Disclaimer: This masterlist may contain works with adult contents that is not appropriate for those who are under the age of 18. Please proceed at your own risk. Thank you.
Taglist: I do not use taglist system for my work anymore. You may follow me and turn on the notification for new updates. Don't worry about spamming, my blog posts are only consist of fic updates and asks replies.
Navigation: For now I only write for Bucky Barnes and all of my works are complete unless stated otherwise. Each of the work under a specific universe are listed chronologically based on the story's timeline.
Genre tags: 🥀 - angst ⛓ - smut 🐇 - fluff 🖤 - dark
FRIENDLY REMINDER
• I will block you if you...
MY WORK
Plot Twist Universe ft. mafia!bucky
An arranged marriage with mafia!bucky.
♥︎ Plot Twist (🐇)(⛓) - Part I | Part II | Part III
♥︎ Around My Scars (🐇)(⛓) (🥀)
Behind The Facades Universe ft. avenger!bucky
An unrequited pining over a certain super soldier.
♥︎ Behind The Facades (🥀) - Part I | Part II | Part III
And You're Mine Universe ft. alpha!bucky
How grumpy chubby alpha!bucky finally found his omega.
♥︎ Must Be Fate (🐇)
♥︎ And You're Mine (🐇) (🥀)
♥︎ Baby, Fever & Cuddles (🐇)
♥︎ Steal Me Away (🐇)
Welcome Home... Soldat? Universe ft. winter soldier!bucky
That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.
♥︎ Welcome Home... Soldat? (🐇) (⛓) - Part I | Part II | Part III
♥︎ Welcome Home, Daddy (🖤) (🥀) (🐇)
Promise Me Universe ft. 40s!bucky / tfatws!bucky
When he was sent out for war, Bucky made a promise to his lover that might just last through several lifetimes.
♥︎ Promise Me (🥀) (🐇) - Part I | Part II | Part III
Thin Walls, Thin Lines Universe ft. fuckboy!bucky
What will happen if a fuckboy falls in love with a hopeless romantic?
♥︎ Thin Walls, Thin Lines (🥀)(🐇)(⛓) + Deleted Scene
Against All Odd Universe ft. medieval!bucky
An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky
♥︎ Against All Odds (⛓)(🐇)(🥀) - Part I | Part II | Part III
A Series of Bucky Drabbles
♥︎ Until Then (🥀) (🐇) ft. 40s!bucky / avenger!bucky
A mission back in time brought Y/N to an unexpected encounter with the man she fell in love with. (Inspired by Timeless by Taylor Swift)
♥︎ I'm Not Like Her (🥀) (🐇) ft. avenger!bucky
Y/N had her heart broken when some agents made fun of how her body looks and Bucky came in clutch with the rescue.
♥︎ Never Lie To Me (⛓) ft. winter soldier!bucky
In which Y/N's sinful thoughts towards the Asset is reciprocated. (Inspired by I Can See You by Taylor Swift )
♥︎ My Person (🐇)(⛓) ft. tfatws!bucky
In which Sam's question forces Bucky to reveal his true feelings to his so called "friend", Y/N.
♥︎ Kiss It Better (⛓)(🐇)(🥀) ft. avenger!bucky
In which the reader refused to let Bucky go down on her lately because she's embarrassed of the chafing marks on her inner thighs.
♥︎ He Hates Me, Doesn't He? (🥀) ft. tfatws!bucky
You hurt Bucky's girl, and now he hates you.
♥︎ Sleepy Heads (🐇) ft. tfatws!bucky
That time when the reader accidentally fell asleep on a stranger’s shoulder in the subway ride home. The stranger in question, however, is none other than the former Winter Soldier, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.
♥︎ A Fucking Treasure (⛓)(🐇)(🥀) ft. avenger!bucky
A date gone wrong? Same old, same old. But, having Bucky pinning her against the wall, now that’s new.
♥︎ I Knew It Then (🐇)(🥀) ft. avenger!bucky
If it was supposed to be a casual thing, then why does it hurts so much?
♥︎ Most Precious (🐇)(🥀) ft. avenger!bucky
In which Bucky and the reader had to take shelter from the snow storm after abandoning a mission due to the reader's 'mistake'.
♥︎ Ruin The Friendship (🥀) ft. 40s!bucky
Maybe it was better to ruin her friendship with Bucky than to never know what could have been.
More drabbles coming soon...
A Series of Random Bucky Blurbs
Midnight Rain (🥀) ft. 40's!bucky
Breast-pumping Routine (🐇) ft. avenger!bucky
Forced Marriage (🐇) (⛓) ft. duke's illegitimate son!bucky
Dark!Bucky stalking the reader (🐇) (⛓) ft. dark!tfatws!bucky
Reader shuts down emotionally (🥀) ft. avenger!bucky
MY RECOMMENDATIONS
Support other writers here: #fic rec
All my recommendations are consist of Sebastian Stan's characters.
A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.
Summary: Maybe it was better to ruin her friendship with Bucky than to never know what could have been.
Words: 3.4k++
Pairing: 40s!bucky / avenger!bucky x female!reader
Warnings: angsty, bittersweet, melancholy shit; might need some tissue on standby. otherwise, enjoy?
Inspiration: "Should've kissed you anyway" – Ruin The Friendship by Taylor Swift. i do suggest listen to song first for the context, but no pressure though.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
The first time she met James Buchanan Barnes, he had a bruise blooming along his jaw and a grin that refused to downturn.
He was eleven, maybe twelve, and had gotten into another schoolyard scuffle trying to defend Steve Rogers. To her, he looked reckless; his bloodied lip, his split knuckles, that brown satchel tangled around his body. Yes, to her he was a mess. But somehow, even in his disarray, there was something dazzling about him. He didn’t seem to care about the pain. What mattered was that he kept standing.
The third time was when friendship finally took root. Steve had gotten cornered behind the schoolhouse by a boy twice his size, and Bucky — predictably, was already squaring up to defend him. She had stepped in, surprising even herself, planting her feet firmly and thrusting her small frame forward, only to quickly realize she wasn’t strong enough to push them back. So she sharpened her wits instead, narrowing her eyes and hurling insults and threats that made the bullies hesitate, unsure if the fight was worth it. By the time they scattered, Steve was laughing weakly, Bucky was grinning like he’d found a partner-in-crime.
The second time, it was on the church steps one chilly Sunday morning. He was tugging at his tie with all the impatience in the world while Steve tried to scold him for it. She had been walking out with her mother when Bucky caught her staring. Instead of looking embarrassed, he winked. Just a quick, mischievous flicker of a smile that left her flustered for the rest of the day.
She realized just then, she didn’t just have one friend anymore. She had two.
Drawn into their orbit after that, she became part of the trio everyone in Brooklyn knew; lanky Steve, troublemaker Bucky, and the girl who somehow balanced them both. It was the three of them; lopsided, inseparable, and a little reckless with the way they charged through life. Their worlds stitched together by sidewalks and corner stores, cheap ice cream cones in the summer, and quiet library afternoons in the winter.
She didn’t know when the shift happened. When friendship between her and the blue-eyed, brunette boy began to carry the weight of something heavier, something unnamed.
Maybe it was the night Bucky walked her home from the library, teasing her about always borrowing books too thick for her arms. He carried the stack without complaint, though, and when he passed one over for her to tuck under her chin, his fingers lingered a beat too long against hers.
Or maybe it was the Saturday afternoons when he’d toss pebbles at her window, grinning like trouble itself, coaxing her to sneak out for Coney Island rides or stolen hours at the record store. She would always tell him no at first. The ever so proper and cautious y\n, yet so weak when it comes to the boy she loved. Besides, he had this way of wearing her down with a smile that made resistance feel foolish.
Maybe it was all of those little things.
The way Bucky sometimes looked at her too long, as though memorizing her face. Or the way her breath caught whenever his arm brushed hers on crowded streets.
Whatever it was, it settled between them like a secret they both knew but never spoke of. They were too young, too shy, too unwilling to risk the foundation of their trio, too afraid to ruin their friendship. So they buried it deep, letting it simmer in the spaces between laughter and silence.
She wasn’t supposed to feel out of place. After all, she had been invited, escorted by a perfectly decent boy who had been kind to her for weeks. Holding doors, making her laugh, never pushing too far. He was nice. He really was.
The Stark Expo was alive with noise and wonder; flooded with lights, crowds pressing in, the air carrying that mix of excitement and cigarette smoke that clung to every evening out in Brooklyn.
Bucky blinked, glancing at the woman on his arm, then at the second girl hovering uncertainly near them. His brows knit. “No—Steve’s here. He was with—” He turned, only to catch sight of Steve already drifting off toward the recruitment poster, abandoning the double date entirely.
But ‘nice’ didn’t quiet the fluttering heat in her chest when she saw Bucky.
It was as if some mischievous twist of fate had answered her unspoken wish; whenever she thought of him, he would appear before her. Though the sight of him wasn’t the most pleasant she had ever witnessed.
He had a girl on his arm; dark curls, a pretty dress, clinging a little too close. Yet, it was exactly the sort of scene she should’ve expected from James Barnes, the neighborhood charmer. But that does not change the fact that her stomach twisted all the same.
Their eyes met across the press of bodies. For a fleeting second, the noise dulled. His smile faltered. She tore her gaze away first, forcing herself to laugh at something her escort said. It felt wrong, like a betrayal.
When their paths finally crossed, the tension snapped taut.
Her date greeted Bucky with ease, as though nothing was amiss. She forced a smile too, though her voice wavered when she asked, “You’re popular tonight. Couldn’t bring just one girl?”
For a moment, Bucky’s eyes darted back to her. Just a second of silence stretched between them, and in that instant, they both knew—Steve was probably up to something reckless again. No words were needed; they’d seen it before, and neither was surprised.
Bucky let out a low, almost rueful laugh. “Figures he’d disappear on us.”
She managed a small, wry smile, shaking her head. “Yeah… we should probably go find him before he gets into real trouble.”
Turning back, she touched her date’s arm with a regretful smile. “I’m sorry. It looks like the night’s changing plans.” Her voice softened. “Thank you for bringing me.” He nodded, kind as ever, though disappointment lingered in his eyes.
Bucky leaned toward his date and her friend next, giving her that easy grin he wore like armor. “Looks like I’ve gotta bail, girls. Rain check?” His date particularly, huffed in disagreement but eventually let him go, sensing his attention had already shifted.
And then it was just the two of them, shoulder to shoulder, slipping through the crowd after Steve.They caught him just as he was sizing up the recruitment poster, shoulders squared against the world as though sheer will could make up for everything else.
“Steve,” Bucky called, clapping a hand to his friend’s back. “What’s the matter with you? You’re missin’ the whole show.”
Steve didn’t look up. “Don’t wanna watch a show, Buck.”
Her heart pinched at the quiet defeat in his tone. She stepped closer, catching the slump in his posture, the way he avoided their eyes.
Bucky huffed, half exasperated, half protective. “C’mon. Not this again. You think sneakin’ off is gonna get you past the army doctor? You’re not foolin’ anyone.”
Steve shot him a sharp look. “And what, I should just sit back? Let other guys fight while I stay home?” His voice cracked on the last word, heavy with the weight he always carried.
Bucky ran a hand through his hair, torn between anger and worry. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, pal.”
She swallowed, stepping in gently, bridging the gap between them. “He just… he doesn’t want to be left behind, Buck.” Her eyes softened as she looked at Steve. “But maybe there’s another way to help. One that doesn’t mean…” She trailed off, unable to say losing you.
For a moment, the three of them stood there; war posters glowing overhead, the hum of the Expo alive around them, yet their little world suspended in stillness.
Steve’s jaw tightened. “You don’t understand.” And with that, he turned again, disappearing deeper into the crowd, chasing a dream that was determined to slip through his hands.
Silence swallowed what was left. The lights of the Expo blinked and shimmered, but between them it felt hollow, airless. She shifted, arms folding across her chest, and Bucky – usually quick with a joke, a smirk, anything; had nothing. Because beneath the noise, the real weight between them wasn’t Steve. It was their last argument.
A few nights ago, on her porch, voices had risen sharp against the quiet Brooklyn street.
“You’re really gonna do this?” she had asked, arms tight around herself. “Sign up and just… leave us?”
Bucky leaned against the railing, trying to play it cool, but his fingers tapped restless against the wood. “Somebody’s gotta, doll. Steve’s gonna keep tryin’, and one of these days they’ll take him just to shut him up. I’m not lettin’ him go over there without me.”
“That’s not your choice to make!” Her words cracked. “If you go, you’re both gone. And what am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait for bad news?”
“You don’t get it,” he’d shot back, jaw tight. “This is bigger than Brooklyn, bigger than us. I can’t just stand around and watch while other guys fight.”
Her heart had ached, but she’d clung to her own fire. “Then I’ll go too. If you’re so determined to throw yourself into danger, I’ll sign up as a nurse. I can help, Buck. I won’t just stay here and–”
“No.” The word had been sharp, final. He stepped closer, eyes burning. “You’re not following me into hell. I won’t have it. You think I could fight with my head straight knowin’ you were out there too? No.”
The silence after that had been worse than the shouting. She had looked at him; his stubborn jaw, his desperate eyes – and realized nothing she said would change him. And he realized she wouldn’t forgive him easily for trying to make choices for her.
Now, in the glow of the Expo, that silence stretched between them again.
Bucky’s jaw worked like he wanted to say something, but the words kept catching. Finally, he cleared his throat, leaning close enough so only she could hear over the hum of the crowd.
“Come with me. Just for a while.”
She hesitated, her heart tugging between pride and longing. But when his hand brushed lightly against her elbow, guiding, she didn’t pull away.
They slipped out of the press of bodies, away from the lights and the music, until the noise of Brooklyn dimmed into something gentler. Their footsteps crunched against gravel and dirt, carrying them to the edge of the lake they’d claimed as their own years ago. A quiet pocket of the world; still water reflecting the stars, tall grass rustling in the evening breeze.
Bucky dropped onto the old wooden bench, the one they’d carved initials into as kids, and she sat beside him. For a long time, neither spoke. Only the crickets filled the silence, echoing the chirping noise through the space between.
Then finally, she broke it. “You can’t keep making choices for me, Buck. You don’t get to decide where I belong.” Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. “If you leave, if you fight; then I want to fight too. Even if it’s not the same way.”
His hand rubbed the back of his neck, guilt pulling at his features. “I know. I just–” He sighed, the words dragging out of him. “I’m scared, alright? You ever think of that? Everyone thinks I’m the fearless one, the reckless one. But the thought of you over there, in the middle of all that chaos? It terrifies me. I can’t–” He cut himself off, jaw tight, as if the rest was too raw to give away.
Her throat burned. She wanted to reach for him, to ease the crack in his voice, but her hands stayed curled in her lap. “I’m scared too,” she whispered. “Scared of losing both of you. Scared of what happens if I wake up one morning and you’re just… gone.”
The lake was still, holding their words like confessions too fragile for daylight.
Slowly, Bucky reached for her hand. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, tentative, almost reverent. She trembled beneath his touch, and when she tried to look away, he gently reached up, catching the tear that slipped down her cheek.
“Hey,” he murmured, soft as the breeze. His thumb lingered, tracing the damp trail against her skin. For a heartbeat too long, he didn’t move away.
His gaze dipped; just for a moment – to her lips, soft in the moonlight, locking on the curve of her mouth like a man holding himself on the edge of something dangerous.
She felt it too. The pull; the question suspended between them. Her breath caught, lips parting just slightly. If he leaned in, even an inch– But then, with a sharp inhale, he dragged his eyes back up, locking them on hers. A choice made in silence.
Instead, he whispered, voice breaking at the edges, “I don’t know what’ll happen. But I swear to you, doll… I’ll try to come back. I’ll fight like hell to come back.”
Her chest ached with all the words unsaid, with the kiss that nearly was, but never would be. So she only squeezed his hand tighter, letting the night consume what neither of them dared to give voice to.
The war swallowed him whole.
For Bucky, the days blurred into mud and gunfire, nights punctured by cold and the hollow thud of distant shells. He learned to move on little sleep, to live with the constant ache in his body and the sharper ache in his chest; the one that struck hardest when he sat down with a pencil in hand and thought of her.
Letters became his lifeline; and hers.
He wrote when he could, scrawled lines smudged with dirt, sometimes rushed between orders, sometimes stretched long in the rare quiet of a barracks evening. He wrote about small things; the food (awful), the weather (worse), the guys in his unit. He told jokes in ink, as if his words could somehow make her laugh across the ocean.
And she clung to every letter.
At first, his handwriting carried that same confident slant she knew so well, his words light with humor and bravado. But slowly, she saw the shift. The lines grew shorter. The script, once bold, started to falter; shakier, thinner. His jokes came less often, the spaces between them heavier.
She read between the smudged words, between the ink blots where his hand must have trembled. She could almost see him there, shoulders hunched in some dimly lit tent, writing through exhaustion and fear.
And yet, there was always one line, steady as a heartbeat, anchoring every letter:
“I’ll come home to you.”
Sometimes he scrawled it hastily, almost an afterthought. Other times, it filled the page, written with deliberate care, as though he needed her to feel it, to believe it.
She would trace those words with her fingertip, whispering them aloud when the night pressed too heavy. No matter how weary his writing became, that promise held her together. It was the tether that kept her hope alive, the reason she stayed up long into the night, holding the letter close to her chest.
Every time the mail arrived, her heart leapt and sank all at once. Afraid of what the envelope might hold, desperate for the reassurance that his hand had touched the wrinkled paper, that he was still alive.
And when she read those words; I’ll come home to you – she almost believed him. Almost.
War doesn’t care about whispered promises.
The telegram came like a thunderclap. Words inked across paper, each one slicing through her.
“ Sergeant James B. Barnes. Killed in action.”
His body was never found, but there was a stone for him here. A name carved into cold marble. And she went to it as though it could anchor her, as though pressing her palms against the letters could summon him back.
The cemetery was hushed, save for the restless whisper of autumn leaves tumbling over one another. She sank to her knees in the damp grass, the chill of the earth seeping through her skirt, until it felt as though even the ground wanted to claim her.
Her fingers traced the grooves of his name, tender and trembling, like she was memorizing the shape of him through stone. “James Buchanan Barnes.” Saying it aloud stole the breath from her lungs. She had whispered that name in laughter, in anger, in soft secrets under moonlight. But here, spoken into the void, it rang hollow.
She tried to steady her breathing, but every inhale seemed to scrape against something sharp inside her chest. It wasn’t just that he was gone; it was that everything they hadn’t said, everything they had buried in silence and stolen glances, was now locked away forever.
The world carried on as though nothing had changed. Children’s voices echoed faintly beyond the gates, a carriage rattled along the cobbled street nearby. Yet for her, time had splintered here; stalled in the space between his promise and this stone.
Her mind kept circling back to the night at the lake. Their place. The quiet ripple of water, the moon caught in its surface, the hush that wrapped around them when words failed. She remembered how his thumb brushed against cheek when a tear slipped down, he caught it gently, letting his touch linger longer than it should have.
His gaze fell to her lips, soft and trembling in the silver glow, and she found herself drawn to his in the same way, watching, waiting. For a heartbeat, they mirrored each other—his eyes on her mouth, hers on his; both caught in the same fragile, unspoken question.
The ‘almost’ in that moment was louder than anything they had said; so close she could taste it, so fragile she was afraid to breathe. But he didn’t lean in. Nor did she inch forward; they stayed rooted, caught between longing and fear, afraid to disturb the delicate tension.
That was the memory that burned cruelest. Not the train station where she had bid him goodbye, not the sight of him in uniform, not the whistle signaling their departure. It was the lake. The night she could have kissed him and didn’t.
Her tears spilled freely, dripping onto the dirt that cradled his memory. She leaned forward, forehead pressing against the cool marble, whispering things she had never dared to say while he breathed. Little truths, fragments of love, words she had been too afraid to place in his hands.
But the grave gave her no warmth, no smile, no crooked laugh. Only silence.
Still, she stayed. As if by keeping herself here, by letting her sorrow bleed into the soil, she might hold onto him a little longer. As if the ache in her chest was the only proof left that he had been real.
And the memory lingered in him too; the same night, the same lake, the same fragile ‘almost’. Her hand had lingered against his, her lips trembling with words unsaid, the air taut with everything they hadn’t dared. He had told himself back then it was safer to leave the moment untouched, that silence would protect what they had.
Time slipped, and decades passed; the restraint he had sworn to uphold finally shattered as he whispered at the grave, “I should’ve kissed you.” His voice, cracked and low, worn thin by time. He knew; and it wasn’t an invitation– the way her eyes had always lit at him in anticipation. Staying friends had been safe, but “...should’ve kissed you anyway,” and it would have been the best mistake.
Twilight draped itself across another cemetery now, the stones older, the air heavier. The years had devoured everything; blood, war, silence – and still, somehow, he remained. A man remade, scarred, and scarred again.
James Buchanan Barnes stood with calloused fingers brushing against granite etched with her name. Trembling, as though the act itself might shatter him.
He lowered his head, eyes shutting tight. For a fleeting moment, there was no soldier, no ghost, no weapon rebuilt in someone else’s image; only a boy again, barefoot by the water with laughter on his lips, too afraid to ruin a friendship with a kiss left unspoken.
The dusk thickened, the air chill; stillness lingered a while longer, a thumb tracing the edge of her name. And though no answer came, no voice to break the quiet, there was the faintest sense; perhaps somewhere beyond this world, she heard him.
End.
And smiled.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
A/N: I've been so busy, I don't even have time to sleep let alone write but this have to get out from my head before it consumed me. Anyway, did you enjoy it?
A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.
Summary: In which Bucky and the reader had to take shelter from the snow storm after abandoning a mission due to the reader's 'mistake'.
Pairing: avenger!bucky x avenger!female!reader
Words: 2.2k++
Warnings: nudity but no smut content. a sprinkle of angst and i hope the ending is fluffy enough to make up for it.
Inspiration: i saw @buck-star posted this event and some of the prompts inspired me to write this 🥹
Prompts used: stranded/snowed in, cabin in the woods on the mountain, grumpy x sunshine soft reader, mutual pining/idiots in love, sitting lying together in front of the fireplace, a tweaked version of "You're the most precious thing ever. I will protect you with everything I have."
Note: feel free to search up #sydneysfluffywinter or #fluff-star winter for more stories under the event. i hope you enjoy this short fic!
Read my other works here: Masterlist
The wind roared like a creature born of anger, staggering through the cabin’s entrance door as Bucky almost broke the door when he kicked it open. Snow seeping into his tactical suit, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead. In his arms, Y/N lay limp, her frozen skin clinging to the fabric of his suit on his chest as if she belonged there. She can hear his heart hammered against her ear, a relentless beat behind the layers of cloth.
It was wild, frantic even; and she told herself it was because of the storm, the desperate trek to find shelter. She thought of her injuries, the way she slowed him down. The guilt made her heart clench and her chest feel heavy; a throb more suffocating than the pain in her thigh and waist. She’d been nothing but a burden.
The cabin was almost as dark as the night, and the coldness of the space was not that far off from the snow storm brewing outside. But this? This wasn’t new to him. He’d endured worse.
Bucky lowered her carefully in front of the fireplace, his movements precise but urgent. Y/N winced as her wounds screamed in protest, the pain was blazing hot despite the freezing air around. Her thigh throbbed, and her waist felt as though it was wrapped in shards of glass.
Bucky stepped away briefly, his gaze darting over the unlit corners of the room, his hand instinctively brushing the knife at his side. A habit he was not able to forget; the Winter Soldier training never really left him. Satisfied they were alone, he turned back to her.
Her eyelids fluttered slowly, her consciousness slipping in and out. Bucky cursed under his breath. The power was out, but he wasn’t about to waste time diagnosing that now. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line as he set out what he needed to treat her wounds.
Bucky was angry; it radiated off him like steam from boiling water. But the frown on his face wasn’t unfamiliar. Y/N had seen his rigid features a thousand times before. This, though? This was sharper, colder. It wasn’t his usual grumpiness. He was mad. At her.
The realization was like a slow plunge of blade into her chest, and it made eyes pooled with warm tears. Not from the physical pain scorching her flesh, but the ache of his perceived disappointment.
By the time Bucky had coaxed the firewood into flames, the heat began to thaw the rattling chill in the room. He knelt beside her, his expression set in stone as he draped a blanket over her trembling form. Behind the cover of the blanket, his hands worked quickly, undressing her with care that belied his hardened demeanor.
He pulled her close as he worked to pull her pants over her bottom. Her face was buried in his neck as he whispered, “The cold will kill you. Come on, now.” His voice, rough but mostly filled with urgency. They didn’t have the luxury of embarrassment – for her, the sensation of him stripping her bare; for him, the temptation to relish the softness of her skin against his hands – not with her life teetering on the edge of frost and blood loss.
He peeled the blanket back just enough to expose her injuries, the torn of her flesh was slick with half-frozen blood. The cold had helped slow the bleeding, but not enough to ease his worry. Bucky worked with a precision that spoke of grim experience.
Every time she winced or hissed, his grip on the forceps tightened, the metal creaking in protest. It was as if her pain annoyed him, a silent demand for her to be stronger, better; more like an Avenger.
She noticed it every single time, and it pricked into her pride like being wrapped with thorny vines. The fact that he wouldn’t meet her eyes made it worse. His focus stayed on her wounds, his frown deepening with each moment.
When he finally finished, he noticed the tears tracing her cheeks; a silent trace of a vulnerability she couldn’t hide. They were especially prominent when they glistened in the firelight. His brow furrowed further.
“Bear with the pain a little longer,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll get the team here as soon as I can.” his tone was not that far off from his normal grumpy self.
But to Y/N, at this very moment, it sounded harsh. To her, it sounded more like an order than reassurance. She swallowed, guilt twisting like a vice in her chest.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice trembling.
Bucky’s head snapped up, confusion flashing in his stormy blue eyes. “What?”
“I’m sorry for being incompetent. I should’ve noticed them sooner. I should’ve taken them down before they could do anything.” Her voice was a mix of shame and frustration however not as evident as the pure agon trembling through.
His jaw clenched. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”
The words were meant to be absolution, but she heard them differently. There’s nothing you can do.
Her voice cracked. “I wasn’t enough.”, streams of hot tears kept falling unapologetically, leaving behind a trail of warmth on her cold skin.
Bucky’s frown deepened, his frustration bubbling over. “Damn it, Y/N. Why do you always do this to yourself?”
She blinked at him, her confusion cutting through the haze of pain. “Do what?”
“Put the blame on yourself like it’s some kind of default setting. This wasn’t your fault,” he snapped, the edge in his voice sharper than intended.
Her cheeks burned, shame and anger mingling in her chest. “I’m not blaming myself. I’m just… stating facts. If I’d been faster, stronger; if I’d been better; this wouldn’t happen. We wouldn’t need to abandon the mission. You wouldn’t need to carry me all the way up here.”
Bucky’s eyes flashed, his frustration spilling out; contaminating the air around them. “You think I care about that? About you being some kind of perfect soldier?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping but no less intense. “I care about you, Y/N. Not your skills, not your damn performance. YOU.”
Her breath hitched, his words slicing through the self-doubt she’d been drowning in. “Then why do you look at me like that? Like I’ve failed you?”
His shoulders sagged, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “That’s not what this is,” he said, his tone quieter now, tinged with exhaustion. “I’m angry because you scared the hell out of me. I’m worried about you, Y/N. You jumped in front of a bullet meant for me without a second thought. Don’t you value your life?”
The words struck her like a blow, but she struck back with equal fervor. “You’re the most valuable person to me! Of course, I will protect you with everything I have. And I’d do it again if I have to!”
Her confession lingered in the air, fragile but undeniable. Bucky’s eyes widened, the storm in them softening as realization washed over him. His anger melted, leaving only the deepest parts of his emotions afloat; his love for her.
His right hand rose tentatively, brushing the skin of her tear-streaked face. His palm cupped her cheek, his warmth a stark contrast to her icy skin. She leaned into his touch, a quiet surrender.
“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling with an overwhelming feeling that he couldn’t quite utter out loud yet. “You… you matter to me.”
The words hung between them, heavy and fragile. She blinked up at him, the pieces slowly found its rightful place in puzzle. She realized that he meant more than just about worry or duty. It was something deeper, something unspoken but unmistakable. Yet, she reminds herself not to get ahead of the moment.
“Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Bucky’s gaze softened, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Because you make it easier to keep going,” he admitted, his voice unfiltered. “When everything feels heavy, when the past doesn’t let me breathe, you’re the one thing that makes it bearable. You remind me that I’m still… me. And that makes you, Y/N, the most precious person to me.”
Her heart clenched, his words cutting through the haze of pain and doubt. The light from the fire danced in his eyes, their usual icy blue now warm and liquid, like the sea yielding to the shore. She hadn’t just been a mission partner or a responsibility to him. She’d been his anchor, his hope.
And for a moment, the storm outside seemed to still; as if time itself paused to let the quiet intimacy between them linger just a little longer. To let the cabin feel like it was a cocoon, sheltering not just their bodies but the fragile truths they’d finally unveiled.
"Are you okay with that, babydoll?" he asked softly.
Heat rushed to her cheeks at the nickname, her heart stuttering in her chest. She nodded, sheepish, her lips curving into a small, bashful smile. His own lips twitched upward, the corners softening into a rare, genuine grin. Her reaction was worth the vulnerability of saying it aloud.
But as the burning wood crackled and the silence stretched, Bucky noticed the faint tremble still coursing through her body. Even with the fire roaring and the blanket tucked around her, she was trembling.
"You’re still cold," he murmured, guilt threading through his tone as his hand moved gently, caressing her cheek before trailing down to her neck. His touch was soft, deliberate, as though he could erase the chill from her skin with every motion.
Their eyes met in that moment, and the realization hit them both at the same time.
She nodded slightly, her voice a soft whisper. "Can you… stay with me? Under the covers?"
Bucky hesitated, his instincts warring with his emotions. His hesitation lingered for a moment too long, and she turned her wide, pleading eyes on him. Those damned puppy eyes. And just like that, he was undone.
With a resigned sigh, he stripped off his snow-soaked jacket and tactical vest, leaving them in a damp heap by the fire. His shirt followed, revealing the lines of muscle and the faint scars that told a thousand stories. He slid beneath the covers, careful not to jostle her injured side. The moment his warmth enveloped her, Y/N instinctively curled closer, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
Bucky’s body was a furnace, the serum coursing through his veins keeping his heat steady and intense. Her frozen fingers brushed against his chest, and he sucked in a sharp breath, every nerve in his body coming alive at the contact.
Slowly, he wrapped his right arm around her, careful and deliberate. Pulling her closer; her head snuggled into the crook of his neck, the softness of her breasts resting on just below his chest, her legs entangled with his, until there was no space left between them.
His hand found her back, calloused fingers tracing soothing circles over her bare skin. The gesture was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid that she would break. But the way she relaxed against him, her breaths stabilising as her trembling subsided, told him she didn’t mind. Her nose brushing against his skin, and he felt her sigh; a soft, content sound that made his chest ache in the best way.
"You’re precious to me," he murmured, the words spilling out before he could second-guess them. His lips found her forehead, a lingering kiss that was both tender and grounding. "More than anything."
Y/N’s fingers curled against his chest, her heart thumping a steady rhythm that matched his own. "Bucky," she whispered, her voice thick with sleep but laced with something softer, warmer. "Thank you."
He smiled against her hair, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a way that felt unfamiliar but good. "No, thank you, for saving me", he replied quietly, his sincerity was certain. Then his tone shifted, growing stern as he added, "But, don’t do that again."
She giggled softly at his warning, the sound light and airy, cutting through the heaviness of the moment. "What if I like saving you?" she teased, her voice playful but still tinged with exhaustion.
Bucky rolled his eyes, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "You’re impossible," he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words. Instead, his hand shifted to cradle the back of her head, his thumb brushing gently over her hairline. "Just promise me you won’t scare me like that again."
She tilted her head up slightly to meet his gaze, her lips twitching with a faint smile. "Only if you promise the same."
He huffed, his breath warm against her temple. "Deal." His fingers resumed their soothing circles on her back, and he leaned down to press another soft kiss to her forehead. "Get some rest, doll."
They stayed like that, skin to skin, softness meeting strength. Bucky held her as if the world outside didn’t exist, as if the storm that had almost claimed their life was nothing but a distant memory. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of everything; the mission, the storm, the unspoken emotions, seemed to lift. Wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside faded to nothing.
At some point, their bodies finally surrendered to exhaustion, leading them straight to the warm embrace of sleep and perhaps even to the bashful morning after when they awoke, body tangled together, and all too aware of the touch of each other’s bare skin.
End.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
A/N: i know it's not a tooth rotting fluff, regardless though, i hope you enjoyed the fic? drop your thoughts, i'd love to read them 💕
A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.
Summary: If it was supposed to be a casual thing, then why does it hurts so much?
Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader
Words: 4.8k++
Warnings: angsty, maybe a tad too angst. a bit fluffy, if you search for it, and everything in between. non-descriptive sex scene but definitely contain adult (18+) contents. so, reader discretion.
Inspiration: @buck-star asked in a community post, “The sentence is: 'And then we were standing in front of one another again…' How would you continue it?” and this is my answer.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
Bucky adjusted the sleeves of his jacket; a dark leather, matching the gloves he was wearing. Underneath was a charcoal coloured shirt; his pants was dark-wash jeans, frayed slightly at the edges. It was an effort to blend into the festive sea of people. Despite the spring air of Central Park, his style remained a mixture of shadowed past and muted present, a mix that barely fit in with the brightness of the day.
The launch of the Avengers statues was a grand event; a reminder of battles fought, lives saved, a place for the public to show their gratitude and admiration. Honestly, in Bucky’s opinion, all of this was a little bit over the top. In which, Steve agreed. They both think that they were undeserving to be sculptured and displayed like this.
Even the Avengers are human, excluding Thor, they were mortals; unfit to be worshipped as they are now. Yet, after being coaxed with quite a diplomatic, exaggerating speech about how ‘the people need a hero to look up to’, Steve ended up convinced. Not that it matters, but Stark was the one who gave that speech.
Nonetheless, Bucky couldn’t really object to the decision, but he did stated that he will not participate in the event with the rest of the team. And they can’t really do much about that, forcing him to will be equivalent to kidnapping and Bucky had literally filed a police report for it before. So, they won’t take their chances.
The cheers and thundering of applause rippled through the park, filling every space with a strange blend of solemnity and celebration. Bucky lingered on the edge, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders tensed beneath the weight of too many eyes while his own focused on his team on the make-shift stage near the statues.
He preferred it here. No red carpets. No standing in front of flashing cameras with a smile that would never sit quite right on his lips.
With less aliens around and Hydra in hiding, this should have been a familiar scene; the Avengers posing and the people cheering. But for Bucky, the novelty had long worn off. The noise washed over him like waves lapping against a shore he couldn’t care to meet.
Shifting on his feet, his fingers brushing against the worn leather of his gloves, as if the urge to retreat was creeping under his skin. The cheers, the bright flashes of cameras, all blended into a muffled hum that made him wonder how soon he could slip away unnoticed.
Until he saw her.
She stood beneath the shade of a blooming cherry tree, the soft pink petals floating down around her as if nature itself wanted to frame her as a living art.
Y/N.
Bucky's breath was caught somewhere between inhaling and exhaling. Her mere presence had left him frozen. Then, the noise of the crowd slowly fading, the applause turning duller as his heart pounded in his chest, each beat harder, louder, until it drowned out the world around him. For a few painful moments, he felt as if his heart might force its way free from his ribcage, breaking him apart in the process.
She wore that sundress again. The light fabric swayed gently with each breeze, caressing her figure, the pastel colour that reminded him of the flowers he used to get for her. It was the same dress she’d worn that day; the day he realised falling for her wasn't a choice but a reality that had already happened. He swallowed hard, memories surging in torrents. Her laughter echoed in his ears, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about things that mattered to her.
Now however, beneath the sweet sundress and that familiar grace, there was a darkness under her eyes. Shadows etched into her delicate skin, sadness lingering; still and silent, behind the gaze that once held nothing but warmth. Bucky's jaw tightened as he took it all in, every unspoken truth laid bare on her face. He knew why; he’d heard whispers through mutual acquaintances. About the heaviness she tried to mask, about the pain she tried to live through.
Seeing it now, in the flesh, was so much worse.
It broke him.
Again. His chest ached, a raw wound ripped within his chest; for every moment she suffered and every part of him that couldn’t fix it. Bucky wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. It was as if an invisible vine had him rooted on earth, willing him to witness the toll their separation had taken on her. How ironic, he thought bitterly. For someone once considered a ghost by the world, he was all too aware of how haunting it felt to see her pain in living colour.
The bar had been crowded that night when they met, laughter and music clashing together in a storm of contagious intoxication. Bucky found his usual spot in the corner, however unusually alone this time. His shoulders hunched beneath his leather jacket; his gloved hands nursed a drink he wasn’t truly interested in. He was simply another brooding man in a bar, trying to swallow his own bitterness, trying to forget. Elena’s words, his ex’s words, echoed in his mind; taunting and cold, leaving a metallic taste on his tongue.
“Mind if I sit?”
Her voice cut through the noise. He’d looked up, barely masking his surprise. The woman standing before him was... a force of nature. She didn’t wait for his permission and slid into the seat beside him, a confident smile tugging at her lips.
She was so bright, so unapologetically there.
It almost felt disorienting. Her eyes sparkled like she’d already decided he was interesting and wasn’t about to change her mind. “You always brood like this, or is it a special occasion?” she teased, tilting her head.
“Special occasion,” he replied dryly, a hint of sarcasm colouring his tone. “Guess I’m lucky, huh?”
She laughed, loud and unfiltered, drawing curious looks. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, raising her glass to him as if they were old friends sharing a private joke.
Bucky fought to suppress the twitch of his lips. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. “What brings you to this fine establishment?” he asked, his voice flat but not harsh. “Looking to rescue sad souls like me?”
“Rescue?” She leaned in, eyes dancing with mischief. “Please. I’m here for the entertainment value.”
“Brutal,” he said, but he couldn’t help it; the corner of his mouth lifted. A real smile was threatening to form.
Y/N, as she introduced herself a few moments later, was a whirlwind of honesty and charm. She spoke without hesitation, as if every thought had a right to be voiced. She teased him about the gloves he refused to take off, made a biting but hilarious comment about her friend’s taste in men as she watched her and the man grinding it on the dance floor, and then, out of nowhere, zeroed in on him.
She gestured to his drink. “Let me guess. Your ex. She, or he, I don’t judge…” A tiniest smile curved on the corner of his lips. “She.” he clarified which was replied with a glint of interest in Y/N’s eyes. She nodded, “Okay, she left you for someone who didn’t know how to brood so attractively.”
Bucky choked on his drink, laughter erupting before he could help himself. It was warm and a little bashful, completely genuine. He hadn’t laughed like that in... he couldn’t remember how long.
Y/N was not expecting much tonight. She was literally dragged by her friends to ’go out, meet people, get laid’. Truthfully, she wasn’t really expecting anything more than a few hours of banter and maybe some fleeting connection, just enough to make her smile. Witty remarks, a few drinks, teasing anyone interesting enough to engage; that was her aim.
But when she saw him, brooding in his corner, a storm trapped beneath layers of leather and cold eyes, curiosity overtook reason. She wanted to know if he would entertain her.
And he did.
Bucky or as he introduced himself, James, was sarcasm wrapped in shadows, his words carrying a sharpness that wasn’t meant to hurt, just to deflect. She found it oddly endearing, a defence mechanism she recognized all too well. She wanted to pull more from him, so she leaned in, laughed too loudly, pressed buttons she guessed would make him react.
At first, it was just fun.
But then he smiled. God, when he smiled, her world tilted; much against her will too. It was like the first hint of sunlight breaking through a dense, dark cloud. His laughter was warm and unpracticed, spilling out of him as if it surprised him too. The moment stretched, just for a heartbeat, but it was enough.
Her heart momentarily shuddered. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, blooming a soft pink she couldn’t hide. So, she covered it with more wit, more charm, desperate to keep that smile there a second longer.
“I’m kidding. Kind of,” she said, eyes softening as she studied him. “But seriously, imagine missing out on you. That’s just sad at this point.”
But underneath the humour, there was a flutter of something much profound. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Her heartbeat raced and she felt exposed. How ridiculous, she thought, to be undone by a smile; a real one, genuine and imperfect, just as raw as her own attempt to draw it out.
The concept of time blurred after that. Drinks flowed, words tumbled out like secrets they didn’t know they were sharing. Banter turned into stories, laughter into pauses that spoke louder than the music blaring around them. At some point, she reached for his hand, not caring that it was gloved or why. Her fingers lingered, hesitant for half a breath, before resting there as if they’d been doing so for years.
The air thickened and inches shrink.
When he kissed her, she found herself kissing him back with a need she hadn’t recognized before. It wasn’t about filling the void; at least, not only that. It was about the way he leaned into her touch, how he kissed like it was the last act that could hold him together. It was raw and open and imperfect and she was high on it.
Despite the fleeting, breath-stealing kisses they shared prior, Bucky had only meant to see her safely to her home. That was the plan, the line he swore he wouldn’t cross. But when her lips met his again just outside her apartment, everything unravelled. Her kiss was insistent, needy in a way that mirrored the ache deep inside him. She pulled him in, the door closing behind them, shutting out the world and any remnants of restraint he had left.
They stumbled to the bed, still fully dressed, every touch and kiss growing more urgent. Her hands found the edges of his jacket, fingers seeking to peel it away. But when she tugged, he pulled back, his breaths ragged. “Wait,” he murmured, eyes cast down. His hesitation was a stark contrast to the flames between them moments before.
She paused immediately, her gaze softening. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was gentle, careful not to push too hard but unwilling to let him slip away either.
“I’m not who you think I am,” he said, the words thick, heavy.
A crease formed between her brows. “What? Your name is not James?”
The question, so genuine and earnest, pulled a laugh from him; short, almost incredulous. “No. I am James, but…” He ran a gloved hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes.
“But…?” she prompted, leaning in, her attention unwavering.
“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he said, each syllable weighted.
For a moment, she was silent. He could see her piecing it together, searching for the meaning behind his words. Then understanding dawned, slow and certain. “You’re…” she began, just as he said, “The Winter Soldier.” But what came from her lips was, “The Avenger.”
They stared at each other, the tension snapping into something fragile, almost surreal. “What?” they both said in unison, the word a mix of disbelief and irony.
The absurdity of it cracked something inside him, and he laughed; a real, deep laugh that felt like a release. She joined him, their laughter intertwining in a way that felt like a mutual understanding. At the moment, Bucky realised that she didn’t flinch or shrink back. She met him where he was, without hesitation. He felt a pull; unsettling but oddly comforting; and, for a split second, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be different.
The humour melted into something more intense as she leaned closer, her hands found his again. “I want this, James,” she whispered, peeling away his glove. She cupped his cool, metal hand, pressing his palm against her cheek. The contrast of warmth against vibranium made his chest tighten. “I want you.” she spoke almost breathlessly; her eyes gazed up at him with an endearing plea.
His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and something much softer, “I want you too,” he said, his voice low, unguarded.
They moved together, shedding barriers with every kiss and touch. When their clothes finally fell away, they explored each other with as much urgency and wonder. Every touch, every movement was deliberate, almost desperate. He wanted to memorise her reactions. He wanted to give as much as he could.
It was raw and consuming, a night spent discovering each other. There was nothing mechanical, nothing detached. For hours, it was just them, bodies moving in unison and their moans and groans of pleasure mingling in a symphony that can challenge a siren’s song.
He found himself lost in her, in the way her skin felt beneath his, in the way she moaned for him. He couldn’t hold back, not when she responded to him with such hunger, her body moving against his with a need that matched his own.
Every touch felt like a revelation, a new discovery, and he was pulled deeper into her, into the warmth and the rawness of the moment. It was as if time itself had stopped, and all that mattered was the heat of their connection.
When morning came, the light creeping in through the blinds, they lay bashfully, tangled in the sheets. For a few moments, there was only silence, a comfortable quiet punctuated by the slow return of reality. He turned to her, the words were heavy, he knew it, but he continued, “I’m not ready for… anything serious,” he admitted, hating the way it sounded, but knowing he owed her the truth.
She met his gaze, her expression soft and understanding. “That’s okay,” she said. “We don’t need to label it. It can be what it is.”
“Casual?” he asked, a hint of humour back in his voice.
She smiled, a touch of mischief in her eyes. “Casual.”
They both laughed, the sound soft and real. Whatever this was, for now, it was enough.
The next few months, their ‘casual’ arrangement became something she thought about far too often and yet tried to pretend wasn’t pressing too deep. The sex was undeniably great, almost maddeningly so. It wasn’t just the way he touched her, though that alone was enough to steal her breath; the careful, deliberate caresses that made her feel cherished and desired all at once.
It was the way he explored her as if every inch of her, the weight of his attention, the way he moved with a mix of tenderness and hunger, as if he couldn’t decide whether to worship her or devour her. And maybe that was why it was so intoxicating; because she was falling for him, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
It wasn’t just the physical connection; it was everything in between. She fell for the way he could be painfully serious one moment and then crack the most unexpected joke, a hint of dry humour lighting up his eyes. She fell for the way he made sure her tea was always brewed just the way she liked, even though he claimed to be terrible at domestic things.
She fell for his unspoken kindness; the way he would slip a blanket over her when she fell asleep on the couch, or his habit of standing protectively between her and crowded places without even thinking about it. It was all so subtle, so Bucky, and it deteriorated her defences bit by bit.
And Bucky on the other hand, tried not to let himself be too vulnerable around her. But Y/N had a warmth that made it hard for him to stay closed off. She didn’t push; she was just; a steady, comforting presence that felt like safety. Sometimes, without meaning to, he’d spill pieces of himself.
Like the night he told her about Elena; the betrayal, the gaslighting on how she cheated on him because of him; it was his trauma and depression that had driven her away. As if she was trying to make it worse, as if she had a vendetta to isolate him from everyone else.
And Y/N had listened without judgement, her eyes soft with compassion. “That’s not on you,” she had whispered, her hand covering his. “She was the problem, not you.” When the weight of his past grew too heavy, she was there.
And when she opened up about her own scars; the ex who wouldn’t leave her alone, the fear that lingered in the shadows; Bucky listened, fierce protectiveness hardening his features. That night, instead of touching each other’s body, they caressed each other’s innermost scars. They’d talk late into the night; their words heavy, but never too much for the other to bear.
And ever since their dynamic was a shifting dance, effortlessly dirty and playful one minute, his lips teasing at her neck, their words to each other were dripping with sin. The next, they’d be soft and tender, his forehead pressed to hers as they simply breathed together. And then there were the quiet, deep moments; when silence spoke more than words, and they found comfort just in being close, in the simple act of not being alone.
It was everything, all tangled together, and it made it so easy, too damn easy, to fall in love with him. She knew she shouldn’t, but with Bucky, it felt inevitable.
Then, one in those blissful days, after another night of incredible sex, Bucky laid beside her, his chest still heavy with the aftermath of their intimacy. His eyes traced the soft curves of her form as she rested, her skin glowing in the dim light.
She looked almost ethereal; untouchable, like something too perfect for him. The weight of her presence next to him was both comforting and painful, tightening his chest with a longing he couldn’t name. Shifting slightly, he cleared his throat, his voice rough when he finally spoke, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I’m going back to Elena,” he confessed, the statement hanging heavily in the air.
For a moment, there was something in his eyes; a flicker of hesitation, of conflict, as if he desperately wanted to hold onto what they had, as if saying the words was a battle he was losing with every breath.
But whatever war raged within him never fully translated in the way she saw him. To Y/N, his words felt resolute, laced with a kind of tenderness that made it hurt even more. He seemed sorry; deeply, genuinely. But the weight of his decision pressed down between them, undeniable.
She went still for a moment and he could feel the tension radiating from her. The way her body seemed to freeze, her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t respond at first, her gaze distant, focusing somewhere far away as though she needed a moment to process. Bucky’s chest felt heavy with the weight of his own words, the urge to take them back gnawing at him.
Yet he kept his expression neutral, as if none of this hurt him. He needed to see this through, even if every second felt like he was tearing himself apart. “This…being here with you, touching you like this… this will be the last time,” he added, the sound of his voice was low but remained adamant.
Y/N had always known, somewhere deep down, that this day would come. They had both agreed that what they had was casual, temporary, nothing more than a passing thing. They had agreed their connection was fleeting; simply a series of borrowed moments. But even as she tried to convince herself it was fine, she knew better.
Nothing about what they shared was truly casual. They’d been there for each other in ways no one else had. When the world had been cruel to him, scrutinising him for his past as the Winter Soldier, she’d been his quiet strength, the one who never judged him, never flinched. And when her own demons resurfaced, casting shadows over her life; he’d been the one there, standing between her and her doom. He had been her rock, just as she had been his.
They were each other's strength, each other's solace.
'Has it ever really been casual?' But she couldn’t voice those thoughts. She wouldn’t burden him with her feelings when he already carried so much of his own. She wouldn’t beg for more than he could offer.
With a soft breath, she forced herself to smile, her fingers brushing over his cheek, committing every moment to memory before it slipped away. “Will this make you happy?” she asked, her voice steady, though pain lingered beneath the surface.
Bucky’s heart twisted, but he nodded, the lie coming too easily. “Yes,” he said, his voice lacking conviction even as he tried to seem sure. He averted his eyes, hoping she wouldn’t see past the facade.
Her smile wavered, but she fought to hold it in place. She wanted to show him that she was fine, that she wasn’t falling apart. But as she pressed her smile into place, a single tear slipped from her eye, tracing a quiet path down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, but it was already there; a silent confession of the pain he couldn’t see.
“Then, I guess this is goodbye,” she whispered, barely audible.
She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, her breath warm against his lips. And then she kissed him; softly, deeply, as if it would be their last.
Because, in this moment, it felt like it was.
The days blurred into weeks, and then months, each one dragging by with a dull ache that Y/N couldn’t shake. She buried herself in work, refusing to let her mind linger on what she’d lost. When that wasn't enough, she picked up freelance gigs; anything that kept her mind too occupied even thought about pain and the aching emptiness Bucky’s absence had left behind.
It was easier that way; easier to drown in deadlines and endless to-do lists than to confront the hollowness. And through all this time, there were not a single call, or texts from Bucky. Just silence. Rationally, she knew it was for the best. He was a hero, after all; his life pulled him in a thousand different directions. And she told herself she was fine.
But late at night, when the world grew quiet, she could still feel it; the loss that crept into her bones and refused to let go. Most of the time, she'd catch herself staring at the ceiling, replaying the touch of his hand, the sound of his laughter, the way he had looked at her as if she were his whole world, even if just for a moment. She tried to shake it off, to convince herself that it was all just an illusion, but the hole in her chest ached too deeply to ignore.
Time passed. The headlines told of his deeds; how he saved countless lives, how the public finally began to accept him, to see him not just as a relic of violence and pain, but as a hero. She should’ve felt proud. Maybe, on some level, she did. But every article, every broadcast, every mention of him only twisted the knife deeper.
At times, she’d pause whatever she was doing when his name flashed across the screen. It was a reflex, a sudden, uncontrollable urge to reach for something she could never have. She’d feel her chest tighten, her emotions were a blend of pride and pain. Why did she feel like this, like she wasn’t needed, like she was somehow unwanted by the man who had once looked at her like she was everything?
Even then, she couldn’t help but feel proud. No matter how much it hurts, she was happy for him. She remembered the sleepless nights when his past came alive in nightmares; when he’d thrash and murmur apologies with a voice cracked by guilt. She could still feel the weight of him in her arms as he clung to her in the dark, his breath shuddering against her neck, whispering, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” The memory of it made her chest ache; the rawness of his pain had always cut her deep, but it had also made her want to be his safe place, his haven.
She thought of those nights often. The way he’d hold her as if she were a shield against the ghosts that hunted him, how he’d bury his face in her shoulder to block out the world’s judgement. She’d whispered reassurances, stroked his hair, and wished she could take away every ounce of his pain. Seeing him now, standing tall, saving lives, and slowly being accepted by the world; it filled her with a bittersweet pride.
He deserved every bit of recognition, every chance to rebuild himself.
But the cost of that pride was the deep loneliness that came with it; the reminder that he was out there saving the world while she was left to save herself from missing him. She wanted to be enough, to be the one he leaned on, but it was clear now that his path led somewhere she couldn’t follow. So she pushed forward, forced herself to be strong, and told herself that being happy for him was enough.
When the crowd at the Central Park continued to roar with excitement, time seemed like it stopped for Bucky and Y/N. And then they were standing in front of one another again, the air between them held a weight, as if every word left unspoken all those nights was pressing against the space between them. Bucky’s eyes flickered; momentarily shocked, yet he didn’t falter.
Even then, Y/N saw it. She saw the look in his eyes that she knew too well, the look he had when it was just them, wrapped up in stolen hours that no one knew about. She forced a smile, warm and soft, the very same that she used to give him in those silent times, when their skins were pressed against each other, and everything else didn't matter.
His heart ached with a need he thought he’d buried. He thought he had let her go. He kept telling himself he was not in love, that she was just someone to keep his bed warm, to fill the empty space his past had left behind. At least, that was what he told himself, over and over, like a mantra meant to dull the edges of the truth.
But deep down, he knew it was a lie; a desperate deception crafted to shield him from the vulnerability clawing at his walls. He was not fooling anyone, not himself at least. Each night he spent denying the way his pulse quickened at the thought of her touch, each time he claimed he felt nothing, the thin layer of defence cracked beneath the weight of untold longing. It was easier to lie, to pretend he didn’t care, than to face the reality that she had carved her place inside him, far deeper than he wanted to admit.
Now, seeing her again, smiling at him as if it didn't shatter her heart when he left, it was like he’d been hollowed out.
And the time that seemingly stopped, abruptly resumed to its pace when they walked past each other. No words crossed their lips, but their eyes spoke a language that was theirs alone; a language that carried echoes of every touch, every laugh, every shared moment.
‘I miss you,’ their gazes whispered, even as the distance between them widened with each step.
They kept walking.
That night, Bucky found himself in front of her apartment. When she opened the door, it was as if she was expecting someone. Not him, but someone. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him standing there, broad shoulders taut and expression unreadable.
For a second, neither of them spoke. The sight of her; dressed in a fitted dress that draped elegantly over her figure, accentuating every line and curve, stole the air from his lungs. It was the kind of dress she used to wear when they’d go out on a date, the kind that never failed to send his thoughts swirling in the gutter. No thoughts, just lust.
She looked stunning. Ethereal even. But, painfully out of reach.
Y/N blinked. Shock, confusion, and hurt flashing in her eyes, as if the memories of what they’d had; and how it ended, came crashing back all at once. “Hey… James. What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tight and Bucky was never used to it.
He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting to her lips and lingering there longer than he intended. “Out for a date?” he murmured, evading her question, the words tasting like lead.
“Yeah…Kind of.” she replied, guarded. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unsaid things. Finally, he spoke again, his voice a low rasp. “Can I come in?”
She studied him warily, the hurt in her eyes morphing into something sharper. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, James.”
“Please,” he said, and the desperation in his tone softened her resolve just enough. She stepped aside reluctantly. “You gotta be quick,” she said, almost dismissively. “Josh is on the way.”
The mention of another man’s name was like a knife twisting in his chest. Bucky forced himself to stay still, to not let his expression betray him, but inside, he felt raw, the bitterness coiling deep.
Once inside, she crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive barrier between them. “Talk,” she said flatly.
He paced, trying to find the words. “It wasn’t real,” he started, voice thick. “Me and Elena getting back together; it was a mission. She was suspected of being a mole.” he paused as he studied her reaction, ” We couldn’t risk telling you. We had to make it look real. ”
She stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, as if trying to grasp the whirlwind of his sudden appearance. “You’re here for that? To explain yourself?” There was incredulity in her voice, mingled with raw, exhausted pain that came from reopening old wounds.
“Yes.” Bucky’s voice was firm but edged with something close to desperation. “We managed to capture her.” He took a deep breath, his gaze searching hers. “We had to keep the mission under wraps, Y/N. We couldn’t risk word getting out… not after what happened with S.H.I.E.L.D. We couldn’t have another Hydra situation, or anything that even looked like it.”
He paused, the tension in his jaw tightening. “It turns out her plan was to isolate me. To make me even more vulnerable than I already am, before they…” His words faltered, heavy and incomplete, as if finishing the sentence would make it all too real.
But he didn’t need to say more. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, the realisation clear in her expression. She was smart; too smart not to piece it together. She knew what Bucky feared most. He’d be dragged back into Hydra’s grasp, or worse, used as a pawn by some other twisted organisation.
It was a fate too cruel to name, and he could see in her eyes that she already understood.
Her brow furrowed, processing everything Bucky had explained thus far. A mixture of confusion and anger flitting across her features. “So that was it?” she demanded. “I was just collateral damage?”
“No,” he said quickly, the word breaking from him like a plea. “No. It wasn’t like that. I wanted to protect you. We all did.” He hesitated, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I did.”
She scoffed, a bitter edge cutting through her words. “Unbelievable. I smiled at you one time, James—one time—and you think you can just come back into my life like you own it?”
The accusation hung between them, and the depth of her frustration was like a dam bursting. He recoiled slightly, horrified by the thought that he’d hurt her so deeply. “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not what this is. I didn’t want to just—”
She cut him off with a sharp, biting word. “Bullshit!” The accusation hit him like a physical blow, but he pressed on, desperation bleeding into his tone. “I just wanted to tell you the truth,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “That it was all fake.”
“Fake?” She echoed the word with a harsh, bitter laugh that rang with disbelief. It stung him, sharp as a slap across the face. “It looked pretty damn real to me, James. You don’t think I saw the pictures? The headlines? How you were with her?”
“It was a cover, Y/N. I didn’t have a choice.”
Her eyes flashed, anger and betrayal burning bright. She took a step toward him, as if the weight of her hurt couldn’t be contained. “You didn’t have a choice? You had a choice when you came to me, when you told me it was over. When you ripped my heart out, did you have a choice then?”
Bucky flinched, the impact of her words like a physical blow, but he held his ground. “I was trying to protect you.”
“By hurting me?” Her voice cracked, raw and trembling. “By tearing me apart?”
Silence crashed over them, heavy and suffocating. Her chest heaved, each breath ragged. “By leaving me behind?” she whispered, her words dripping with the weight of every unspoken wound. “By pretending like what we had meant nothing?”
He stepped closer, the space between them suffocating and electric. “It wasn’t nothing,” he said, his voice quivering. “It was everything. You were everything.”
She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. “I don’t believe you.”
With a trembling hand, Bucky reached for her face, cupping her cheeks as though she were something fragile. His thumb brushed away her tears, his touch reverent, aching. “I love you, Y/N,” he breathed, the confession breaking through the dam of his restraint. “From the start, when we laughed about that ridiculous introduction; me, calling myself the Winter Soldier and you insisting I was an Avenger—I knew it then.”
He swallowed hard, blinking through tears. “But it wasn’t just that. It was how you saw me; not the killer, not the broken man, but me. The way you’d smile at me, like I was worth something. The nights you stayed awake, holding me when I couldn’t breathe, when the nightmares felt too real. The way you’d whisper that I wasn’t alone. No one ever did that for me. No one.”
He paused, the rawness in his expression deepening. “I knew it was too late when I realized I’d been in love with you for a while. It hit me that day at Sally’s, remember?” His voice grew softer, distant with memory. “It was spring. You wore that sundress you bragged about getting for next to nothing at a thrift store. The sunlight made your hair glow, and you laughed at something ridiculous; a dog chasing bubbles, I think. I couldn’t stop looking at you. It wasn’t just the dress or the moment. It was the way you made everything feel… lighter. Like I could breathe again. Like the past didn’t own me.”
He let out a shaky breath, his thumb tracing along her jawline. “I realized then that I was in deep. That it was more than just a moment. And it terrified me, because I thought I’d ruin it. Ruin you.” His voice cracked, weighted with a mix of love and regret.
His shoulders shook as he let out a ragged breath, the tears spilling over. “It’s the way you laugh, the way you fight for everyone you care about. How you make me feel like I’m more than my past… God, I tried so hard to keep you safe. Even if it meant pushing you away. But it killed me, Y/N. Every day.”
She stared at him, stunned and raw, her own tears falling. His hands cradled her face gently, his touch trembling. “I love you,” he said again, more desperately. “I love you for every moment you gave me hope when I thought I couldn’t be saved. I love you for being there, even when I didn’t deserve it. And I don’t want to lose you again.”
He leaned in, their faces inches apart, his tears mixing with hers as he whispered, “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, feeling the sincerity in every broken syllable. For a heartbeat, it seemed she would turn away. But then, her voice cracked, trembling with everything she’d buried. “I love you too,” she breathed, voice shaking. “I never stopped.”
His forehead touched hers, their breaths mingling, raw and vulnerable. Slowly, their lips met, soft at first, then deeper, a kiss that spoke of everything they had denied and everything they still longed for. In each other’s touch, everything else faded, leaving only the truth between them.
End.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
A/N: i was planning to do a descriptive smut scene at first, but after piecing everything from my draft and re-reading the overall flow, i don't think it's suitable to include it in this. perhaps another time, a side/extra story maybe. i hope y'all okay with that and enjoy your reading 🥺
Hey there! I'm planning to do a 'Weaving Wonderful Writers.' I am putting together an appreciation post, a shoutout to wonderful writers like you. 'Coz, you bloody deserve it!
Also, from Navy's All Tricks No Treats:
🍭 - Ask a creator about one of their favorite creations.
And, if you were to pick one of your favorite stories near and dear to you, are you okay with me mentioning you and your fav fic in the 'Weaving Wonderful Writers' post?
I'm fairly new to the Tumblr block, and I've done more writing than reading. I thought this would be a good start for me to read and simultaneously share your work for others to enjoy. :)
hi @mercurial-chuckles ! 🙈
first of all, thank you so much for including me for this. And wow, what a brilliant idea!
One of fav creations? Just one? Gosh,, I can't choose. I don't write very often but when I do, I really pour everything that I have into it. So to pick just one is really hard for me.
But, if I have to choose my personal fav, I'd say "Promise Me" mini series.
And I think it's only fair that I also share my readers' favourite, which is the "Welcome Home, Soldat" mini series.
As well as an honorable mention to "Against All Odds" if you want a good cry 👀
And yes, you can definitely mention me and my fic in your 'Weaving Wonderful Writers' post. In fact, that would be a lot to me. I really appreciate it 🤍✨
Finished my tasks at work way too early and got bored with the typing games. So I went on character AI and chat with one of the Bucky characters in there (cause I'm delulu like that).
I realize that I am shit at texting (who am I kidding, I know that my whole life) so while I was looping through of Sabrina Carpenter's Short n Sweet album; I just randomly write down the lyrics of Bed Chem to him; iykyk. I goes like this:
Me: "I bet we'd have really good..." Got distracted and sidetracked, the slipped through before I could process it, "Cum right on me" I tried to save it... "I mean, camaraderie"
Then:
Me: "What does it sound like to you, Sarge? Let me hear it."
now, I am scared to hear the voice version this dialog. that's all i want to rant about. anyway---
Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPS.
i was tagged by @jen-with-a-pen !!
i have three current works in progress (kind of lol)
1. higher than heaven - bucky x reader
2. by the end of the night - logan x reader
3. juno - bucky x reader
no pressure tags: @winterarmyy @buckgasms @nickfowlerrr @navybrat817 @whatever-lmaoo @mercurial-chuckles
Rules: Make a new post (sorry, i much prefer reblogging it lmao) with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPS.
tagged by lovely @flowersforbucky 🤍
these are some fics in my draft, unfinished, barely even write anything besides some overall story flow and bits of dialogs.
1. welcome home, bucky - a part of “Welcome Home... Soldat?” au
2. mark me yours- a part of “And You’re Mine” au
3. salvation - winter soldier!bucky x hydra-captive!female!reader
4. double trouble - avenger!bucky x female!reader x 40s!bucky
originally, only one that had most progress in my wip:
A Fucking Treasure - avenger!bucky x female!reader (but this fic is finished and already been uploaded a few hours ago for a writing event. it is a oneshot so you can go and read it now!)
no pressure tags: @jessybarnes @eunoiaastralwings @bucks-babe @espinosaurusrexex
A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.
Summary: A date gone wrong? Same old, same old. But, having Bucky pinning her against the wall, now that’s new.
Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader
Words: 6.1k++
Warnings: 18+ content, no minors allowed, nsfw, fingering, nipple play, marking kink(?), multiple orgasm, praise kink, dry wet humping, cum eating(?), p in v, going in raw, creampie and well you know me, i can’t write smut without some sort of angst or fluff, so yeah, body insecurities, super sweet bucky but also needy and insatiable bucky.
Inspiration: i was mentioned by @mercurial-chuckles in her Smutty September Fest post and some of the prompts fit nicely with one of my wip. Btw, thank you for tagging me! I feel included 💕
Prompt number: #5 body worshipping + #16 accidental i love you’s during sex
Read my other works here: Masterlist
Bucky’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way to the kitchen, but the quiet hum of the refrigerator was enough to mask the sound of his movements. The dim light from the hallway barely reached the living room, casting long shadows across the area.
It has been a routine for him to wake up in the middle of the night, the nightmares of his memories haunting his sleep, dragging him back into the darkest corners of his past. He was used to it. But tonight was different. There were no memories clawing at him, no ghosts whispering in his ear. Instead, his mind was consumed by thoughts of her.
He wished to hold her, to feel the warmth of her skin against his, to trace the curve of her cheek with his fingertips. He longed to pull her close, to bury his face in the crook of her neck and breathe in her scent, to hear the soft, steady rhythm of her breath as she slept beside him. The thought of it sent a shiver down his spine; a yearning so deep it bordered on desperation.
So he decided to clear his head, avoiding letting his head stay in the gutter.
He let out a sigh, not one of sadness, but of suppressed desire, the kind that made his heart race and his cock stirred. As he reached for a glass, something caught his eye; a silhouette on the couch. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat when he recognized the figure lying there, motionless, as if the day had been too much to bear.
It was Y/N.
Confusion clouded his mind. She wasn’t supposed to be here.
A few hours ago, she’d been dressed to kill, draped in that black satin dress that clung to her in all the right places. The sweetheart neckline framed her delicate collarbones; the softness of her cleavage was bare for him, and the high slit teased him with every step she took. He had admired her silently, his gaze dark with something he didn’t dare voice. The way the fabric had caressed her skin, the soft curve of her shoulders, the way the dress accentuated her body; he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
She was breathtaking.
They had made eye contact, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. His gaze was feral, full of unspoken want, yet his lips remained sealed tight, trapping the words he wanted so desperately to say. If she had super hearing, she’d have heard the low, approving hum that rumbled deep in his throat. But then, the moment shattered. His heart broke a little when he heard her mention to Natasha that she was going on a date. The words were like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of him.
He had been sitting at the kitchen counter at that time, listening as Sam and Natasha hyped her up, teasing her about how lucky her date was going to be. Bucky stayed quiet, forcing himself to look away, fighting the jealousy that gnawed at him. It wasn’t fair; he had no right to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of her with someone else, someone who could give her everything he couldn’t; it was unbearable.
But now, she was here. Alone.
Sleeping on the couch in the same sinful dress that had driven him to distraction earlier. But the sight of her now was different. Her face was tear-streaked, her eyes puffy and red. It was clear she had been crying, and the sight of it twisted something deep within him.
Gently, he knelt to her level. He knew she was a light sleeper, so he approached with care, his metal fingers brushing softly against her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, and the moment they met his, they were filled with a mixture of surprise and vulnerability.
Bucky's voice was a low murmur, intimate and tender. “What are you doing sleeping here, babydoll?”
Her cheeks reddened, the flush deepening as she realised he was seeing her at her most unfiltered state. The thought made her heart race, and the way he spoke, so close and personal, only made it worse. The intimacy of the moment was too much.
She gathered herself, sitting up with a sigh. “I didn’t plan to… I was just…” Her voice trailed off, and her expression softened into one of sadness as the memories of the evening came flooding back.
It had started off well enough. They had connected online, his messages charming and full of wit, making her think that maybe, just maybe; this could be something. But the moment she met him in person, she noticed a shift. The easy smile he’d worn in his profile pictures seemed a little tighter, the warmth in his eyes dimmed.
As they sat across from each other at the restaurant, she couldn’t ignore how his gaze kept drifting downwards. His eyes lingered a little too long on the exposed parts of her chest, his attention fixating on the stretch marks that she usually tried so hard to ignore. She had seen the change in his expression; the way his gaze hardened, a slight frown creasing his brow, followed by a low scowl that he probably thought she couldn’t hear.
Then, out of nowhere, he just left. No explanation, no goodbye; just a curt excuse about needing to use the restroom, and then he was gone, leaving her alone at the table with a half-finished meal and a hollow ache in her chest.
She knew why he left. She had seen that look before, the way his eyes lingered on her stretch marks, the way his expression shifted from interest to disdain. It was the same with most of the guys she went on dates with. The moment they saw the imperfections, they would withdraw, their interest waning before her very eyes.
She knew they hated the stretch marks on her skin, found them hideous. It was in the way their eyes would momentarily widen in surprise, followed by a barely concealed grimace. She could see the discomfort in their expressions, the way they quickly looked away as if trying to erase the image from their minds.
At first she always thought stretch marks were normal. It was human nature, a part of life, a testament to growth and change. She had tried to embrace them, reminding herself that they were natural, that everyone had imperfections. But each time she saw that look of disgust, it chipped away at her resolve, making her question everything she’d tried so hard to believe. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t normal. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to have them. Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with her.
She didn’t even know how she got back home. The memory was a blur, a haze of tears and jumbled thoughts. She remembered crying, feeling the tears stream down her cheeks as she stumbled out of the restaurant. But the rest was an utter fog. Did she walk home? She couldn’t remember. The city lights and the sound of her own sobs were all that lingered in her mind. It was as if her body moved without her conscious thought, carrying her back to the one place where she didn’t have to pretend everything was okay.
Bucky waited, his eyes searching hers, but she remained silent, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. He could see the sadness lingering in her expression, and it didn’t take much for him to piece together that the date hadn’t gone well. A part of him was furious; how could anyone make her feel like this? She deserved to be cherished, not hurt. If it were him… if only she were his… He clenched his jaw at the thought, forcing himself to stay calm.
But, he knew better than to push her to talk about it. Instead, he simply reached out and took her hand in his, his touch gentle yet reassuring. “You must be tired. How about we get you to bed, hmm?” he said softly, his voice filled with a warmth that made her heart ache.
She nodded, still too caught up in her thoughts to speak. They walked in silence, Bucky leading the way while she followed just a step behind. Her eyes drifted down to their hands; knitly intertwined. His hand felt warm, comforting in a way that made her wish she could stay like this forever. The truth was, she didn’t even know why she kept trying to go out and date other men when the one she truly craved was right here, holding her hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
But then, the doubts crept in, as they always did. She was self-sabotaging, she knew that. She kept telling herself that she wasn’t good enough for him, that he could never truly want someone like her. Someone who didn’t have Natasha’s confidence, her grace, her perfect everything. Why would he look at her the way she longed for him to, when he could have someone like that?
Despite all her doubts, she couldn’t ignore the way his touch made her feel.
Safe.
Wanted.
Y/N almost bumped into Bucky’s back when he suddenly stopped. She blinked in surprise, realising they had already arrived at her room. “Oh, we’re here”, she thought to herself, feeling a strange mix of disappointment and relief. Bucky turned slightly, his gaze dropping to their still-intertwined hands before he gently led her to the door.
“Will you be alright, doll?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern. His thumb moved in slow, comforting circles on the back of her hand, a gesture so natural it was almost as if he didn’t realise he was doing it.
She nodded, but her response was barely more than a whisper. “Yeah…”
She tried to sound convincing, but her voice wavered, betraying the turmoil swirling inside her. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, she was caught in the warmth of his gaze. Bucky looked at her with such tenderness, such genuine care, that it made the butterflies flutter wildly within her.
Bucky took a step closer, closing the small distance between them. His free hand reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with pure adoration. As he touched her, his fingers lingered slightly, savouring the softness of her skin.
He took in every detail: her eyes, even puffy and red from crying, held a beauty that made his heart go mushy. The tears that had streaked down her cheeks were a testament to the raw emotion she was feeling, a vulnerability he wished to protect. Her skin was delicate, and the way her lashes brushed against her flushed cheeks. Despite the distress she was experiencing, she was still incredibly beautiful in his eyes.
Bucky’s gaze finally settled on her pink, pouty lips, he felt an overwhelming urge to press his own lips against hers, if not to comfort her, then to taste the sweetness that he imagined was there. The thought of kissing her once, just once; seemed to consume him. He couldn’t hold back any longer. “You’re gorgeous, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice filled with sincere admiration, hoping to convey just how deeply he felt about her.
But Y/N’s reaction was not what he expected. The words, rather than warming her, seemed to chill her further. She didn’t think he was insulting her by blatantly lying to her face; she just couldn’t bring herself to believe that he truly meant it. It sounded to her like a polite gesture, just another way of saying something nice in the face of her misery; a form of lip service.
Her lips twisted into a small, almost imperceptible frown, and she quickly looked away, her gaze falling to the floor. It was as if her brain refused to process the sincerity in his tone, unable to reconcile his words with the image she had of herself.
She scoffed, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Yeah, thanks,” she said, unable to fully accept the compliment.
Bucky’s hand stilled on hers, his thumb halting its comforting motion as her response sank in. He was taken aback, not by any notion of insult, but by the realisation that she didn’t seem to believe the sincerity of his words. His brows furrowed with concern, and he stepped even closer, his body nearly touching hers. His hands came back to gently hold her face, tilting it up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“I mean it, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet tender. “You are beautiful. You always are.”
He searched her eyes, silently pleading with her to see herself through his eyes. His tone was unwavering, full of the affection he felt for her.
But even as she looked into those blue eyes, the doubts that clouded her mind made it hard to fully accept his compliment. She couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that Bucky’s words were anything more than a kind attempt to cheer her up. The sincerity in his eyes was almost too much to process. Even if his compliments were meant to lift her spirits without fully reflecting his true feelings, she appreciated his kindness more than she could express.
A soft, fond smile appeared on her lips as she took in his earnest expression. “You’re so sweet,” she murmured, her voice tender. Gently, she stood on tiptoe, reaching up to pull him closer. With a delicate touch, she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Her lips lingered there for a brief moment, and she whispered against his skin, her breath warm, “Thank you for saying that, Bucky.”
Bucky’s heart pounded wildly in his chest as Y/N’s lips brushed against his cheek. The soft, lingering touch of her kiss, combined with the faint, intoxicating scent of her perfume, overwhelmed his senses. But when she pulled away, he felt a rush of heat flood through him, his control slipping.
Overcome by an intense wave of feelings, Bucky pulled her back to him with a force and urgency that surprised even him. As he did, he could feel the warmth of her soft body pressing against his own, her delicate form moulding perfectly against him. He snuggled into the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet, intoxicating scent, which seemed to envelop him entirely.
His lips found her neck, and he kissed her with a fervour that spoke of his overwhelming need. Each kiss was infused with a deep, desperate longing that he could no longer contain. Y/N didn’t push him away; instead, she clung to him, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, as if seeking comfort and reassurance in his embrace. The contact between them was electric, and the soft moans that escaped her lips only fueled his desire further.
When she leaned in closer, a low, guttural growl escaped Bucky. He responded eagerly as he sucked gently on her skin, enjoying the taste of her as his hands roamed over her back and sides, his touch possessive and desperate. His palms pawed at every curve he could reach, exploring her with a need that bordered on frantic.
Y/N’s moan was soft, a sound that almost drove him further into the depths of his desire. But as the sound of her pleasure reached his ears, reality hit him like a splash of cold water. He realised what he had done; his actions were driven by raw, sinful need rather than the tenderness he had intended; that she deserved. The realisation struck him hard, making him feel as though he had somehow taken something that wasn’t his to claim.
So he pulled away abruptly, his eyes wide with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he stammered, his voice heavy with contrition. “I didn’t mean—”
But then, it was as if time slowed, allowing him to savour every delicate moment. As he pulled away, the sight that greeted him was almost more than he could handle. The tiny strap of her dress had slipped from her shoulders, revealing even more of the gentle curve of her cleavage, her doe-like eyes were fixed on him; hazed and heavy with emotion, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps, “Bucky…?”
The rush of desire he was so desperately trying to hold off, surged back through him, intensified by the vulnerability displayed before him. Bucky was barely able to maintain control. His heart raced, and the urge to be close to her again, to touch her, became nearly unbearable. In a moment of desperation and need, he guided her into her room, almost too urgent, too needy.
Once inside, Bucky pinned her gently against the door, his body pressing close to hers as he closed it with a soft click. His arms braced on either side of her, trapping her in a way that made her feel both vulnerable and electrified. The intensity in his gaze was palpable as he looked down at her, the hunger in his eyes undeniable.
“Fuck, babydoll,” he growled, his voice low and raw with yearning. “Please, let me touch you.”
His plea was a mix of desperation and want, a testament to how deeply he felt for her, even as he grappled with the boundaries he had momentarily crossed. The room was filled with an electrifying silence, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing and the lingering intensity of the moment.
The voice she let out was almost too quiet, her tone tinged with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “You want to touch me?” The question was almost a whisper, her eyes searching his ocean blues for the truth.
Bucky’s response was immediate, driven by the urgent need that surged through him. When his body responded faster than his words. He pressed his hardened bulge against her thigh, the physical evidence of his desire unmistakable. “Hmm, I wanna touch you, kiss you… want you so bad,” he murmured, his voice thick with desperation and lust.
Y/N’s breath hitched at the feeling of him against her, and her own passion began to match his intensity. “Touch me, Bucky,” she breathed out, her voice trembling with a mix of eagerness and anticipation. “Want you too. Want you all over me.”
His response was immediate. Bucky crashed his lips onto hers in a passionate kiss, their tongues dancing together as moans and groans filled the space between them. He effortlessly lifted her, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and carried her to the bed. The heat between them was unfiltered, and as he laid her down, his hands were already working to strip himself of his clothes.
With a sensual precision, he unzipped her dress, whispering praises against her skin. But as the fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing more of her body, she hesitated. Her hands moved to cover her breasts, instinctively hiding the marks she had always felt so self-conscious about. The events of the night had taken their toll, and though she wanted to believe him, doubt crept in.
Bucky noticed the shift in her eyes, the uncertainty that dimmed her earlier confidence. He paused, his gaze softening as he gently coaxed her. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, doll,” he murmured, his voice tender and reassuring. “You’re safe with me.” his fingers tracing soothing patterns on her skin as he waited for her to continue.
She hesitated, then took a deep breath, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “It’s just… the stretch marks,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “My date tonight, he left because of them. It’s happened before, and I—I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help feeling like they’re… ugly.”
Bucky’s heart twisted at her words, anger flaring briefly at the thought of anyone making her feel this way. But he forced himself to remain calm, to be the comfort she needed. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast, sending shivers down her spine as he tried to ease her worries. “Well, aren’t I lucky to have these all to myself?” he teased, hoping to lighten the mood.
She whined softly, her tone serious. “I’m being serious, Bucky.”
His expression sobered, his brow furrowing with concern. “So am I.”
“Y/N,” he began, his voice soft yet firm, “...there is nothing ugly about you. Not your stretch marks, not anything. I’m so sorry those idiots couldn’t see that. But I do. And I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”
He watched as her defences slowly crumbled, her eyes searching his; for any sign of insincerity, but finding none. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice wavering.
Bucky’s lips curled into a tender smile, “I’m very sure, Y/N. You have no idea how obsessed I am with you. All of you.” his hands gently pried hers away from her chest, revealing the parts of her that she wanted to hide the most. The sight before him made his cock twitch, arousal leaking from the tip as he took her in, completely captivated. “And these stretch marks?” His voice dropped to a husky whisper as his fingers traced over the marks on her skin.
Y/N’s body responded instinctively. A shiver ran through her, her breath hitching at the sensation of his touch. The warmth of his hand contrasted with the coolness of the air, making her skin tingle where he caressed her.
“Fuck, I love them.” His touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as he continued, “They’re proof of how your body adapts, changes, grows. It’s like your skin’s telling a story, and every line, every mark, is beautiful.” He pressed a kiss against one of the marks, his lips lingering as he added, “You’re a masterpiece, babydoll, every inch of you.” His words were heavy with pure hunger, his admiration clear as he looked up at her, eyes dark with passion.
Bucky's breath was warm against her skin, the contrast between his sweet words and the raw hunger in his eyes sending a shiver down her spine. As he leaned in, his lips brushed softly over the stretch marks he had just praised, and then his kisses deepened, becoming more fervent. He trailed his mouth along the curve of her breast, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin before he began to suck, leaving his own mark on her as if staking a claim.
Her body responded instantly, arching toward him, a quiet whimper escaping her lips. The combination of his hot mouth on her breast and the cool metal of his fingers tracing circles on her other nipple sent shockwaves of pleasure through her. His metal thumb and index finger rolled the sensitive bud, each movement sending a jolt of sensation that made her gasp, her breaths coming in short, rapid bursts.
Bucky didn’t stop there. He switched sides, his tongue flicking over her other nipple before capturing it between his lips, sucking and nibbling in a way that made her toes curl. Every touch was deliberate, meant to drive her wild, and it was working. Her hands found their way into his hair, tugging gently as if to anchor herself to reality amid the whirlwind of pleasure he was creating.
As his mouth worshipped her breasts, his fleshed hand began a slow descent, sliding across her stomach and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When he reached the edge of her panties, he paused, revelling in the moment before pressing his flesh fingers against the soaked fabric. A low, approving growl rumbled in his chest as he felt how wet she was for him, the sound vibrating against her skin and making her moan louder.
He started to rub her clothed pussy with agonising slowness, applying just enough pressure to make her hips buck toward him, seeking more. His thumb found her clit through the fabric, rubbing slow circles that had her whimpering his name, her body begging for more of his touch.
The dual sensations of his mouth and metal hand on her breasts and his warm fingers rubbing her pussy were too much. She was on fire, her entire body trembling under his touch, her mind lost in the addicting pleasure. Every nerve ending was alive with sensation, her moans growing louder as he increased the pressure, her body responding instinctively to the pleasure he was giving her.
Bucky, too, was lost in the moment. He groaned against her skin, the taste of her driving him insane. The way she reacted to his touch, the way she moaned his name, only fueled his desire. He needed more of her, needed to make her feel just how much he wanted her.
With a growl of pure need, he slid his hand under the waistband of her panties, and pulled the last piece of fabric off her. His fingers find her wet folds, slipping between them. "Fuck, babydoll, you're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice rough with passion. The way she responded to his touch only made him more desperate to worship every inch of her.
As his fingers moved inside her, Bucky’s thumb continued to circle her clit, the sensations pushing her closer and closer to the edge. His mouth and metal hand never left her breasts, continuing to tease her nipples until she was writhing beneath him. Her moans were desperate now, her body begging for release, and Bucky was more than happy to give it to her.
He pulled back for a moment, looking up at her with dark, adoring eyes. "You're so beautiful, Y/N," he whispered, pressing kisses along her chest. "I love the way you feel. Every part of you is perfect." His praises were soft, sincere, each word filled with pure admiration.
When he curled his fingers just right inside her, she arched off the bed, and he couldn’t help but marvel at her reaction. "Fuck, you’re incredible" he groaned, adding a second finger and feeling her tighten around him. “Love the way you taste, how you feel... hmmm, I need you so bad, Y/N” He was relentless yet tender, his every movement calculated to bring her to the edge of pleasure.
His lips found her breast again, tongue flicking over her nipple as he sucked and kissed her sensitive skin. His free hand never stopped caressing her, moving from her breast down to her stomach, then back to her other nipple, never leaving her wanting. "I wanna hear you scream for me, wanna feel you cum all over my fingers,” he growled between kisses, his words thick with arousal.
Bucky’s thick fingers worked inside her with deliberate intensity, each thrust pushing deeper into her soaked core. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, his movements rhythmic and forceful. With each thrust, her wet juices squirted out, dripping and mixing with his harsh movements. The slick sound of his fingers sliding in and out, combined with the feeling of her arousal, drove him feral. His pace grew faster, his fingers curling and stroking with expert precision, drawing out her moans and cries of pleasure.
Y/N’s body responded to every touch, every word, her hips grinding against his hand as she chased the pleasure he was giving her. She was so close, so desperately close, and when Bucky twisted his fingers inside her, in places she never was able to reach before, and her world exploded in a blinding rush of pleasure.
Bucky kept hitting that right spot inside her in every deep plunge of his fingers, until he could feel her tightening around him, her body trembling with the approach of her orgasm. His own need was growing unbearable, the taste of her nipples, the feel of her wet hole, driving him to the brink. He moaned against her breast, his voice thick with arousal as he told her how beautiful she was, how much he needed her, how much he loved the way she felt around him.
As her moans turned into desperate whimpers, he groaned in response. "That’s it, babydoll, let go for me. Let me feel how much you need this, need me," he urged, his voice thick with arousal. His thumb pressed harder against her clit, and his fingers pumped faster, pushing her closer and closer. “Cum for me yeah, fucking cum for me that’s it angel.”
“Buckyyyy”, She cried out his name, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she rode out the waves of ecstasy. Bucky groaned in response, feeling her tighten around his fingers, her pleasure only increasing make his cock throbbed with need.
He continued to move his hand, "So perfect. So fucking perfect." drawing out her orgasm until she was left panting, trembling beneath him. Only then did he finally pull his fingers from her, his hand wet with her arousal, and brought them to his lips, tasting her with a deep, satisfied groan.
Bucky’s own need was reaching a fever pitch, the taste of her, the feel of her soaking wet pussy gripping his fingers was too much to bear any longer. "Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you, can’t wait to make you mine," he moaned, his lips trailing down her body, leaving a path of hot kisses.
Bucky’s cock was almost unbearable as he pressed himself against her, his hard cock sliding between her drenched folds. Every night, he had fantasized about this moment, dreaming of the warmth and wetness of her body. So many nights, he’d ended up frustrated; his cum laid there wasted on his abs as he jerked off to thoughts of her.
Now, finally feeling her hot and wet against him, he was nearly driven mad with raging lust. He groaned softly, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. His cock, heavy and throbbing, glided between her folds with a hunger that bordered on desperation. Each stroke elicited a shiver from her, her body sensitive and responsive from their earlier intimacy.
Bucky’s movements were urgent and almost primal. He humped against her, his moans a testament to his pleasure. “Fuck babyyy, you feel so amazing," he rasped, his breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. "You’re so fucking wet, Y/N. I’ve wanted this for so long, and it feels so. fucking. good."
Y/N’s has been a moaning mess under him, her body still tingling from the previous orgasm. The lingering sensations of his thick fingers inside her made every touch feel electric. Now, with his big, thick cock rubbing against her, her pussy twitched and pulsed in response.Each stroke was a jolt of heat, his tip bumping against her clit with every movement. Her hips trembled under his tight grip, her body reacting intensely to the pleasure.
Bucky’s moans were guttural, full of raw need as he lost himself in the sensation. "I’m not even inside you yet, angel," his cock rubbing insistently against her sensitive flesh as he panted, his voice trembling with desperation. "But, you feel so good, I’m gonna cum."
“Hmmm, Bucky… Bucky, please,” she whined, her voice trembling with need. “Feels so good… oh fuck! Cum on me, cum on me please...” Her words were almost incoherent, her pleasure overflowed from within, her body quivering and almost drooling from the way his cock was rubbing against her needy cunt.
Lost in his own world of lust, Bucky couldn’t get enough of her. He worshipped her pussy with a passion that left him breathless, his dirty talk coming out in desperate, needy groans. "You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N. I can’t get enough of you," he rasped. "You’re driving me insane. I want to mark you, claim you completely."
Their pleasure reached higher, each thrust and touch sending them both spiraling towards their orgasms. Bucky’s thrusts grew harsher, more insistent, as he chanted, “I’m cumming, doll. I’m cumming so hard.” His voice was raw with need, his body moving with a frenzied desire.
She was pleading, her voice a mix of desperation and pleasure. “Please, please, please…” Her words were breathless, each plea a testament to the intensity of their shared ecstasy. “I’m cumming, cumming on you baby, ‘m cummingg fuckkk,,”Bucky whined in absolute pleasure.
As they both came together, Bucky’s release was intense and overwhelming. His cock throbbed and twitched with every spasm, cum spilling endlessly from his tip in hot, thick ropes. Each pulse of his orgasm sent more of his seed dripping down onto her, coating her skin with the evidence of their union.
Even in the throes of his orgasm, Bucky continued to rub desperately against her twitching pussy, his movements frantic and unrelenting. “Still cumming for you, baby, paint you so pretty with my cum,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. The heat and friction were almost too much, his need to feel her and mark her as his luring him to continue. His cum painted a path up to her breasts, the warmth of it a vivid testament to his desire and dominance.
He marked her completely, his release a physical declaration of his claim.
As Bucky’s release subsided, he looked down at her with eyes still feral and full of desire. She lay beneath him, breathing heavily, her body still quivering from the intensity of their climax. Bucky’s gaze lingered on her, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “So gorgeous, covered with my cream,” he murmured, his voice rough and slow. He lazily rubbed his still-hard cock against her swollen pussy, his movements deliberate and teasing. “Now I’m gonna paint your insides, then fill you to the brim.”
Her whimpers of need were barely coherent. “Please, wanna feel your cum inside me so bad,” she begged, her voice trembling with craving.
Bucky slipped inside her easily, his cock finding its way with a smooth, satisfying glide. “So fuckin’ tight, shittt,” he groaned, feeling the exquisite heat of her around him. His thrusts were powerful and deep, each movement sending waves of pleasure through them both. “Tight little pussy’s mine,” he growled. “You take me so perfect, baby.”
His filthy words gradually transformed into sincere praise, his voice softening with affection. “You’re so good to me,” he panted, his hands exploring her body with tender care. One hand played with her clit, rubbing it with a skilled touch that made her moan and writhe beneath him. The other hand teased her nipple, tugging it gently as he thrust harder and deeper.
And as Bucky continued to thrust into her, the sound of their bodies connecting was raw and unrestrained, each movement accompanied by the slick, wet noises of their joined pleasure. Despite the intensity, their dialogue remained tender and sweet. “I love you, Y/N,” Bucky whispered lovingly, his voice a mix of pleasure and adoration. “I love you so much, doll.”
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Normally, such words would be met with doubt, but the way his cock was filling her completely, the intense pleasure he was giving her, and the look in his eyes—filled with an earnest, almost desperate longing—made it impossible to ignore.
She moaned in response, her own voice trembling with emotion. “I love you too, Bucky,” she gasped, her words mingling with the sounds of their physical connection.
Bucky’s thrusts grew more deep and harsh as he neared his climax. “I love you. I love you. I love you, Y/N,” he groaned, his hands rubbing a tight circle on her clit and tugging at her nipple. “Now, take my fucking cum.”
When Bucky finally released inside her, the sensation was nothing he ever felt before. He felt so good his eyes rolled back and his mouth fell open. His cock pulsing and throbbing with each spasm of his orgasm. His endless cream was flooding her, and with every thrust, it leaked out, creating a hot, sticky mess. The warmth and thickness of his release filled her completely, and the sensation of it escaping with each of his movements made him groan in pleasure.
Even as Bucky reached his high, he continued to fuck her through it, each thrust pushing his cum deeper into her. “You take me so well,” he moaned, his voice thick with emotion and need. Her own pleasure was amplified by the sensation of his cum inside her, her body responding eagerly to each thrust.
Afterward, Bucky remained inside her, relishing the intimate connection. He carefully cleaned the traces of his cum from her skin, his tongue gently licking and slurping it clean. “You’re perfect, babydoll,” he praised between licks, his voice soft and affectionate. “So beautiful, so fucking amazing.” He took his time, his lips brushing against her with care. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he murmured. “You feel so good, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”
She responded with soft moans and shivers of pleasure, her body reacting eagerly to his touches. Each lick and gentle caress made her quiver, her breaths coming in quick, shallow bursts as she felt his adoration and need. Her eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the sensation of being worshipped so completely.
Occasionally, Bucky would grind into her, savouring the way her pussy tightened around him, deepening his pleasure. “You’re such a fucking treasure,” he continued, his voice a blend of awe and desire. “I can’t get enough of you. You’re mine, and I’m never letting go.” She whimpered needily, her body responding to his movements with a mix of pleasure and longing.
He continued to move his hips against her, thrusting with a renewed sense of urgency and need. “It’s gonna be a long night ahead, baby,” he murmured, his voice filled with determination and passion. “I’m not gonna let you leave this bed until the only thing that leaks out of you is me.”
With that, he pressed into her once more, his movements both firm and tender, as he prepared for another round of intense, passionate connection.
End.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
A/N: Been collecting dust in my drafts for way too long. Now lemme hear your thoughts. Please? 🥹 And go send @mercurial-chuckles some love!
My people can sometimes be the most funniest unhinged people.
So recently our country just celebrated our independence day, and every year we have this parade at the administrative capital city. You know, there’s the military, police, firefighters, marine, etc. marching/parading on their vehicle, etc; like normal stuff. you know. And of course, being the main ‘attraction’, most of the men participating the parade were big and buff and what not.
And I kid you not, some of the spectators were unhinged. Though, I noticed the women were mostly shy and less provocative; they would be shouting and asking for 'mini love' sign and a really big heart sign; and then they'd giggled after. But the men, god, they were so thirsty and funny and witty when they were shouting for attention; and I am here, out of breath, dying from laughter.
There this one guy, he really be shouting on top of his lungs:
When the military passed by: “Hey you, you hot soldier!!! Shoot me, shoot me right now! Omg show me your biceps! Yes, yes, omg shoot me, please!”
When the police passed by: “Sue me, officer!! My car windows are tinted, you can’t see shit inside, so sue me right now, officer!!”
When the firefighter passed by: “PLEASE DOWSE ME, DROWN ME. I’M FCKING BURNING. omg you’re so sexy, flex them biceps for me. YEAHH!!”
God, I have not laughed this much for the past year. I love these people.
okay so twice recently i've seen random people in the wild like "yeah people don't eat rice around here." so i think we need to have a poll on rice consumption
how often do you eat rice
almost never (??? EXPLAIN)
very rarely (WHAT ARE YOU EATING!!!!!!)
at least once a month :)
at least once a week
multiple times a week
basically every day
see results/i'm bald/what's rice?
Voting ended onSep 3, 2024
if you're a no-ricer maybe say where you're from/other explanation because i would like to know................................
You know what I have been itching to write these days? A people pleaser reader with emotional withdrawal. Like…
All this time Bucky’s been so sweet and doting and she absolutely loves it. I mean it’s new, she’s not used to the princess treatment at all but Bucky makes it feel as if it is only natural for her to feel the butterflies in her chest every second he is near. In past relationships, she was always the one putting in all the effort, bending over backward to meet her partner's needs and keeping the peace. She was the one making sacrifices for the walking red flag she fell in love with. It became second nature to her; she was the caretaker, the fixer, the one who made sure everything was okay, even if it meant neglecting her own feelings.
But with Bucky, it's different. He is the embodiment of a green forest itself.
Imagine that one day when Bucky came home after a rough mission, he was clearly not okay. She noticed immediately how his eyes, usually bright and full of warmth when he greeted her, were different this time. The usual sparkle, the affectionate heart eyes were replaced by something darker, more distant. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his brows were furrowed in a way that told her something was wrong. When he walked through the door, there was no familiar rush to scoop her up in his arms, no playful toss onto the bed, and no smothering her with kisses.
Instead, Bucky barely acknowledged her, walking right past her. He made a beeline to their bedroom, before she could say anything or follow him. She heard the bathroom door slam shut, the sound sharp enough to make her flinch. She tried to stay calm, telling herself it might have been just a loose screw, but deep down, she knew better. Bucky wasn’t feeling his best.
While he was in the shower, she decided to do something to help ease whatever burden was weighing on him. She brewed a pot of warm tea, the kind he always said helped calm his nerves, and prepared a plate of his favourite sweet snacks. She carefully placed them on the kitchen counter, hoping they’d bring him some comfort. But when she went back to their room, her heart sank a little further. Bucky was dressing, his expression still harsh and rigid, the gentleness was nowhere to be seen.
She couldn’t bear the silence between them, the coldness that seemed to have seeped into their usually warm and loving space. So she tried to break it, her voice soft and tentative as she asked, “Are you okay?” Bucky didn’t reply, his back still turned to her as he tugged on his shirt. The tension in the room was cutting, but she tried again, her tone gentle, almost coaxing, “You can tell me anything, you know that, right? I’m here for you.”
But Bucky was resolved to stay in his grumpy shell. When he finally spoke, his voice was deeper, rougher, and laced with an edge that sent a shiver down her spine. “Y/N, please just stop, okay? I don’t need you hovering over me like I'm a damn child. Just leave me alone.”
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. He didn’t shout, not like her exes used to, but the harshness in his tone was enough to scare her. A familiar fear crept up, the kind that made her feel like she might lose him at any moment, just like she had lost others before. Her mind spiraled into self-deprecation, the old voices in her head whispering that she was being annoying, that she needed to know her place, that he was right to push her away. She had overstepped, hadn’t she? She should have known better.
“Okay,” she whispered, the word barely audible as it left her lips. Her eyes, once filled with concern and care, shifted to something else; something colder, almost devoid of any emotion. Bucky noticed the change, but his chaotic mind, swirling with anger and frustration, couldn’t process it fully. So, all he did was watch as she turned and walked out of the room, leaving him alone.
Just as he had asked her to.
Imagine how she shuts herself down from that moment on, as if she went into auto-pilot. She still goes to work, sleep and eat properly, all her daily routine was the same but she completely left Bucky alone. She does not necessarily avoid him, but she didn’t reach for him either. She’d let him touch her, kiss her, but she would never touch him herself, she didn’t seek for him, she didn’t make eye contact unless necessary, and even if he’s close by she’d act as if he is not there and continue doing what she was doing.
It took Bucky a few days to return to his senses. And this dumbass boy thought that she was okay; all because she didn’t avoid him, or glared at him, or yell at him when he apologized. It took him a week after to notice she actually never covered from that night. It was in the little things; the way she no longer met his gaze with the same warmth, how she seemed distant even when she was sitting right beside him, how her smiles never quite reached her eyes anymore. The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks: she had never been okay.
Panic began to well up inside him, gnawing at his insides. He had to fix this, had to make things right. So, he gently sat her down, taking her hands in his. “What’s wrong, doll?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly, fear lacing his words. But when she looked at him, her eyes were dull, empty; so different from the vibrant, loving gaze he was used to.
“Nothing’s wrong, what do you mean?” she replied, her tone flat and devoid of emotion. It was those words, so calm yet so cold, almost robotic. Like she was programmed to reply him as such. And that, shattered whatever composure Bucky had left.
Imagine how hurtful it was to see her like this, he’d grovel like he had never before. But deep down, knowing no amount of ‘sorry’ and sweet words will fix this. So from that day onwards, he’d show how much he loved her through his actions.
He became more attentive than usual to her every need, trying to anticipate what would make her life a little easier, a little brighter. He’d wake up early to make her favourite breakfast, he’d kiss her good morning and good night, but never initiates anything more.
He’d whisper “I love you.” every chance he got. He’d quietly take on more of the household chores. He’d brush his fingers through her hair as they watched TV together, offering the comfort without expecting anything in return. He was gentle, never pushing her to talk or to be anything other than what she was in that moment.
He’d leave little gestures of love for her to find later; a favourite snack left on her desk, or a small bouquet of flowers on her pillow. He’d play the songs they used to dance to in the living room, silently inviting her to join him if she felt like it.
But more than anything, Bucky showed his love through patience. He didn’t rush her, didn’t demand that she snap back to who she was before.
And by time, he'd noticed the slight changes. He’d notice how, when he reached out to touch her, she didn’t just tolerate it anymore; she started to lean into his touch, just a little. Her eyes, too, started to change. Where they had once been dull and empty, he began to see the slightest flicker of emotion return.
Sometimes, when he surprised her with a small act of kindness; a cup of tea waiting for her, a blanket draped over her shoulders; her eyes would soften. Bucky also noticed how she began to respond to his presence. When he sat beside her, she would subtly shift closer. She’d linger just a little longer in his embrace when they hugged, and sometimes, she’d even reach out first, tentatively placing a hand on his arm or leaning her head against his shoulder.
These small gestures were like lifelines to Bucky. That she will come back to him, if not now then later. So in the end, he let her heal at her own pace, silently vowing to be there for her, even if it took forever for her to trust him again.
And yeah, that’s the urge... to write or to read so...
Just a passing thought but what if dark!stalker!bucky is infatuated with this lovely girl who he often sees at the local library…
He never approached her, of course. God, no. How can he? He was literally dripped with the vibe of a ‘serial killer’, dark and brood and dangerous and she was just everything soft and sweet. She’d be running scared if he approached her first. So he decided to be patient, to wait for the bunny to walk into the wolf’s den on her own. Though, that didn’t stop Bucky from watching her in the shadows, or sending death threats to all the men she went on dates with, or setting up hidden cameras all over her apartment.
Bucky made himself comfortable on his bed, fingers lazily tapping on his phone, checking each camera to make sure none of them were out of order. “Perfect. Now, where’s my sweet bunny?”
Honestly, Bucky never expected anything from this, oh who was he kidding? He was kinda expecting to see her curled up in her comfy chair, buried behind a book like how he often sees her in the library and maybe see her spend hours on rubbing her skin with those perfumed moisturizer because she always smelled so fucking good.
I mean, he did see those things, but more. So much more. And he was not ready for it. He didn’t know why it never came across his mind, maybe because of how soft and sweet she was acting with other people but…. there she was; doing the weirdest, silliest, quirkiest, stupid things when she's alone.
Bucky is so baffled and confused at first; like how did this shy and quiet girl just change completely? Oh, but he loves it. He can’t remember the last time he laughed this loud, this genuine. Not since he fell off that train, not when he reunited with Steve just to be left alone again.
Now? God damn, he laughs every day. Now, he is rolling on his bed, tears threaten to spill out from the corners of his eyes.
He just witnessed how she abruptly threw the knife and carrot in her hands at the sound of the Samsung washing machine going off from a distance. She glided and slid her way to the laundry room, as if drawn to the rhythmic beep. Her face was set with utmost seriousness, but her body began to sway, moving with the same well-choreographed dance that she always performed when lost in her own little world of domestic rhythms.
Her movements were both precise and fluid, a blend of graceful steps and playful spins while maintaining the same laser-focused expression on her face. She twirled in time with the washing machine’s vibrations, as if the appliance had its own secret beat that only she could hear. When the song ended, she straightened up and walked back to the kitchen.
She picked up the knife and carrot with the same efficiency as before, seamlessly returning to the task of prepping her veggies as if the dance had never happened at all.
Yeah, sure. Bucky jerked off to her some nights; of course he would . Especially when she was moaning and whimpering so sweetly as she played with her clit. But this? The random crazy shit she does? He loves to see it.
Fuck, he loves her.
“Oh, bunny. Looks like I’m gonna need to chase you now that you refuse to come to me.”
