one of them- fully read one. About an A0-92.”
Your blood ran cold. You felt your heart stop in your chest. The world must’ve stopped spinning around you at this exact moment.
“There was a picture in the file… It was a kid,” he whispers, then swallows thickly before meeting your eyes. “You were a kid.”
You stood quickly, dropping the bowl of soup in your hands. The liquid was hot, burning at your skin, and the ceramic shattered on impact as it hit the ground. Your knee hit the coffee table, his own bowl of soup sloshing around with the jostle. You needed to get out here. Fresh air. The walls were closing in on you– your neck was hurting, throbbing. You could almost feel the white hot pain of the bomb beginning to detonate just moments before you took a knife to claw it out of your own body. You could feel the brand being burned into your skin again. A0-92.
You ran out of the cabin, and into the dark woods that surrounded it. Everywhere you went, it felt like you were trapped. The bite of the cold air reminded you of the cold cells, the steel tables you used to be strapped on as you were injected and cut open multiple times. The sounds of the wind sounded like the soft begs of the other children pleading you not to bleed their life away from them to heal your own wounds– but it was kill or be killed.
You ignored the pain in your feet, every scrape and stab of rock and branch that the woods gave you. None of it hurt compared to the ghosts that haunted your every waking moment. Everything that you tried to shoot down– everything that you tried to ignore and pretend that didn’t exist. Because he was right.
You were tired of running away. You wanted to go straight, do something that mattered to other people. If it meant that you were weak, by deciding to not go into the fray– by not hurting other people again, then so be it. You would heal others, offering them the endless life force that you had cultivated over your years of torture for the auction house. One day, in the distant future, it would run out. The supply you took from others would be depleted, and your task would be done. Your debt would be paid.
When your lungs couldn’t handle your sprint, and your legs gave up, you finally stopped. You didn’t notice the hot tears that were streaming down your face until you realized your vision was blurry. You leaned against a tree, covering your mouth with a hand as you slowly slid down to your knees, trying to suppress the sob.
A twig snapped from behind you– a clear indicator that he had been behind you the entire time. Bucky was letting you know he was there. You knew that he could have appeared without a single sound if he didn’t want you to know of his presence.
Slowly, you’re lifted off the ground. You don’t find the energy to fight back as he holds you against his chest, and begins the walk back towards the cabin. He doesn’t say a single word, and neither do you. The only noise between the two of you is the sound of his steady heartbeat under your ear as you listen, while trying to calm the raging storm inside of you.
Once inside, he brings you to the bedroom. The living room is still a mess from your outburst. He sits you down on the edge of the bed, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a first aid kit in hand. He kneels down at your feet, making your heart stutter as he takes a foot in his hand.
“Wait– I can do that,” you whisper, reaching out to stop him.
“It’s my fault for approaching the situation like that.” Bucky shakes his head, gently pushing your hands away, and back onto your lap. “You wouldn’t have ran out and burnt yourself if I didn’t pry. Just sit still.”
You watch as he begins to quietly remove the debris off of your bare feet. His touch is careful, afraid of making the wounds worse. You don’t tell him that this is nothing compared to what you’ve felt before, and part of you wants to make a joke that he must know what that feels like. The look on his face makes you think twice.
He looks pained. Upset– not at you, but at himself.
“I don’t hate you,” he says again, then murmurs an apology when you flinch at the sting of the antiseptic.
“I’m starting to realize that,” you whisper back.
“I don’t… know how to comfort people,” he says slowly, clenching his jaw briefly before relaxing it. “I pulled you out of the gala after I saw the file– I took it back with me. It’s in my stuff. I didn’t want them to have anything on you.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. You could cry more, if you didn’t already dehydrate your entire body of tears. You only gave him a wordless nod.
“I was afraid someone there might recognize you,” he continues. “So I needed you out of there.”
“It’s been years. I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t look like that, you know,” you tell him, and he shakes his head.
“I recognized your photo at first glance,” he argues. “You were smaller, maybe a little starved, but you look exactly the same.”
“Natasha says you spend a lot of time staring at me. Probably why you could recognize me,” you say with a soft laugh. His hands still, just for a moment, before he continues– moving on to spread ointment on your feet.
“Romanoff said that, huh?” he grunts, shaking his head.
“Do you? Look at me a lot?”
“I do,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes. You stare back. “Like I said– I don’t hate you.”
“You have a funny way of showing that you don’t hate me,” you whisper, eyebrows furrowing at him. At the insinuation.
He lets out a breath, and smiles slightly. “That’s my bad.”
You shake your head, and don’t fight the faint smile that comes onto your face as well. You continue to watch him as he moves carefully. It’s almost strange. Such a large man made of both flesh and metal, treating you as if you were the most delicate thing in the universe. His touch is barely a whisper against your skin, almost as if he is afraid pressure would make it all worse. Yet, he’s methodical. You suspect it has to do with his own experience from way before everything happened to him, when he was just a soldier fighting in a war for his country. Basic medical training for the field.
“The soup didn’t burn you too bad,” he murmurs as he finishes up wrapping your feet. “Your skin is a bit angry right now, but it’s just irritated. It’ll go away. Should use a wet cloth to soothe though.”
“I’ll do that,” you say with a nod.
Bucky’s no longer touching you, beginning to pack up the med kit and clean up the soiled materials that he used to fix you up. You find yourself missing the warmth that he previously had you wrapped in. Right now, he looks different from all the other times you have seen him. Is it the confession? The sudden heart to heart? You’re coming to realize the man in front of you isn’t so bad after all.
“I cut the numbers off of me,” you tell him. He pauses in his clean up, looking up at you once more. “There’s a small bomb in each enhanced’s neck. It’s what makes us unable to fight back. It’s why we’re stuck down there, in the auction, and why we get sold off. We rebel, our heads get blown off. Some of the kids down there decided that dying was better than being a slave.”
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he whispers, and your hands clenched into fists– just to give yourself a reminder that you’re real. To ground yourself back to reality. “You cut it out of yourself– of your neck?”
You let out a shaky breath, and swallowed. “Girls get sold for higher prices… and I wasn’t bought just for the enhancements. One day, my buyer messed up. Fell asleep in front of me, and had their weapons at the bedside table. I cut it out of my neck. With my last bits of remaining strength before I died, I took his life to heal myself. I was a kid. Couldn’t see or feel how deep the implant was. Then, free– I killed a lot of people fighting to get out of that mansion.”
Bucky stared at you, mouth agape. You blinked down at your hands, letting them relax. You examined the crescent shaped indents you left behind on the palms. You took one more breath before meeting his eyes, and forcing a smile on your face.
“I might be too close to this mission, but I need to see this auction burned to the ground,” you whisper.
“I’ll hand you the match, then,” he answers, placing a hand on top of yours. He gently squeezes. The comfort that rushes through your body is almost immediate.
The next two days are filled with planning. The kids are underground, and from the scans that Bucky was able to acquire, he counts there are about fifty kids. Less than what you thought, but it still makes your heart ache all the same. Only fifty made it to this point– there were countless others that were still in the lab, or died on those tables.
You would attend the auction, and have F.R.I.D.A.Y. scan each and every single guest to be sent back to base. When the time was right, each of them would be arrested and incarcerated. No one would be left without punishment here.
The children would be rescued by you and other agents on standby outside the perimeter, waiting for your instructions to go in. They wouldn’t move unless they got the green light. No one wants to risk the bombs going off.
“Would you tell anyone if I killed Talbot?” you asked him the night before the auction.
Since that night in the forest, the tension between the two of you had basically disappeared. Coupled with the fact that you two were speaking to each other, and eating every meal together– you were comfortable. It was scary how comfortable you got with him.
You’d be lying if you said these two days weren’t filled with a strange tension. You were acutely aware of him. You always were, but this was different. You saw the way his eyes watched you, the way they scanned over your body slowly when you walked out of the bathroom after a shower. When you would look at him, and catch him staring– he wouldn’t look away.
You noticed how his voice was softer now. More gentle. He wasn’t speaking down at you, but rather approaching you at a different angle. You’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t doing something to you. After him speaking to you in such an authoritative voice for so long, the quiet hush of his words brought a comfort to you that you didn’t know you would be able to feel with him. Then again– you were always at ease whenever you knew he was around.
There were multiple times in the last couple days where the two of you brushed against each other. Whether or not it was a mistake or on purpose, it left goosebumps on your skin wherever he touched.
Bucky took a long drink of his beer– one that you learned didn’t even do anything to him. He told you that he simply drank for the taste and nostalgia. The serum pumping through his veins made his metabolism burn through the alcohol.
“No,” he answered.
“You don’t think it makes me a bad person?” you press, tilting your head. Bucky snorts, shaking his head.
“If you’re a bad person, doll, then what am I?” he asks, rolling his eyes. You can only smile, then take your own drink of beer.
“Sweetheart. Doll. What else will you call me?” you ask, raising your eyebrow at him.
“Hate it?” he shoots right back, glancing at you.
“Not as much as you supposedly hate me,” you tease. He groans.
“Enough of that.” Bucky sighs deeply.
“You would say those nicknames with such malice, too,” you continue. “Really thought you were patronizing me or something.”
“My Ma’ would kill me if she ever heard I was talking to a lady like that,” he grunts, frowning.
“You’re a mama’s boy?” you ask, surprised.
“No,” he says, looking at you. “I had a little sister. I had to be a good example of what a gentleman was like. So, I treated women with respect and care– that way my sister had a nice foundation to use when she grew up and went out into the world to find herself a husband one day.”
You made a face. “I don’t think you respect me by calling me weak.”
“Okay,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes as he admits defeat. “I had an awful way of trying to get you out of the line of fire. You’re a walking 51-50 waiting to happen.”
“I don’t think you should be the one talking right now,” you point out, fighting the smile that was threatening to grow on your face.
“Well. Takes crazy to know crazy.” Bucky shrugs without a care. There’s a smile playing on his lips as well. “I’m surprised they don’t have you in some sort of mandated therapy.”
“Unlike you, I didn’t commit war crimes against the entire world, so,” you remind him. You watch as he contemplates your words, then nods in agreement. “Therapy may be helpful though.”
“Nah,” he denies immediately. “Don’t do it. Well– maybe my therapist just sucked.”
“Ever thought about getting an emotional support animal instead?” you suggest. “You’re good at taking care of people, so maybe having a little kitten around would be more healing than trying to talk out your feelings with a stranger.”
“Me? Taking care of people? You’re really good at jokes, you know that?”
“I mean, I can count all the civil conversations we’ve had on one hand, but after we’ve cleared our misunderstanding, I think you’re a pretty decent person. Besides that, you’re not the only one that can observe the other.”
Bucky let out a small laugh, and smiled down at his bottle. “I noticed. Except, you were always killing me in your head when you looked at me. I guess I can’t blame you.”
The air between the two of you was nice. Comfortable. Both of you were sitting on the couch together. On the coffee table were the plans and maps of the auction house, a reminder of what was the beginning of the end of this madness. Beside it were remnants of the Chinese food that Bucky had picked up in the city, once again proclaiming that the safehouse food was too shitty to consume. You quickly realized that he was lying to you. Bucky just wanted to feed you good food.
“Don’t get hurt tomorrow,” Bucky says, making you look back at him. He’s already looking at you. There’s something soft in his eyes when he says the words, almost pleading.
“You can get hurt tomorrow,” you tell him, trying to lighten the mood once more. “I’ll put you back to normal if you do.”
Bucky shakes his head. “I need you to steel your emotions tomorrow. There’s a chance we might not be able to save them all.”
“... I know,” you whisper, and nod once at him.
“Don’t go trying to die in there either,” he warns. “I’ll yank you out of there before you can detonate with any fucking bomb.”
You crack a smile. “How romantic. Is this how you used to flirt with girls in the forties? Were you raised on the belief that boys who were mean to girls had a crush on them?”
“You’re not as dense as I thought,” he grunts.
“You’re not denying it, you know?" You raise an eyebrow at him then clarify, "That you hold a candle for me in your heart.”
“I’m not a liar, doll.”
“I get a free pass to throw you on the mat when we get back home. To make up for all the times you had me on my back,” you say, and down the rest of your beer. It’s a flimsy attempt to try and distract yourself from the butterflies in your stomach. “Let’s call it the start of your courtship.”
He raises an eyebrow at you. “Just because I have the smallest crush on you doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you. I push you hard for your own safety.”
“Fine. I’ll just go back to avoiding and ignoring you when we get back,” you huff, turning away from him again. You can see him tense out of the corner of your eye.
“One time,” he finally relents. “Just once.”
You grin and look at him. “Only a small crush?” you ask, tilting your head. Bucky stares at you for a few moments before clearing his throat and looking away. You swear there’s a slight tint of pink on his cheeks that you know cannot be blamed on the alcohol.
“Shut the hell up.”
“Can’t admit how much you like me, Barnes?” you ask, humming. “Should I text Nat and ask her how often you stare at me when I’m in the room?”
“Yeah?” Bucky sits up straighter. “I don’t recall you denying her question when she asked you whether you’re trying to decide if you wanna make out with me or fuck me.”
The grin is wiped off your face and transferred onto his. He looks smug now, enjoying your reaction.
“I hate assassins,” you whisper in disbelief. “You were listening? I thought you fucking left!”
“You were having an abnormally loud conversation,” he says with a shrug. “And if I’m not mistaken– you’ve also been quite mean to me. Seems that I’m not the only one with a crush. I might be the only one between the two of us to admit it, though.”
You could only stare at him, feeling your face warm. You could say it was the alcohol– something that he couldn’t do. Your pride was getting in the way again. There was something in his voice that irritated you to no end.
“I never not said it,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not a liar either, Sergeant.”
“Sergeant, huh?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you teasingly.
You roll your eyes at him. “Shut the hell up, Barnes. I really could just go back to pretending you don’t exist. Maybe I’ll pick fights with you again. For fun this time, since I know how you feel.”
“Yeah? And how do I feel?”
“You like me. Romantically. Maybe you wanna kiss me as much as I do,” you challenged.
“Oh, sweetheart, I wanna do more than just kiss you,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
“Then why don’t you?” you ask, tilting your head. It’s his turn to pause, to stare at you. You know you’re daring him– pushing him now. And you’re waiting with bated breath to see if he pulls through.
Part of you wonders if he actually does like you, or if you've been somehow misinterpreting his words this entire time. That was always the possibility. After all, it was only last week that you were cursing out the man into hell.
After a few more beats pass between you two without any movement, you let out a small huff and stand. You grab your plate and your empty bottle, heading towards the kitchen.
“Knew you were full of shit, Barnes,” you say, throwing the tease over your shoulder as you go to clean up your mess.
You often forget how quiet Bucky is when he wants to be. You barely got the plate in the sink before he’s behind you— both hands on either side of your body, caging you in against the sink as he presses his chest to your back. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating against yours, the thump of his heartbeat. Then, his lips are near your ear.
“Would you let me?”
His voice is barely above a whisper. If he wasn’t so close, you wouldn’t have heard him. You wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the husk of the words, the slight desperation behind it. You can only swallow before you nod once. A metal hand slides over your waist, pulling you even closer to his body.
“Gotta hear you say it,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder.
“Yes.”
A moment passes between you before his lips press against the side of your neck. You let out a sigh at the feel. It’s exactly like when he tended to your wounds– a ghost of a touch, barely brushing against your skin. Almost as if he’s afraid to hold you closer.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, and you nod again, leaning into him. Bucky hums, and then he shifts a little. He moves your hair out of the way, and presses a soft kiss to the scar on the back of your neck. You tense slightly at the feeling, and he feels it. Immediately, he rubs circles into your waist with his fingers, trying to comfort you. You let out a shaky breath, and allow him a few more kisses at the sensitive spot before turning in his arms.
“All you’re gonna do is kiss my neck?” you ask quietly, resting your arms on his shoulders.
“If that’s all you want,” he replies, and you know he means it. He won't go any further if you tell him not to. You shake your head.
“No. Want more,” you tell him, and his grip on you tightens just slightly. He’s hesitating, and you can feel it. You decide to move forward, to close the remaining distance between the two of you.
His lips are soft, just as you thought they would be. They feel even better against your own. You give him one soft kiss, just to test the waters, but he comes back for another one. Bucky fully crowds your space, his flesh hand cupping your face as he tilts your head upwards to him, to make it easier for him to deepen the kiss.
You sigh against him, relaxing in his embrace. He’s warm. This is the same warmth you felt in the forest, the same warmth he gave you when he wrapped your wounds. You were certain he would continue to wrap you in this warmth if you gave him the chance.
Bucky’s tongue swipes against your bottom lip, just slightly, quietly asking for entry. You grant it, and meet his tongue with your own. He lets out a soft groan against your mouth, and the feel and sound of him sends shockwaves through your body. You want more of him– you want him closer to you.
He seems to feel the same, both hands reaching to pull you upwards, easily taking you into his arms. Your legs rest on either side of him now, and your ankles lock behind his back to help hold yourself in place as he begins to move out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom.
All the while, he never stops kissing you. Your lips, your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. By the end of the night, you’re certain that there will no longer be a part of your body that Bucky has not claimed as his.
You’re gently laid down onto your back with such care it almost makes you want to cry. He hovers above you, a hand stopping just below the hem of your shirt. He’s touching your skin directly, but not moving any further. He’s pressing himself onto you, and you can feel his growing length against your thigh. You need more of him. You push on his chest, freeing yourself momentarily.
“Shit– I’m sorry–” he quickly scrambles to say, but you cut him off with the swift removal of your shirt.
“Your turn,” you tell him, tugging on his t-shirt. His eyes trail over you, the exposed skin you graced him with, and he wets his lips before nodding wordlessly.
“Yes, ma’am,” he finally speaks when he finds his words. You smile– Bucky’s a soldier through and through.
After discarding his shirt somewhere behind him, he descends upon you once more. His hands are touching you again, this time without anything stopping him. The metal has already warmed up from its constant tracing of your body, from kneading your breast while his mouth takes hold of the opposite. You let out a needy whine, hands threading through his hair as you close your eyes.
He nips at your skin, making you jump briefly before looking back down at him.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he whispers to you. His eyes seem darker– pupils blown out and swallowing the steely blue eyes that you adore. The pure need all over his face makes you shudder, and your heart jumps in your chest again as you nod at him.
You feel him before you see him. His hand trailing down to the waistband of your shorts, then dipping down and beneath the fabric.
“Bucky,” you sigh as his fingers come into contact with your core. He’s ghosting again; simply spreading your slick over your folds to get a feel of your arousal. He lets out a soft moan, and swallows thickly.
“All this for me? I’m flattered,” he tells you with a small smirk.
“Bucky,” you say again, with more desperation.
“I could probably slide right in without even doing anything to prepare you,” he continues, trailing kisses up your chest. “You want that? You want me to stretch you and fill you with my cock?”
Despite his words, he presses a single digit into your entrance. You let out a gasp, your hips bucking to meet his hand. Bucky coos in your ear, the heel of his palm pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves to stimulate it just a little as you grind against his hand.
“Don’t tease me,” you whine, though relishing in the way he nips at the space just below your ear.
“Need you to tell me you want me, doll,” he hums.
“Your hand is in my shorts, and you still need me to say it?” you ask, dumbfounded.
“What’s with the sudden attitude?” Bucky clicks his tongue in disapproval, and a second finger joins in, making you moan. He hums, satisfied with your reaction. “I like you better when you’re like this.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers find a slow, lazy pace to thrust in and out of you.
“That’s the plan. Did you forget–” Bucky pulls out his fingers until only the tips are left inside, before slamming them hard inside of you. You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, and you grab onto his arms for support. "-to keep your eyes on me?”
You comply because what else are you supposed to do? He has you under him, at his mercy, and you simply need more of him. Bucky can see it on your face, the way you’ll fall apart for him. He’s craving it.
“Good girl,” he whispers, humming with approval now.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” you tell him, though your body is betraying your words. Bucky only smiles in response, and catches your lips with his own. His fingers leave you moments later, and you find yourself regretting your comment. You’re about to pull away, and take it back when he starts sliding both your shorts and underwear down your legs in one fluid motion.
You didn’t even realize he had taken off his sweatpants earlier.
“Not so annoying now, huh, sweetheart?” he chuckles against your lips.
“Can you shut the fuck up and fuck me?” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Bucky pulls away from you. You’re breathless, confused, and looking at him. He has his hands planted on either side of your head, and he’s staring at you. His face is suddenly serious. It makes your heart stutter with anxiety.
“This can’t be a one time thing,” he whispers, his jaw clenching. “If you don’t feel the same about me– I can’t do this.”
“Wouldn’t even let you touch me like this if I didn’t feel the same way,” you tell him, reaching to touch his face. Bucky lets out a breath, one of relief, as he leans into your touch. His eyes close as his head drops just slightly, like the weight of the world had just been lifted off of his shoulders. “You still need to let me throw you on the mat. Want you on your back.”
“You can have me on my back anytime you want, doll. Right now, you’re staying on yours,” he replies, and comes back down to you.
He’s warm. Extremely warm. His skin is on fire, but you’re not sure if that’s heat that’s radiating off of him or if it’s you. Either way, you feel like you’re about to explode when he finally presses into you. Bucky’s forehead presses against yours, mouth agape as he slowly stretches through your walls.
“Tight,” he grunts, hands on your hips tightening, “so fuckin’ hot and wet– God, doll. You tryna kill me here?”
“Maybe,” you manage to answer him. You’re struggling as much as he is. The stretch is delicious. He’s just as long as he is girthy, and he really didn’t do much to prepare you earlier– but it makes it all the more pleasurable.
He takes a few moments to breathe when he finally bottoms out, pelvis pressed right against yours before he sets the pace. It’s slow, calculated. He’s savoring every inch of you, not wanting to miss a single moment. It’s driving you insane in the best way possible. You can feel every vein in every thrust, every twitch and every jump of his cock as you clench around him.
Bucky never stops praising you throughout.
“So pretty,” he says, eyes roaming all over your body as one hand lets go of your hip to begin to thumb at your clit. You gasp at the feeling– the contrast of tight, quick, small circles being rubbed against the slow and controlled movements of his hips. “So good for me.”
“Shit, Bucky,” you moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. He groans at the feeling, eyes closing briefly before he opens them and looks between you two– looks at the connecting point where one of you starts and the other ends.
There’s nothing rough or hard about the moment. He doesn’t take you like a wild animal– he’s cradling you in his arms and holding you tight, letting you feel exactly what you do to him. You feel warm under his gaze.
It’s only a matter of time before your release catches up to you, and threatens to shove you over the edge. Bucky can feel it– the fluttering of your walls and the way your body is beginning to tense under his.
“There you go, doll,” he urges, panting. There’s a sheen of sweat on his body as he swallows, taking in the full sight of you. “Let go. Wanna see you fall apart under me.”
You can’t deny him what he asks you so nicely for.
Moments after, Bucky follows you right off the same cliff. You feel his thrusts grow sloppier, hear his breaths go ragged, and then the warmth of his orgasm filling you completely full.
He’s kissing you throughout the whole thing, continuing to sing your praises as he rides out his high before he pulls you into his arms with his cock softening inside you. You almost whimper at the feeling of him leaving you.
Bucky’s hand is in your hair, massaging your scalp and the base of your skull as he holds you to his chest. You sigh into him, closing your eyes as you let his warmth once again wrap around you and keep you safe.
“I like you,” you finally confess to him, your voice just barely above a whisper. Bucky lets out a laugh, the rumble of his chest comforting you as you listen.
“I figured,” he chuckles. “I like you, too.”
“Mhm. I know,” you say with a grin. Bucky shakes his head, but you’re certain that there’s a smile on his face.
“Rest up, sweetheart. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
Your ears are ringing, and the world is spinning around you. You can’t see properly. Everything seems blurred for some reason. There’s two, maybe four of everything around you. In the distance, you can hear the sound of crackling and fire, and someone screaming out your name. You blink slowly, or at least you think you are. Time is moving at an unnatural speed.
All at once, everything comes crashing back to you, just as you are brought back to your feet, hands on your arms. Bucky is in front of you, a gash on his head with blood rushing down the side of his temple. Worry is painted all over his features, and you’re unsure why. He’s saying things to you, but you can’t understand him. You can’t hear him over the ringing. From the shape of his lips, it looks like he’s saying your name.
Bucky gets increasingly frustrated, but you do have to admit he still looks handsome even like this. There’s dirt and soot on him, along with sweat on his brow from how he must have been fighting his way down to you, down to the cells.
Fighting?
You gasp sharply as reality hits you once more, steadying yourself in his grasp.
“You back with me, doll?” he asks, his voice gruff.
“Yeah, yeah,” you nod quickly, and immediately regret the movement. You close your eyes tight, trying to will away the dizzy spell that comes over you.
“Fuck happened here?” Bucky whispers, looking around. “Where are the enhanced–”
Bucky cuts himself off, and looks back at you. Your jaw is clenched as you stare down at your feet. Your breath is ragged. You’re trembling in his arms. You’re injured in several areas, but you’re alive. That’s more than you can say for the fifty children that you came down here for.
“Where’s Talbot?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Apprehended,” Bucky answers. “He… mentioned another kill switch. I ran down here to try to warn you, but I heard the explosion...”
You laugh dryly, nodding. Just moments ago, the kids were crying to you. You were telling them you had the release on their necks– that they were free. They were safe now. One of them asked about the one in their hearts. Your blood ran cold, and you froze. You didn’t even have time to turn around and search. The first child exploded in front of your eyes, and the rest followed like a chain reaction.
“There was another one. In their chest. They put another fucking one.”
“It’s not your fault, doll,” he whispers, and you shake your head. You don’t want to hear it right now. You can’t do this.
“We need to get out of here,” you say, changing the topic. “We’re several feet underground and that explosion definitely fucked up the infastructure. We’ll be buried if we don’t leave soon.”
Bucky doesn’t waste a second before scooping you in his arms, and sprinting to where he came from. You don’t fight him this time, either. Your body is protesting from just his movements alone as he carries you. There has to be a broken rib or two in your body, along with another fracture somewhere in your leg. You were too close to the explosion. Whether you like it or not, your enhancements wouldn’t let you die so easily.
The lights above ground let you know the operation was a success, all things considered. The mastermind was taken in. Now, they would be able to go through his personal assets and find out where his labs were and put an end to everything. Maybe they would be able to free those children.
You don’t think you would ever be free of the faces of the kids that you saw down there.
You’re carried into the jet, and you vaguely hear Bucky say that your part of the mission is over with. The two of you would be heading home now– you both sustained injuries that require immediate attention. It’s only then that you snap out of your own head.
You look at him– really look at him. There’s more than just the blood on his head. There’s a bruise and cut on his cheek. His tactical gear is ripped and cut open in some places. There’s dark spots on his body that could or could not be his own blood. You see the slight limp in his walk when he finally sets you down in a seat.
The two of you are in the air before you know it, a heavy silence between the two of you. Bucky’s across from you. His eyes are closed shut, head leaning back against the wall of the jet. You know what he’s thinking of, too.
Then, you shift. You ignore the sharp pain in your body screaming at you, and you sit down next to him. He opens his eyes to look at you, questioning. Then, he sees it. The soft golden glow from under your palms, and the change of colors in your irises.
“No, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head as he tries to lower your hands. “Save your energy. Your injuries are a hell of a lot worse than mine.”
“Let me help someone tonight,” you whisper– no, you beg him. Bucky’s lips part, and he lets out a shaky breath before he relaxes in his seat. He doesn’t make a move to argue with you again.
You let your hands hover over his temples first, concentrating your powers on the gash on his head while also reaching for the rest of his body. You can see it. The broken rib, the fractured wrist, the sprained ankle. There’s multiple, deep cuts on his body from when he must’ve gone against several armed guards, and maybe a few older enhanced humans.
Slowly but surely, each pathway to the injury closes off. You can see the stiffness in his body disappear, the crease in his forehead begin to smooth out as you take his pain away. You reverse the damage that had been done to him, and you save one person tonight.
When he opens his eyes, you watch as his face softens. He reaches for you now, hands cupping your face. His thumbs brush right under your eyes, wiping away tears that you didn’t know had fallen.
Just like that, you crumble and fall apart in his arms. He holds you tight on the way home, careful of the injuries that he isn’t sure you have, but keeps his hold strong to ground you all the same. He’s the only one listening as you wail in the jet, and no words pass between the two of you.
When you arrived at the base, there was already a gurney and team of medical staff waiting for your landing. Bucky carried you out of the jet, and laid you there, barking out orders to hurry up and get you examined.
You spent a week in the medical ward. Dr. Cho was flown out from Seoul to take care of you, and get you back into shape as soon as possible.
“It’s not what you can do, but it’s the next best thing,” she told you with a gentle smile.
In that same week, you denied all visitors to your room. You wanted to be alone. You got alerts from F.R.I.D.A.Y. that each of the team members had tried visiting at least once, but you didn’t allow access. Even to Bucky– who came by every single day. Sometimes, he came multiple times a day. It was only Fury who came in, the only person that you couldn’t just turn away without proper reason.
“The labs have been found,” he informed you as you stared at the pristine white sheets you were under. “Another hundred kids were taken in, all under the age of twelve. All of them are alive, as they haven’t had the final stage of the experiments done to them yet. They’re in recovery in a safe location to rehabilitate.”
“And their parents?” you asked him, your voice small.
“We’re working on locating all of them,” Fury said. “Along with all the parents of the deceased.”
You nodded slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “I want to quit.”
“Rejected,” he denied immediately. Your head snapped up to him, and he’s staring at you with a raised eyebrow. “Those kids need someone that understands what they have been through to teach them how to live. How to survive the shit they’ve been through.”
You pause, the words weighing in your mind. “I killed them, Fury,” you whispered, desperation in your voice. You feel like crying again. “I– I don’t even know how to survive the shit that I’ve been through!”
“Give it some thought. If you really want to quit, come talk to me after you’re discharged,” he told you, then turned to leave.
You’re discharged within another week. In that same week, Tony bypasses the order you gave to F.R.I.D.A.Y. and storms into your room with a gown in hand. He’s throwing another party– one to celebrate you and Bucky’s successful mission and to gather donations for the rehabilitation center for the children.
You really tried to skip out of it, tell him that you weren’t interested in a party after everything that you’d been through. You even asked him if he read the mission report.
“I did,” he said with a nod. “And all I can say is that I’ve fucked up, too. I have blood on my hands that I’ll never be able to wash away. You, me– all of us on this team. We’re all the same.”
“Tony, please,” you begged. “I can’t just go to a party after that.”
“Then, don’t think of it as a party for your honor,” Tony said, and hung the dress up across from your hospital bed. “Think of it as a distraction. One night to get away from the demons in your head, to enjoy yourself. You deserve a break, too.”
You couldn’t fight against him on that. Not when you realize that he was just trying to cheer you up in the only way that he knew how to.
The party is the first time you see the rest of the team since your departure for the mission. Once again, no one asks questions. No one pries. You’re certain they all read the mission report, and they know why you requested for the time to be alone while you healed.
The girls greeted you with a smile, Natasha immediately mixing you a drink of something fruity that was strong, but not strong enough to make you dull the ache in your chest as you watched the world continue to spin around you without you moving in it.
“Barnes has been distracted these past two weeks,” Natasha says, bumping your hip with her as you stand at the bar in between her and Wanda. “He jumps at the mention of your name.”
“Just worried,” you say with a sigh.
“Sure, but he never was like that before. Did something happen while you two were out on the field?” Wanda grins at you.
You want to smile at them. You really do. You want to indulge in the girl talk. You want to feel the embarrassment and shyness as you confess that you do have feelings for Bucky and that you both had acted upon those feelings, but you just can’t.
It was nothing against Bucky, or anything that he did. You don’t feel worthy of those feelings for him. The last two weeks of silence, of being in your own head– you realize that the words he used to spit at you with fire may have been more true than you wanted to admit.
You were a liability. You were too close to the mission. You were emotional and reckless– you didn’t double, triple check the situation. You wanted to be a hero, to save lives. At the end of it, you didn’t even walk out of there on your own two feet.
You didn’t even succeed in your own mission– to save the hostages. He succeeded in his– to apprehend Talbot. He was right, at the end of the day. You knew he was. Even if he had already reassured you, whispered to you in your ear that he didn’t mean it like that, you were starting to believe there was someone out there that did.
How could you face him now?
You excuse yourself, murmuring something about fresh air. You ignore the way both of the girls share a look with each other, and let your feet carry you out the door to the rooftop.
You sat out on the terrace, watching the skyline. The compound was far away from the city, but you were still able to see the twinkling lights in the distance.
Here, you thought about everything. Your place. Your thoughts were taking a dangerous turn. You no longer felt worthy of this team. Of having these powers that could help people when nothing you did aided. You didn’t feel worthy of the feelings that Bucky had for you– the respect and care and worry that he secretly held all this time.
“Been waiting everyday at the gym for you to throw me, you know?”
Just his voice alone was enough to melt away the self loathing that you threw yourself into. You looked over your shoulder, seeing him walk towards you, a hand in his pocket, a whiskey glass in the other.
“Been drafting up my resignation letter,” you respond softly. “Don’t think we need to continue training anymore.”
Bucky comes up beside you, placing his glass beside yours on the ledge. He lets out a breath as he leans against the stone, and looks at you.
“I’m really not good at comforting people, doll. Can you help me out here?” he asks. He’s trying to make the tone light. Trying to cheer you up.
You give him a tight smile, and shake your head. “I couldn’t save them.”
“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me. My earpiece– it broke. Got knocked out. I couldn’t reach you fast enough. If I was more careful–”
“I should’ve done more research,” you cut him off. Bucky looks helpless at your words. “It was my mission. Not yours… And it will haunt me forever.”
Bucky lets out a deep breath through his nose, then wets his lips. Thinking. Then, he reaches for your hand, tugging on it. He’s pulling you away– bringing you somewhere else.
“What are you doing?” you ask. Your voice sounds tired. It doesn’t sound like you.
“I can’t make the nightmares go away,” he whispers, looking down briefly as he continues to lead you away from the edge of the terrace. “I can’t make it all stop hurting, but I was sent on that mission with you as your dance partner. We didn’t even dance. You're gonna let me fail at the mission given to me, sweetheart?”
You can’t help the laugh that exits your lips as he brings you to the middle of the rooftop. He smiles at the sound, and stops before you. He guides your hands onto his shoulders, then comfortably rests his on your waist.
“Just for right now, you and I can forget all the bad stuff,” he says.
“Is that really okay?” you ask him, lifting your eyes to meet his. He shrugs a little, and smiles more.
“They’re playing our song right now, doll. Can’t be sad when we’re together,” he tells you, and leads you in a dance.
The music from inside is loud enough to carry outdoors, to where the two of you are. At this moment, you let Bucky take the lead. He holds you against him as you sway together, breaking away only for a moment so he can take your hand and spin you around like a princess in a movie. The action makes you giggle just a little bit, and you miss the soft look in his eyes as he watches you.
You don’t know how much time has passed like this– with him. All you know is your head is against his chest, fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. He’s humming along to the song as he leans his own head against yours. You can feel his heart beating, and distinctly realize yours is beating in the same time.
“Stay here. Stay with me,” he finally speaks, breaking the silence between the two of you.
You’re quiet for a few moments. The pain won’t go away in one night. Bucky isn’t claiming that he can make it disappear, either… but being in his arms dulls the ache in a way that you know that you can’t do by yourself.
“Will you complain if I go on a mission with you again?”
Bucky lets out a small laugh before lifting his head, pulling back to look at your face. A hand comes to cup your face. “How long will you be holding that against me?”
“Depends on how long you think we have together,” you respond, leaning into his touch.
“Forever, then,” he confirms, smiling down at you before the familiar feel of his lips press against yours.
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summary: Tension explodes in the training room when Bucky walks in on you sparring a little too close with Walker. He doesn’t say much but when he takes over the session… well. Jealous!Bucky Barnes it is.
word count: 3397
WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, dirty talk, degrading kink, dry humping, fingering, oral (f receiving), PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, breeding, overstimulation, possessive behavior, jealous af, fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated.
A/N: Sigh. I had this in my head ever since watching Thunderbolts* and recent work of @iamthatonefangirl pushed me into finally writing it down. Do not expect much plot from it… or any plot at all. Writer has no regrets.
The training room was filled with the rhythmic thud of your boots against the mat and the sharp, quick breaths you shared with Walker. His presence was overwhelming — tall, broad-shouldered, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, mixing with your own rising warmth.
You circled each other warily, muscles taut, eyes locked like predators. Walker’s grin was cocky, but there was an edge of respect in it. “You’re stubborn,” he said, voice low and teasing.
“Yeah, well,” you shot back, dropping into a defensive stance, “you’re slow.”
His laughter was rough as he lunged forward, grabbing your wrist and twisting, forcing you down toward the mat.
You fought against him, every inch a battle — but he was strong, and before you knew it, your back hit the padded floor.
Walker was on top, chest pressing against yours. You could feel the solid heat of him, the strength beneath his armor. Your arms were pinned, but your eyes stayed locked with his, breaths mingling in the tight space between you.
“You holding back?” he whispered, his breath warm on your face.
You smirked, muscles flexing as you pushed against him, trying to twist free. “Not a chance.”
His hands slid down your arms, skin to skin, the contact electric, and for a moment, the fight faded into something else — a tension thick enough to choke on.
Walker shifted, lowering his mouth to your ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
You swallowed hard, heart pounding loud in your chest, and the taste of his breath — spicy and close — sent a thrill racing through you.
With a quick movement, you twisted, trying to flip him off you, but Walker caught your wrist and held you fast.
His face hovered inches from yours, the faint scrape of stubble against your cheek making you shiver.
“Almost had me,” he murmured, voice rough.
Your fingers brushed his jaw, accidental but electric, and his eyes darkened, holding you captive in that intense gaze.
Neither of you moved. The room was silent except for your ragged breathing and the thudding of your heartbeats, syncing in the small space where your bodies met.
You felt the heat pooling low in your belly, the line between fighting and wanting blurring with every second.
Walker’s hand slid up your arm, fingertips trailing lightly, sending sparks where they touched.
Your lips parted, breath hitching.
The door slid open, and Bucky Barnes stepped inside. He paused, taking in the scene: you pinned beneath Walker, bodies close, breaths heavy and mingling.
His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
You pushed Walker off with a quick grunt, breathing hard but flashing a grin. “Round two?”
Walker gave a lazy shrug, stretching one arm. “Wish I could, but I gotta run.”
You frowned in disappointment. “Already?”
“Yeah,” he said, smirking. “But maybe Bucky here can take over.”
Walker clapped Bucky on the shoulder before heading out, leaving the two of you alone.
Bucky’s eyes locked onto you, sharp and cold like ice cutting through steel. His jaw clenched so tight you could almost hear the grind.
“I guess I’m stuck with you now,” he growled, voice low and rough - no hint of warmth.
You blinked, caught off guard by how harsh he sounded. “Stuck? It’s just training, Bucky.”
He took a step closer, his gaze burning holes through you. “Yeah, well, sparring with him? That looked less like training and more like… whatever that was.”
You frowned, heat creeping to your cheeks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Bucky’s lips curled into a bitter smirk, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, come on. You don’t get that close with Walker — arms locked, skin on skin and expect me to not notice?”
Your heart thudded loud and fast. “We were sparring, Barnes. You’re reading way too much into it.”
Bucky scoffed. “Whatever.”
You barely had time to catch your breath before Bucky lunged forward, his movements sharp and aggressive — like a storm about to break loose.
His fist came at you harder than necessary, forcing you to scramble back and dodge. This wasn’t training. This was punishment.
“You getting cozy with Walker?” His voice was low, clipped, cutting like a knife. “Don’t think I’m just gonna stand here and watch.”
His hand shot out, grabbing your arm with a grip that was rough and unyielding. You winced but didn’t pull away. Not yet.
“Not on my watch.”
Bucky closed the space between you, chest pressing against yours, fingers digging into your arm like a silent command. No words explaining it. No apologies.
Just the cold, hard truth of his possessiveness, raw and undeniable.
He dropped back into stance, voice sharp. “You want to spar? Fine. But don’t expect me to be gentle.”
Every strike was laced with frustration and something harsher — a need to remind you who was in control, without ever saying it.
And the tension between you? Thick enough to choke on.
The second Bucky’s hands locked around your waist, pulling you flush against him, your breath hitched, heart pounding. His metal hand closed over your wrists behind your back, holding you captive with a grip that was equal parts demanding and possessive.
You could feel the hard, unmistakable press of him — his arousal, firm and urgent against your lower back, the weight of it making your breath falter.
“Thought you could get close to Walker and not have to deal with me?” His voice was a low growl, rough with something dark and dangerous.
His breath ghosted over your ear, warm and intoxicating, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. Your body burned where his pressed against you, every nerve screaming with need.
Without warning, Bucky’s metal fingers tightened on your wrists, tilting your hands upward so he could lean in, lips brushing over your neck, trailing a rough kiss down to your shoulder.
You gasped as his body pressed harder, hips grinding just enough to make it impossible to ignore what was between you — the undeniable proof of how much he wanted you.
“Not so fast,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “You don’t get to tease me like that.”
His touch was rough, needy, his control slipping as his hands slid from your wrists to your waist, fingers digging in possessively. You could feel his arousal straining against the fabric of his pants, pressing into you with a hunger that matched your own.
Your skin tingled where his metal hand traced slow, demanding lines along your ribs, igniting a fire that burned hotter by the second.
You let out a soft gasp as his hips pressed into you again, the hard length of him undeniable. Heat flooded your core, your thighs pressing together instinctively. His breath was right against your neck, lips just barely grazing your skin.
You could’ve leaned into it, let him take what he clearly wanted — but instead, you smirked.
Then you twisted.
With a sharp pivot of your hips, you slipped out of his grip, ducking beneath his arm and spinning away. Bucky stumbled half a step, blinking like he hadn’t expected you to escape.
“Thought you were gonna teach me a lesson,” you said, breathless but smug as hell.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing, jaw flexing hard. “You think this is a joke?”
You shrugged, backing into a loose stance. “I think you’re wound a little tight. What’s the matter, Barnes?” You tilted your head, letting your eyes flick deliberately down his body — right to the straining bulge in his pants. “Need a break?”
The fire in his eyes ignited.
He was on you in a flash.
This time when he moved, it wasn’t just precise — it was brutal, desperate, controlled only by the thinnest thread of restraint. His fists came hard and fast, forcing you to block, deflect, move. He wasn’t holding back anymore.
You ducked, landed a light kick to his thigh, then laughed when he caught your ankle mid-move and yanked, dragging you closer.
“Still think this is a game?” he hissed.
You were breathless, heart pounding, adrenaline and arousal tangling into one intoxicating buzz.
“Depends,” you teased, lips curling. “What do I win if I pin you?”
He growled and shoved you back, body surging forward to slam you to the mat. This time, it was no accident when his hips landed flush against yours.
No pretense. No holding back.
Just his hard cock pressing into your core, and his hand pinning both your wrists above your head.
His breath hit your cheek, ragged and heavy.
“You want to play?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “Then fucking play.”
Your breath caught in your throat as Bucky hovered above you, pinning your wrists down hard against the mat. His chest heaved, muscles tense and trembling with restraint, but it was the weight of him between your legs that really made your head spin.
You shifted — just barely and that was all it took. Bucky’s hips snapped forward, grinding his cock against your clothed core with a force that stole your breath.
“You like teasing?” he growled, the sound rough, ragged. “Keep fucking squirming. See what happens.”
You did. Of course you did.
You tilted your hips up with slow defiance, grinding back against the thick heat of him beneath his tactical pants. The friction was maddening, perfectly filthy — your underwear soaked instantly as you dragged yourself along the length of him.
A dark, broken sound ripped from Bucky’s throat, and then he was moving — grinding into you with a rhythm that had your head rolling back and your thighs trembling.
His metal hand kept your wrists pinned above your head while his flesh hand gripped your hip, hard enough to bruise, dragging you into each thrust like he needed you to feel every inch of him through the layers.
“You don’t get to look at him like that,” Bucky hissed, rutting harder. “Don’t get to give that to anyone else.”
You gasped, back arching as his cock rubbed right where you needed it, again and again, pressure building fast and tight in your gut.
“Bucky—” you started, but he cut you off with another deep, grinding thrust.
“No.” His voice cracked, low and dangerous. “You wanna act like a brat, I’ll fuck it out of you right here.”
Your moan was shameless, head spinning as his cock rubbed against your clit just right, over and over, your core clenching around nothing, desperate and soaked and grinding back without shame.
His lips were at your jaw now, rough stubble scraping, breath hot as he fucked into you with relentless rhythm.
“You feel that?” he growled. “That’s what you do to me.”
And god — you could. Every thick, heavy inch of him dragging over your leggings and your throbbing clit, every possessive grind claiming you without a single word of affection.
Your back arched beneath him, body on fire, every nerve burning where his cock ground against your soaked leggins. The sounds you made — ragged, breathless, needy — only pushed him further.
“Fuck,” he growled, his lips grazing your neck. “You’re dripping. You wanted this, didn’t you?”
You nodded and before you could answer vocally, his grip shifted — your wrists still trapped in his metal hand as his other slid down, slow and rough, until his fingers curled beneath the waistband of your leggings.
And then — rip.
You gasped as the fabric tore in his fist, panties along with it, shredded like paper. Cool air rushed over your soaked pussy, your thighs twitching at the sudden exposure.
“Bucky—” you breathed, but the way he was looking at you — eyes dark, jaw clenched, starving— shut you right up.
“Look at you,” he muttered, fingers gliding through your wet folds, spreading the slick mess you’d made. “Grinding all over me like a desperate little thing.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Two thick fingers slid inside you — deep. The stretch sudden and perfect, dragging a cry from your throat as your walls clamped down.
“Fuck, that’s tight,” he hissed, burying them knuckle-deep, his thumb brushing against your clit with brutal precision.
Your body jolted, legs shaking, and he just smirked.
“This what Walker gets?” he growled, curling his fingers just right. “Or is this all mine?”
You couldn’t answer — you couldn’t think. Every pump of his fingers sent sparks through your spine, your hips lifting, chasing more, chasing everything.
“Say it,” Bucky demanded, voice low and threatening. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
He pushed in harder, rougher, hitting that spot that made your thighs quake.
Your moan broke into a whimper.
“It’s—” you choked. “Fuck—yours, Bucky—it’s yours—”
His thumb circled your clit, slow and punishing. “Damn right it is.”
His lips found your neck again, biting down just hard enough to mark you, all while his fingers fucked you open—relentless, possessive, and dripping with control he was seconds away from losing.
Bucky’s fingers pumped into you hard and deep, curling just right as your hips rolled helplessly beneath him. Your body was slick, trembling, pleasure coiling fast and tight in your belly. You were so close it hurt.
And just when you were about to fall apart—he pulled away.
“No—fuck, Bucky—” you gasped, reaching for him, hips twitching.
He didn’t say a word—just grabbed your thighs, spreading them wide, dragging you down the mat until your soaked pussy was right in front of him. You barely had time to breathe before—
His mouth was on you.
His tongue licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, collecting every drop of wetness before diving in, deep and hungry, like a man starved.
Your back arched, a cry breaking from your throat as he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue circling with maddening pressure.
“Oh my god—Bucky—”
He groaned against you, the vibration sending a shock through your spine.
Then he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice low, dark, mean.
“Tell me,” he said, breath hot against your dripping pussy. “Could Walker ever make you feel like this?”
Your thighs trembled around his head, body burning with shame and arousal all at once.
“I—no—fuck, Bucky, no—”
He smirked, just barely, before burying his mouth between your legs again, licking and sucking like a man obsessed, like he was trying to drink every sound you made.
His hands held your thighs open, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin as his tongue fucked into you, slow at first, then faster, messier.
You were soaking his face, writhing under him, hips lifting off the mat in desperation.
“You’re fucking mine,” he growled, voice rough against your soaked heat. “No one else gets this.”
Then he sucked your clit hard and you shattered.
Your orgasm ripped through you, a scream tearing from your throat as you came on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head, whole body twitching uncontrollably.
But Bucky didn’t stop.
He kept licking, kept sucking, dragging every last wave from you until you were shaking, a broken mess beneath him.
Finally, he lifted his head — his mouth wet with your slick, eyes dark and burning.
“Next time you think about sparring with Walker,” he said, voice wrecked, “remember what I do to you.”
You were still shaking from the orgasm he pulled out of you with his mouth — slick, breathless, your body twitching as he rose up over you, his face glistening with you.
Bucky’s hands slid under your thighs, lifting them roughly as he shoved his tactical pants down just enough to free his cock—and fuck, he was thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, already hard and twitching.
He didn’t give you a second to breathe.
He dragged the head of his cock through your soaked folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick before lining up at your entrance.
“Walker wouldn’t know what to do with you,” he growled, dark eyes fixed on your ruined body beneath him. “He couldn’t handle this.”
And then he slammed into you — deep.
You choked on your breath, nails digging into the mat as his cock split you open, stretching you so full you thought you’d lose your mind.
“Bucky—” you gasped, but he just grabbed your waist, pulling you into another brutal thrust.
“Say my name again,” he growled, snapping his hips forward. “Let the whole fucking tower hear who’s making you feel like this.”
“Bucky—oh my god—”
He fucked you like he meant it. Like every thrust was a punishment and a reward all at once. Deep, fast, grinding into you so hard your whole body shifted up the mat.
One hand pinned your hip while the other—the metal one—gripped your throat, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to hold.
“Mine,” he hissed, thrusting deep and slow now, cock dragging over your g-spot. “You understand me?”
You were crying out with every stroke, legs wrapped around him, back arching as the head of his cock hit you just right again and again.
“I said—do you fucking understand me?”
“Yes—yes, Bucky, yours—”
“That’s right,” he grunted, voice wrecked. “This pussy, this body — all fucking mine.”
He pulled out almost completely — just the tip barely inside — then slammed back in with a growl that sounded like it came from deep in his chest.
You shattered again, coming hard around him, clenching so tight he cursed loud, barely holding on.
He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, fucking you through it, grinding his cock into your spasming walls like he needed to burn your name into his skin.
And then he snapped — hips stuttering, breath ragged, and with a broken, desperate grunt.
He came inside you. Deep and hot. Filling you up.
He didn’t pull out. He stayed there, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours, cock still twitching as he spilled every last drop into you.
The mat beneath you was soaked. Your legs were trembling. And Bucky?
Still didn’t move.
Still inside you.
Still possessive as hell.
Your body was limp, fucked-out and buzzing, still quivering around the load Bucky had just spilled deep inside you. You were warm, stretched full, his cock still hard as he stayed buried in you for a few long, heady moments.
Then, finally, he pulled out with a thick, wet sound — your walls clenching around nothing, the sudden emptiness making you gasp.
You felt it almost immediately. The slow, sticky drip of his cum sliding out of you.
But Bucky didn’t move away.
His gaze dropped between your legs, jaw clenched, and you could feel the way he was watching it—the way he watched himself leak out of you.
And then he looked up at you. Eyes darker than sin.
“Not done,” he muttered.
You opened your mouth to ask what he meant — but then his metal hand slid down your stomach and between your legs.
Two fingers — cold, slick, thick — pushed into your still-sensitive cunt.
You cried out, hips jerking, but Bucky held you down, his flesh hand gripping your thigh as he pumped those fingers deep inside you, slow and deliberate.
“Keep it in,” he growled, curling his fingers. “You think I’m gonna let it go to waste?”
Your head dropped back against the mat, spine arching as he fucked you with his fingers, thrusting everything he’d spilled back into you.
“Made you take every drop,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear now. “And now you’re gonna hold it. You hear me?”
Your cunt fluttered around his fingers, overstimulated and soaked again already.
He pushed deeper, scissoring you open, fucking his cum back inside like it belonged there.
“You were made for this,” he murmured, tongue dragging slow and hot against your neck. “To take me. To be filled by me.”
You whimpered, trembling as his thumb found your clit and circled it — lazy, almost cruel.
“God, look at you,” he rasped. “Still so fucking tight. You think Walker could do this to you? Make you this full? This messy?”
You moaned his name, your legs shaking, your body giving in all over again.
“Say it,” he said, voice sharp against your throat. “Say who this pussy belongs to.”
“You, Bucky—fuck—yours—”
“That’s right,” he growled, fingers curling just right.
You came again — a raw, desperate sound tearing from your throat as you clenched around his fingers, body rocking helplessly as he fucked you through it, never letting a single drop escape.
He didn’t stop until you were crying — sobbing his name, broken and full and so far gone you didn’t even know where you ended and he began.
And even then, his fingers stayed buried in you, possessive and proud.
“Next time you even think about sparring with Walker, remember how I filled you first.”
Summary: When you fall asleep with your head resting on Bucky's metal arm, he starts to realize he's not just a weapon.
Word Count: 1,878
Steve insisted that the group do a team bonding activity, something about not spending enough time together outside of missions.
Which is how you ended up here, on the couch, squished between Bucky and Nat while everyone argued about which movie to watch.
It’s not that you didn’t like the idea of a movie night – you loved watching movies. You were just getting a little overwhelmed with everyone around you yelling, your shoulder awkwardly pressing against Bucky’s metal one, and it was clear Bucky wanted to be anywhere but here, leaning as far away from you as he could.
You and Bucky didn’t interact much, but he didn’t really talk to anyone much other than Steve. You just shared quick greetings and awkward small talk if you were alone in a room together.
So being this close to him for a few hours was going to be interesting.
But when the others finally settled down and decided on a movie, Nat leaned against the other side of the couch, allowing you to shift away from Bucky, just enough so you weren’t touching anymore.
They had picked a fairly new action movie, one you’d seen once before, so you were half-paying attention and half-zoned out.
You didn’t even realize when your eyes started to flutter shut as your body slowly shifted to the side.
Before you knew it, you were asleep – with your head slowly falling against Bucky’s metal shoulder.
--
Bucky stiffened the second he felt her head drift onto his shoulder, her weight light but unmistakable. His spine went straight, eyes wide as if someone had yanked him into a mission briefing without warning.
Of all the places she could’ve leaned – why the metal arm?
The chill of the vibranium pressed against her cheek, and yet…she didn’t flinch. She didn’t move away. She even sighed, soft and content, like this was the most natural thing in the world. His chest tightened.
He stared straight ahead, muscles locked, jaw clenched. His instinct screamed at him to shift, to move her gently off him before she noticed what she’d done. He hated this part – this reminder of what he was made of. What had been done to him. People didn’t lean on weapons. They avoided them.
But then…he glanced down.
She was completely at ease, her features relaxed, lips slightly parted in sleep. One hand curled loosely in her lap, the other resting near his thigh but not touching. There was no hesitation in her body, no discomfort in her expression. Just peace.
She trusted him.
His heart thudded heavily, each beat slowing with the realization. She knew what his arm was, and she’d still fallen asleep against it. Against him.
He swallowed, unsure of what to do. He let out a slow, silent breath, careful not to disturb her, and leaned back just a little more into the couch cushion, letting himself settle.
Maybe he’d let her stay there a while longer.
A few minutes passed before Sam noticed.
He leaned forward from where he sat on the floor and blinked. “Wait a second – am I seeing this right?” he whispered loudly, elbowing Clint.
Clint turned, squinting in the low light. His grin spread instantly. “Holy crap. Is she – yeah, she’s definitely asleep on Bucky.”
Steve looked over and raised an eyebrow. “And Bucky’s letting her?”
Nat craned her neck and smirked. “Not just letting – he’s not moving a muscle. He’s frozen.”
“That’s because he’s malfunctioning,” Tony deadpanned, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Someone call Wakanda, his arm’s about to short-circuit.”
Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t move. “She’s asleep,” he muttered, voice low.
“On your shoulder,” Sam pointed out, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “You normally flinch if someone breathes in your direction.”
“She’s different,” Clint stage-whispered dramatically. “The Winter Soldier has a soft spot.”
Steve chuckled, clearly enjoying this a little too much. “You okay there, Buck?”
Bucky glanced down at you again, then shrugged one shoulder carefully – not the one you were leaning on. “She’s comfortable,” he said simply. “Didn’t wanna wake her.”
But deep down, under the teasing and the smirks and the popcorn being flicked at his head, he wasn’t actually all that bothered.
In fact, he kind of liked it.
--
The credits rolled slowly up the screen as the final soundtrack played out, and one by one, the team began shifting and standing.
Nat stretched and cracked her neck. “Well, that was two hours of my life I’ll never get back.”
“Better than Clint’s last pick,” Sam muttered, brushing popcorn off his pants.
“You said you liked Mamma Mia!” Clint shot back, scandalized.
Voices layered over each other, shoes scuffed the floor, and someone knocked over an empty cup. The volume in the room rose steadily – but Bucky didn’t move an inch.
Still sitting ramrod straight on the couch, still letting you lean against his metal arm. His jaw tightened slightly as Steve glanced at him again with a knowing smile.
“You gonna stay like that all night, Buck?”
“Yeah,” Clint chimed in. “We should take bets – think she drooled on the vibranium?”
“I’m offended,” Tony said, pointing dramatically. “That arm was designed for stealth, precision, and battlefield dominance – not as a sleep aid.”
“Maybe it’s multifunctional,” Nat deadpanned, crossing her arms.
Bucky just huffed quietly, refusing to take the bait. “She’s still sleeping.”
“Not for long,” Steve murmured, just as your lashes fluttered.
Your body shifted slightly, and your head lifted off his shoulder as you blinked, disoriented. Your hair was mussed, a crease on your cheek from the ridges of his arm, faint but obvious. You squinted around at the group, half-asleep, voice groggy.
“…What’s going on?”
Clint snorted. “Sleeping Beauty returns.”
“You fell asleep on Bucky’s shoulder,” Sam said, clearly enjoying this way too much.
You paused, and then your eyes widened slightly as you slowly sat up straighter, fingers brushing at your cheek as if trying to smooth away the sleep marks. You didn’t say anything at first, just turned to Bucky – who still hadn’t moved – and gave him a sheepish look.
“Sorry,” you said softly, voice laced with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to–”
“It’s okay,” Bucky said quickly, quietly. “Really.”
Something in his tone made you glance at him a little longer than necessary, but before either of you could say anything else, the teasing resumed.
“Look at him,” Sam grinned. “Protective mode activated.”
“This is my favorite team bonding night ever,” Clint said, not even trying to hide his laughter.
“Should we get matching blankets for them next time?” Tony added.
Bucky groaned and ran a hand down his face, but there was no bite behind it. You, now wide awake and thoroughly flustered, could only shake your head as Nat leaned in to whisper, “For what it’s worth, he didn’t move a single inch the whole movie.”
Your face burned, but a small, surprised smile tugged at your lips anyway.
The others slowly filed out of the room, still snickering and tossing back comments as they went.
“Get some rest, lovebirds,” Tony called, tossing a final wink over his shoulder.
“Don’t stay up too late,” Clint added before Steve finally ushered the stragglers out with a tired shake of his head.
You stood up slowly, rubbing your eyes and letting out a quiet yawn. The creak of the couch cushions behind you told you Bucky had gotten up too. You turned back slightly, surprised he hadn’t made a beeline for the exit like he usually did after group events.
You hesitated for a second, then smiled as you looked up at him. “Thanks,” you said lightly, your voice a little shy but warm. “For, y’know…letting me fall asleep on you.” You let out a small laugh, a bit self-conscious. “Didn’t mean to use your shoulder as a pillow.”
Bucky shrugged, hands in his pockets, a flicker of something soft in his eyes. “No problem,” he said. “Just didn’t wanna wake you.”
His gaze flicked to your cheek, and his brow furrowed a little. “Did it hurt? The arm, I mean.”
You blinked, then instinctively reached up and touched your cheek, feeling the faint ridges the metal had left behind. You laughed again, this time more genuinely.
“No, not at all,” you said, still smiling. “It was actually…really comfortable.”
His eyes widened slightly, just for a second.
“I usually can’t fall asleep sitting up like that,” you continued, dropping your hand and meeting his gaze. “But I guess it was comfortable enough to stay asleep, huh?”
Bucky let out a quiet laugh – more like a breath of disbelief – and looked away for a second, trying (and failing) not to let the corner of his mouth pull up into a smile.
People didn’t say things like that. Not about that part of him.
“That’s good,” he said, voice low and sincere. “I’m glad.”
And he was. More than he could say out loud.
You stepped out into the hallway together, the soft hum of the tower’s lights overhead filling the quiet.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Bucky walked just half a step behind you, hands tucked in the pockets of his sweats, eyes flicking to you every so often but never quite landing. You toyed with the sleeve of your hoodie, not really sure what to say either. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly – just full of a weird mix of lingering embarrassment and…something else. Something new.
You were halfway down the hall when you glanced at him and said lightly, “I’m kind of surprised you didn’t shove me off the couch.”
He snorted, shaking his head. “I thought about it.”
You laughed, nudging him gently with your elbow, this time intentionally bumping into his metal arm. “Wow. Honored.”
“That was before you started snoring,” he added deadpan, but there was a playful glint in his eyes.
Your jaw dropped. “I did not snore.”
“I didn’t say it was loud,” he said with a straight face, “just a little pathetic.”
You gasped, swatting his arm with a laugh, and he chuckled – actually chuckled – like the sound surprised even him.
By the time you reached your door, both of you were still smiling, the awkwardness from earlier fading into something easier.
You stopped and turned to face him, hand resting on the doorknob.
“Really, though,” you said, voice softer now. “Thanks again. I…I don’t usually let myself fall asleep around people.” You hesitated, then added with a slight shrug, “But I guess I felt safe.”
That seemed to catch him off guard. His expression flickered – surprise, warmth, something quietly vulnerable.
He cleared his throat and glanced away for a second. “It was nothing,” he said, brushing it off with the same calm tone he used earlier. “You were tired.”
You smiled again, this one gentler. “Still. Thanks.”
He looked back at you then, and the space between you shifted – not charged, not heavy. Just full of something simple. Honest.
“Goodnight,” you said softly.
“‘Night,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting.
And with that, you slipped into your room, the door closing quietly behind you.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the wood grain, before finally turning and walking back down the hall – still not quite sure why he was smiling.
summary: after a brutal breakup, all you want is a snowy escape in the mountains. what you get is a cabin that's very much occupied, a dangerously attractive roommate, and no exit strategy. you plan to avoid the situation by visiting the town center. often.
such a shame the weather has other ideas.
warnings: 18+, swearing, alcohol, smut!
note: i wanted to slow burn but i can't not write them hooking up so this is my solution
You don’t remember how you got here.
It starts with warmth.
Not the kind from your blankets. From a hand. Big. Calloused. Sliding slow across your waist beneath the hem of your shirt.
His voice, low and rough, ghosts over your neck.
“Didn’t think you’d be this soft,” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin.
You can’t speak.
“Been thinkin’ about this since the second you walked through that door,” he adds, mouth at your ear now. “All attitude, actin’ like you weren’t lookin’ at me the same way.”
He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other dragging down your thigh, coaxing it open.
“Tell me to stop.”
You don't.
You arch into him instead, desperate.
“That’s what I thought,” he growls, and then he’s kissing you, claiming you, and you’re gasping his name like it’s the only word you know.
His voice scrapes against the shell of your ear, sleep-rough and devastatingly low.
“Didn’t think you’d let me touch you like this.”
You don’t answer. You just sigh. Already gone.
That arm tightens. His palm spreads over your stomach. He presses closer from behind, hips snug against your backside.
“You’re warm,” he mutters, lips grazing your neck. “Sweet.”
You gasp as his hand slips lower, sliding beneath the band of your underwear. His fingers graze that aching spot between your thighs like he’s done it before.
“This what you wanted?” he breathes. “Waking up like this? Me in your bed, hand between your legs?”
Your hips roll back into him like your body knows something your brain doesn’t want to admit. You can feel him, hard behind you, and it’s filthy, it’s wrong, it’s-
“Tell me to stop. C’mon, sweetheart, use your words.”
You can’t. Won't.
Instead, your fingers grip the sheets and you whisper his name.
“Bucky-”
Your eyes snap open.
Legs tangled in the sheets.
No warm body behind you.
Just the ghost of his touch haunting your skin.
You sit up way too fast, hair clinging to your forehead, heart pounding. Thighs pressed together like your body’s still grasping for what it almost had.
Groaning, this time out of mortification, you run a hand down your face.
One night. One tender dinner. And your body’s already betraying you.
You don’t let yourself think too hard about what your subconscious had just confessed to you.
Instead, you swing your legs out of bed, throw on a sweater, and head to the kitchen. Like a normal person. Who had normal dreams.
Bucky’s already there. Of course he is.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” he tosses over his shoulder.
He’s got a worn henley on, sweatpants low on his hips.
Flipping a pancake over the stove.
You’re going to scream.
“Thought you didn’t cook,” you mutter, hoping that your casual tone covers up for the guilt that is surely thinly veiled on your face.
“Don’t usually have such pleasant company,” he teases, “plus, I figured we’d both need something heavier for breakfast after last night.”
Right.
Last night.
You’d sat by the fire with Bucky. Had two of those god-awful beers, maybe three. Socked feet tucked under you, sipping slowly. You were tipsy, he was steady.
You’d almost wished he was drunk. It would’ve given you an explanation on why it looked like he was figuring out what made you tick, what made you laugh, made your eyes roll, how you’d blush the tiniest bit when he called you ‘doll’ with that gravel in his voice.
He told you about himself.. He’d grown up in Brooklyn, apparently. Spent some time in the army, even made it up to the rank of Sergeant. Lost his arm in a battle a long time ago. Escaped to the mountains, desperate for some quiet. Found Alpine. Found peace.
You’d told him about your life in the city. A bit more on your shitty ex, but mostly… other things. About your favorite speakeasy, the cafe by your apartment. How it was so easy to get swallowed up, to feel alone in such a busy place. How being here, even with a near stranger, was the first time in a long time you’d really let yourself exhale.
He’d listened. No judgement. Just warm. Solid.
At some point you’d fallen over laughing over his reaction to how much you paid for rent in your tiny apartment. He’d sputtered at the number you’d thrown out.
“For a closet?”, he’d repeated, scandalized, “that’s how much I paid for my first apartment! For the whole year!”
“Times change, grandpa”, you’d laughed.
Somehow, your legs had ended up tucked under you on the couch, body angled slightly toward him. His arm had draped lazily along the back of the couch, close enough that you could feel the heat of him even without touching. Alpine had claimed the space between you, curled in a ball, clearly smug about her front-row seat.
“City people are wild,” he murmured after a moment, almost to himself.
You raised an eyebrow. “You used to be one.”
“Yeah. Then I came to my senses.”
There was a beat of quiet after that. The kind that makes your heart beat a little faster.
“Glad you did,” you murmured.
He turned to look at you. Eyes steady. A little warmer than before. “Yeah?” he asked softly.
You nodded. “You built a good life here. Quiet. Peaceful.”
“And lonely,” he admitted, surprising both of you.
You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.
He looked away, tapping the edge of his bottle with his finger. “But… not so bad tonight.”
You swallowed. Suddenly very aware of how close he was. Of the flush creeping up your neck. Of the way your gaze kept dropping to his mouth.
“I should, um…” you cleared your throat, setting your beer down. “I should probably go to bed before I say something embarrassing.”
He smirked. “You already called me grandpa.”
“Fair point,” you said, rising to your feet. “Goodnight, Bucky.”
He didn’t follow, didn’t press. Just gave you that same, steady look and murmured, “Night, sweetheart.”
You made it to your room. You brushed your teeth. You changed.
But as you curled up in bed under flannel sheets and wool blankets, staring at the ceiling in the quiet dark, his voice came back to you. His laugh. His eyes. That low, thoughtful way he’d said “sweetheart.”
And then.
Then the dream came.
Of hands on your waist and flannel brushing your bare skin. Of fingers curling around your throat as his mouth claimed yours in the shadows. Of growled words and his body pressed on yours, the burn of being wanted like that. Wanted by him.
Which brought you to this morning.
He plates a pancake and slides it in front of you.
“Sleep alright?”
“Like a rock.”
He gives you a look. One of those slow, knowing ones that feels like it peels the truth right out of you. “Sure about that?”
You nearly choke on your coffee.
He grins.
Asshole.
“I slept fine,” you say, biting into the pancake more aggressively than necessary.
“Good,” he says, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “You talk in your sleep?”
You go still. “What?”
He shrugs. “Just wondering.”
Your face is on fire.
“I do not.”
“Never said you did,” he replies, but he’s clearly enjoying this. “Just saying… if you had something you wanted to get off your chest, you know, out loud-”
“Eat your damn pancakes, Bucky.”
He smirks, like he knows something you don’t. “Yes, ma’am.”
And it’s entirely unfair how attractive that sounds coming out of his mouth.
You’re halfway through your second pancake when Bucky glances outside the window, drawing your attention outside.
The snow had really come down last night. Was still falling now, the front yard so bright it almost hurt your eyes to look.
It felt like you were in a snowglobe. The sun reflected off the snow, shining into the cabin, but the clouds were starting to thicken again.
“You know,” he says, stealing your fork and taking a bite off your plate, “they’re saying this storm might knock us off the map for a few days.”
You give him a look. “You already stole my cabin. Don’t think you’re allowed to steal my breakfast too.”
He smirks and shrugs, still chewing. “Communal living, sweetheart. And I made them.”
You grab the fork back with narrowed eyes. “Fine. But if we’re snowed in and I have to start rationing pancake mix, you’re out.”
He laughs softly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Deal.”
You tilt your head. “Wait-actually serious question. If the power goes out, what happens to the heat?”
He leans back, finishing off the beer he apparently considers a breakfast beverage. “It’ll hold for a bit. We’ve got the fireplace and the generator. I can keep us warm.”
That last part comes out low. Confident.
Your stomach does a little flip and you refuse to look at him too long. “You mean it can keep us warm. The fireplace.”
“Sure,” he replies, deadpan. “Let’s go with that.”
You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.
“Anyway,” he continues, nodding toward the window again, “once the snow starts coming down hard, we’re stuck. Roads’ll be blocked in an hour. Power lines are old out here. You stocked up, at least?”
You shrug. “Got batteries. Canned soup. Tea. And the important stuff.”
“Which is?”
You gesture to the fridge. “Beer. Obviously.”
He grins, but before he can make another smartass remark-
"this what you wanted, huh, baby?", he coos mockingly in your ear, nipping at your collarbone. you can't answer, can only whine softly and pray that he'll take mercy on you.
(18+)
he's got your back pressed up against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, your silk dress shoved up above where his hands grip your hips, legs wrapped around him. he's pounding his fat cock into you mercilessly, the sweetness of his voice a sick contrast to his rough, punishing thrusts.
"thought you could walk around with no panties on, in a dress this sexy, and just get away with it, hmm? thought i wouldn't do something just because we're in public?"
the buzz of the gala outside the bathroom door was the last thing on your mind, if there was anything on your mind at all. anything other than him.
he brought his hand away from the back of your neck down the front of your body, tweaking your nipple on his way to your poor, abused clit.
"c'mon, pretty girl. give it to me, give me one more. you can take it, i know you can."
the cool metal on your clit made you hiss, arching into his touch. you could feel yourself clenching onto him, could feel the coil in your stomach tightening, preparing to snap.
he licks and sucks at your throat, thumb ghosting over your clit, and your orgasm slams into you. you arch into his touch and cry out his name, soaking the both of you with your release.
"see, that wasn't so bad, was it?", he purrs, never ceasing the way he drags his heavy cock inside your gushing pussy, "you gonna be good and let daddy fill you up?"
you nod dumbly, babbling something laced with pleas for him to cum in you. he buries his head in your neck, his pace faltering, chasing his own release.
you can feel every inch of him as he pours his hot, thick seed deep inside you, so much that it feels like you're overflowing, dripping out of you back onto his cock and the bathroom floor below.
you catch a glimpse of yourselves in the mirror, disheveled, and lock eyes with him. he's already staring at you.
"look how pretty you look with your pussy filled up with me."
(aka i love reading slutty lil bucky blurbs late at night and wanted to try one! my favs are @fckmebarnes's theyre so good!!!)
