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nicoletficlibrary · 1 year

Text

almost believing

summary: You and Bucky aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. That doesn't mean you're getting out of having to pretend to be married for a mission.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 5.4k

warnings: miscommunication dialled up to eleven bc it's me; friends to lovers with lots of seething in between; set around christmas, but not a christmas fic; slight spoiler warning for wakanda forever just to be safe

prompt: fake dating, baby 😌 title and initial inspiration for this fic were taken from "so close" from enchanted. yes. that scene.

a/n: this was written for my wonderful tiff's sweet as sugar writing challenge!! @traitorjoelite i'm so proud of you and i hope you enjoy this fic. i really thought this one would be short i swear. big shoutout and thank you to @sweetascanbee for listening to me rant about this for weeks, i appreciate you so much!!

masterlist | read on ao3

Here’s the thing: It’s supposed to be a simple mission. Just gathering intel at the hotel for one single night, the two of you pretending that everything is fine for a couple of hours more.

After all, it’s Bucky’s last mission with you before his reassignment goes through.

Well, it’s not like it’s going to make a difference to how much you’re seeing him, to be honest.

You’re not sure when he started making himself rare or why, but once you noticed it, it was impossible not to.

"Sorry, I’m heading out," when you ask him to grab lunch together seems inconspicuous enough, as does, "Ah, I’m already supposed to meet Sam," when you try asking him about that trip to IKEA you’d been talking about for ages.

But it doesn’t stop there. One excuse follows the next, and suddenly there’s always something more important than the two of you hanging out.

Of course, you try to rationalize it at first. Swallow down your hurt feelings, because Bucky is your friend, and sometimes people just need space. You’re fine. The two of you are fine.

Once he starts scheduling dates for Friday night, though—which has always been movie night, always, every week since you met him—you know that something’s wrong.

"Is he angry with me?" you keep asking Steve, who looks very uncomfortable and definitely knows what's going on.

"Just give him a little space," he suggests timidly. So you do. You let the whole thing go.

For like a week.

"I just don’t know what I did," you tell Sam over drinks, your head held in your hands.

"Nope," he answers, downing his dregs. "I’m not doing this. Nuh-uh."

"You know, too?" you cry, accusingly pointing at him.

"I don’t know anything," Sam deadpans. And then he puts his scarf on and leaves.

"Maybe try talking to Bucky about it?" Natasha suggests, either incapable of hiding her amused smile or unwilling to try.

"I would if I ever saw him for longer than a 'hi, how are you' at the gym," you mumble. Fact is, you’re getting pissed about him giving you the silent treatment without even knowing what you did wrong.

Because before this, whatever this is, things were fine. Great, even. Free afternoons were spent on each other’s couches, introducing him to your favorite tv shows and letting him teach you that stupid card game he loves so damn much. You’d even been starting to imagine that there might be something …

Clearly, you were wrong.

Now, you can’t even look at him without your throat closing up. It’s like you woke up a few weeks ago and he’s become an entirely different person around you, much more like he was at the beginning of your friendship, distant and cold.

He didn’t even tell you that he’d signed up for a transfer.

The mission call feels like your last chance.

A whole evening of teamwork and espionage, of him basically having no other choice than talking to you and finally telling you why the fuck he would get himself reassigned without even telling you beforehand. You could’ve hugged Fury for the opportunity.

That is, until you’re handed the file containing your fake identities for the op a few hours before you’re supposed to leave.

"You’re joking," you say as soon as you open the door.

"Great, you’re here as well," Steve says dryly. "Again, a) you both gotta learn how to knock, b) the whole thing wasn’t my idea or my decision, but I also think it’s the best directive for what you’re trying to do, and c) no, there’s no one else available for the mission. Anything I missed?"

Bucky deliberately doesn’t meet your eye, his arms still crossed as he stares Steve down with a look you can’t decipher. He doesn’t even acknowledge you standing in the door, but his foot is doing the tapping thing again.

You purse your lips and join the staring.

Steve sighs, rubbing his temples with the palms of his hands. "Listen, you two work well together and I know these past few weeks have been … strained"—you almost laugh at that—"but it’s just one night."

"We need to pretend we’re married," you say. "How’re we going to pull that off if he can’t stand being in the same room as me?"

"I trust that there won’t be any issues." Steve raises an eyebrow at Bucky as he says that, but of course he doesn’t get a reply. That would necessitate talking in your presence.

"One night," Bucky repeats through gritted teeth.

Not for the first time, there seems to be some sort of silent conversation between the two of them that you’re not privy to. You roll your eyes.

"I’ll see you later."

You leave with your back straight and without a glance over your shoulder, the door slamming shut behind you.

For a moment, you’re tempted to barge into Natasha’s office next, but you have a feeling like she’d just give you another one of her looks again, which really won’t better your mood. So instead, you slam another door and flop onto your bed, blankly staring at the ceiling for a while.

Surely, there’s some twisted sort of irony in this whole situation, but you’re not laughing.

Usually, before a mission, you’d get bagels together from the bakery around the corner. You haven’t done that in a while, but you’re still quietly begging your phone to show a new unread message when you look at the time however long later.

Instead, there’s just your lockscreen picture of Bucky’s grinning face that you can’t bear to get rid off, no matter how many times it stings you. It’s almost a year old, now, back when you’d taken him to go do your holiday shopping with you, insisting that "no one’s gonna recognize you, look at that great cap you’re wearing".

It’d started snowing halfway through the afternoon, and he’d kept reaching for your hand in order not to lose you in the crowd. You both gave up halfway through your list and just went to get coffee instead, strolling through Central Park and talking about nothing and everything.

That’s when you’d realized you'd been falling in love with him, laughing and fingers freezing around your paper cup, a strange new warmth spreading throughout your body.

You need to change your lockscreen.

***

Half an hour before pick-up, you leave your room with a duffle bag slung over your shoulder and almost run into Bucky. He’s leaning against the opposite wall like he’s been waiting for you, and it stings because that’s what he always used to do, back when you were still talking. When you could still pretend that maybe, just maybe, your feelings weren’t quite so hopeless.

Now, though, his easy smile is missing. Instead, an ever-present frown is furrowing his brows again, his mouth opened just a little, but nothing comes out.

"Look, I don’t want to do this any more than you do," you sigh. "But it’s a two-person job."

He nods, his tongue poking his cheek. "I know."

"Do you think you’re gonna be alright with us pretending we’re madly in love for a whole evening?"

Bucky’s jaw tightens. "I’ll be fine."

Of course he’s going to be fine.

You grab the strap of your bag more tightly. "I wish you would just tell me what I did."

"You didn’t do anything." If he’s telling the truth, though, why does he look so numb?

For a moment, you want to shout at him, cry, beg, make him tell you when and how this went wrong, but you don’t. You just stare at him in silence, hoping he’ll get it anyway, and he refuses to notice it.

"So," Bucky finally says. "You ready to get hitched?"

There’s the ghost of a grin in his eyes, and even though it’s not enough to mask the uncomfortable tilt of his shoulders, you sigh. At least he’s trying, you suppose.

"Let’s just get fake-married so we can fake-divorce and go our separate ways," you say, walking past him.

"I’ve got something for you."

You turn around again, raising your eyebrows as he holds up a ring between the fingers of his left hand. There’s a giant stone set in its center, striking and sparkling and not subtle in the slightest. Tony really went all out for appearance’s sake. Your fingers involuntarily tighten around the strap of your bag.

Bucky drops the ring in the palm of your hand.

"Quite the present," you chuckle nervously. You don’t even want to know how much this thing costs, and you feel like they're going to chop off your head if something happens to it.

"Try it on, then."

It’s a bit too large on your finger, and it feels foreign. It’s not you at all. Then again, it’s not supposed to be you.

Before you can say anything, though, Bucky shakes his head. "What?" you say with a roll of your eyes.

"That couldn’t look more fake if you tried. Wait a sec."

He turns his back towards you and rummages through his bag for a while, his jaw still set as he holds out his hand once more. With a sigh, you pull the ring off again and return it, but before you can pull your hand back, he catches it in his own.

This one slides onto your finger perfectly, and your eyes widen at the sight of it. It’s a lot subtler, with only a small emerald for decoration, but it’s so delicate and beautiful it takes your breath away.

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes, but he swallows whatever came to his mind. "That’s better," he says instead, and his voice sounds oddly rough.

"They gave you a backup?" you say, angling your hand this way and that to see how the gem catches the light.

"Mhm."

Something is off about this whole situation, but then you feel like you don’t really know Bucky anymore. Not like you used to, anyway. It used to be so easy to get a read on him.

You stand there in silence for a moment, and it’s only then that both of you realize he’s still holding your hand. He drops it immediately, and you pretend it doesn’t sting.

"How come you don’t get a ring?" you ask.

"Says who?" Bucky says, clearing his throat and activating the camouflage sleeve Tony had installed for his arm. Sure enough, there’s a ring on his hand as well.

You grab his hand curiously. When you touch it, there’s no difference between his fingers and the pseudo-platinum band, all of it just cool vibranium in disguise.

"It’s fake," you say. "It’s not the same."

"No," he agrees and pulls his hand away. "Looks real enough, though."

You notice the red splotches on his neck and wonder what it is that you’ve said this time, but it’s pointless anyway. He’s not going to tell you even if you asked.

Maybe you should be used to him icing you out by now, but it still hurts.

***

"Yes, Steve, I know," you sigh. "We’re just gathering intel, nothing else."

"I just wanted to have you say it again so we’re all clear. You both love taking risks when it’s not necessary."

"Alright, punk, we got it," Bucky says, tugging at his tie again.

You can’t even blame him for the nervous habit; you’ve been twisting your fake wedding ring around your finger for the entire drive.

This isn’t the first time the two of you had to go undercover as a couple; hell, it’s not even the first time you’ve pretended to be married. Usually, though, you could have a laugh about the whole thing together.

Now you barely know how to act around Bucky as yourself, let alone as some made up woman.

"I think we’re going to attract a lot of attention if we don’t get out soon," you say, readjusting the collar of your blouse underneath your coat.

You notice Steve staring at your hand for a moment, a frown between his brows, but his lips curve upwards a split second later. "Ready to do this?" he asks and you smile a little in confirmation.

Bucky takes another breath and then he nods curtly. "Let’s go."

The change that goes through him as soon as the two of you climb out of the car is so stark you almost turn on your heels again and beg Steve to let you off the hook, after all. His hand sneaks around your waist and pulls you closely into his side as you walk towards the hotel, all soft smiles and charm.

"Sorry for the holdup," he tells the bellman waiting next to your bags with a wink. "The missus and I just needed another minute."

You lightly slap Bucky’s chest in fake indignation. It’s quick thinking on his part, really.

When you’re checking in under your assumed names for the evening, he keeps his arm around you, and the content look stays in his eyes. A subtle glance at your surroundings tells you some of your persons of interest have already arrived early for the event tonight, looking around the sparkling lobby with the same feigned boredom.

Bucky nudges your cheek with his nose and then smiles again when you look at him. It makes your brain shut off for a moment.

When he looks at you like this, it’s so easy to forget the past couple of months and just pretend for a moment. What if there was no mission at all, and it could simply be the two of you?

But of course, that’s not possible. All of it is fake, including the way he looks at you. You know that.

So how come it doesn’t feel fake to you at all?

***

You hate this dress, you hate these people, you hate this dinner, and most of all, you hate how much you enjoy spending this much time so physically close to Bucky.

It feels so natural when he links your hand with yours, so fucking meant to be, even though he’s just putting on a show for the band of creeps you’re tasked to keep an eye on.

But damn if he’s not good at it.

It’s amazing, really, how his eyes immediately soften when you turn your head towards him, like you’re the only person in the whole room. He looks at you during this charade like you wish he’d look at you daily, even far from prying eyes around you; especially then. It makes your breath shorten, your heart pounding erratically because it thinks it’s getting everything it’s ever hoped for.

Hearts are often stupid like that.

A full night of glances and touches and the pretence of secret whispers will do all kinds of twisted things to your feelings.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and when Bucky squeezes your hand you realize he’s no longer the only one who’s looking at you.

You chuckle nervously. "I’m sorry, I got … distracted for a moment. What were you saying?"

"Ah, newlyweds," one of the investor goons laughs. He’s a particularly vile looking man whose suit is way too big on his spindly limbs.

Bucky, academy award winning actor in another lifetime, chuckles politely while the fondness in his eyes seems to increase tenfold. "We’ve been married three years, actually," he says, sticking to your official cover story.

It’d been Tony’s idea to keep your fake timeline as close to the truth as possible to avoid any slip-ups. It’s a great move on paper, really, but in reality it just adds another nail to the coffin.

Three years ago, you were on a mission in Brussels, only the second one ever where it was just the two of you. It was mostly surveillance, so one of you usually had downtime while the other kept lookout. It became customary that you’d entertain each other during those long hours, getting to know each other intimately for the first time, taking the first tentative steps towards the friendship you now share.

That mission was the groundwork of your falling in love with him in the first place.

"You seem to be doing something right if you’re both still so enamoured with each other," Spindly Arms says.

"I’m the luckiest guy in the world," Bucky responds, still looking into your eyes. "It’s hard not to do the right thing, then."

He presses a kiss to your cheek and you smile timidly. His lips linger for just a moment, and then he moves to whisper into your ear, something you’re sure looks like sweet nothings to everybody else but is actually a, "Don’t fall asleep on me."

You tilt your head, shove him teasingly as if he’d said something inappropriate, and because he’s always been quick to catch on he winks, obvious enough so that the other people that are part of this conversation can clearly see it.

It’s not long after this that you excuse yourselves, walking around the room with apparent aimlessness. Everything is sparkling with pure gold decorations and countless little twinkling lights that have been scattered around the room like millions of fireflies. You spot an actual orchestra right underneath the massive Christmas tree.

"Kind of tacky, don’t you think?" Bucky murmurs with a sideway glance at you.

"Maybe a little," you say.

The truth is, though, the room looks oversaturated and expensive and magnificent. Something straight out of a Hallmark movie, more like a movie set than a real place.

It’s the one thing that keeps this whole thing from being completely unbearable.

He must have seen the truth in your eyes, because he ducks his head and says quietly, "I’m gonna go check out the terrace."

You just nod and smile as he kisses your cheek again and then vanishes through the crowd with a few long strides. Sighing, you take another drink from the tray a waiter offers you, absent-mindedly rubbing your cheek.

"What a lovely surprise," a voice says next to you and you freeze for a moment before forcing yourself to calmly take a sip. "Miss … Winter, was it?"

"Mrs," you say with a pleasant smile. "Good evening, Director."

"Right, of course." Director de Fontaine eyes her martini warily. "I don’t suppose these olives are fresh, do you?"

Your mind is racing. If she’s here on official business, then your entire operation might be compromised.

"So," she continues, looking rather bored. "Met any interesting people yet, Mrs Winter?"

"Oh, yes," you say lightly, clinging to your role of unassuming young wife. "It’s all rather exciting."

"I’m sure. These kinds of events are all very … shiny." She looks into your eyes and there’s an almost explicit warning written in hers. "It’s surprisingly easy to get blinded."

You swallow heavily even as she smiles. "If you’ll excuse me, I think I see someone …"

You quickly walk over to the buffet table where some of the wives have formed a semi circle of gossip, trying your best to hide your sigh of relief when the director doesn’t follow you.

For a few minutes, you lose yourself in pointless gossip, until one of the women takes hold of your forearm.

"You must tell us, what’s your secret?"

"Excuse me?" you chuckle nervously.

"Your husband!" she exclaims, earning a few nods from some of the others. "He clearly adores you," she goes on. "I don’t think he’s looked away from you once since you joined us."

You steal a look around your shoulder. She’s right. Bucky’s gaze immediately locks with yours, an almost bashful grin on his lips. You caught me, his eyes seem to say, and you feel a rush of heat go through you.

He should be nominated for an Oscar with this performance.

Quickly, you turn around again to meet several expectant pairs of eyes.

"I don’t know what to tell you," you say. "He’s just … always been like this. I mean, he’s my best friend. I really don’t know what I would do without him."

There’s not a word of a lie in what you’re saying, and it elicits a round of coos and murmurs even as your heart gives a sharp pang.

"Dance with me?"

You flinch, turning to look at Bucky’s outstretched hand, at the sad, hopeful look in his eyes, and the line between reality and fiction blurs a bit more.

You take his hand, and he pulls you onto the dance floor, some cheery Christmas song ramping up to its big finale. Then, the band switches to a slower song. To you, it sounds mournful.

"That was nice," Bucky mutters into your ear. "What you said."

"I meant it, you know," you whisper, but he turns, and you don’t think he’s heard you.

Bucky places his hand on your hip and you hide a shudder. His gloved fingers wrap around yours, and then you start moving again.

You barely know the steps, but he’s a great leader, and he doesn’t say anything when you step on his toes. In fact, his gaze softens even more when he looks at you after the third time, the hand around your waist pulling you a little closer.

"How are you doing this?" you say without stopping to smile.

"Easy," Bucky says, and the way he says it almost makes you believe it’s true.

You bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from breathing him in. "I didn’t mean the dancing."

With the last note of the song, you stumble over his foot again and he snorts. "Me neither."

The melody changes and neither of you lets go. His steps are getting slower, smaller, like he’s just trying to keep both of you in motion. Your head is spinning. The twinkling lights are starting to blur into a great mass of stars in the background, like you’re at the center of a music box and everything else is just background noise.

You wrap both hands around his neck as you’re swaying, then, your foreheads only inches apart. You could stay in this moment forever, you think, as it stretches into blissful infinity. Somewhere, a clock strikes ten.

Bucky leans in a little closer and your breath hitches again.

"It’s time," he whispers, and your eyes fly open.

You’d almost forgotten about the mission.

"Val is here," you say quietly.

His expression hardens for just a second. "What?"

"She came to talk to me earlier. She knows we’re here."

"Why didn’t you say something?"

"I … There wasn’t time."

"We’re just gonna have to be quick and discrete."

You open your mouth, but then you see the distance close in again between you two, and so you just nod.

The plan is almost laughably simple, but it’s probably going to work out just as you’ve laid out beforehand. Everyone in the room has watched the two of you staring at each other for the past couple of hours, so no one bats an eye when Bucky nudges you gently and you make your way up the stairs to the fancy elevator that’s going to take you up to a bedroom.

Or, more specifically, to a bedroom that’s being used to store all kinds of evidence, but no one else needs to know that little detail.

You notice the director talking to Spindly Arms and a couple of other people, but you force your gaze not to linger on her. Instead, you grab Bucky’s hand more tightly.

He lets go of you as soon as the elevator doors close behind the two of you, dragging a hand through his hair and messing it up. There aren’t any cameras in the elevator, but you’re both pretty sure there will be on the floor you’re going. "CIA exposure, that’s exactly what we needed."

"There was nothing I could’ve done," you say, tugging your sleeves down your shoulders.

"I’m not blaming you, sweetheart," Bucky says distractedly, loosening his tie. Your heart makes a very heavy thud. "But if Walker shows up tonight as well, I’m gonna shoot first and ask questions later."

"No, you won’t," you say with a grin, mostly because you know he didn’t bring his gun because the male attendees were all frisked at the entrance.

"Maybe I’ll throw a knife. I could say it was an accident."

The conversation lasts barely a moment, but it reminds you so much of what the two of you used to be, it hurts.

You follow him stumbling out of the elevator onto the right floor with a breathless laugh. There’s no one in sight as you subtly check the room numbers before making him follow you with a coquettish smile for the security camera.

You find the right door without much trubble, pulling the keycard out of your inconvenient little handbag. "Come on now," you murmur as the lock rejects it at the first try.

Suddenly, Bucky’s hand is on your waist again, and you gasp as he spins around. The keycard drops to the floor.

He presses you against the wall, effectively trapping you in his embrace. Your hands are laid flat against his chest, his heart thundering madly underneath your fingertips. Bucky’s eyes flit around madly, like he’s trying to come up with something on the spot and, for the first time since you’ve known him, is left without ideas.

You gasp as his nose brushes against yours.

"Sorry," he whispers hoarsely. And then he kisses you.

Your body responds immediately, lighting a fire in your core as his lips press against yours, hungry, gentle, almost apologetic. You can taste the champagne on his tongue.

You arch your back against him on instinct as his hands travel down your arms, brushing your hips, your tighs, slowly parting your dress at the slit. Your eyes fly open the moment you realize what he’s doing, even though he swallows your gasp.

In one smooth motion, he pulls the I.C.E.R. out of the garter on your thigh and fires a single, silenced shot. The guy with the earpiece barely has the time to grunt before he sacks against the opposite wall, unconscious, his hand still in the pocket of his jacket.

"Fuck," you hiss, pushing Bucky away from you. He stumbles slightly, the gun loose in his fingers. His eyes are almost black as he blinks at you. "You could have told me we’re being shadowed."

Bucky’s mouth is stained from your lipstick, and the sight of that alone makes your head swim. You can still feel the ghost of his hand on your leg.

"It’d have blown our cover," he replies, infuriatingly calm. "Hate me later, our window has just narrowed by a bit."

You swallow, blinking to try and gain control over your breath again, grabbing your gun back with a short nod. "Let’s finish this, then."

***

Back at the Compound, you both give an exhausted report about the events of the night, leaving out nothing but your improvised kiss on floor fifteen.

Your lips are still tingling with it.

Finally, you and Bucky are left alone in the briefing room, and for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t just get up and leave as soon as the silence takes hold. Instead, you both sit next to each other, staring straight ahead.

"I guess we should talk," he says slowly, reluctantly, and you can’t help it.

Your defenses shoot up again.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you say, squinting.

"Yes, you do." He’s lost the tie hours ago, but he keeps tugging at the fabric in his hands as if it could give him the words he’s looking for. "I shouldn’t have kissed you, not with … Not like that."

"Like you said, the guy would’ve blown our cover," you say, crossing your arms.

"Doesn’t make it right."

"What do you want me to say, Buck?" you say sharply. "That you should’ve talked to me before? Well, I’m kind of used to you not doing that anymore, so just forget it."

"Y/N—"

"No, really, it’s fine. Like I said, you’re leaving, anyway, so what does it matter. Didn’t tell me you were planning to do that, either. You just did it."

"You know why I’m leaving."

"No, I fucking don’t!" There are tears in your eyes now. "I have been trying really hard, Bucky, but you’ve just shut me out. I thought you needed space, which is fine, by the way, but you just—one day you decided you were done with me and that was it."

He stares at you incredulously. "You seriously don’t remember."

"Don’t remember what?!"

"That you were talking about me. To Natasha."

The memory rushes through you so violently it’s almost ridiculous you hadn’t thought about it in months.

You’d just come back from another undercover op, and you’d called her right as the door to your room had closed behind you because not for the first time, your feelings had threatened to spill over again.

"You should talk to him. Be honest."

"No, Nat, come on, I can’t—I can’t do that to him. I can’t risk … you know, he’s my best friend. And that’s all it can ever be. I don’t want to ruin what we have. I just wish he’d make it easier."

"You’re making excuses, you know. Both of you deserve a bit of happiness, don’t you think?"

"I tried," Bucky says now, barely looking at you. "I tried making it easier. But you’re so …"

"So what?" you ask hollowly, ignoring the fact that you can feel the tears starting to trickle down your cheeks now. "So pathetic? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? That’s why you asked for the transfer, so you can be rid of me."

"Rid of you?" Bucky starts, but you ignore him.

"You know what, Bucky, fuck you if you think my feelings for you are so much of an inconvenience that you need to leave the state. Silly me for thinking we could be adults about this."

"You’re the one who wouldn’t just tell me."

"Well, now you know anyway and I’m sure once you’re off to Cairo or wherever the fuck they’re going to send you, you can have a big old laugh about the stupid girl who fell in love with you despite the fact that—"

"Love?"

"I mean, obviously?!"

"You … you’re in love … with me?" There’s something very soft and vulnerable in Bucky’s eyes.

"Are we talking about two different phone calls?"

"I thought you hated me."

You huff incredulously. "Why would I hate you?"

"That’s why I gave you space, I thought … but then …" He grabs your hands. "Sweetheart, I’ve been in love with you for years."

It punches the air out of your lungs. "What?"

Bucky’s eyes are devastating as he looks at you, then. "I’m so sorry, I—I got it all wrong, I was just—I thought you know and you didn’t see me like that and that’s why I …"

"You …?" you say, still not quite comprehending what’s going on.

His thumb caresses your knuckles, halting when it makes contact with the ring you’re still wearing. "I'm in love with you," he says quietly.

"I don’t understand," you whisper.

"Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up completely."

This time, you’re the one to lean in.

Where your first kiss in the hallway had been feverish, this one is soft, almost unbelievably sweet, both of you still breathless with the fact that you’re allowed to do this. Finally, it feels like all the pieces are falling into place and you’re home again.

You press closer into him and Bucky smiles against your lips, pulling you in with his hands on your hips just like he did when you were dancing earlier.

The loudspeakers overhead crackle. "Alright, kids, we’re gonna break this up until you’re back in your own quarters, I don’t want to expose FRIDAY to the creation of your sex tape."

You break up with a snort.

"Fuck you, Tony," Bucky shouts, but he’s still smiling as wide as you’ve ever seen him do.

You giggle as you nudge your nose against his, curling your fingers into his hair. "That reminds me, you know."

"Of what?"

"Quick and discrete," you mumble, repeating his words from the hotel. "Title of your sex tape."

Bucky groans and shuts you up again.

(A few years later, you get the ring back.)

happy holidays, y'all 💛 thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel

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nicoletficlibrary · 1 year

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Build a blurb hehehe! 🩹 tending to each other's wounds, 🚪 showing up at the other's door, begging for comfort, 🍯 friends to lovers, 🔥 slow burn - Enjoy >:3

heal me, baby

summary: Your friendship starts with you cleaning up his wounds and Bucky paying to get the blood stains out of your couch. Something else starts, too.

pairing: bucky barnes x nurse!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: canon typical violence, some fluff, s.h.i.e.l.d. still exists AU, protective bucky strikes again

a/n: lisha heard me request prompts to write something short and decided to go with slow burn. thanks for that, love. happy easter and joyous pesach to those of you who celebrate, i hope you're all well <3

masterlist | read on ao3

The first time it happened, he’d been shot.

It’s how you’d first met him, actually, because he’d been so out of it with blood loss he tried to break down your door instead of his own—which was one floor up, but you didn’t find that out until later—and when you’d finally stopped screaming in his face, he just collapsed in your hallway.

When he woke up again, you’d just finished bandaging up his wounds, moving on to cleaning the scratches on his face.

“Your hands are very soft,” he said, still delirious. You were used to strange comments from your patients at the hospital, so you’d just rolled your eyes.

“You’re paying to get the blood stains out of my couch.”

He did. In fact, he tried to get you a whole new couch, but you liked the one you already had.

“Thank you,” he told you for the twentieth time as you helped him up to his apartment the next morning. His wounds had already started to close. “This really isn’t necessary.”

“Nurse’s orders,” you replied sternly and kept your grip on his arm until you reached his front door. No welcome mat, no seasonal decorations, not even his name next to the bell.

He coughed, as if there was anything to be embarrassed about now. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

You nodded politely. “I know.” That arm did him no favors when it came to staying anonymous.

There was a quiet scratching coming from the other side of the door, but his eyes didn’t stray from yours. They looked pretty, you supposed, when they weren’t glazed over in pain. “And do I get your name?”

“With the receipt from my dry cleaning.”

His low chuckle followed you back downstairs.

The second time wasn’t nearly as bad. In fact, his knock on your door was so tentative you wouldn’t even have heard it had you not just walked by the door one last time to check the locks before bed.

“Sorry,” he said as soon as you cracked the door open. “I’m kinda out of thread?”

The gash in his palm was deep, but not bad by any standards; still, you could understand why he’d be cautious with wounds on his right side. He didn’t even flinch once as you stitched him up.

“You’re a good patient,” you told him, pulling the knot tight.

Bucky huffed quietly. “All your good patients show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night?”

“No,” you shrugged, setting your tools aside for sterilization. “But there’s gotta be something that makes you special, right?”

There was something akin to a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth right as you turned away.

“I owe you,” he called after you.

You raised your brows. “You wanna repay me for a bit of suture?”

“And your professional craftsmanship,” Bucky said. “D’you think I could do stitches that neat with my left hand?”

Honestly, yes. But if he insisted …

“I have Saturday night off,” you said. “How about a takeout?”

His grin widened a fraction. “We’re talkin’ food, right?”

“Yes,” you laughed. “For now.”

You weren’t sure whether to expect him to join you on Saturday, but he showed up on your doorstep at 6 p.m. sharp, completely unharmed this time. Instead, he was carrying several plastic bags full of food.

“I wasn’t sure what to get, so …” he muttered once you’d stopped laughing and showed him into the kitchen.

“So you got everything?” You eyed the containers of food, all steaming and smelling divine. “Are we expecting seven more?”

“We?” He sounded so genuinely surprised that you shook your head at him incredulously.

“You don’t expect me to eat all of this on my own!” You took plates and cutlery for two out of your cupboards. “I’m pretty sure I owe you now, Bucky.”

Another tentative smile formed on his face, again a bit wider than the last one you’d seen. You wondered how long it would take you to get a full laugh.

It became a habit, you bandaging up whatever wounds he got on his latest mission and the two of you sharing takeout on your nights off, some movie the background noise to your chatting. In the beginning, it was mostly you talking, telling him about work, about your friends, asking only few questions about his life. It took Bucky a couple of weeks to open up on his own. To relax his shoulders where he was sitting, until he slouched into your couch almost as casually as you did.

Bucky was easy to talk to, you realized quickly, because he was a great listener. It didn’t take you much longer to notice how your stomach would twist and your lungs would constrict whenever he looked at you, whenever his smile grew another fraction of an inch.

You didn’t need your degree to tell you what those symptoms meant.

But he needed a friend more than he needed to be rushed into anything, and so you bit your tongue and you said nothing.

***

The problems really started when S.H.I.E.L.D. decided to hire you as, essentially, a freelance nurse to go in the field with a crew when they were short a doctor.

“Absolutely not,” Bucky argued until he was hoarse, with you, with Fury, with Rogers, with anyone who would listen.

You still went. Frankly, the pay was better than what you earned after three years at the hospital.

Then again, they didn’t really put you into actually dangerous situations at the hospital.

The first mission you were sent on together mostly consisted of awkward silence, Bucky still fuming about the fact that you were coming along, and that he’d been unable to put a stop to it, you still rolling your eyes about the fact that he was angry about all of that.

Of course, it turned out that they barely needed you, anyway. You stayed out of the building, and the rest of the team did all the dirtywork while you sat around in the quinjet and waited. There was a fight; you heard the shouts and the shots, and the barked commands the comms. When they made their way back, though, sticky with soot and sweat, the most painful thing you had to fix was a cut on agent Romanoff’s temple.

Still, that night when you sat down, you found your hands almost shaking with relief that it’d been that easy.

Bucky had a key at that point, from when he’d offered to water your plants while you went to see your parents during your vacation days a few months back, but you didn’t expect him to come that night. Didn’t expect to hear his knuckles softly rapping against the doorframe, because he always knocked, even though he had a key. Didn’t expect his slow, heavy steps in the hallway. Didn’t expect him sinking to his knees in front of the couch, in front of you, as if his strength had finally given out all at once. Didn’t expect his eyes drinking you in, tracing every inch of your skin as if to prove to himself that you were unharmed.

You shivered, even though he didn’t touch you.

He was never the one to reach out first, instead preferring to stare at you in silence, like a man drowning. So you did it for him.

He must have heard your heart thundering in your breast when you pulled him into your embrace, but he still didn’t speak. He just held onto you like you were his lifeline, and not for the first time you wondered what lies the demons in his head sprouted.

“I’m fine,” you whispered into his hair, carding your fingers through it. “I’m here.”

Every mission after went much the same, the only thing different each time the amount of time he needed until he could find his voice again. Until he could start believing your words.

“I’m sorry,” he said, again and again.

Every single time, you answered, “Don’t be.”

***

The first time it went badly, it was a mission Bucky hadn’t been on.

You didn’t get hurt then, either, not physically at least, but some of the agents they carried past you ... fuck. It felt worse than it did in the hospital, because there, you could depend on equipment being sterile and well-stocked. Out in the field, there was no such luck.

Your eyes must’ve looked empty, but maybe he just chalked it up to exhaustion. To your usual empathy with anyone in pain. Or maybe you’d gotten good at hiding things from him.

But sleep didn’t find you that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, you were back out there, fighting to keep agents alive and whole while they still struggled to get the jet up in the air. You kept tossing and turning, trying to shut the memories out, but it was no use.

And then your feet started moving on their own accord, out of your bedroom, out of your apartment, quickly, before you could overthink this, up the stairs, stopping only in front of Bucky’s door, your hand raised to knock softly against his frame like you’d heard him do countless times.

It swung open.

Your vision went slightly unfocused when Bucky stood in front of you, chest on full display. Your gaze crept up slowly, too slowly, following the chain of his dog tags to his neck, his chin, his eyes. A slight blush had spread on his cheeks.

“Hey.” He sounded as ruffled as you felt.

“Hi,” you replied weakly. “I …”

Your mind was blank, devoid of all coherent thought.

“Can’t sleep?” Bucky offered and you nodded, even though you weren’t even sure anymore what force had brought you here in the middle of the night.

You looked down again, stopping yourself at the scars on his left shoulder. You’d never seen them up close. He’d never allowed you to, no matter how badly he was bleeding. Bucky tensed when he noticed your transfixion.

The scars trailed towards the center of his chest like they were pointing at his still beating heart, red and harsh and beautiful. Proof that despite everything, he was still alive. Despite everything, he still chose to be better, no, to be good every day.

It brought tears to your eyes.

“Does it hurt?” you asked, not daring to look at his face.

“Yeah,” he said, because he knew you’d call him out on a lie. His voice was rough around the edges. You wanted to wrap it in the softest linens. “At night, mostly.”

You’d usually tell him the reason for that, the medical explanation, but your brain was still empty. Bucky just stared at you, waiting. You drew a shuddering, deliberate breath.

“Today was bad.”

He took a step to the side and let you in.

Alpine immediately darted towards you, running between your legs until you picked her up and pressed her against your chest, inhaling deeply into her fur. Cautiously, you followed Bucky through the hallway to where he wordlessly held another door open for you.

You’d been to his bedroom before, to watch movies or to just spend time with each other when you both had nothing else to do, but this … this felt different, somehow.

You rolled into a tight ball on his bed, careful not to take up too much space as he crawled in next to you and pulled the blanket over both of you. It smelled like a gentle hug.

“Do you want to talk about it?” was the only thing he asked, and you shook your head. “Try to close your eyes.”

You fell asleep swiftly, contently, and when you woke up hours later, you found yourself tucked closely to Bucky’s chest, his metal arm wrapped tightly around you, warm from sleep. Alpine had curled up on your pillow, her fluffy tail resting on your head.

You smiled and snuggled closer.

***

His problem with the missions, he told you, wasn’t that you were going per se, it was that he wasn’t able to keep an eye on you at all times. Naturally, it was worse when you were assigned to leave and he wasn’t.

“I have a bad feeling about this one,” he murmured when he came to see you off.

“I’ll be fine, Buck,” you said lightly. He only hugged you more tightly, only letting go when Steve shouted his name for the third time. They had their own plane to catch. So you smiled at him. “Promise.”

He reached out to pull a piece of hair out of your face, his fingertips gently grazing your temple before he pressed a featherlight kiss to your hairline. You froze, staring at him with big eyes. Bucky took a step back.

“Just be careful, alright?”

You couldn’t do anything but nod, turning your head over your shoulder over and over again until you took the final step up the gangway. His eyes stayed fixed on you the entire time.

The second it went badly, when you heard your leg snap, you felt the regret of your own broken promise through the searing pain.

And then the world went black.

You came to when they pulled you out from under the rubble, your leg still twisted at an awful angle, your forehead warm and sticky. The way back had you going in and out of consciousness over and over again, only vague impressions sticking in your mind. The way your seatbelt was tugged just too tightly around your waist. The way the jet shook when it landed, and how you cried out because it meant your leg moved. The shouting outside.

When you woke up in the med ward, they’d already put you in plaster and disinfected your head. You blinked against the horrible white lights until you could make out Bucky in the chair next to your bed, still dirty and roughed up from his own mission, holding your hand tightly in his own.

“Your hands are very soft,” you said with a tired smile.

He shot you a weary glance, but didn’t let go. Instead, he just moved closer, helping you to sit upright. “How are you feeling?”

“Could be worse,” you said, wincing slightly when you tried to move your leg.

He was so careful when he sat down on the bed next to you, as if he were terrified of breaking you further. When he wrapped his arms around you, you noticed he was shaking slightly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t be,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours. “I just—when they told me, for a second I thought I lost you, and I couldn’t … I can’t …”

And something in you broke, the dam of butterflies seemingly exploding. You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes fluttering shut. “I need …”

You could feel Bucky’s unsteady breath against your lips. “Anything.”

So you kissed him.

His arms tightened around you when he answered your kiss with just as much fervor, as if he, too, needed to reassure himself that this was real, this was happening. He tasted faintly like dust and blood. You didn’t care.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging him closer, closer, until your need for air left you gasping. You had no intentions of moving away already, though. Neither did he.

“I’m fine,” you murmured between kisses. “I’m here.”

When you finally retreated far enough to see his face, your heart almost burst out of your chest.

Bucky smiled at you, as brightly as the sun, eyes incredulous and sparkling with happiness. You thought you’d never seen anyone look this beautiful before in your life.

And then he laughed, and you knew.

thank you for reading!! i'm currently self-isolating, so if you could be awesome and leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed this, that'd be absolutely grand. it'd be my social interaction of the day 💛 if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

#fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #marvel

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nicoletficlibrary · 1 year

Text

Keep your eyes on the road (aka an unexpected sex pollen adventure)

Summary: Honestly, this is what Bucky gets for not listening to you.

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ only. Oral sex while driving, sex pollen, sex in a car, bad language, Bucky desperately needing to bang. Also please do not try to replicate this unless you are in fact with a super soldier who has super reflexes, as blow jobs while driving should probably be attempted by super people.

A/N: Is this really my first time writing sex pollen? Yes it is. Is Bucky being needy and desperate kinda fun? Yes it is. Did I enjoy writing this? Yes I most certainly did. I hope you enjoy it too. ;)

*****

The thing is, you told him you didn’t feel like coming on this mission.

And you told him not to open that container with the giant blood red skull on it.

And you told him to to wear a mask.

And you told him to let you drive, but he shouted something about you being a passenger princess before unceremoniously shoving you in the getaway car.

So yeah. You told him all these things.

The thing is, Bucky fumes, glaring at the swerve of headlights advancing in his rearview mirror - he really needs to learn how to fucking listen.

“Shit, shit, shit!” He slams the accelerator to the floor and the car gives a sickening lurch. Beside him, you crack your head on the window, trying to buckle your seatbelt and swearing at the top of your lungs.

“Bucky what the hell’s the matter with you? Just drive.”

“I’m trying,” he snaps. He can feel the flushing prickle of sweat beading down his neck. Rubbing a shaking hand down his face, he blows out a harsh breath. “Why in god’s name is the heater on? Turn that shit off, I’m burning up over here.”

Craning your neck, you watch the headlights gaining. Fumbling for the Glock taped under the seat, you shoot him a confused look.

“The heater isn’t on, it’s freezing in here. I told Steve to fix it and he ignored me because he's a giant asshole.”

Eyes locked on the road, Bucky reaches blindly for the window handle, hurriedly rolling it down. A blast of cold air rushes through the car and he gulps in relief.

“Better, much better,” he mutters. He squints into the rearview mirror again, mentally calculating the time between headlights and taillights, when he feels a twisting wrench in his chest. It sends bursts of heat skimming under his skin, snagging every nerve along the way. A panicked whine slips through clenched teeth. Alarmed, you turn back and meet his wild eyes, sweat now pouring down his face.

“What the - what’s wrong? Bucky? Talk to me!”

When you grab his arm, he visibly recoils.

“No no no, don’t touch me, don’t - ah holy fuck, don’t touch me. If you do, I can’t - I’m gonna put the car in the ditch.”

“You’re scaring me Bucky, what is this?”

He says nothing, deep in thought as his brain runs through the mission on warp speed, trying to identify something, anything, that could possibly -

Wait.

Oh.

Crap.

It's like a sucker punch when he realizes.

“The gold dust that flew out of that container, did any of it touch you?”

“You mean the one I told you not to open but you did it anyway because you can’t follow directions? Bucky what is wrong, you need-“

“Answer me,” he snarls. In the dashboard glow, you see his face pale. He blinks rapidly, trying to focus. “Sorry, sorry, just - please answer. Did any of it get on your skin?”

Baffled, you shake your head.

“No. None of it touched me, it just hit you.”

Bucky nods, relieved.

“Good, okay. Okay. Think I know what this is,” he grits out. Another shudder wracks his body and he grips the steering wheel so hard it squeals in protest. “HRNE-75.”

Your response is a blank stare.

“Am I supposed to know what random letters and numbers mean?”

“It’s a stimulant.”

“Like caffeine?”

“No, like a drug.” You can hear him breathing faster. “Like a - like an aphrodisiac.”

Still a blank stare.

“What kind of aphrodisiac?”

“People call it sex pollen,” he says flatly. “It makes you horny. Like - really fucking horny. And it hurts like hell unless you do something about it.”

“Well, okay. We’ll figure that out when we get home, but for now - “

“I can’t - I don’t think I can wait until we get home,” he interrupts. Sweat soaks the collar of his shirt and he shifts uncomfortably, glancing down. Following his gaze, you can see his cock straining against his jeans.

“Jesus Christ. Bucky if you’re in pain, just pull over and let me drive, you can jerk off in the backseat.”

“We don’t have time to pull over, that fucker’s right behind us and if we don’t get us past Steve’s stupid check point, we’re gonna lose him and then the whole mission is wasted and I got sprayed by some bullshit horny dust for no reason and I’m sweating so much right now and I think I’m going to throw up, my dick hurts so fucking bad!”

His voice reaches an hysterical pitch and you press your lips together, choking down the laughter.

“Okay okay, I got it. So if you come, does that stop the pain?”

“Yeah, but doesn’t matter,” his shoulders slump miserably. “We can’t stop yet and I can’t jerk off and drive at the same time. Maybe under normal circumstances I could do it, I mean sure I have done that before because sometimes I get bored driving, but I just don’t have that kind of focus right now baby, I don’t.”

Tremors are rattling through his entire body now, as he fights for control. As he shifts his hips, unconsciously searching for some kind of friction to offer relief, an idea pops into your brain.

“Hey. Let me give you road head.”

His hands slip on the wheel and he double-takes.

“Wha - road head? Like - what does that mean? Like you’d give me a blow job? While I’m driving?”

If this were any other situation, you would tease him mercilessly for the way his voice squeaks, but you smother the urge. Plenty of time for that later.

“Of course. If it helps.”

“But you mean, you’re going to suck my dick? While I’m driving?”

“Love the emphasis on the important words. Yes, I’m going to suck your dick, while you’re driving.”

Bucky bats the idea around, debating whether you’re actually serious and whether he is probably definitely going to drive down a highway at - he checks the speedometer - 145 miles per hour, while you suck his dick. Another wave of heat roils through him and he stifles a groan. Glancing at your expectant face, he gives a shaky nod.

“You’re sure?”

Rolling your eyes, you unbuckle your seatbelt and scoot closer to him.

“It’s not a hardship Buck. You know I’m your dick’s number one fan.” Carefully popping the button on his jeans, you tug down his zipper and he pushes up his hips, struggling to help. The slight pressure on his aching cock already has him whimpering. “Just drive careful, alright? If I die because you wreck Steve’s car while I’m sucking your dick, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Bucky breathes. “Careful. Sure. Whatever you say.”

Grasping him firmly, you lower your head and take his dick all the way down in one smooth move.

“Oh my fucking god,” he shouts, eyes fluttering. “Sweet shit that’s good!”

He keeps one hand in a death grip on the wheel, while he places the other against the back of your neck, keeping you firmly in place. Bobbing up and down, your tongue strokes along the ridges of his cock and you feel him swelling impossibly thicker. Tightening your lips, you suck hard, dragging slowly up and he croaks out a garbled plea.

“Keep going, keep going, please keep going.” Beneath your practiced mouth, his entire body begins to vibrate and he grips the back of your neck tight, chanting desperately. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, holy fuck, I’m gonna come.”

He thrusts up, holding your head tight as he comes down your throat. When your fingers scratch along his thigh, his foot inadvertently pushes the accelerator harder. The car climbs to 155 miles per hour and above you, the sound of ragged panting fills the car.

Releasing his dick with a soft lick, you look up and Bucky chokes at the sight of your spit slick, swollen lips curving into a smile.

“That was fast. Feel better?”

He breathes a whispered yes, but you can still see the red flush still spreading down his neck. He swallows hard and grimaces.

“Helped. Definitely helped. Still hurts, but better,” he says faintly and you see his cock is still rock hard. “It’s okay, it’s enough for now, I appreciate the - “

Rolling your eyes, you lean down and take him back in your mouth. Slipping a hand between his legs, your fingers carefully cup the heavy weight of his balls, squeezing gently. The rest of his sentence fades, melting into a rush of fervent praise.

A luscious ache settles in your belly, feeding off the hot desire you feel sparking through him, at the filthy words you hear him whispering above you. If you weren’t driving down a pitch black highway at a completely inappropriate speed, you’d consider reaching down to take care of yourself, but since you’re already flouting the most basic rules of automotive safety, you figure you should keep your hands on Bucky’s balls instead.

Of course, that doesn’t stop you from rubbing your thighs together to try and relieve some of the pressure.

Bucky glances over at your movement, a deep growl rumbling in his chest at the sight. He didn’t think anything could make him harder at this point, but the image of you so turned on by giving him a blow job, does the trick. He grinds his teeth, dangerously close to just pulling over and saying fuck this ridiculous mission. Rubbing his hand between your flexing shoulder blades and slowly bobbing head, his rasping voice carves into you.

“Does this make you feel good? Doin’ this for me? Fuck me, wish I could help you out right now. You’re so damn good to me baby. Moment we stop this car, I’m gonna fuck you so good.”

With his dick buried deep in your throat, your enthusiastic hum of agreement vibrates deliciously and he struggles to keep his eyes on the road. Everything feels incredible. Your tongue curling around the head of his cock, sucking gently on the tip, before sliding back down. The way you swallow around him, the squeeze of your throat, so hot and slick and tight. It feels so god damn good and he’s close again, one more second -

The transmitter sitting in the console squawks to life, an ear piercing siren shocking you both from the lust fueled haze. You jerk off Bucky’s dick in a panic and he nearly screeches at the loss. Scrabbling with the device, he smashes the green TALK button.

“What?! What the fuck do you need, I’m busy.”

“Calm down there, speed racer,” comes Steve’s breezy voice. “Just letting you know we pulled the guy over. Turn around and come back so we can - “

Steve’s voice is abruptly silenced when Bucky crushes the transmitter with an easy squeeze of vibranium fingers. He flings the shattered splinters of plastic into the back seat and slams both feet on the brakes. The car fishtailes across the road, before skidding to a stop in a spray of gravel. Throwing it into park, he flips the lever under his seat and slides back with a mechanical thunk. Scrambling to pull his pants down all the way, he spreads his legs wide and takes his dick in hand. His eyes are dark, blown black when he turns to you.

“We’re safe. Get your pants off and get over here. Now.” he barks.

Grinning at him, you tug on your tac pants, shimmying easily from the stretchy black fabric and clambering into his lap. There is no pretense. Bucky lines himself up and yanks you down, filling your cunt in one rough thrust. You’re so wet, he slides in easy.

“God, Bucky,” you hiss. “That feels so good.”

He tugs on your shirt, pulling everything off until your breasts are bared. His mouth finds a nipple, teeth gently scrapping and tugging, greedily sucking the sensitive peak between his lips. He moves your hips faster, lifting and dragging you down on his cock over and over, until he jerks you down one final time, slams his head against the seat and comes with a long, guttural moan. Deep inside, you feel him pulsing over and over, until you can feel it dripping down your thighs, hot and sticky.

Head tipped back, he struggles to catch his breath and you can see his heartbeat jumping wildly at his throat. When he finally opens his eyes to meet your questioning stare, you can see.

His eyes are still dark.

“Need more?” You smile gently, smoothing sweaty hair from his forehead.

He swallows hard and then nods slowly.

Rocking your hips, you grind down on him and lean in for a deep kiss, sliding your tongue against his. Bucky gives a shuddering sigh, sinking back into the feel of your body rolling against his. Warm hands stroke lightly down your spine and you can feel the thick, heavy weight of him growing hard again between your legs. But waring with the pleasure, a nervous tension seems to grip him.

“Bucky. I’m not made of glass,” you admonish. Licking delicately along his earlobe, he mumbles a string of apologies and your lips trail down his neck, pressing a kiss against that fluttering heartbeat. “You won’t hurt me, I promise. Use me however you need. Make yourself feel good. Just make me come before you’re done. Deal?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he says, shivering uncontrollably at the heady combination of your cool breath and fiery words. “I can do that. ‘Course I’ll do that.”

His hands slide up your back and hook over your shoulders, his fingers splayed over your collarbone. He holds your body firmly in place, thrusting up into you and simultaneously rocking your hips forward. The angle is perfect and you moan at the feel, dizzy with desire as his cock rubs that spot inside just right.

The sounds filling the car are purely pornographic. Wet skin slapping, Bucky grunting with every hard snap of his hips. The feel of his calloused fingertips stroking up your belly, between your breasts, pressing divots into your skin. He stares up at you, his eyes heavy and hooded and utterly adoring, relishing the sight of you grinding your pussy against him. His hand slips between your legs, stroking over your clit, rubbing fast tight circles. He smugly drinks down the breathless gasps he coaxes from you.

“Bucky, I think - I think I’m - ”

The words falter when your hand slams into the car roof and your head falls back, eyes drifting closed. Lust slaps him hard as he watches you come, writhing above him, your voice cracking when you moan out his name again and again.

“That's it, there you go baby,” he whispers roughly. The vision is breathtaking. Stunning. He figures maybe he could get used to sex pollen and a perpetually aching dick if it means he gets to see you like this.

He was already close (again), but the pure pleasure in your face is enough to knock him over the edge. He buries his face between your breasts, pinching your nipple and licking over your skin and your fingers tangle in his damp hair. You hold him tight as he gasps out your name, emptying himself inside you one more time.

And this time, finally, you can feel some of the spring tight tension disappear. His skin is still hot, but the shivers begin to diminish. Rough hands still grip your hips, but it feels controlled. The manic lust begins to fade, leaving a smoldering fire in his chest.

Bucky tips a weary head back and meets your amused expression. A smile tugs the corner of his lips and he shakes his head.

“God damn,” he sighs.

Scratching your nails lazily along his scalp, he leans into your touch, humming like a contented, if slightly feral, kitten.

“Feel better?”

“So much better,” he murmurs. “Sorry that went completely sideways. Wasn’t really expecting that. Obviously enjoyed it, but still. Unexpected adventure.”

Pressing a kiss to his forehead you laugh.

“Next time, maybe don’t open the can with the giant red skull on it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

A comfortable silence settles. Bucky trails his fingers down your arms and you eye him thoughtfully.

“So, do you think they’ll come looking for us?”

“Maybe. Eventually. What should we do while we wait?”

There is a moments pause. And then you begin to roll your hips against him again and Bucky feels the electricity flare to life once more.

“We keep going.”

*****

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #smut #sex pollen #marvel

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nicoletficlibrary · 1 year

Note

Hiiii Loveeeeeeee

I am in LOVE with the Untouched AU..

and i was wondering, would Bucky ever suggest maybe some anal play?

maybe he brings the idea up to you, and you think he’s talking about your ass and when he sees you get all panicked he’s just “no no no, bubs, i wanna play around with mine”

maybe start with a plug… move up to fingers… then maybe a strap? 👀👀

I’m gonna see myself out-

18+

AY SEE YOURSELF BACK IN RN. I only changed a little here and there, build his curiosity a bit after some play time with you first. We love our inexperienced babies trying new things together. Also I didn’t mean for this to get this filthy or long and I deeply apologize for what you’re about to see if you decide to read this.

Warnings: anal play (f & m), M masturbation, use of toys, All the smut and fluff with switch!College!Bucky, as always I love him desperate, needy, feral and filthy all in one. His mouth is a warning cause I live for horny desperate Bucky’s dirty talking.

“Let me prep you baby” Bucky grabbed the bottle of lube, squeezing some onto his fingers. You shuddered while he hummed, his eyes trailing up and down your naked body while you laid spread out for him. Bucky had looked like a puppy when he first brought it up, too shy to even get the worse out until you some got it out of him and what he wanted to try.

He’d wanted this for a while. Whenever he was wrapped up in your wet warmth, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if he filled you up there. How tight it would be, what it would feel like, how beautiful you’d sound for him.

You felt your body heat up like it was on fire; no one had ever touched you there, fuck you hadn’t touched yourself like that there either. Still, you couldn’t resist how badly you wanted it too and there was no one else you trusted more than him.

You yelped at the feel of the cold gel, instinctively closing your legs while Bucky chuckled, his other hand soothingly rubbing your thigh, gently spreading your legs open again.

“It okay baby, open up for me” He rubbed gently circles on your tight ring of muscle while you felt your face heat up at the foreign sensation. “You feel okay?”

“Keep going James Please?” Your breath hitching in your throat feeling nervous. Bucky could feel you twitch against his finger, his cock jumping against his briefs.

“M’gonna go slow, okay? Breathe for me baby” He slowly breeched your hole with his middle finger, stopping at the first knuckle to check on you. “Still okay doll?” You nodded, gasping when he pushed in a little further, pulling back slightly, the muscles in your body tensed.

“Shhh, breathe, that’s it” He kept gently rubbing your thigh while he continued to gently push his finger in and out, “Relax for me sweetheart, doing so good for me baby, does it hurt?”

“N-no, feels good” You whimpered, the strange feeling slowly melting into something pleasurable when he went a little deeper, slightly curling his finger “O-oh fuck”

“Can I add another baby?” He continued to build up a comfortable rhythm till he felt your body relax, before he carefully slipped a second finger into you. You hissed at the slight discomfort which quickly went away with how gently he was being with you.

“You’re so tight sweets, don’t know if I’ll fit in you” He breathed out, his own heart racing at the way you were wrapped around his middle and ring finger, your pretty little moans making his cock wet. He couldn’t help but moan himself at the way your hips squirmed on the bed, the way your back slightly arched off the bed, the way your jaw was slack.

Angelic.

“Buckyyy” You whined, your eyes dropping to where he cockhead nearly poked out of the waistband of his briefs, hard and desperate for relief. You clenched around his fingers, needing to be filled by him.

“What is it angel”

“I-I’m ready”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, giving him grabby hands so you could slip his boxers off; it didn’t matter how many times you had seen him naked, he was always a sight to behold. He kneeled in front of you, having you sit up with him, pulling you into his lap for a moment.

“I promise I’ll be gentle but we can stop any time if it hurts you doll” Bucky cupped your face to make sure your eyes were locked with his, he’d never do anything that hurt you. “Promise you’ll tell me if you want to stop?”

“Promise bubba” You leaned up to kiss him before lying back down again while Bucky grabbed the lube again, spreading more on your ass before smearing it over the length of his cock. He gave it a few tugs before guiding you to on all fours, with your ass up and face against the mattress. The sight alone caused drops of precum to drip onto your skin. You bit your lip at the feeling of his blunt tip catch against your hole, rubbing the lube around more, his other hand resting on your hip.

“Are you ready for me baby?”

“Mhm” You wiggled your hips teasingly, both of your hearts beating erratically as he gripped his cock, pressing the head and starting to push inside. The second his tip breeched your hole, Bucky knew he was screwed, your sweet tightness nearly choking his cock and he wasn’t even fully in you yet.

“Oh god” his head was thrown back, your body sucking his cock in, “your ass is so fucking tight, what the fuck-”

“Buckyy” Your voice was muffled, burying your face into the pillow, clutching onto the sheets, your body squirming at the unfamiliar sensation.

“You okay sweets?” He stilled his movements, panting, his cock throbbing, desperate to spill into you. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to calm the way he was twitching but he had 0 control over how badly he wanted to-needed to- cum hard and deep inside you. “You want me to keep going?” You nodded, relaxing your body, slowly started to feel the stretch melt into pleasure.

“Breathe for me doll, relax for me” His eyes rolled back, hissing as he pulled back slowly before filling you up again. He set a slow pace, letting you get used to the stretch, his hands bruising your skin with how hard he was gripping you.

“You’re so so fucking right, I-holy fuckk” His voice dropped to a whimper, stroking up and down your spine, soothing the ache from his thick length. “You’re such a good girl for me baby, making me feel so good” His head was thrown back, jaw slack, how the hell did you feel so good. “Y/n…s’too sensitive, m‘ not gonna last baby”

“Its-it-s okay, cum for me baby” You were too turned on to care, the way he sounded was enough to make you feel satisfied. Your entire body buzzed with anticipation, feeling every throb and twitch deep in your walls, pulling him back in each time he pulled back.

“M’gonna fill this pretty ass with my cum baby, I can’t stop” He moaned louder, both hands grabbing your ass. “I-fuck it’s so tight, squeezing the fuck out of my cock doll, m’gonna cum okay? Fuck I promise I'll make you cum after but I can’t hold it right now-shitshittt I’m cumming, m’fucking cumming” You could feel him his warm cum pump you full, while he grinded his hips so he was still deep inside you, grunting each time more cum spilled from the tip.

“Oh fuck” Bucky whimpered, his pink cock overly sensitive and throbbing against his tummy as he slumped over on your bed, his body drained.

“You feel okay doll?” Bucky rolled you over, brushing the hair that clung to your face, kissing your forehead and checking to see if you were in pain. “Did s’good for me angel, does anything hurt?”

“M’okay” You whispered, your body still felt like live wire between the slight soreness you felt and your throbbing clit. Bucky smirked at the way you clenching your thighs together, crawling down you body until he was face to face with your dripping cunt. He placed a sloppy messy kiss onto your clit, tossing your legs over his shoulders.

“Time for me to take care of you babygirl”

A few weeks later

Bucky blinked, his unable to take his eyes off the video he had clicked onto, not realizing he was stroking his cock faster, breaths getting heavier. He wasn’t exactly new to porn but this was certainly something new to him. He knew people were into this, but he didn’t realize he’d be into it. Until now. He watched the girl wrap the guys thighs around her waist while she filled him up with a strap on, pumping his ass while stroking his cock. Bucky didn’t even realize he was moaning, feet planting on the bed, thrusting into his hand, blowing his load all over his chest, reality sinking in after his post orgasmic haze cleared.

He wanted it.

He needed it.

Bucky bit his lip, wondering how he’d bring this up with you, he knew you wouldn’t judge him but it still felt a little risky to bring up.

A few days later

“Sooo...”

“Spit it out Bucky, you’ve been hiding something all week” You playfully rolled your eyes while he let out the breath he was holding, sitting on the edge of your bed with you.

“I um...I saw something I wanted to try”

“Just tell me baby”

“Would you-would you want to try more anal play...with.me?” Bucky played with his fingers, his cheeks blushing furiously, “Like...you play with me?”

Your stomach erupted into butterflies, your pussy already starting to drip, why would you not want to try something that would make him feel good. You tilted his chin to look at you, kissing his nose softly, making him blush more.

“Is that all baby, you want me to play with you there?” You cooed, your thumb caressing his cheek while he shyly nodded. Bucky had always taken perfect care of you and you were more than excited to give him the same love, care and pleasure he craved so badly (you may or may not have already read up on how to please a guy there because curiosity had gotten the best of you while you were reading a spicy article)

You pulled him to lie down on your pillows, helping him strip his clothes off until you were both bare, kissing down his body while he felt his breath hitch his in throat, his leaky cock making a mess.

“Just relax for me baby” You whispered, taking his cock down your throat, licking up his precum before pulling off and running your tongue down his shaft to his balls. You moaned at his salty taste, rolling them against your tongue, smiling to yourself as he spread his legs further for you.

“Tell me if this is okay” You whispered, kissing below his balls, licking and pressing your thumb in soft circles around the area making his body jolt at the sensation. You smiled to yourself, applying more pressure.

“Fuck-f-fuckk” he could only contain his whines for so long, each time you licked and pressed against his perineum was too much, he needed you there. “Need you doll, need it”

“Open up for me baby boy” You cooed, your stomach clenching over the way his eyes locked with yours as he spread his thighs apart for you. You squeezed the lube onto your fingers, gently spreading it around his tight hole, loving the way you could already feel him clenching against your fingertips.

“Want it doll” He whined again, his bottom lip red from how much he’d chewed it.

Greedy baby.

“Shh, I’m right here baby” You pushed your finger in slowly, stopping at the first knuckle, giving him some time to adjust before going further. “You okay James?” You carded your fingers through his hair, stroking his forehead while he whined, his greedy hole begging for more.

“Feels good baby, more”

“More?”

He nodded, holding his thighs apart for you, letting out the breath he was holding as you pushed your finger in further, a throatily groan slipping past his lips.

“Oh fuckkkkk” He closed his eyes, relaxing his muscles so you could move faster, the feeling of your finger pushing in and out of him was unmatched. He moved his hand down to grasp onto his cock, squeezing the base so he wouldn’t cum too soon. “Can you-can you add another finger baby?”

“Are you sure Bucky?”

“Stretch me doll” He shuddered, desperate to feel full with your pretty fingers. You grabbed more lube before carefully inching inside him again, a deep satisfied groan dripping from his lips.

“That’s-fuck that’s it, fuck it feels good” Bucky started to lazily stroke his cock, barely applying any pressure because he knew he would blow his load. You licked your lips at the beautiful sight before you, his legs spread apart for you while he played with himself, with pretty moans he couldn’t contain. You wanted more though. You wanted to give him pleasure where he wouldn’t have any self-control or restraint.

“What if I-” You bit your lip, pushing your fingers deeper in him, crooking them slightly, pressing and stroking his prostate, and-

“OH FUCCKKKKKKK”

Oh he liked that.

“GOD FUCK”

He liked that a lot.

“YES”

“YESYES”

“Y/N RIGHT THERE, DON’T-DON’T FUCKING STOP”

You moaned at how sexy he looked, massaging his prostate, bending down to take his swollen cockhead in your mouth. Bucky grabbed onto the sheets, his legs shaking, he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to, the second your silky tongue licked over his slit, he was done for.

“IM CUMMNG FUCK”

Your eyes grew wide, swallowing the ropes of cum that kept throbbing out of his cock. You kept working your fingers faster to ride him through his high, gently suckling his tip to catch every drop.

“It’s-its soo sensitive-too sensitive-oh my god” Bucky was a babbling mess, whining when he felt empty again, his eyes still shut as he lay on the bed panting. You quickly cleaned your hands off, grabbing a damp cloth to wipe Bucky down as well, careful not to touch him anywhere where he’d be too sensitive.

“Bubba come back to me, are you okay?” You kissed his sweaty forehead, giggling over the way his eyes took a moment to focus again, his vision hazy. “Hi baby”

“Holy. shit” Bucky breathed out, his chest still heavying. “That was...shit” He chuckled, still reeling over the most intense orgasm he’d ever felt, it was almost an out of body experience and that was just from your fingers.

That started it. The absolute craving Bucky had for more.

You continued to use just your fingers with him, getting him used to the stretch, sometimes using two fingers and when he was very relaxed you’d even try three. Eventually you asked him if he was ready to try toys to which he immediately agreed too. All shyness disappeared the second the cool metal slipped into his tight hole; just when he thought fucking you couldn't feel better, this increased every sensation he felt but 100.

His orgasm nearly lasted minutes.

Bucky slept like a baby for the rest of the day, comfortably cuddled up in your arms.

He loved your fingers and the toy was nice but he knew what he really needed.

*****

“Are you sure about this Buck?” You tightened the straps of the strap on, the toy hanging heavy between your legs. Your pussy clenched over the way it was just about the same size as Bucky, your thighs a sticky mess just looking at the way he had his legs apart for you. You wanted to give him as much pleasure as possible but you also wanted to make sure it’d actually feel good and not hurt him.

“Very baby” He shot you a wink; he found your concern adorable and it just made his cock harder “I trust you angel”

Bucky reached over, grabbing the lube and spreading some onto his finger, rubbing it around his tight hole, and pushing his finger in with ease.

“See? All ready for you sweets”

You nearly whimpered at the sight of him touching himself like that, making a mental note to suggest mutual masturbation later. You spread lube all over the toy before spreading a bit more over him, your other hand stroking his thigh.

“You ready?” You pressed the tip of the toy against him, locking your eyes with his.

“I’m ready baby” Bucky lifted his legs slightly while you started to push the toy inside him, your eyes still connected with his. You both moaned together; nothing was more gorgeous than the way his head was thrown back against the pillows, his brows furrowed, a deep flush covering his skin.

“Oh god Angel what are you doing to me, FUCK” You could see goose bumps erupt over his skin, his nipples hardening, muscles pulled taut. You pushed the fake cock about half way in, pausing to let him used to the feeling, “You okay baby?”

“Yes, st-stretch me” Bucky groaned, his cock jumping against his tummy as you continued to slowly sheath yourself inside him, “Don’t stop, keep going, I wanna feel you fuck my g-spot baby”

You braced yourself, slowly moving your hips until you found a comfortable rhythm, thrusting in and out of him, watching in awe at the way he opened up for you.

“YEah-yeah like that, that’s it, good girl, fuck baby you’re stretching me s’good” The stretch was unlike anything else he had ever felt before, his ass pulling the toy right back in every time you pulled out.

“You’re so tight Bucky” You could feel the way he gripped around you, making you have to use more force to fuck in, his greedy needy hole begging for you to go faster.

“Yeah baby, you like stretching my t-tight hole huh? You like forcing my ass open for you? My pretty angel stretching my tight ass so good”

You were both moaning messes, desperate for different reasons.

“M’so wet, fuck Buckyyy” You whined, getting off at how much pleasure you were giving your boyfriend, every moan making your clit throb, your slick starting to cover your thighs.

“Shit, you like that doll? you like making me feel good?” He smirked at how focused you were, rolling your hips perfectly, wanting to make him scream. “Cause you’re doing perfect princess, see?” He took your hand, wrapping it around his aching length, giving it a few soft strokes before letting go and letting it slap against his tummy “So fuckin’ hard baby, swollen, it’s so god damn sensitive, I’ll blow without you touching me”

You swiped your finger over his soaked tip, sucking off the precum that pooled onto his tummy making him shudder, his cock throbbing again.

“Baby touch-touch my balls” He whined, nearly crying when you gave them a gentle squeeze, holding onto them as you continued to fuck him.

“You like that baby?” You panted, giving his cock a few tugs before focusing back on thrusting into him as deeply as possible, You angled your hips, gripping onto his legs to brace yourself, fucking him harder, the tip of the cock hitting his prostate.

Bucky hooked his hands under the back of his knees, spreading himself wider for you, his eyes squeezed shut, tears streaking down his face as you pounded him, your stomach flipping when he let out the most pornographic moan you’d ever heard.

“Oh FUCK I can feel it in my balls” Bucky could feel his balls throb, pulled tight to his body, spurts of precum starting to dribble down the sides of his stomach, onto the sheets. “You’re gonna make me cum baby, gonna make me cum without even touching myself”

You could see the ripple and tensing of his muscles, his cock swelling as you fucked him hard, barely pulling out, keeping it deep inside him.

“Babygirl, pound me, c’mon, I’m gonna make such a mess for you” He forced his eyes open, blown with lust and teary from how turned on he was, no one had ever made him feel this good.

“Make a mess Bucky” You moaned with him, not tearing your eyes away from his.

“F-fuck, s’good, it’s so good, I needed this, keep hitting my g-spot baby, pleaseplaseplease, push your cock deep in my ass baby, fuck I’m gonna bust” You could tell he was close, finding it hard to move, his body gripping onto you with a vice like grip, clenching and sucking the cock back in. “FUCK YES, Oh god m’gonna cum on your cock doll, c’mon fuck me fuck my ass till I cum”

You slammed into him, ignoring the way your pussy was screaming to be filled, your jaw slack at the way his cock bounced.

“I-I’M CUMMING, HNNG, HNNNGG FUCKKK” Thick ropes of cum burst from his sensitive head, covering his chest and abs without you even touching him, his own hands still holding his legs apart for you. “Don’t-don’t stop baby, fuck me till my balls and cock are empty, there’s so much cum, I can’t hold it”

Bucky had been reduced to a babbling mess, his head lolling to the side, tears soaking the pillow, his chest heaving while he continued to cum, his abs covered in his cream.

“Oh fuck why won’t it stop, fuck me slowly baby? Please? I want it, just-m’so sesntive, slow down a little” You cooed, gently thrusting into him, his length jumping each time you pushed in. You made sure you didn’t go deep this time, helping him through his high. “That’s perfect” Bucky panted, his eyes hazy as he gazed at you, his body limp while you hardly pushed in and out of him, your hand gently stroking his thighs while he cock slowly dripped.

“Fucckkk baabyy, look how much m’cumming for you” His legs dropped to his sides while he closed his eyes, completely drained. You carefully pulled out of him when his orgasm came to a stop, helping him clean off with a warm cloth and cuddling him close to you while he rested. You kissed his forehead as he nuzzled into your chest, humming contently.

“You’re so good doll, come here” Bucky shifted so he was on top of you, showering you with kisses. Your eyes grew wide as he spread you legs open, his cock already hard again, nudging against your pussy,

“James-

“shhhh”

“Oh fuckkkkk” You moaned, as he pushed his cock into your sopping wet hole, grinning at how wet you were.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyess @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy14 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @psychomanniac-blog @happyt0exist @emmabarnes @bethyruth @matchat3a @cjand10 @getwellsoontana @cherryschaos @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @ashenc-blog @buckybarnessimpp @potatothots @goldylions @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog @kingfleury @peaches1958 @spiderman-stilinski @peaceinourtime82 @gublur @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46 @lolawassad @almosttoopizza @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess @buckycallsmeaslut @kamaria-sweet-writes @charmedbysarge @xnorthstar3x @kryoee7 @alina02 @gh0stgurl @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club @eralen @perdidosbucky-yyo @clqrosmgc

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky barnes #marvel #smut

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nicoletficlibrary · 1 year

Text

One in a trillion

Summary: Bucky is sterile.

Or, so they had been told, that was basically what he was.

There was a one in a trillion chance of them ever conceiving, completely impossible.

And yet, a positive pregnancy test.

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Word Count: ~15k

Warnings: Pregnancy related sicknesses, blood, pregnancy related anxiety, talk of abortions, smut (only under the heading week 20 so you can skip that part if you'd like), lots and lots of fluff, protective Bucky

A/N: The long promised pregnancy fic. This was a true labor to write. Please let me know what you think!

Week 6 - Discovery

She stares at the test in her hands, disbelieving.

Something heavy floats up from her belly to rest heavily in the back of her throat, but she refuses to cry.

A little pink plus to change everything staring back at her.

What would Bucky say?

What could he say?

They had been together for years, linked at hip and heart, never separated for long. Was she not a bit jaded, she might call them soulmates.

They weren’t married, had decided long ago that it didn’t matter, they didn’t want to go through the ceremony of it. They were together and that was all that mattered, matched in soul and purpose.

A piece of paper proclaiming it to be true didn’t make it anymore real.

But marriage is different than a child.

A child is complicated. A child is something that they’ve never talked about, have never even considered. The possibility isn’t supposed to even exist.

Bucky is sterile.

Or, so they had been told, that was basically what he was.

There was a one in a trillion chance of them ever conceiving, completely impossible.

With odds like those, why bother with contraception? Why bother with pills and implants and condoms if they didn’t have to?

So they never talked about it. They never thought that they had to. Somehow, through everything they shared, adoption and being a parent had never come up either.

An absurd laugh bubbles up to her lips suddenly, they thought they knew everything about each other. And yet, this. This glaring hole of importance, this blind spot in their all knowingness of their universe together.

She paces the bathroom for minutes, maybe hours, her shadow chasing her along the tile under the glow of the overhead light. Eventually, she comes up short, staring at herself in the mirror above the sink.

Does she look different? Did knowing make one look so haggard with worry? He would be able to see her anxiety, but would he know the source?

Would some minute change in her biology reveal the truth to his enhanced senses? He was so watchful of her, so careful, surely he would look at her and know everything.

She turns from the mirror abruptly and goes to the kitchen, positive pregnancy test still clutched in her hand, gets a glass of water, and then leaves it on the counter to sit on the couch.

Sweat coats her palms, her thoughts racing and leaping to conclusions not reached by any kind of logic.

Would he think she cheated on him, with chances like those? Would he believe he’s the father, with chances like those?

He would believe her, she’s sure. Bucky has never disbelieved her in anything.

She’s still clutching the test between her fingers when the door to their apartment opens.

Bucky smiles at her as she swallows hard and meets his eyes, not returning the grin. There’s no point in hiding it, no point in dragging it out.

“We need to talk,” she whispers and his smile fades away, like the sun behind a cloud.

Bucky twists his fingers together, metal and flesh, and listens to the clock on the wall tick away the minutes of his life. It’s been three days since Y/N had told him she was pregnant, three days since she said she needed time to think, that they should both take time to think.

Three days since his heart dropped out of his chest, since he left to stay with Steve while she took the time she needed.

To think about what, he had been too afraid to ask, too consumed with guilt and panic. Guilt that this is his fault, panic that she won’t want him around anymore.

Maybe she’ll break it off with him.

Maybe she’s too afraid to tell him she doesn’t want that thing inside her, the thing he unknowingly planted there and left to fester.

Maybe she does want it, maybe she realized the taint of the father could not transfer to something that would also come from the pureness of her, sun drenched and overflowing with love. That even he can’t make a monster out of a new life.

Maybe she does want the baby, but maybe she doesn’t want him around, some deep buried maternal instinct already shouting at her that she’s chosen wrong, that he’s wrong to have a child with.

But she checks in with him once a day via text message, otherwise he would have lost his mind after the first day, worried, anxious, sick without her around in a way that screams co-dependence.

Y/N has never minded his clinginess and so he hadn’t worried about it. Not until this, not until now.

It was good while it lasted, he supposes, this time he was allowed with his heart, the love of his life, the very center of his soul. He should have known that he wouldn’t be allowed to keep her forever.

When has he ever been allowed to hang onto anything good anyways?

He’s always been the cruel universe’s plaything, his life a puppet on a stage.

“Have you actually talked to her about any of this?” Steve asks, his arms crossed over his chest, Sam mirroring him where he leans against the kitchen counter.

“She said she needed time to think,” he repeats, gazing down at his wrist, at the tattoo of her initials etched there in dark ink, tracking his metal thumb over it delicately. The miracle tattoo that they had been surprised stuck to him at all. He remembers the way she grinned at him, offering up her own wrist to the artist for a tattoo of her own.

“And I didn’t want to take that from her,” he finishes, blinking away the memory. He won’t take anything more from her than he already has. The look on her face when she had told him had not been one of joy, or even neutrality. Instead, fear had been written on her face.

Naked fear, terror, as she told him in a trembling voice, her hands shaking.

Bucky, I’m pregnant.

“And you took this immediately to mean that she wants to end things with you?” He looks up sharply, glaring at Sam. “I’m just sayin’. Did she actually say that to you or are you interpreting ‘needs time to think’ as ‘I want to break up’?”

“What else could she mean? Its my fault she’s pregnant and-,”

“Takes two to tango, Bucky.”

He shakes his head, squeezes his fingers until they go white and bloodless, until his bones start to ache. If he snaps his own wrist with metal fingers, how quickly would it heal? He releases his hand, blood stinging as it returns to his hand. “You didn’t see the look on her face, like she was staring down death. I didn’t think I could...I thought I was infertile.”

He pauses, and shakes his head, “Which is what I told her. She thought I was sterile. She probably would have never if she knew-,” Hotblooded anger traces a betraying finger through his chest, warming him from the inside out, “I didn’t think I could do this to her.”

I didn’t think I could lose her this way.

“We all thought that,” Steve agrees before a silence stretches between the three of them again. “Listen, I don’t think she would have...I love Y/N but I have to ask...I don’t want to suggest-,”

Steve stops, stares down at his socked feet, clearly not sure how to continue and regretting having tried to begin.

“Spit it out, Steve,” Bucky snaps, suddenly acutely aware of what he’s about to ask.

He sighs and bites the bullet, “It's just so unlikely, Buck. Is there any chance it isn’t yours?”

“None,” he snarls, the thing in his chest that bloomed protection and love rearing up, the thing that caged his heart waiting to pounce in a bout of defense. “Absolutely none.” She wouldn’t do that to him, she who wears love and devotion on her face like a beacon. Bucky pauses and reigns his anger in, blowing out a hot breath. Steve is just trying to help, he tells himself.

“I know her,” he murmurs. “She didn’t. Its just karma fucking with me again. Too good to be true. One in a trillion chance, and it happens. And now she has to make this decision, whatever it is. Because of me. I should have insisted we use condoms,” He pauses, watching for a moment as Steve’s ears go pink.

Sam rolls his eyes, “C’mon, man, this isn’t something you did, it isn’t fate, it's just something that happened. You gotta deal with it now, one way or another. Sitting around here, moping to us isn’t going to help anything and it really isn’t going to make her feel like you aren’t already jumping ship if she isn’t thinking about breaking it off.”

Bucky’s eyes jump away from Steve’s spreading blush to focus on Sam. “What the hell are you talking about, Sam?” He growls, testy and edgy, worried about Y/N more than he ever has been before, reverting back to the anxious, worried person he had been years ago. He hasn’t felt this anxious since he first met Y/N.

Sam softens a little, “Look, Bucky, I’ve seen how she looks at you, like you’re some kind of miracle walking. And while I don’t personally understand or share the sentiment at all, I don’t think she’s going anywhere.” He shrugs, “And if you’re here with us, you aren’t there with her. Maybe she needed time to think, but you don’t know about what. The longer you’re away, the more it might seem like maybe you’re realizing something too.”

Before Sam has even finished speaking, Bucky has grabbed his jacket and keys and is slamming Steve’s front door shut behind him.

Whatever she’s thinking about, he won’t let her believe she’s unwanted, that he won’t stand by her no matter what.

Bucky finds her on their living room floor sorting through their old photographs. He quietly toes his boots off by the door, snapping the lock into place behind him.

Some of the pictures are recently taken polaroids, printed cell phone photos, and professional shots, mixed in with pictures that the Smithsonian had given him a while back, old, faded, yellow. The Howlies, his mother and sister, him and Steve, Brooklyn, home.

One of the more recent polaroids features him lying in bed, arm slung over his eyes, grin peeking out from under his elbow. Sun is slanted over him, the sheet slung low on his hips.

It makes him a little sick to look at, his own happiness, what he must have looked like to Y/N when she took the photo. He remembers her naked and smiling, perched delicately beside him as she held the camera up.

He swallows thickly and starts toward her, purposefully heavy in his steps so he doesn’t startle her.

She has two piles going and for a moment Bucky thinks she’s picking his out of the stack, separating their things already, before he circles the couch and realizes he has no idea what categories either of the photos could be going into. He sits behind her on the couch, watching over her shoulder for a moment as she decides on the photo in her hands, a printed groupshot of Sam, Steve, and Natasha at a bar in Manhattan.

It goes into the left pile, on top of a picture of the street he grew up on.

He’s still frowning at the piles when she glances back and up at him. A smile shifts onto his lips almost immediately. He can’t help it, not when she’s looking at him like that, like he shifts the balance of her whole world, like he wrote the stars into the sky. “What are you up to, doll?”

She transfers a picture of the two of them together at the top of the Coney Island ferris wheel to the pile with the group shot. “Organizing. I want to hang up our pictures but some of them aren’t exactly...for the public eye.” To illustrate her point she holds up the next photo, a semi-nude pinup photo of her that had been a gift to him during their second year together.

She slides the photo on top of the shot of him in bed.

“Gonna put some of them up in the living room, the rest we’ll keep to ourselves,” she winks, a gentle smile on her face. The knot in his chest loosens just a little with the knowledge that she saw them together far enough into the future that she would bother hanging up their photos. “But hey, you’re back.” Y/N wiggles back so her side presses into his leg

“Think I wouldn’t, doll?” he asks, trying for lightness.

“Well,” she says, turning to face him fully, elbows on the couch cushion next to him, her eyes clear and curious. “You were gone for three days.”

Bucky presses his flesh thumb to the hinge of her jaw, tracing a path down her cheek before settling his thumb in the center of her bottom lip, delicate in all endeavors Y/N. “Ya didn’t ask me to come home. I was trying to give ya the space you wanted.”

She leans into his palm, settling her chin there and tilting closer, closing her eyes against his flesh so he feels the flutter of her lashes against his wrist. A tiny kiss is pressed to the pad of his thumb gently. The trust she places in him always manages to surprise him just a little, her whole heart given over to him without hesitation. “Yes, and you did,” she agrees. “You’re so frustratingly accommodating sometimes. But I didn’t want to tell you to come home before you were ready. I thought maybe you needed some time too. It's...a lot to take in. It’s a shock, I know. Neither of us expected this.”

A cold finger traces up his spine suddenly, an unnamed, unknown fear sinking talons into the fleshy, soft parts of his soul that Y/N has managed to pry open. Its stupid, he thinks, considering he’s one of the most dangerous people on the planet, but it never occurred to him that he could lose her to something that he’s done.

Bucky had promised himself he’d never do anything to make her leave, would never let anything take her away from him besides by her own will, would never let harm come to her, that he would protect and care for her as long as she allowed.

The one promise he had granted himself to believe he could keep, he had inadvertently broken.

The dread and guilt rise up again, and nearly swallow him whole, biting cold teeth into the meat of his ribs.

“I’d do anything you asked me to, darlin’,” Bucky leans down, pressing his forehead to hers, desperate for contact after days spent apart. “What did ya think about while I was gone?”

She reaches up to take his other hand, slotting their fingers together against the sofa. “I thought a lot about you, and how much I missed you. Thought about what we should do.”

He whispers her name, fingers tightening on hers carefully, shame clawing its way up his throat to settle heavily on his tongue. “Listen, doll, I-I swear I didn't know. I-we...everyone thought I wouldn’t be able to...if I had thought that there was even a chance I would have insisted we use protection. I should have anyways but-,”

But when one of you was sterile and you were only sleeping with each other, what was the point?

He takes a deep breath, squeezing her hand, “I just want you ta know I’m sorry for putting you in this position.”

“Bucky,” she says gently, pulling away from his hand on her chin to look up into his eyes. She searches his gaze for a long moment before something like understanding filters in. “Help me up?”

He immediately tugs her up from the floor, one arm circling her waist as she settles next to him on the couch, pressing herself as tightly as she can to his side, crossing her legs over his lap. Bucky nudges his nose against her temple, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin, relishing the contact, not sure if it might be ripped away. “Honey, do you think I...what? Blame you for this?” Y/N ducks her head, forcing him to meet her eyes as she slowly reaches up to cradle his face between her hands, thumbs sweeping over the shadows beneath his eyes. Bucky doesn’t sleep well without her anymore, the last few nights hell.

His silence speaks for him, betraying every guilty thought he’s had since she told him, every self-accusation and recrimination swirling in his mind for the last three days.

Eventually, when she doesn’t move, doesn’t look away, waiting patiently for a response, he nods slowly against her hands, averting his eyes but not able to make himself pull away, her skin against his is like air to a drowning man.

More than needed. Necessary.

He pats her thigh nervously where her legs rest in his lap, wondering if he’s about to have his worst fears confirmed.

“No,” she says, pinching his chin between her thumb and index finger, forcing him to flick his eyes back to her, demanding in that soft way of hers. She pulls herself closer to him, her other hand finding the back of his neck, forcing him to press his forehead against hers. Eye to eye, focused on nothing but him, she says. “No. I wanted to think, with a clear head, about whether I - about what would be best for us. For me and you. I’ve never thought about kids with any kind of seriousness and-,”

Bucky swallows, nodding against her as he smooths a comforting hand over her thigh, trying to calm her, trying to soothe himself too, tuning out whatever she’s actually saying, much too nervous to actually listen to her.

Maybe she hadn’t been thinking about blame, he thinks, but he was right either way - she’s thinking about her future now, about whether belonging to a hundred year old formerly brainwashed ex-assassin is really the best life choice she’s ever made. “You gotta do what’s best for you, Y/N,” he hears himself murmur from a distance, interrupting whatever she had been saying.

He winces at his own words. God, when had he turned into such a fucking mess again?

“Bucky,” she says, her voice a quiet demand, digging her fingers into the collar of his shirt to shake him gently. “I know where your head is at. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t take all that guilt and let it weigh on you. This isn’t something to bear guilt for, this isn’t your fault. This is something we did together. It's something we gotta figure out together. I just...I just needed to know what I really thought about it, without you around to cloud my judgement.”

He swallows around the gravel in his throat, focusing on the warmth of her curling around him, not letting him back down, not letting him retreat.

It’s exactly what he needs. No one else is able to manage him, and manhandle him when needed, like her.

But she said together.

They would do this, whatever it was, whatever he had missed her saying, together.

“Do I cloud your judgement, darlin’?” he manages to ask with a weak chuckle, tentative relief flooding him, drowning his blood in cottony warmth, together running circles around his mind.

She presses her nose to his cheek, one hand moving to cup a palm against his neck, “Yes, you know you do, dummy.” Y/N swallows against him. “Tell me where your head is at.”

“Though you were breakin’ in off, sweetheart,” he admits.

“Not yet,” she quips.

“Yet?”

She tucks herself under his arm, nestling close and Bucky obliges her by pulling her impossibly closer. “Never,” she corrects. “Never. Only if you really piss me off.”

For a moment, he’s reassured. This is a solvable problem, one they would work out together. She isn’t sending him off into the dark alone yet. “Well if accidentally getting you pregnant doesn’t do it, probably nothing will,” he snarks, self deprecating.

A smile unfolds against his neck when she buries her face there. Relief floods him at the feel of her smile against his skin, before she nips gently at the pulse in his throat. “Shut up, you ass.”

A laugh startles out of him. “Alright, darlin’.”

Bucky pulls away from her to meet her eyes again, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb, before he takes a deep breath and says, “Listen doll, I just want ya to know I’m not going anywhere, whatever decision you make. I’m not going anywhere, not unless you tell me to go.”

She glances down, taking his other hand in hers, pressing her thumb into the center of his metal palm, comforting despite the feeling being slightly removed from himself. “I wanna know what you want to do,” she says, almost shy about it.

He’s already shaking his head, “It’s you that’s going to have to be pregnant, Y/N. Or it’ll be you that’ll have to go through an abortion. You’re gonna have to do all the heavy lifting here, no matter what. It's your body, it's your health. I don’t want to take that away from you.”

Never, he could never do that to her. Not after everything that had been done to his body without his consent. Bucky would never demand anything from her.

“I know. Bucky, I know. I know you wouldn’t do that to me. But I still want to know what you think, even if we don’t have the same ideal situation in mind.” She smiles at him. “Speaking of health though, I spoke to Dr. Cho and Bruce about this. Nice to have such smart people on speed dial. Maybe you wanna hear what they had to say first?”

His brows furrow, mouth tilting down, wondering why she’d spoken with them at all. “Why? What’d they say?”

She gives him a tight smile, anxiety immediately returning with a vengeance, worming its way into his heart, choking the air out of his chest. “What, doll?”

“Well, I had a few questions about carrying if that’s what we decide to do. Because...I assume it won’t be a normal pregnancy,” she squeezes his hand, reassuring and warm. “And they confirmed and said that if I decide to carry it might be a difficult pregnancy. Might be,” she emphasizes. “There may be complications but they aren’t totally sure because…well because this has never happened before.”

The anxiety again already firmly lodged in his throat melts into dread, horror, a cold hand dragging it down into the pit of acid that is his stomach. Before he can ask she continues on, “Meaning that it might be high risk for me and for the baby. Because of the-because of the-,”

“Because of me. The serum,” he murmurs, unable to look her in the eyes suddenly. He may have passed it on to the baby, and by proxy Y/N.

You did this to her, whispers the cruel voice that makes him doubt, that still taunts him despite the years and progress he’s made, despite the man he’s become, the voice that he hasn’t heard in years, happiness eating away at it. You did this to her. You’re going to kill her just like they killed you.

“Yes. A little supersoldier could be a bit to handle. Though they’re not sure if it would even be an issue since there’s never been a super kid before. It’s also possible everything will be totally normal. Totally fine.”

She giggles, smiling a little, but Bucky can’t laugh, can’t think of anything other than the world ending, of losing Y/N.

All he can hear is Y/N saying high risk and complications like they weren’t earth shattering words.

All he can think of is the word might and how everything might be totally fine, but it also might not be.

“What would we need to do?” He asks, not sure why. He should just tell her no, that his opinion is to get rid of it and be done with it, that nothing’s worth the risk of something happening to her.

“Rest,” she answers calmly. “Lots and lots of tests, lots of doctor’s appointments. Minimal stress. Probably a strict, heavy diet.”

“Heavy?” His brain feels itchy, like there’s some thought he can’t quite pull at, a ribbon to unravel. A web spins out in front of him, too many threads to follow, all the possibilities in front of them. Complications and fears are certain, joy and wonder a thing that remained to be seen. Probably everything good he’s built would fall down around him, crumble into ash.

He’s never been a lucky man, so why would he be now?

“Lots of calories, I mean,” Y/N says easily, “Think about how much you eat compared to a normal person.”

Bucky nods, like this is a completely normal conversation for them to be having, like it wasn’t possibly life altering. Like her life wasn’t being drained away before his very eyes.

It's quiet for a moment, the only sound the noise of traffic in the street below. “I don’t want anything that puts you at risk,” he says suddenly, words spilling out of him in a violent torrent, words he hadn’t planned to say. “I don’t. I won’t tell you to do this, not when it could be so dangerous. God, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I never meant to hurt you. I-I don’t want to gamble with your life for this, for-,”

For what? A child?

Nothing was worth losing Y/N over, especially not something that was currently nothing more than a couple of cells.

Bucky starts to stand, wants to pace, wants to run, wants to put his fucking hand through a wall for always being his own worst enemy.

“Hey,” she grabs his hand before he can move away from her. “Buck. It's gonna be okay. I’m going to be okay. We haven’t decided anything yet. And if we decide to keep it, we will have the best care, the best of everything. You won’t lose me.”

His voice is hoarse when he responds, “You can’t promise me that.”

“No, but neither could any woman who’s ever fallen pregnant. And we’re much more privileged than most when it comes to medicine and resources. You know the whole Avengers enterprise is going to be involved once they find out.” She keeps a firm grip on his hand, her mouth a delicate frown. “But we’ve never talked about kids before. Do you even want children? Do you want to be a father?”

“No,” he grinds out, almost a snarl. “Absolutely not.”

But already there’s an image in his mind that he can’t seem to dispel, a future so distant and unlikely it might as well be a dream. A little girl that looks just like Y/N, soft baby giggles, birthday parties and holidays, tiny smiles. Y/N in a lower case font.

He shakes his head, wants the image gone.

Y/N shifts then, pushing him back into the couch, her knees bracketing his thighs. “Buck, look at me.” His eyes snap to hers, fondness and love and understanding staring back at him. Everything he doesn’t deserve. “Nothing is set in stone yet. We’re just talking and I’m okay.” Lifting his flesh hand, she presses a kiss to his wrist, to the place the miracle tattoo had stuck, her initials, the beginning and end of his story.

Bucky catches at her other hand, thumbing over her wrist where a matching tattoo rests, his initials written on her skin in tiny letters.

“C’mon. Humor me,” she smiles, kissing his wrist again.

A long sigh leaves him, his chest deflating when she leans her forehead against his own, her thumbs tracing the underside of his jaw when she cups the column of his throat between her palms. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” Bucky whispers against her, hooking his arm behind her back to draw her closer. “I helped take care of Becca when she was a baby, liked it even. Guess I did want them at one time, but then I got shipped off to war and it never mattered. I was never going to get the chance.”

“You have a chance staring you in the face right now, Barnes,” she says, stroking her hands through his short hair, feathering the ends lightly, tugging until he tilts his head back and she can look down into his eyes. “It’ll probably be our only chance. This way at least. It’s...apparently something close to a miracle that we managed this at all.” She smoothes her hands over his hair again, fingers nervous before she tracks her thumbs under his eyes. “So it's important we get this right. It’s okay to want this.”

Something clicks into place then, slots together in a moment of clarity. “You wanna keep it,” he says softly. “Darlin’ do you want to keep it?”

There’s a long pause, tension and worry thick in the air between them. Her mouth twists to the side, a pained smile. “I think I do. But I can’t do this without you. I don’t want you to hate me for this.”

Is she worried that he’ll leave? That it’ll change how he feels about her?

She’s his touchstone, the center of his galaxy. Nothing could change that.

“I’m with you, Y/N,” he murmurs. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Especially not when you need someone on your six.”

She would need more than just someone on her six. He would have to enlist help from Steve and Sam, Natasha and Tony. Bruce and Helen Cho were already a given.

Somehow, in the space of seconds, the idea is firmly planted in his mind.

They’re having a baby.

“But do you want this? Are you going to resent me for the rest of our lives if I want to do this? I don’t want things to change between us, because it's not worth it to me then either. You’re the most important thing to me.” Before he can even open his mouth, she’s pulling back and pointing a finger in his face. “Be honest with me, Bucky Barnes. We’re a team.”

He hooks his hand behind her neck, bringing her forehead back against his. “Yes,” he says with a sudden conviction, “Christ, doll, I’d follow you anywhere. I want what you want. I always wanna be where you are. I want to do this with you. It won’t change anything.” He pauses, “Fuck, I’m afraid but I’m with you.”

He holds up a hand when she opens her mouth to reply. “But I have a few stipulations.”

“Anything, Buck,” she breaths, some of the tension melting out of her shoulders.

“You always come first. Always. If it comes to that, we are choosing you. I won’t lose you.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay, honey. It won’t come to that but okay.”

“You have to follow every single instruction that we get to a tee.”

“Of course.”

“I mean it. No cutting corners, I know how you like to find loopholes around things.”

She grins, trying to hold it back, “So are we having a baby?”

He allows just a little bit of hope, happiness, to creep into his chest, the image of a baby girl with eyes the same shade as Y/N’s swaddled in pink back in his mind. “Yeah, Y/N. We’re having a baby.”

The way she smiles at him could end wars.

Week 9 - Fear

Bucky isn’t exactly entirely on-board with the pregnancy, she knows, not convinced it isn’t about to be the end of everything he holds dear. His uncertainty and fear are palpable in the weeks following their decision to keep the baby, eating up any room he might have in his mind for happiness or hope or excitement.

And he should be excited, at least a little. There’s a veritable miracle growing inside her, completely by accident. Something that should have been out of the realm of possibility for them.

But there’s still blame blooming between his shoulder blades that he can’t quite let go, guilt that he’s made a mistake, and a fatal one at that.

Y/N is determined to make him see the possibility, the good of the thing that’s happening.

“I’m going out,” she announces to a dozing Bucky, hand already on the doorknob, purse in hand. He looks peaceful stretched out on the couch in the afternoon sun, arms crossed over his broad chest. She almost feels bad for disturbing him.

He’s immediately awake and on his feet, reaching for his jacket tossed over the back of the chair. “Where-,”

“Alone,” she adds.

“Absolutely not, doll,” he growls. “No.”

She rolls her eyes at the alpha male attitude that suddenly guided his every move. While he;s normally protective of her, the instinct has gone into overdrive recently. “Yes, you dummy. It’s a surprise for you.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t need it. Forget about it.” Bucky snaps, voice still low and gruff. She wonders if he realizes what he’s doing. Y/N knows it's just how his worry has been manifesting lately.

She pouts at him, drifting away from the front door and toward him. She doesn’t fail to notice that he’s poised on the balls of his feet, as though to spring after her if she makes a run for it. A laugh tugs its way out of her mouth. “What can I do to convince you?”

“Convince me to what? Let my highly vulnerable partner go out alone?”

“Your age is showing old man.”

He rolls his eyes as she presses a hand to his bicep. “Seriously. This is important to me. You can’t keep me locked up in this apartment forever.” He doesn’t answer, clearly thinking that he could if he really wanted to. “What if I take another super person with me? Sam or Steve? Natasha maybe?”

“You would rather Sam and Steve go out with you?” He asks, fidgeting with barely suppressed anxiety, hands fluttering.

“Only because I’m picking something up for you, stupid,” she says affectionatly, trailing her fingers along the inside of his forearm, tracing over her initials on his wrist. His hands still almost immediately, stress easing out of his spine, lungs expanding to take a full breath. “It’ll be okay.”

He swallows and tugs her close, arms closing around her tightly, “You’ve been so dizzy lately-,”

“That’s what the assigned super person would be for. To catch me when I pass out,” she jokes.

Women normally experienced fatigue around week 9, but Y/N’s was extreme as was predicted. She sleeps much more than she used to, dizzy, disoriented and tired when she’s awake.

“Not funny,” he murmurs against her hair, but she knows he’s relenting, relaxing against the warmth of her body, against his need to please her. “Fine. Call Steve.” She leans up to kiss the line of his jaw, trailing her hand over his stomach, feeling the muscles clench beneath her fingers. “Thank you, Barnes. Maybe I’ll do something nice for you when I get back,” she winks at him.

Steve makes it to their apartment in 15 minutes, an amused smile on his face as Bucky demands, threatens, Steve to text him if anything happens, repeating her recent medical history, how she’s been feeling lately, that if he let anything happen to her Bucky would kill Steve himself.

“We’ll only be gone a couple of hours,” Y/N promises, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Please don’t worry too much.”

The look Bucky shoots her tells her that she’s just requested something impossible.

She giggles and grips Steve’s elbow, Steve shutting the door in his oldest friend’s face before he can start lecturing them again. “God he’s overbearing,” Steve gripes. “Used to be just the same with me when I got sick. He’s always been such a mother hen.”

“Yeah, that’s a good way to put it. You probably deserved the mothering though. You don’t know when to quit.”

“Gee thanks, kid,” he rolls his eyes, guiding her out onto the street where she directs him down the block.

“How likely is it that he’ll just follow us anyways?” She asks, looping her arm fully though Steve’s, leaning her head on his shoulder after glancing back at their apartment building.

Steve shrugs, tugging his baseball cap lower over his eyes. “Not high. He hates upsetting you and I think he trusts me to at least be able to monitor you for a few hours.”

“Thanks, dad,” she snips back at him, relishing in the way he rolls his eyes at her. Ever since she met Bucky, Steve has also become a permanent fixture in her life, much like the rest of the Avengers. Though it had been infinitely apparent when Y/N and Steve first met that Bucky was anxious for them to meet, almost like he was waiting for them to compare notes, waiting for a consensus from experts in all things broken to evaluate his worth, back when Bucky’s confidence could be best described as shaky.

Back when anxiety and nightmares were waking monsters, back when trigger words were to be feared.

But the consensus was still reached, Yes, Bucky Barnes is worth loving. The only conclusion that would ever be had.

She tugs Steve into the first bookstore they pass, quickly locating the pregnancy books. Her hope is that getting Bucky some pregnancy and child rearing books might help put him at ease, settle his racing mind.

If he knew, generally, what to expect over the entire duration of her pregnancy, then, she hoped, it might alleviate some of the worry he felt. Steve isn’t helpful in the slightest in selecting a book, but he does provide a soothing presence and catches at her elbow when a dizzy spell takes her and she sways on her feet, his hands firmly on her shoulders, asking if she’s okay.

Twice he dutifully makes her sit down, carrying over stacks of books for her to look through and discard instead. “Bucky would kill me if I let you stand the whole time,” had been his only comment.

After an hour, and a selection of three books, Steve suddenly speaks, breaking the silence between them, the crisp rustling of pages.

“He really wasn’t happy about this, huh,” She had been taking a break to rest her eyes, incredibly tired and only away from the apartment for an hour. Y/N blinks, watching Steve scan the shelves.

“No,” she agrees easily, sitting up straight and rubbing her eyes, “He never is but especially not these days. Bucky’s very good about knowing when he’s being too overbearing and I’m good at compromising. Just protective of me I guess.” She hands Steve a pink book, some kind of new age thing for overly anxious expecting parents. “What do you think of this one?”

Steve tucks the book she offers under his arm without looking at it. “Seems good.” He looks to be working himself up to say something and so she waits, resting her elbows on the arms of the leather chair she sits in. “No guessing about it, is there?” He meets her eyes, “He’s crazy about you. Has been since he met you.”

Embarrassment wiggles in her belly and she has to look away. “Think so? I’m pretty gone for him too.”

“Yeah, not really any mistaking it. And for the record,” he clears his throat, a little awkward suddenly, “I’m really happy for you guys. I know how he can get but he’ll come around to seeing this as a good thing, a hopeful thing. Like with everything, he needs an adjustment period.” He pauses, “Never thought this would happen...didn’t think it was even possible but, if it happened to someone I’m glad it was to you and him.”

She looks up, meeting his gaze, “Thanks, Steve. Means a lot coming from you.”

“C’mon,” he holds out a hand to her. “I’ll take you to lunch and get you back to mother before he has an aneurysm.”

Steve insists on paying for the books, despite it being her idea, her gift of a path to solace and peace for Bucky. But he seems to be trying to make up some slight to her that she can’t even begin to guess at, and so she lets him.

When they return to the apartment after a quick lunch, Bucky is pacing the living room, eyes landing immediately on the books she and Steve carried as soon as the door opened, head cocking to the side.

He devours them in hours.

Week 12 - Morning Sickness

She’s still leaning over the toilet, throat burning, empty stomach clenching around nothing, when she hears the front door open and close, shoes being kicked off.

The purposefully heavy footsteps of Bucky Barnes tromp down the hall, the sound comforting in its own right, tension bleeding away from her shoulders where she’s slumped on the floor.

The bathroom door creaks.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky says softly, squatting down next to her as she closes the lid and flushes the toilet. His brows are drawn together in concern as he reaches out to touch her cheek, the back of his hand dragging over her forehead, surreptitiously checking her temperature.

Y/N immediately seizes his other hand and presses it against her forehead, sighing at the feel of the cool metal against her clammy skin. Nearing the end of her first trimester, she has to wonder how much of her raised temperature can be attributed to just being pregnant versus some kind of serum kicking around inside her.

Her temperature is never high enough to be considered a concern, just high enough for her to always be overheated and shivering, just high enough to make Bucky fret.

“How ya feelin’, baby?” His voice is gentle.

“Fine,” she murmurs, eyes falling shut as Bucky’s flesh hand tentatively moves from her forehead to her belly, pressing softly to the tiny beginning of a baby bump. “Really I am. Better now, just a little tired,” she says, covering his hand with her own, trying to reassure him with a gentle squeeze.

“Sure? Sorry, honey, shouldn’t have left ya here alone.”

She scoffs, peaking an eye open at him. “You were only gone for fifteen minutes.”

He has only gone down the block for coffee.

“Long enough, doll,” he says, fully settling beside her on the floor until she’s ready to move.

Bucky moves his hand away from her, dragging her shirt up a little to trail protective fingers over her belly again, brows knitting together. Sometimes she has to wonder how much he can tell just by touching her. She knows he can feel her heartbeat with ease, maybe he senses other things too. “I’ve been thinkin’...maybe it would be better if we moved into the compound for a bit, just ‘til you aren’t sick all the damn time.”

She’s already shaking her head, hates the idea. “Might be like this the whole time, Buck.”

“Even better we get a move on now.” His tone is light, joking, but she can hear the worry underneath, the ever present anxiety that something was about to go wrong.

Things had gotten better after Y/N bought him the pregnancy books, some of Bucky’s anxiety melting away, replaced with cautious hope and vicious protectiveness. He felt better, she could tell, knowing what symptoms to expect when, and what remedies could help. He had begun chatting regularly with Bruce and Helen about what may be exacerbated by the serum, by the baby.

While Bucky’s normally protective of her, the possessive careful nature he harbored has only grown stronger. It would almost be overbearing if she didn’t find it so endearing, and maybe just a little bit hot. Something inside her preening that he chose her, that he’s only ever like that with her.

He’s become almost primal in his obsession with her, with caring for her.

The first few weeks hadn’t been so bad as he adjusted to the idea of a baby and obsessively read the books she had gotten him. It had been a good transition period, no changes to her body affecting her just yet.

And slowly, he came around.

Asking her about her diet, about vitamins, about when they should start seeing an OB. She catches him speaking to her still non-existent baby bump more and more, when he thinks she’s sleeping. Everything she does becomes carefully cataloged. What she did and for how long, what she ate and when, if she exercised, how she felt.

As soon as she developed morning sickness, as soon as she started sleeping more, fatigued in a way she had never been before, all bets had been off.

Some strings had been pulled, likely by Tony, and she quickly found herself the patient of the best OB/GYN in New York. Y/N suspects part of the enthusiasm of the doctor taking her on as a patient might stem from the fact that she’s carrying the first and possibly only supersoldier baby.

Bucky had recited information about her habits that she hadn’t even realized he noticed or noted, anxiously listing off questions that hadn’t even occurred to her during their first appointment.

She hates the appointments, if for no other reason than they’re annoying and time consuming. Most women only went once a month during the first trimester, but she was not to be so lucky.

Bucky’s already such a nervous mess that she agreed to go once every two weeks, if only so he’ll settle, stop fluttering around like a nervous bird for at least a couple of days.

And that was before he suggested that they also see Bruce or Helen once a week, to make sure absolutely nothing is missed, that there’s as little risk as possible. “Besides,” Bucky had said, patting her knee gently as she scowled out the window of the car on the way back to their apartment from the compound, “they specialize in people like us. If someone’s gonna catch somethin’ wrong with you or the super kid, it’ll be them.”

“I just hate being poked on so much,” she sighed, rubbing at the inside of her arm where several needles had been stuck over the last few hours. “And I’m not special.”

“Sure you are. Likely you’ll feel the effects of the serum a little, since you’re having more severe symptoms. And I have something that’ll help with that bruise, doll,” he had said, worryingly rolling up her sleeve to examine the discolored spot, one hand still on the wheel. He had frowned, “Looks like it's already fading?”

“Maybe the supersoldier juice is helping for once,” she had said, patting her belly. “Instead of making me throw up.”

Bucky had looked a cross between stricken and amused. “Maybe.”

Now, though, on the bathroom floor at the end of her first trimester, she shakes her head, “No. I’m comfortable here. I don’t want to be at the compound all the time.”

“You’d be monitored around the clock-,”

“Pretty sure I already am.”

“Ha,” he deadpans. “Seriously though, Y/N, maybe we should think about this. There’s better security. You could wander off and I wouldn’t have to worry. Medical facilities literally down the hall.”

“More people,” she counters. “And they’ll all have so many questions and want to touch me, especially when I start to show…”

She trails off, watching his eyes go hard, that protective edge swimming in the blue. “Nice try,” he says. “All I’d have to do is make an example of some poor junior agent and everyone would know better.”

“And scare off all my friends.”

He groans, frustrated. “We’ll table it for now.”

“Good, now help me up,” she holds out her hands and Bucky immediately stands to tug her up gently, hovering in the doorway as she washes her hands and brushes her teeth. When she finishes and turns she can tell Bucky hasn’t tabled the issue at all. “What?”

He swallows, fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “Look, darlin’, it may not seem like it lately, but I really am trying not to go completely psycho overbearing on you but...you’ve lost weight when you really should be putting it on, especially considering the extra calories you’re supposed to be getting.”

She grips the edge of the sink behind her where it presses into her back, “But I’ve been sick too-,”

“Then maybe you aren’t getting the-the nutrients you need!” It’s almost funny, if it weren’t for the anxiety radiating from him. He scrapes his hands through his hair, pacing in and out of the bathroom door. “I mean I - are we - am I doing something wrong?”

Y/N steps forward and captures his hands, stopping him in his tracks. “Tell me what you’re worried about? What specifically?” He opens his mouth to answer when she continues softly. “I need you to relax just a little bit, baby. We should be enjoying this time. My morning sickness should be going away soon. I’m fine, we’re at some kind of doctor at least once a week, they haven’t missed anything. I don’t want you to look back at this time and remember it badly.”

“Maybe-,”

“James,” his eyes snap to hers. “No. Everything is okay.” She pats his hand, “If anyone was concerned, we would have been told. Really, the morning sickness has been bad, but nothing that some women don’t experience anyways. We - me, you, and baby - are all okay. I promise.”

He still doesn’t move out of the doorway, running his hands through his hair as he sighs, mussing it until it stands up in little tufts. “I’m sorry, doll, I’m just so...this is something I don’t know anything about. Y’know I’ve stared down death more times than I can count and nothing has ever scared me like this.” He pauses and looks as though he wants to reach out to her but doesn’t. “Look I’ve just...I have this idea in my head now, of what the future is going to look like. Me and you, and a baby. Everything just feels so fragile and I’m doing my best not to be the one to break it.”

A soft coo leaves her, completely unbidden, as she steps forward and wraps her arms around him. “You aren’t about to break anything. We aren’t breakable.”

He presses his hand to her stomach again, “No, but you are. That’s what’s making me so crazy. And I can’t do anything about it. I can take down terrorist organizations but I’m powerless in this,Y/N. I don’t like feeling like...like you and baby could disappear.”

“Bucky, honey, I have news for you. You are going above and beyond. We’re okay. It's not time to worry yet. I’ll let you know when it's time to worry.”

Week 20 - Cravings

Midway through her pregnancy she finds she’s ravenous, hungry for everything. And Bucky is more than happy to provide for her, pleased that she’s eating enough.

He’d read somewhere that five small meals a day was the best method to keeping a consistent flow of calories, and so that’s what they do.

Bucky cooks and she’s more than happy to eat.

He manages to keep everything healthy and high in calories. And it all tastes fucking fantastic.

“Have I ever told you I love you?” She asks with a moan from her place on the couch, balancing a plate on her belly, larger than it should be at this stage in her pregnancy. Their baby is apparently growing quicker than a normal child would, and the conversation had started to come up at their appointments about the possibility of an early induction, or a scheduled c-section for both her safety and the baby’s.

Surprising everyone with how far he’s come, Bucky had only nodded and squeezed her hand. Listening intently but not worried.

Bucky turns from the sink to gaze at her, smiling. “A couple of times I think.”

She pouts, “And you aren’t going to say it back?”

“I love you, Y/N,” he answers immediately, placing the last washed dish on the rack to dry. “You done with that?”

“Yes,” she sighs contentedly, leaning her head back against the couch, a different kind of hunger growing in her now that she’s eaten.

She feels Bucky take the plate, his flesh hand tracking over her forehead gently, checking for an abnormal temperature. Satisfied that she’s at her normal overheated temperature, he moves away quietly, clearly thinking she’s about to fall asleep.

Cracking an eye open, she watches him at the sink again, broad shoulders hunched as he scrubs her dish, muscles coiling in his flesh arm. A smirk pulls at her lips as she stands with some effort and creeps close to him.

“You know, darlin’,” he says without turning, “ta me you’re about as quiet as a bull in a china shop.”

She frowns at his back. “Can’t you pretend for a second?”

He snorts and shrugs, “Anything for you, doll.”

So she resumes her creep to him while trying not to laugh. Pausing behind him she goes completely still and holds her breath.

She wants to be able to sneak up on him just a little bit but when he starts to turn with a frown she knows she’s worried him instead. Y/N wraps her arms around him then, squeezing his sides gently, Bucky giving an exaggerated jump for her benefit.

“Did I get you?”

He chuckles, “Suppose so. Please don’t just stop breathing though, Y/N.” He presses his hand over hers where it drifted to his stomach.

“I can feel you flexing,” she accuses, digging her nails into him a little. “You already know what I want so that’s playing dirty.”

When he turns and cradles her face between his palms he’s already grinning. “You’re just so predictable these days, baby. Need me ta feed you and fuck you.”

“I could manage without you, Barnes,” she grumbles, trying to pull away, not appreciating his teasing suddenly.

“Uh uh,” he hums, “don’t do that, Y/N. Its hot as fuck, baby.”

She tries and fails to hide her smile. “Even all round like this,” she runs her hands over her belly.

His gaze darkens just a little, biting his lip as he gazes at her, “Especially now.”

Desire suddenly floods her, need invading every cell of her body. “Help a girl out then?”

Bucky sweeps her up in his arms easily to carry her to their room, kicking their door shut with one foot before he deposits her on the bed carefully.

“Easy,” he says, keeping her in a sitting position at the edge of the bed, “you’re not supposed to be lying on your back.”

She rolls her eyes, and tugs her shirt upwards, struggling with the fabric, “Just take your clothes off, Barnes.”

Bucky barks out a laugh, kneeling in front of her instead to nudge her up so he can tug down the sweatpants she wears. She stares at the top of his head, the slope of his nose and angle of his brows. She wants to reach out and stroke his hair but she’s still struggling with her bra clasp. “Are these mine?” he asks, slipping the sweatpants off one ankle at a time.

“Mine don’t fit anymore, ass,” she says. “You feed me too much.”

“I was just going to tell you how sexy it is, ass,” he murmurs back at her, tugging her panties down next before he stands and steps back. “I like seeing you in my clothes,” his voice comes out as a growl that has his ears immediately turning pink.

The bra finally slips down her arms and she tosses it to the floor. “Maybe I like how possessive you can be,” she says, raising a brow.

His pupils are blown wide as he looks at her, lust darkened, lashes concealing the depths of his eyes.

She bites her lip, trying not to feel self conscious as she leans back to balance on one hand and spreads her legs, her other hand dipping between her thighs with a soft whine. “Don’t leave me high and dry here, Buck. I wanna see you.”

The blush spreads from his ears to the tops of his cheeks. He looks absolutely adorable.

Bucky peels himself out of his shirt, tossing it to the ground before reaching for the zipper of his jeans. Her mouth waters, watching him strip out of his clothes, watching golden skin and taut muscle appear.

While he’s busy with his boxers she moves to kneel in the center of the bed, wobbling a little as she settles back on her calves, a warm hand reaching out to steady her. “Careful,” he murmurs.

“Always,” she whispers, eyes trailing down to his half hard cock as she licks her lips. “C’mere.”

He joins her on the bed, pressing his lips to hers, lets her push him down so she can straddle his hips. She digs her fingers into his chest, hooking one finger into the chain of his dog tags when she grinds down on him.

Pregnancy has sent her libido through the roof, what Bucky had said was true. All she wanted to do was eat and jump his bones.

She grinds down onto him again, sighing, her pussy already wet just thinking about how well he would fill her.

“Lookit you,” he says, hungry hands trailing over her widened hips, her belly that’s just big enough to be considered a proper baby bump, her swollen breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart.”

“You too,” she murmurs, leaning over him to kiss him, to kiss his pouty mouth. “So pretty.”

He chuckles against her, fingers trailing down to press between her thighs, slipping through her folds. “You’re so damn wet for me.” He drags one hand up her spine, cool metal fingers coming to rest against the back of her neck, bringing her closer as he dips one finger into her dripping core.

She whines, his thumb only barely brushing her overly sensitive clit.

He teases her entrance with a second finger before slowly pushing into her, curling them to seek the place inside her that makes her see galaxies. She sighs against his mouth, trailing her palms down his chest and over his nipples, balancing on one hand so she can tug his hand away from her cunt and kiss him at the same time.

“Want you to fuck me. Don’t need anything else,” she whispers against his neck. “Please, baby.”

Bucky brings his fingers up to his mouth to suck clean with a groan. “Don’t think so, doll,” he murmurs. “I think you should come on my fingers first.”

She licks her lips, gaze fastened on his pretty pink lips, the same color high in his cheeks. So pretty and warm, the color of a summer sunset. She leans down and brushes her nose against his cheek, inhaling the scent of his skin, clean, like city rain and smoke, lustful, like arousal and cooper tinged blood.

They would have a strong baby, she knows, because whatever filtered version of the serum that’s managed to affect her these last months is rather heavenly. She can smell so much more, taste more, feel more.

It’s good for moments like these, when she can feel everything he does to her in hypersensitive reality, horrible when the new blanket he buys is scratchy and she can’t explain why and it makes her cry.

She especially loves how he smells, and doesn’t know how she’ll cope when it goes away.

Now though, she doesn’t want to listen to him. Not in the slightest. She doesn’t want his fingers, she wants to feel the heavy drag of his cock inside her, wants to feel so connected to him she can’t bear the thought of being separated, so close she thinks she can see what his soul is made of.

She needs him buried deep inside her, wants to consume him and be devoured in turn.

With a grunt, she sits back and snatches up both of his wrists, shoving them back above his head with a huff. “No.”

When she meets his eyes, they’re wide, pupils dilated so far the blue has almost entirely disappeared. “Jesus Christ, doll,” he whispers.

“What?”

“What? You shouldn’t have been able ta manhandle me like that.”

She scoffs, “You let me do that.”

“No. I promise you I didn’t.” He smirks, “That’s hot.”

“Oh,” she whispers, giggling a little with the new found gift. She squeezes his wrists, “This okay?”

“Fuck, yes.” His voice is husky. “Yeah, this is perfect.”

She laughs louder then, releasing his wrists. “Just want you. Nothing else. Please.”

“I’m inclined to burn the world for you right now, honey. I’d bring it to its knees for you.”

She’s so glad in that moment, that he’s back to himself, that the anxious mess he’d reverted back to at the beginning of her pregnancy has melted into the man she knows. “You know,” she whispers, pressing her forehead to his as he grips himself in one hand and guides himself to her entrance. “I’d do the same for you, James Barnes.”

He grips a handful of her ass, then guides her down with a hand on her hip.

A breath leaves her when he’s fully seated inside her, so deep it's a little hard to breathe. She sits back and swirls her hips, Bucky's hands roaming up her body to cup her breasts roughly. A shuddering sigh makes her eyes flutter back. Even with her heightened temperature he still feels so warm to her, like he’s burning her from the inside out.

He pinches her nipples, rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers, urging her on.

Y/N moves in earnest then, rocking her hips against his. Bucky groans and digs his heels in to meet each thrust, slamming into her, making starbursts cloud her vision. He feels so good inside her, drags against her walls in the most delicious way.

She tries to extend the moment, make the full feeling last, but as soon as Bucky’s fingers touch her swollen, sensitive clit, she feels her walls contract around him. She tries to clamp down on the feeling but her orgasm is already washing over her in a hard wave, a wild moan passing her lips that only makes Bucky thrust harder into her, chasing his own high.

He sits up suddenly, holding her close to his chest, whispering, “Move, baby, c’mon, move, ‘m so close, sweetheart. Please,” he begs.

She can’t deny him anything so she does, sloppily moving her hips against him until he spills into her, shaking hard, one large hand splayed across the small of her back, the other pressing against the back of her neck, keeping her nose buried against his throat.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispers, biting lightly at her pulse point before knocking a kiss against the side of her head. “Like you were made for me, honey.”

“Don’t move,” she whispers, burying her nose against his neck, inhaling the heavenly scent of him again and again, filling her lungs.

He chuckles and shifts, his cock still heavy inside her. “It's more than just strength, huh? This why that blanket was so upsetting? ‘S okay. I get it. Everything can feel harsh.”

She sighs contentedly, only answering, “You smell so good.”

His only answer is to tilt his head back.

Week 28 - Baby Shower

Steve and Bucky are still carrying boxes into their apartment when Y/N collapses onto the couch with a groan, closing her eyes as the tension comes off her back.

“Hey,” Bucky says, immediately abandoning Steve by their front door to kneel next to her, “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t sound panicked, worried sure, that would never go away, but not like he was about to demand that they go to the hospital right that moment.

“Your kid is kicking my ass,” she moans into the pillow.

Bucky chuckles, stroking his thumb over her cheek. He presses his other hand over her belly softly. “Quit kickin’ your ma,” he says.

The thumping against her ribs immediately abates and she takes a breath, eyes fluttering shut. “Thank you.”

“Lemme get the rest of these boxes, sweetheart. And then I’ll take care a’ you,” Bucky says with a laugh, lips ghosting over her forehead.

“Baby doesn’t like being away from you,” she murmurs, covering Bucky’s hand with her own. “That’s what I get for letting you talk to my belly all the time.” They had been separated by duty at the baby shower for most of the day. Still, it’s almost painful to be separated, even if they were still in the same room. And clearly the baby doesn’t like it.

He laughs again, kissing the top of her head before following Steve back down to the street where Nat waits with the car.

The door snaps shut and she finds herself alone for the first time in weeks. The apartment is warm with spring air, with the scent of new life.

She stands with some difficulty, larger than she should be at this stage.

Knowing she’ll give birth early scares her more than she lets Bucky realize. Anxiety makes her head swim with possibilities, of not knowing when it would happen or how, of not knowing if the birth would be more difficult than is usual. How painful it would be.

Despite all Bucky’s worrying and fears, her pregnancy has been relatively normal, her symptoms more exaggerated maybe, but nothing she couldn’t handle, especially when aided by the serum.

It was likely the only reason the baby hasn’t broken one of her ribs.

Other fears were creeping in now too, the closer to the end that they got.

When she wasn’t pregnant anymore, would Bucky still look at her the same, be as on-board with having a child as he is right now? Would the sleepless nights and difficult days make him drift away? Would he still find her attractive?

She shuffles down the hall, trying not to let the niggling worries consume her, murmuring to her belly as she waddles along, one hand against her back. The door to the nursery is open, the walls a calming pale yellow. There are still tools on the floor from where Tony had been upgrading some kind of advanced baby monitoring system and security.

Almost everything is in place though, everything draped in shades of gender neutral sunshine and mauve brown. They had decided to wait to find out the sex of the baby and Bucky had fallen in love with the idea of a sunshine room, bright and warm. And she couldn’t deny him that vision.

“Y/N?” Bucky calls, front door slamming closed.

“In the nursery,” she says softly, knowing he’ll hear her, flicking on the lamp by the door, the baby giving a gentle tap to her bump.

Bucky curls his arms around her suddenly, having moved silently down the hall, kissing the back of her neck softly and making her jump. “You okay? It was a long day.”

She leans back into him, “A good day though. Baby will be very loved.”

“Already is. Not sure we have room for all the shit Tony bought,” Bucky chuckles against her neck, pressing a kiss to her heated skin. “Think the room is ready?”

“Mhm,” she hums, turning in his arms. “We need to pick names though, honey.”

“Ah, we have time.”

She bites her lip, “But we don’t. I could pop any day-,” Y/N stops and takes a shaky breath, feeling stupid when her throat tightens suddenly.

Fuck. She’s going to fucking cry.

“Hey,” his voice is soft when she closes her eyes and a few tears sneak out, Bucky’s thumbs tracking over her cheeks, brushing the tracks away. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, she tries to pull away. “Nothing. Sorry I’m ruining a good day-,”

“You aren’t ruining anything. Remember how anxious I was at the beginning of this thing? It’s okay if it's your turn now, baby.” Bucky pulls her close, tucking her into his chest as best he can. “Scary stuff coming up, something I can’t help ya with. You can be scared, but let me be here for you, like you were for me.”

Ironic, she thinks, how they’ve switched places.

She sniffles and glances up at him through webbed lashes. “I’m just scared I won’t be able to do it. Birth. Which is so stupid. It’s biology, baby will come out one way or another but-,”

A huff of a laugh leaves Bucky and she glares at him trying to squirm out of his arms. “Hey, quit that,” he nips at the shell of her ear. “‘M not laughing at you. It’s not stupid. Fear doesn’t have to make sense.”

She grips his fingers against her belly, turning again to look around the sunshine room, remembering all the love she had felt at the shower. How everyone wanted baby to be named after them, how the child is already loved by the world’s greatest, and how that’s scary in itself.

“Think you’ll still want me after baby is here?”

“Doll?” Bucky asks, a note of panic in his voice. “What-?”

“I’m afraid you’ll...I’ve just heard…men sometimes don’t find their partners attractive anymore after the birth, that they don’t want anything to do with the baby after-,”

He spins her around, cradles her jaw between his hands to desperately search her eyes, before he crashes his lips to hers.

Bucky kisses her like a man drowning, pouring love she didn’t know could well so deep into her. He’s furious in his love for her, it makes the tension slip out of her bones. He pulls away, pressing gentle kisses to her cheeks and chin and nose, still cradling her head between his hands. “You should know by now, Y/N. I’m no ordinary man. You’re my fucking soulmate. I’m not going anywhere.”

All she can do is stare at him, pressing her fingers through his. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers. “God, I promise. You’re the bravest person I know, baby. You can do this. We can do this. I’ll be there through the whole thing, and I will be there after. For you and baby. For as long as you let me.”

Week 34 - Birth

Her water breaks while they’re out getting bagels at the shop around the corner from their apartment. Y/N had been about to ask if they could go home to eat, that she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to lie down.

She’s wearing a loose dress, hand tucked inside Bucky’s, when she feels something gush down her legs.

Shock makes her go still for a moment, afraid to look down. It can’t be. She isn’t ready.

Bucky hasn’t noticed yet, still talking to the women behind the counter about cream cheese.

She slowly looks down, blinking at the fluid pooled around her feet. That can’t be from her, she thinks distantly, separated from her body suddenly.

Y/N opens her mouth, meaning to tell Bucky they might need to go to the hospital or the compound or somewhere that is not a bagel shop. But as soon as she does, her knees wobble and give out.

Before she can collapse a pair of arms catch her, hauling her back to her feet. “Y/N?” Bucky’s voice, warm and concerned in her ear. A pair of blue eyes catching her gaze.

“I can’t do this, Buck,” she hears herself whisper, before a hand wraps around her wrist and tugs her away from him.

It’s the man who held the door for her when they arrived, his hand had brushed her shoulder with a tiny prick.

Bucky’s eyes go hard instantly, flicking away from her. “Get your fucking hand off of her,” Bucky growls.

“Don’t think so, Winter Soldier. Why don’t you let her go?”

“Excuse me?”

Bucky reaches for her, but her hand is suddenly ripped out of his entirely and she’s deposited in a chair by the strange man. The panic already swirling around her mind intensifies. She can’t have the baby without Bucky. She looks down at the hem of her dress, tissue paper wet against her thighs and knees and calves.

Swallowing hard, she tries to make the fog clouding her mind disperse as she reaches down and cradles her belly. It feels like she has cotton in her ears, like everything in the world is very far away.

When she looks up, she’s shocked to find the shop in a disarray, patrons under the tables staring at her with wide eyes. The barista is shouting something as the man grabs Bucky by the front of his shirt saying something with a snarl, his mouth inches from Bucky’s ear.

There’s blood on Bucky’s shirt.

Dripping from his nose.

The other man looks far worse, but that doesn’t matter.

Because her self-proclaimed soulmate has blood on his shirt, the gray Falcon shirt that she had gotten him to annoy him.

It was worth it for the disgruntled look on his face and the way Sam almost cried laughing.

It doesn’t matter that the man clearly has a broken arm, broken glass in his face.

Because the last time she had seen Bucky with blood coming out of his nose had been when the trigger words still held power over him.

His fist goes arching through the air again, determined, and she suddenly finds herself between them, his fist landing on the center of her palm.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” she snarls, the sting in her hand tiny as she pushes him backwards with a violent shove that lands him across the room, sound and color suddenly crashing back into her consciousness.

Bucky catches her when she stumbles back. She can hear sirens now, the girl coming around the counter to grab her other arm, saying something to Bucky. She leans back into his chest, “Who is that?” She whispers. “Bucky?”

“An old friend from Hydra. Heard we were having a baby.” He kisses the side of her head, “Nice catch, doll. Think I had him though.”

Of course he had. He had handled much worse, but there was still blood on him and so she couldn’t have let it lie.

Bucky lets go of her to haul the man off the floor and shove him against the wall.

“Why don’t you sit down?” The girl asks as police flood the room suddenly, followed closely by Steve and Sam in full superhero garb.

“What’s going on?” She asks as Sam puts an arm around her shoulders, sending the girl off with an officer.

No one answers her.

The rage simmering just below the surface of Bucky’s tightly controlled facade starts to break. “-more of them around somewhere. He fucking injected her with something-,”

“-how-,”

“I can fucking smell it on her, Steve!” He’s running his hands through his hair. “To induce labor. They said the earliest she might go into labor was 36 weeks. She’s only at 34, its too fucking early-,”

She realizes then that she’s closed her eyes, that she and Sam are outside, that she’s being loaded into an ambulance. But she can still hear Bucky and Steve as though they’re next to her.

“We’ll take care of looking for the rest of them if there are any. You need to go with her. She can’t be alone for this. You’ll never forgive yourself if you miss it.”

“He tried to take her from me,” she hears Bucky’s snarled response. “They deserve to fucking die.”

Steve sighs, “If it is them then this is the most botched thing I’ve ever seen Hydra attempt, Bucky. It might not be them. Go be with Y/N. We’ll take care of it.”

“Sam,” she grabs at his hand, “Sam, please. Not without Bucky. I can’t.”

She takes a deep breath, feeling returning to her body in slow shakes, and she realizes that the pain in her belly is a long contraction. “We gotta go, Y/N.”

“Not without Bucky.” She grits out, wondering how much time has passed between the water on the floor and now? How much time had passed before she looked up and realized what was happening in the shop? Enough time that Bucky has been bleeding, that the shop had been smashed to pieces around her.

Another wave of dizziness spins through her mind.

What had she been injected with? What if it was hurting baby? What if she couldn’t push? What if she couldn’t get the baby out? What if-?

Another contraction splits through her, making her cry out.

Sam is yelling something, his hand still inside hers. Steve and Bucky are still arguing.

“James Barnes,” she shouts, the words ripped out of her throat. “Come with me right now or I will never speak to you again-,” she’s cut off by yet another contraction, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Now,” Sam says, letting go of her hand, “Go now.”

The ambulance doors are slammed shut and her heart breaks.

Never.

Bucky has never not answered when she called for him.

Alone.

Would she really have this baby all alone?

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice.

She’s hallucinating too now, tears streak down her cheeks.

“Y/N?” He asks again, cool metal fingers against her forehead.

Her eyes fly open to meet Bucky’s worried blue gaze.

“Doll, I am so fuckin’ sorry. I’m so sorry. I got too comfortable,” he cradles her face between his palms gently. “I should have realized before he ever laid a hand on you.”

She wonders again what she was injected with, why she hadn’t realized someone had been in the ambulance with her.

Why did he seem like a dream?

“Bucky?”

“I’m here. Not goin’ anywhere,” he sweeps his thumbs over her cheeks. “I got you.” He smiles suddenly, “And you got me too, huh? Didn’t know you could move so fuckin’ fast. Although I’ll ask you not to intervene in a fight while you’re pregnant.”

She sighs, feeling sweat drip down her neck. “Couldn’t let ‘em hurt you again.” She touches his cheek, feeling more than delirious, her breaths coming in heavy waves. “Remembered before, when the trigger words still worked.” Y/N swallows back sudden tears, “Before you were mine. You had a bloody nose. You would have nosebleeds when they said the words.”

“I’m okay. It’s not like then, not anymore.”

“You made me worry, you ass.”

“I know,” he strokes her hair back. “I’m sorry. We’re almost to the Tower. Helen and Bruce and a couple of the other docs are going to meet us there. Hold on a little while longer.”

Another contraction rolls through her and Bucky reminds her how to breathe. “What if I can’t do it?”

“You can,” he whispers, clutching her hand hard. “You can do it. We’re going to meet our baby today.”

She feels the ambulance stop moving, the world spinning again. “Don’t leave me,” she whispers. “Don’t. Promise.”

“Promise,” he whispers. “Never.”

By the time they reach the medical facilities, she’s entered active labor. Someone is telling her that she needs to push but she can’t remember what that means, can’t remember how.

Bucky doesn't let go of her hand, growling that they needed to take a blood sample, that she was injected with something.

“Barnes, can you get her to focus?” A voice snaps. “She-,”

“Watch your fuckin’ tone.”

“We’re trying to get your kid here safely.”

“We are trying to get Y/N through this safely,” he snarls back before pulling a chair close to the bed and sitting down, forcing her to meet his eyes. She feels a prick on the inside of her elbow and blinks slowly, starting to turn her head to find out what it was.

But Bucky grabs her chin, forces her to keep looking at him. “Don’t look at that, Y/N. Just look at me.” Someone is propping her legs up and open. “Baby is moving fast, honey. We need you to push.”

He’s so calm, she thinks. Wasn’t he supposed to be the anxious one?

Bucky looks unshakable, solid, in control.

She nods and looks to the end of the bed, watching the doctors fluttering around like nervous birds. They’re between her legs, talking about her like she isn’t there.

“Hey,” Bucky says when she starts to cry. “Just look at me. You don’t have to look at them.”

“I’m scared.”

It’s happening so fast, too fast. She doesn’t have any time to adjust, she thought she would have time.

“I know. But I’m here. Wish I had somethin’ as pretty as you to look at every time I was scared,” he smiles at her, his gaze steady. “You can do this, sweetheart. I’m already so proud of you.”

She nods.

“Remember how?”

She nods again, disoriented, not really sure how she’s come to be in labor. But she can do anything as long as Bucky is looking at her like that. Like she was about to pour the moon into the night sky.

“We need you to push now,” one of the doctors says, a little demanding.

Bucky’s jaw flexes at the tone, but doesn’t look away from her. She grits her teeth and pushes through a contraction, pain like she’s never known licking up her spine.

“Good girl,” she hears through a haze of pain, Bucky’s voice wrapping around her protectively, a warm blanket against the agony, a kiss pressed to her forehead. “Breathe. Keep going. Good.”

She only has to push for twenty minutes, Bucky’s hand never leaving hers. His eyes always on hers.

And suddenly there’s a before and an after.

Before her baby and after.

A cry cuts the air, Bucky going limp next to her with relief. “Thank fucking god,” he whispers, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. “Christ, thank god.”

She smiles.

Y/N looks around, the haze settled over her still not dispelling, confused. The light in the room is different. She pulls Bucky’s wrist to her nose and inhales, anxious suddenly, empty and afraid.

How much time has passed? She thinks maybe she passed out. Why does she keep losing time?

“Where’s baby?” She asks.

But Bucky isn’t listening to her, another doctor is speaking to him about her blood panel. He’s calm again, holding her hand. “-normal otherwise. It should be out of her system in a day. No lasting damage-,”

She tugs on Bucky’s hand hard, something primal in her telling her to start screaming until someone answers her about this. “Baby?” She demands, Bucky finally turning to look at her.

Y/N can tell by the look on his face that she had been asleep seconds before.

Before he can answer, Bruce is approaching the bed, something swaddled in his arms. “Sorry,” he says. “We wanted to make sure she was okay and clean her up a little.”

“She?” Y/N whispers. “A girl?”

She’s not sure if Bruce answers her, suddenly not able to focus on anything other than the baby deposited carefully against her chest, close to keep her warm, skin to skin to bond. Small and soft, already asleep like she hadn’t just ripped the world apart with her arrival.

“Buck,” she whispers when he carefully reaches out to caress her cheek with one flesh finger. “A girl.”

There’s a soft smile on his face, one she doesn't recognize. A new type of love that’s only just started growing lodged in his eyes. “A girl,” he echoes. “We have a daughter.”

“Is she going to be okay? Are we?”

“Yes,” he says, fierce, before the sharpness melts out of his voice again. “They said you’ll be just fine. Nothing that could hurt you or the baby.”

She nods, leaning her head against his shoulder, forcing him to slide an arm under her shoulders and hold them close. “She’s so beautiful,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

Exhausted, she leans up to kiss his cheek. “We agreed on Becca.”

“We did.”

“Still think so?”

The corner of his mouth ticks up, and he presses his forehead to hers. “If it's s’okay with you, doll.”

“Becca,” she says firmly. “Becca Barnes.”

“Everything still looks normal for both of them. Y/N is likely going to be disoriented for a couple days but she’s fine.”

Bucky nods, eyes fastened on his daughter where she lies in her bassinet. “Thanks.”

The doctor leaves and Bucky’s gaze flicks to Y/N where she sleeps, her chest rising and falling steadily, slowly.

She had fed Becca for the first time and promptly fallen asleep, exhausted from the entire ordeal. Bucky had been amazed as he watched them, already so in tune, how easily the baby had latched and fed from her, suckling at her breast for much longer than most other babies would.

He doubts everything else will be as easy as that first feeding but it soothed him anyways, to know they were both safe and healthy.

Guilt eats at him now, for letting his guard down, for letting anyone get the jump on him. He tries to force down the feeling, remembering the way Y/N had darted in front of him, the way she sounded when she said don’t fucking touch him.

The center of her palm is bruised from catching that bastard’s fist, from literally hurling him across the room.

Steve was right, Hydra had never done anything so botched. The man had been a rogue agent, desperate, hoping to get back in someone’s good graces. He can’t begin to guess whose.

But Bucky remembers him, remembers him standing in the room while electricity snapped toward his head.

He swallows, pushing that memory away, doesn’t want to think about it with his daughter so near, like his memories might taint her.

Still.

It grates on him.

Becca fusses and he gently lies a hand against her belly, shushing her until the wrinkle goes out of her nose and she settles again.

He’s yet to hold her, afraid of how small she is, how very breakable.

Despite being early, even by her enhanced standards, Becca is a completely healthy, normal baby.

“Sorry, honey,” he murmurs. “I know they’ve been pokin’ around on ya a lot.” Becca’s eyes blink open, searching, like maybe she recognizes his voice. “Gotta make sure you’re okay, y’know? You’re special. Don’t just say that ‘cause you’re my kid. We don’t know how this is gonna go.”

He traces her tiny cheek, soft beyond anything he’s ever felt before. “Everything’ll be okay though. You got a whole team of heroes that would go to ground for you. And your ma? Don’t get me started on her. Not someone to bet against. And me too, ‘course. I’d do anything for you.”

Becca coos at him and he smiles.

“Have you held her yet?” Asks a sleepy Y/N.

Bucky turns to find her sitting up, watching them. “Hey, you’re up,” he murmurs affectionately, eyes sliding back to Becca. “No. She’s just so little.”

“She’s a baby, of course she’s little.” When he still doesn’t move, she nudges again. “C’mon. So you can bring her here to me. Said she’ll have to eat more often than other babies right? She might be hungry again.”

Becca would fuss or cry if she was hungry, he knows.

And he knows, he knows he could just wheel the bassinet over. That he really doesn’t need to pick her up, but he wants to, has been waiting to do it for months.

Slowly, he reaches for Becca, supporting her head, cradling her gently until she’s settled fully in his arms.

He’s rooted to the ground, completely in awe. Becca yawns, tiny pink tongue darting out, soft little baby coos vibrating against his chest. She doesn’t fidget like he expects her too in unfamiliar arms, but settles right in, eyes closing again.

She looks just like Y/N.

Y/N in lowercase font just like he predicted.

Bucky sucks in a hard breath, a love so wide and deep spearing through him he isn’t sure how to process it. When he looks back to Y/N, she’s laid back down.

She winks at him, her voice hazy again when she speaks, “Not so hard huh?”

And like that she’s asleep once more. Bucky walks carefully to the armchair, staring down at the miracle in his arms. It’s hard for him to remember now that she is, an accident and miracle, as unlikely as anything in his life.

A one in a trillion chance.

#bucky barnes x reader #smut #angst #fluff #marvel

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nicoletficlibrary · 1 year

Text

Time Out

The Slutty Bucky Birthday Bash - Day 13 ❥

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (yhhmsgm universe)

Prompt: Need me a boy who is so needy and whiny when he cums inside for who knows how many times, and yet he still begs as soon as he's done "please, please again? I'll be good, I-I swear, I just need it so bad, just one more baby I promise–"

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Minors DNI. Needy Bucky. Begging. PIV sex. Creampies... lots of creampies.

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Okay, so, this happens the week following your first time together. And I don’t mean like, once that week… I mean all week. We’re talking ruined sheets. We’re talking stains on the couch that will never fully come out. We’re talking chafing.

slutty bucky birthday bash masterlist

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” Bucky groaned. His feet slipped against the sheets as he pushed into you, scrambling like if he only had a little more traction, maybe he could finally get deep enough.

If the past forty-eight hours had taught you anything, it was that Bucky would never have enough of you to be satisfied. He would never be deep enough, close enough; you’d never be full enough.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck. “M’gonna come, baby, shit. Feels so damn good.” After a couple more sharp thrusts and a broken groan against your ear, he stilled. You squeezed your legs tight around his waist as his cock throbbed inside you, filling you up.

How many times was that, now? You had lost count at least two orgasms ago. Both of you a sticky, sweaty mess, you weren’t sure where your body ended and his began.

Bucky continued thrusting through the aftershocks, hypnotized, unbothered by the way each movement pushed more of his cum out of you, made an even bigger mess. After thoroughly ruining the bedsheets yesterday, you had gathered some towels to have at the ready today— and thank god for that. The soiled pile on the floor was growing steadily; the towel underneath you now was saturated, and you’d have to change it out as soon as Bucky was ready to let you.

He was never going to be ready, though. Because that meant taking a break, pulling out of you and letting you go— and judging by the way his arms were wrapped around you, holding you tightly while he panted against your skin, that wasn’t happening any time soon.

You traced soothing circles on his back, over clammy skin and rising goosebumps. “Buck,” you murmured, and when he lifted his head, it took his eyes a moment to focus on you. Cloudy blue, hazy with a mix of bliss and desire.

You pressed a long, slow kiss to his sweaty forehead. Innocent enough, casual; he wouldn’t interpret it as anything more than an affectionate gesture, but in reality you were discreetly checking his temperature.

“M’fine,” he said hoarsely, because of course he was on to you. “Are you okay?” You nodded and swept some damp hair behind his ear. Bucky was always a few degrees too hot, but that wasn’t the issue here; both of you could tell that something was off about him. It was like something primal had been knocked loose the first time the two of you had sex— his crossed wires, untangled and soldered back together— and now, two days later, the current was still so bright and so new that you barely had a chance to catch your breath before he was ready to fuck you again.

Bucky had been on top of you for hours. You didn’t know what time it was, only that he had pulled you into bed when the sun was high in the sky, and now the purple light of dusk was glowing outside the window. It had started out normal enough; he was careful, thoughtful, trying out different positions and making sure to get you off, too. But after a while, you tapped out; you were exhausted, you told him. Didn’t have any more left in you. “But keep fucking me,” you said quickly when you saw his almost pained disappointment. “Just… be selfish about it.”

That, he could do. You had to reassure him every now and again— yes, feels good, yes, keep going— and despite what you told him, it turned out that you had a few orgasms left in you, after all.

“Okay, I think we need some water,” you said after the next, smiling against his flushed cheek. Your mouth was dry, and your thighs ached from having your legs wrapped around him for so long. “Maybe a snack— Bucky.”

He wasn’t listening. As soon as you hinted at wanting to stop, his hips had started up a slow, unsteady rhythm, and you fought back a shiver; you didn’t know how he managed to hit all of your sweet spots without even trying, but you weren’t about to complain. “How are you still hard?” you asked, a breathy laugh against his ear.

“Please, just one more,” he rasped. “Then we can take a break. I swear, baby, I only need one more and then I’ll be done.”

“You said one more last time,” you grumbled good-naturedly. He was thrusting faster now, climbing, ignoring both the wet squelch as he fucked his cum back into you and the steady tapping of the headboard against the wall. It was impossible to pretend that it didn’t feel good, and you fought to keep your voice steady. “A-aren’t you hungry? Missed dinner.”

He frowned and nodded, his eyes squeezed shut, and a flare of worry lit in your chest. You knew how hungry he got on normal days; the combination of skipping a meal and exerting so much energy in bed couldn’t feel good for his super soldier metabolism.

But he was too far gone to stop now. “Please, baby, please,” he begged, as if you were going to stop him. You would never stop him, not when he lifted your legs and folded you in half like this, making you clench around him. “Just need it so bad.”

“Bucky…” you said. Almost a reprimand, but more of a moan, especially when his fingers found your sore clit. He was gentle, despite his neediness; you cried out when you came around him, squeezing and fluttering, and he collapsed on top of you just a few seconds later.

Thighs trembling, his cock pulsed as he filled you up yet again. He breathed steadily through his nose, but even in your post-orgasm haze, you could hear his stomach rumble.

“Time out,” you said quickly, tilting your hips to the side to encourage him to roll off of you before he had a chance to protest. There was an obscene, wet noise when he finally pulled out, but he didn’t object; he stretched out flat on his back on the soaked towels, eyes closed, still panting.

“Time out,” you repeated, softer. “Not stopping. Just taking a break.” He didn’t acknowledge you, but you continued on. “Gotta clean up a little. Hydrate. Get some food.” You leaned over to kiss him. “Just a quick time out. Sound good?”

He nodded weakly without opening his eyes. “Then what?”

You smiled against his lips. “Then, batter up.”

#bucky barnes x reader #smut #Bucky barnes #marvel

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nicoletficlibrary · 1 year

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what i wouldn't do

[detective!bucky barnes x reader]

summary: it's been a week since she was shot. They're desperate for each other.

warnings: idiots in love. smut, bi-bucky rep if you squint.

a/n: part 2! sequel to the lengths i'd go to

enjoy!

“Detective Dollface?”

The courier’s call fills the precinct, clear as a bell, and for her part, Detective Dollface slumps forward in mortification… even as she raises her good hand to indicate where she sits. The bicycle delivery guy drops a shopping bag containing two takeout boxes on her desk, and hands her a sweating cup the size of her head, containing just enough soda to drown in if the embarrassment becomes too much. She nods at the man, who waits expectantly. He doesn’t leave until she hands him the only cash she has on her–a twenty dollar bill Bucky gave her that morning, so she could pick up some smokes.

Serves him right, she thinks. Embarrass the shit outta me? No fix.

Except she is dying for a cigarette, and he did send her favorite food… and it’s not like the whole precinct didn’t catch on real quick to them being partners with a capital P, so why let their amused snickers get to her? She holds her middle finger in the air as a ‘get fucked’ to anyone within the general radius, and digs into the meal.

‘I’m going to murder you,’ she texts him, between disintegrating one-handed bites of taco.

It takes almost no time at all to receive his reply:

DICKHEAD: knife between the eyes or smothering me in my sleep?

‘Something painful and embarrassing.’

DICKHEAD: i love you too babydoll. take your pain pills.

‘I’m fine.’

DICKHEAD: youre stabby

‘You like it.’

DICKHEAD: yes i do

‘I can feed myself, you know.’

DICKHEAD: its 2 pm and you havent eaten since i force fed you a muffin this morning

‘You don’t know that.’

DICKHEAD: I have eyes everywhere

‘Coffee is all I need.’

DICKHEAD: you have anxiety

‘Do you wanna come over tonight?’

DICKHEAD: you missing me?

‘Planning on smothering you in your sleep.’

DICKHEAD: be there at seven

She smiles against her will, staring down at her screen as those three little dots pop up beside his name and disappear again several times, before he settles on a simple heart emoji. He’s told her that he loves her at least fifteen times a day since he came over in a rainstorm to make sure she was alright. She never would’ve pegged him for a simp, but then again… she’s made the mistake of underestimating him before. He is obsessed with her, to a fault. He went home four nights that week and spent each one on the phone with her, telling her how much he wished he hadn’t. She pretends to be annoyed, but deep down, she is thrilled to be obsessed over–especially by someone who she knows has very few people he holds dear, by design.

To be counted among them is to be special in a way which can’t be measured out in heart emojis or takeout boxes.

She wants to do something for him which will surprise him, something even better than ordering a taco delivery or realizing after five years that the person you call ‘partner’ has become the very textbook definition of the term. Rendering Bucky speechless is difficult. The White Wolf of Brooklyn is too controlled for that. But to see his expression soften into quiet awe would surely be something.

With the swiftness of a bicycle courier absconding with a $20 tip, she dials the one person who knows Bucky better than she does.

“Becs. Hi. I need a favor.”

Bucky shows up promptly at 6:55 pm, wearing his police-issue sweats and a smile which rivals a smitten teenager. It’s a simple surprise, but it’s absolutely worth it to see the look on his face when he walks into her apartment, using his key… to discover takeout from his favorite Chinese restaurant sprawled across the length of the counter, and a bottle of scotch nearly impossible to find unless you have a hookup–like a sister with a golden retriever bartender for an ex. Bucky guesses right away that his sister was involved in the procurement of said treat. He’s giddy at the thought of Y/n and Becca in cahoots, especially on his behalf.

He happily digs into the veritable feast, while trading Y/n for bites of her orange chicken, and trying to kiss her every time it looks like she left sauce behind on her bottom lip (and she suspects he makes up several such instances just for the excuse to do so again).

But there’s something not quite extraordinary enough about the surprise. She isn’t satisfied. He’s excited, but he’s not boggled. No bafflement to be found. In fact, she is the one who is caught off-guard when he pulls a bag of bath salts out from under the sink, and some kind of oil which is sure to drive her to the limit of sanity while she’s still under strict orders to keep her shoulder stabilized.

Speaking of which… she can’t help the whine which escapes as he helps free her of the sling she’s worn all day. Bucky makes an involuntary noise of his own, some sort of grunt from the deep, and begins to shuck his own clothes. He won’t listen to one protestation when he unclothes her, too. Bucky’s evening surprises quickly become eclipsed by his own concern for her.

He sits back against the tile, cradling her between his legs amongst a host of pillowy bubbles. She shivers from the disparity between the warm water and the ice on her shoulder (which he retrieved from her freezer ‘Buck-ass naked’ as she deemed him), gripping Bucky’s arm until her muscles finally relax around her wound. He smells like his cologne and a bit of sweat, and the leather conditioner they use to preserve the cruiser seats. Not like she wants to wash that away… but they have been apart all day, and what better way to be skin-to-skin when she can’t jump him yet?

He kisses her neck, just below her ear; she hums.

“I love you,” she breathes. “But I’m so annoyed with you.”

Bucky chuckles warmly. “Mmm. Do ya?”

“You’re a dick, but I do.”

“Glad I can be my true self with you,” he says. “What’s on your mind?”

She sighs. “We can’t be partners if we’re together.”

“Yeah.” He noses her cheek when she lays her head back against his shoulder.

“I’m starting to wonder if I only do this to be close to you, Buck. The thought of riding shotgun with anyone else has me feeling like Tom Hanks’ dumb dog sidekick. I’m taking so long to heal. By the time I get cleared to go back out in the field, you’ll have some other partnership and that’ll be the end.”

“Babydoll,” he soothes. “It’s been a week, barely. It takes a while to heal a gunshot. You’re not Wolverine.”

“…who?”

“Hugh Jackman with the claws and sideburns.”

“Oh. Would you still be into me if I was?”

“If you’re still you, but also somehow Hugh Jackman? Yes. Without a doubt.”

“You contain multitudes.”

“Would you rather pretend like we don’t wanna jump each other in the hot, not West Side Story way?”

“Be cool, boy.”

He shakes with silent laughter. “If I have to go back to pretending like you don’t turn me on when you call in an APB, I might commit an atrocity.”

“Socks with sandals?”

“At the very least.”

“Do you ever think about how things would’ve been different? If you didn’t get in the wrong cruiser.”

It was how they got paired.

A call went out, all available officers responded in kind. Bucky wound up peeling out of the station parking lot with a fresh faced rookie as a copilot. But it was that instant magic, where they just clicked without even knowing each other’s names. It wasn’t until she pressed the suspect belly-first over the hood of their cruiser that Bucky held out his hand to introduce himself.

Bucky tosses the baggie which used to contain ice onto the rug just outside the bath.

“I was meant to meet you. And keep you safe, and fed. And when you can jab me square in the chest with this healed arm, I’ll know it’s safe to make you feel good in other ways. And if I can’t fuck you as my partner on the force, then I guess I’ll have to keep more boxers in your intimates drawer and spend my nights making it up to you.”

She chokes back a whine of arousal. “…you probably could now. If you were really careful.”

“No ma’am.”

She scoffs. “You really mean that.”

“I still win, whether or not we get to work together. Or fuck.”

“I find it hard to believe that you’re so sanguine about that particular activity being limited.”

“I didn’t say that,” he chuckles, shifting to deemphasize her effect on him… as if she hasn’t already clocked how his muscles react to their proximity. “You’ve had my balls in an iron vice for years."

“Poor baby.”

His laughter warms her cheek. “We gotta get out. It’s time for your meds.”

She snuggles closer to him as best as she can, making sure their legs are good and intertwined. “How’d you like sharing a car with Barton?”

“...Are you ignoring me?”

“I’m comfortable. Don’t you want me to be comfy, Barnes?” She nuzzles the nearest available pec.

“It was fine,” Bucky sighs. “He thinks I should reach out to the 84th and transfer. Then we can both keep our positions. What do you think about that?”

“There is no solution in which we get to stay partners, huh.”

“Not unless you wanna pretend like you haven’t seen me without pants on.”

She shivers, because she can feel the way his cock twitches at the base of her spine in acknowledgment of how much he wants her. “Buck–”

“Babydoll.” He tucks his nose into the crook of her neck until she squirms.

“You either gotta get out, or you gotta touch me.” She cannot ignore the prickle of arousal which has infiltrated her senses any longer.

“What’re you gonna do, masterbate while I put the leftovers in the fridge?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

Bucky stays her good hand as it creeps down her stomach and she swears she hears his heart begin to race. In his grip, her veins jump at the wrist. “Doll–the water’s cold.” He says it like an oath of devotion to her. Like he’s trying to talk himself out of it, and not her. “I’m–you’ll pop your stitches,” he groans. “God. I am not a strong man. Please don’t ask me to do this.” His hand flattens hers against the swell of her soft belly. Even so, his tongue finds the pulse point behind her jaw.

There’s that awe she wanted to hear from him. Bafflement.

“Don’t,” she breathes. “Just hold me while I do. Keep me steady.”

“Okay. Okay. God–”

“You’re an atheist.” She pries her fingers free from his grip, forcing his hand to retreat towards her hip. His nails are closely-trimmed, and still she feels the blunt bite of his fingertips into her skin as he holds on for dear life.

“I worship you, doll.” Bucky can’t help but roll his hips into her ass and they both groan.

A zing of pain through her shoulder is not enough to deter her from finding her swollen clit, even as she nestles her ass cheeks back against his lap. She almost doesn’t want to touch that little bundle of nerves and bring herself relief. This wanting, this desire for him–it has been her constant so long that it feels like comfort. The awareness of his skin and what it might feel like against hers–when she’s wet, and wanting him… it’s real, and more heady than any single tryst she’s experienced prior to now. Even knowing that she could hurt herself–it makes it feel special. I’ll touch myself with your oversight, because you’ll keep me from the worst of it… because if I don’t, it will end us both. It really might. Not giving in to some shared bliss. What would they put on her tombstone?

He narrates her pleasure in subtle catches of his breath, watching her middle finger float the nerves of her clit in soft circles. His vision is distorted through a soapy iridescent film, but his imagination is wild–it must be, the way he huffs to see her elbow straighten and wrist bend. To test the addition of one finger into her heat–

“Reach into the drawer by your head,” she breathes. “Fucking water is making me squeaky clean, can’t stay slick–lube, Bucky, the gray bottle.” Y/n giggles when he yanks open said drawer after a moment of stunned silence. He cradles said bottle in one hand, and he won’t relinquish it when she wiggles her fingers.

“I–I’ll do it.”

“I thought I was too injured–”

“I won’t hurt you. I couldn’t–” he flicks open the cap of the bottle– “and I’ll just touch you. Just like you wanted.”

He’s right. It’s what she wants. Those fingers, which she’s watched wrap around a steering wheel until his knuckles strain. Touching her, working her to an orgasm she’s been waiting on for five years. So she takes the bottle from him, and turns his palm upwards, so she can squirt a dollop of the silicone lubricant into his hand. She scoops the clear gel and presses their fingertips together.

“The water won’t wash this away without soap,” she explains. When he doesn’t reply, she turns her head so she can make eye contact. She shivers at the look on his face–determined, and delirious. His lips worry the corner of her mouth as she brings his fingers to her folds.

“Orgasms are good for pain,” he mutters.

Bucky has a reputation around the station. Nobody has ever looked her in the eye and said “I know what Barnes’ fingers feel like,” but plenty of women giggle a little too much in his presence. Try as she might, Y/n can’t muster one tiny giggle when the pad of his calloused middle finger slips over her clit. He nips at her good shoulder, choking back the joy of finally feeling her. For her part, Y/n can’t breathe. Not when he’s testing the limits of her pain, while simultaneously teasing her inner folds.

“Are you gonna put it in, or what?” she gasps. Bucky gives her mound a soft tap, making water ripple around her hips.

“Your sexy talk needs some rehearsal,” he says. “This isn’t an assignment, I’m here because I wanna be, so I will take–” kiss, kiss behind her jaw– “as long as I goddamn want. Might drain this bottle just working you up to my fingers, doll.”

“Better not… it’s fucking expensive.”

“If we don’t drop into a lower tax bracket because of all the lube we’re buying, we’re not doing it enough.”

“You’re not doing it at all, you’re–oh, I hate you,” she moans, ready to weep at the feeling of his finger dipping into her heat slowly.

“Sure you do.” Bucky braces her closer to his chest with his free arm, doing his level best to keep her from arching into his touch and yet doing his best to send her over the edge anyway.

“Hate you so much.”

“How much?” He coaxes her until she can take a second finger and then proves it to her, despite the huff of worry when she feels him doing so.

“So much that I forget how much–Bucky, god.” Her knees shake as she approaches release.

“Tell me you love me.”

“Make me.”

He lets the heel of his hand rock over her clit to take that challenge on. “How about now?”

She ventures a glance up at him, which is a mistake–his pupils are blown wide, and he’s watching every subtle shift on her face as if he could sustain himself on her expressions alone. “You do this with all the girls?” Her words come out clipped.

“You want me to give you my history while I’m fingering you?”

“Five. I’ve had five partners. Two one night stands. Haven’t had sex in so long that I’m surprised I remember how to do it.”

“I’m gonna hurt your feelings,” He warns. Bucky slows down his ministrations, and Y/n feels panic begin to rise in her chest. “This ain’t when we should be talking about it.”

“You didn’t sleep with someone this week–”

“No! No, I’m not a piece of shit,” he sighs. He struggles with himself just long enough that the water being cold comes back into their awareness, and they both shiver. Bucky kisses her temple and pulls his fingers from her. Y/n grabs his wrist.

“What?”

He looks at her like he wants to cry. “On your birthday, alright? I went home with a chick from the bar.”

She blinks. “...you took a girl home from my birthday thing?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Steve met me after.”

“Oh. At Stan’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. And… you met a girl there, and you took her home.”

“No–I went to hers. It didn’t go so good, but… it was recent, and I–I definitely did it to stop thinkin’ about you.”

“Didn’t go good how?”

“I fucking hate this conversation–”

“Buck.”

“I panicked, okay? I freaked out. Couldn’t stop sweating, didn’t want to look at her. Wanted to get sick when she kissed me. So I left before things got too hot and heavy.”

“Did she at least suck your dick?” Y/n asks softly. The smile at her lips makes Bucky flush crimson. He doesn’t say anything, but he nods once. “Thanks for telling me, dickhead. Would ya please, please, please get back to fucking me with your fingers so good, my stitches pop?”

“That was good, baby, very sexy.” Bucky cups her cheek. “I know I have you now, but I didn’t for a long time. I did lots of stupid shit to try to be okay with it. Even if it doesn’t bother you? I hate that I did it, alright? Just let me feel like a fool about it.”

“Hey. I love you. Yeah? If that was gonna change my mind, I wouldn’t be worthy of you.”

“...you really want an orgasm, don't ya?”

“Desperately,” she giggles.

“You get romantic when you’re horny.”

“Is that so?”

“Remember that New Year’s Eve we were stuck on patrol and you let me kiss you at midnight, and then you told me I was ‘a nice guy’ and ‘you like working with me’?”

“God,” she laughs. “I was trying to get you to kiss me again!”

“What?? It absolutely killed my boner. No guy likes to be called ‘nice’, not ones raised in Brooklyn anyway.”

“But you are, baby,” she says, nipping his chin.

“What is nice, anyway? Tell me I’m really strong or something.”

“That does it for you?”

“How did we get here–doll, let me get you out of the bath, okay? We’ll revisit this another time.”

“James, either you finger me in this bath or on my bed. Only ‘nice’ guys walk away from a horny woman without making her come.”

“I ain’t a nice guy, as you know–” Bucky scrambles out of the bath and then lifts Y/n out, too. He manages to wrap her in a towel and baby her shoulder, all the way to her room, leaving a trail of drips in his wake. He lays her down on the covers gently, but she winces as she lays back on her pillows. Bucky freezes.

“What was that?” he murmurs.

She shakes her head frantically. “I’m horny, as established–”

“That was your bad face. Doll–” He squares his hands on his hips, erection and fervor be damned.

“Bucky. I got shot. I’m never completely pain-free!”

“All I want is to touch you, you know that. But–sweets, I don’t think tonight is the night.”

She frowns. “I hate when you’re logical.” The small smile which pulls at her lips has him smirking back at her.

“I’ll lend you my sweats and we’ll watch a movie, huh? Almost as good as an orgasm.”

“What will you wear?”

Y/n does a second round of icing her incredibly sore shoulder sitting next to Bucky on the sofa, surrounded in the comforting scent of his cologne in his sweats… while he recites every word of ‘The Princess Bride’, wearing only a pair of clean boxers (printed with penguins, inexplicably) and one of her zip-ups straining around his biceps. It’s just as intimate as sex, she thinks. Maybe moreso. He’s not thinking about performing, or making her feel good, he’s just reciting all of the romantic hero’s lines into her temple and occasionally feeding her popcorn, in between sips of whiskey.

He is a nice guy, even though he hates the word. It’s part of his niceness–that designation being too amorphous, too static. Bucky is a man of action, and when it comes to her… he defaults to kindness and honesty. He’s silly and emotional and far too concerned about ‘protocol’, but that’s about as nice as a guy can get.

Bucky jumps up to fetch her pain pills before she can even ask.

thank you for reading! :)

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#let them fuck #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #smut #marvel

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nicoletficlibrary · 2 years

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even more

[bucky barnes x fem!reader] * Summary: The love of Bucky's life left months ago. After months of agonizing over what it meant to be apart, they wonder if it's possible to find their way together again. *Based on the song 'soren' by beabadobee: “The pink in your cheeks when you slightly lose your temper makes me love you even more.”

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. It's me, so... some heaviness discussing mental health. Contemporary AU. 3.5k+ words.

A/N: written for @bucky-bucket-barnes 2k follower challenge! Congratulations, love!! (This is kind of my love letter to people who make hard decisions for their own good, while still fiercely loving people who are hurting. These kind of relationships don't always end neatly, but healing can happen, and you're still worthy of love when you're in pain.)

like what I do? buy me a coffee on ko-fi. :)

***

She was everywhere.

The honey vendor’s identical laugh carried from one end of the farmer’s market to his stall, wrapping around the woodcrafts borne from the hobby he took up to forget her. At the doctor, a patient was called before him with her name–a pregnant woman with her partner stood up in reply, and his blood pressure readings were ‘higher than average’ that day. The gas station cashier had her nose. A flight attendant had her eyes. She was every woman, all around him, casting herself about like a haunting spirit, and Bucky couldn’t escape her.

“I wish you could accept how hard it is–”

“I do! I’m not asking you to be perfect, Buck, but you can’t do nothing–”

“Is this even worth it, for you?”

Why did he say it?

What he should have said is you’re right. I love you. I’m hurting, and I can’t make it stop. Please, help me find support so I don’t bleed you dry. But no–he’d snarled. Like a dog biting the hand which fed and kept him safe, he had lashed out until she did exactly what he feared the most. The back of her head walking out of the apartment was burned into his corneas. He’d cut a notch in the doorframe at her height with a butterknife, and he ran his fingers into the worn groove every day, as penance.

He didn’t feel the kind of pain anymore which had driven her to intervene in his late vigil, that final night. Therapy was a constant in his life, now, and his therapist was a pill, but she at least gave him the ability to differentiate between phantom pains from trauma, and the real heartache of going to sleep every night knowing that there was one woman in the world who touched him like he was made of flesh and bone, and that he couldn’t have her. They were different aches.

One set off fireworks in his synapses, but could be reasoned with through breathing exercises, and self-preserving habits.

The other pain… the love which curdled between his ribs, turned sallow with every passing day… it threatened to crack its cage every time he thought he saw her, or heard her, or… caught lavender on the skin of someone who wasn’t her. Because she was everywhere, and nowhere.

But he was okay, really. The nightmares were few. He had a healthy addiction to the cooking channel. He even saw Sam and Steve, and went on long rides with Tony whenever the man could find time to pull out his motorcycle. There was just a hole in his life in the shape of her. He carved his time out around the dearth, with the same measured dexterity he used for cubes of knotty pine. He made birds out of wood, but there was no productivity which could be wrought from the absence of love, and sold every Tuesday to old ladies with grumpy dogs. So.

He cared for himself at the basest level, because if he owed her anything more than an apology… it was that. To give himself the care and respect which she used to insist he deserved. It’s what she would want, even if he never actually saw her again.

***

Bucky awoke with a start when his phone chimed from his chest. He sat up.

He blanched. It had been so long since that name crossed his screen that he was starting to wonder if he dreamed her, but no... there she was.

DOLL:Hi.

Two letters, but sharp as a knife.

“Hey,” he managed, but not so quickly that she’d know he was breathing for the first time in almost a year. The three little loading dots taunted him, predicting her reply and yet giving him no indication what she might say.

DOLL:Is it okay to talk a little?

“I’d like that.”

DOLL:Okay

DOLL:I’m sorry if this is out of left field

“No, I’m happy to hear from you.” He wasn’t–Bucky was pacing his bedroom, which still had faint dust rings from her belongings, and empty dresser drawers yearning for her underwear and sweaters, and a pillow with the indent worn by her head. He was in stasis. Hoping for this. Dreading it.

He was electric to know she was within his reach, even if it only lasted for a few texts, because it was the first bit of hope he’d had.

DOLL:Can I call you?

Bucky gripped his hair between his fingers and groaned. “Of course,” he replied, and then he tossed his phone on the bed so he could put a shirt on. Something about speaking to her again made it seem improper to be shirtless, even if she’d never know. He shoved the black henley over his head as his ringtone blared. He hadn’t silenced his ringer since she left. Something about keeping the home fires burning, or something.

“Hello?” he said, like he didn’t know who it was.

She sniffled. “Hey, Buck. It’s me.”

“Are you okay?”

“No,” she laughed, but her throat was strained with emotion. “I’m just. God–this was such a bad idea. I’m so sorry–”

“Hey. Y/n–you’re fine, I’m not… if anything, I’m glad to hear your voice. If you don’t mind me sayin’.”

“I don’t mind,” she murmured. “How are you?”

“I’m… alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Sam… I ran into him. He said you were really good. You’re playing basketball at the Y, or something?”

Bucky breathed out slowly. God bless Sam Wilson. “We have a co-ed team that plays on Wednesdays. It’s been nice.”

“Sounds like it.” She seemed less panicked, like there was a smile curling at her lips.

Bucky took a running leap from the precipice of hope. “You interested? We could use a point guard.”

She laughed. “You do not want me on your team.”

“Sure I do!”

“I have no hand-eye coordination, Bucky–”

“Because I’m a retired NBA star,” he snickered. “It’s for fun, there’s no pressure. Honestly, most of us are bad. Sometimes we get pizza after.”

“Netting zero calories, huh? Love it.”

“Nah. It’s better than the vets group at the Y,” he sighed. “I’ve gotten more out of badly playing basketball than rehashing why war sucks with a bunch of other hurt people. So.”

“I’m sure.”

“But. Yeah. My therapist says it’s not a valid substitute for group counseling, so I'll… probably still have to do that, at some point. But–oh! Signed up for the Big Brother program with Steve yesterday–” Bucky stopped himself and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m rambling. Sorry–”

“No! I’m… I like it. Please,” she whispered. “Is–is it alright to say that I’ve really… missed you?”

Bucky clutched the footboard to stay upright. “Where are you,” he breathed. “I’ll–we can catch up–”

“I dunno–”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“No, i’m a wreck–”

“I don’t mind–”

“You probably think I’m nuts–”

“Y/n.” Bucky laughed in disbelief. “I’m so happy right now that my feet aren't touching the ground,” he said quickly. “I don’t care if you’re a mess. Let’s… I’ll come to you, if that’s what you need, but… god. I’m–I’m so, so happy. You’re constantly on my mind. I keep thinking I see you. Every time it isn’t you, it sucks.”

“Yeah?” her voice was so small that he huffed.

“I swear, doll.”

“Okay–”

BZZZZT.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. Give me a second, someone is buzzing.” Bucky strode for the buzzer which would allow him to speak to his visitor through the intercom. “Can I help you?”

“It’s me.”

Her voice rang through the speaker beside his door and the one at his ear, like a dissonant echo. He pressed the button to release the door without hesitation. Bucky threw his phone at his sofa, and ripped open his front door. He pounded down the stairwell in a fever pitch. It couldn’t be–she couldn’t be–after all the ache, and hoping, and dreaming that she’d come, it just couldn’t be–

“Bucky!”

He froze on the last landing.

Standing at the base of the stairs was a woman who he had seen in fragments since his heart had splintered months ago. She had her hair wrangled like she always did when depression threatened, and she wore her slipper-shoes which he had tried and failed so many times to talk her out of wearing to the grocery store, and the sweatpants with her college’s name printed down the leg but missing a letter from where they had gotten caught in the door of the laundromat dryer and twisted into oblivion, and the sweatshirt she had stolen from him with a deep hood, and two glassy, gorgeous eyes.

“Hi,” he breathed.

He sat. He didn’t know why, but that seemed the right thing to do. Make himself a little smaller, help her feel comfortable. Then, because he was human (and this was the woman who filled up the empty space in his life like no warmth he had ever known), he held out his hands.

She paused at the bottom stair and shook her head. Her desperate tears were swiped away by anxious fingers, and his own itched to sooth her. Bucky tucked his hands beneath his knees to keep himself from reaching for her again, until she initiated. He hoped that she would. A hug, if nothing else. Hell, he’d take a high five if it meant touching her skin.

“Hi, bub,” she whispered.

He smiled at the endearment. “You walk here?”

She toed the ground. “Don’t live that far. I, uh. You’re not busy?”

“Sunday,” he said softly.

“I’ve lost track of the days. Been off, I… I took some time.”

Bucky frowned. Time. From work, which wasn’t a good sign; she loved her job in a way that made no sense for a New Yorker who did customer service, and he had often asked her why she didn’t leave the job which so often demanded too much of her. I love it. I’ve invested a lot in it, and it would be hard to start over again with another place. The investments she sunk into people would drag her into the doldrums if she wasn’t careful, but she was smart. If she was taking time, she was caring for herself. But she looked so sad that he made an involuntary sound, a little… groan of concern, as her brow furrowed.

Her gaze, which had fallen to the hem of his pajama pants, flicked up to his. She had matching silvery streaks down her cheeks.

“I don’t know why I’m here–no, I know,” she sniffed. “Hearing Sam say you’re doing good made me so happy, I–I bawled when he told me. In the middle of the deli. I couldn’t even order my pastrami sandwich. How was I supposed to explain to them that my… my-my favorite person in the whole world was good, and that was why I was crying over how nicely the rye bread was marbled? I’m… Please stop me–”

“Babydoll,” Bucky breathed. “You’re upset, come here.”

She took a beat before she agreed to the invitation, but then she sat on the step below him. Her fingers dug into the front of his shirt, and she curled into the spot which his body had learned to make only for her. His shoulder became damp on contact. Bucky’s own vision blurred, but he forced himself to keep his touch gentle… hesitant. He cupped her nape, and gave his hand for her to squeeze as tightly as she needed.

“I left. Do I have a right?”

Bucky laid his cheek against her hair. “It’s not for anybody to say. You…” he cleared his throat. “You knew you needed to go, because I was relying on you too much. It was gonna break you.” Bucky squeezed her hand. “It was fucking hard, and I never could’ve made that call on my own, and I’m glad you did it… even if I missed you.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t know how many times I’ve stopped myself from texting you past midnight. God, I’ve had your voice in my head, sayin’ over and over, ‘no good decisions are made after sunset.’ Every time I might slip up. I think: no! It’s dark outside, she’ll be disappointed in you. Again.”

She pulled away from him, and laced her fingers with his. Her tears seemed to have stopped, for the moment. “Buck–I was never disappointed. Just scared. I pushed you too hard, and–”

“Maybe,” he said quickly, cupping her jaw. She closed her eyes at the gesture, and leaned into his touch. “Or. Maybe it’s nobody’s fault.”

She sighed, but her attention snapped behind him. Bucky glanced over his shoulder when the stairs creaked; Mrs. O’Malley was tapping her toe impatiently, clearly unmoved by the emotional reunion happening, which kept her from her morning walk. Bucky stood, tugging Y/n with him.

“I’ll make us some coffee, come on.” He nudged her to walk up the steps in front of him, nodding at his old neighbor as they passed.

“Hey, Mrs. O’Malley,” Y/n said lightly. The old woman nodded.

“Miss thing, you been missin’ out!” O’Malley called as she passed.

“Oh yeah?”

“What, ain’t you looked at him?” Then, she was gone, and Y/n was trying very hard not to look at Bucky.

Bucky, on the other hand, did not miss the wink from the old woman, who frequently used his help bringing garbage bags down to the dumpster or hauling her laundry up two flights. She had told him a few months prior that he had a good heart. The payoff felt bigger, now.

His hand hung from Y/n’s tight hold as they climbed four flights in silence. She laughed at his front door, thrown wide open without a care, but she lingered in the threshold.

“What happened here?” She pointed to the divot in the doorframe. Bucky scratched the back of his neck.

“Um. That’s my benchmark. I touch it every day, and it’s a reminder of what I’m healing for.”

“Hmm.” She leaned against the wall, beneath it. “It helps?”

Slowly, Bucky raised his free hand and rested it on top of her head. Then, he pulled her away from the doorframe. Her mouth dropped open, but she shut it just as quickly as her face reddened. Bucky rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Would you close the door for me?” He released her hand and left her in the living room.

Once he was in the safety of the kitchen, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Just because she’s here doesn’t mean she’s staying, he said firmly to himself. Make her coffee. Ask her questions. He groaned when he realized that the coffee grounds he used were still her favorite flavor. Well. Nothing he could do about it now but make the pot and own up to it if she asked. Bucky poked his head out of the kitchen, but Y/n was nowhere to be seen. He found her again in his bedroom–theirs. Sitting on her side, staring at the rug which they had picked out at IKEA together when they had first moved in. Bucky set the mug beside her on the little table, the one that always made her laugh because it had the customer is always wrong printed in big block letters on the side.

“Hey,” he said softly. She looked up.

“You didn’t get rid of all signs of me.”

“If Sam had his way, I would have,” Bucky admitted. “But. It kept me honest.”

“I guess I sorta get that.” She laid down slowly on the pillow which had been hers for so long.

Bucky sat beside her on the bed–on her side, beside her knees. He didn’t want to risk the swell in his heart if he lay beside her again. She turned her head, and offered him a tight-lipped smile. Bucky returned the expression.

Bucky sat back on his elbows. “You gonna tell me why you’re not working right now?”

She turned on her side. “I broke down a few times. On shift.”

“Shit.”

“Mmm. Nat still paid me out for tips, but. I hit this wall where I couldn’t remember why I moved to New York, and all the reasons I had didn’t make sense anymore,” she murmured. “I’m crashing on her couch, currently. Paying my rent in wine. I’ll… I’ll go back. I need a second to fall back in love with the city.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky said. “There are plenty of places you could live, where rent doesn’t go up by hundreds of dollars every year.”

“But where else could I find pizza-stealing rats?”

“Good point.” He smiled softly.

“You wouldn’t be anywhere else, either.”

“And that’s…”

“A problem.” Y/n held out her hand. “Please?”

Bucky stared at the little fingers and gave himself a chance to breathe, because… It was all he wanted, all he had ever wanted–and if he took her hand, and pressed his ear over her heart, he’d have to do it for other reasons than just wanting to cheer her up. Not that that wasn’t a good enough excuse to hold her. But it wasn’t the only thing she deserved.

He grasped her fingers in his own. “Why are you here, doll?” he asked, as gently as he could.

She blinked. “Totally honest?”

“Please.”

“I know i’m just a mess right now, and you don’t need that, but–”

Bucky braced his arms on either side of her shoulders. “Hey–enough. You’re here, I’m happy about it. Okay?”

She nodded. “Well… I don’t want to miss out on any more of your life,” she admitted. “I wish I hadn’t left, Buck. I would rather fight with you than be happy with anyone else. I’m a little fucked up like that. You get this flush in your cheeks when you’re mad and it makes me love you even more, because I know you aren’t trying to hurt me when we argue, you’re learning how to vouch for yourself, and… If there is even one tiny part of you that wants me, I want to try again. If that means I have to work a shitty job in Manhattan to do it, so be it. I just can’t lose you.”

Bucky curled his fingers behind her arms and pulled her up, to sit against his headboard. Then, he moved, one hand pressed by her hip to keep her close and the other curled around one of her knees as she hugged them to her chest. He rested his chin on her kneecap. Their foreheads were almost touching.

“I am so sorry for not listening when you told me I needed help,” he said. “You were right. I’m doing my best to do right by you, and actually get that support. Still figuring out what that looks like. But you gotta know, honey… I thought I lost my one great love. And here you are.” He blinked, but his vision blurred. She folded forward to hold him and Bucky was hit with a wave of lavender, but it was her, there. “I need you. I want you.”

“Yeah?” she breathed. He turned his lips against her cheek, and wound his arms around her waist.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter so much, loving New York. As long as you love me.”

“I never ever stopped.”

Bucky laughed through the thick emotion choking him, and leaned over until she had to fall with him, onto her side and onto the comforter, which she had picked out to give their space some ‘warmth.’ He kissed her forehead. She buried herself in the safety of his chest.

“Still want that coffee?” he whispered.

She shook with laughter. “Gimme about ten minutes to figure out how we got here?”

“You can have the whole Sunday, if you stay.”

Y/n tilted her chin so she could see him. Her gaze trailed down to his lips. “Kiss me, and I will.”

He did so. Her lips were as soft as he remembered, maybe more so after spilling over with every desperate thought she needed to share. Bucky’s mind emptied of all his swirling doubts. All he knew was that she was there, and he wouldn’t take one more second of time with her for granted.

“What did I do without you?” he asked, many hours later, when Sunday became Monday without either of them taking note. She was cuddled against his chest on the balcony, watching the sun rise.

“Heard you got a hobby?”

“Yeah, um. I make wood carvings of animals and stuff.” Bucky found himself suddenly bashful. “Took a few lessons to get some dexterity back in my left hand after I got the new arm. Kinda snowballed from there. I have a stall at the Tuesday market.”

“How’s that going?”

“I learned I’m really good at carving birds, and missing the hell out of you at the same time.”

“Ooh, think of how good you’ll be without me to distract you!”

“Honey, that will still be a problem,” he snickered into the curve of her neck. “Worse, if anything.”

Her laughter echoed down the fire escape.

***

She was everywhere.

In the kitchen at 2 am, she was the pantsless ice cream goblin, illuminated in the light from the stove, with an innocent gasp to be caught.

She shouted out don’t you like this man’s wood?? at the farmers market and helped him sell out his stand for the first time, ever, and bought so many honey sticks from the vendor who shared her laugh that the woman gave her a free t-shirt.

The sofa in the therapist’s office found her, too, with her thigh pressed to his as they figured out how to be together, again. It wasn’t too hard. And it wasn’t perfect… Bucky was still working through a lot of pain, but now she was an active participant in the process, and it wasn’t a battle. She could ask him for things, and he could listen.

She went back to work, too, but with the knowledge that she had his support to leave when she figured out what would make her happier. Even if that involved "stealing slices of pizza from rats the size of chihuahuas"--their long-running joke about her destined career--Bucky stood by it.

And she was all over the city, too, because Bucky was determined that it had much more to offer than just a crappy job–they invested takeout money in season tickets to the MET, and became museum rats, and explored Central Park like it was some great wilderness.

She was everywhere, and everything, even more.

***

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #angst

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nicoletficlibrary · 2 years

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best kept

[bucky barnes x baker!reader]

This is for Birdie's Birthday Bash Writing Challenge!! Happy happy birthday, @buckysbirdie ❤️❤️❤️. This was such a fun way to pull myself back into the creative roll! You're a gem and you deserve to have a beautiful birthday fest.

For my prompts, I chose:🍦 Waffle Cone: Bucky Barnes |🧁 Birthday Cake: Baker | 🍭 “You deserve pretty things.” | 🍑 Secretly dating | 🍓 Mutual pining

warnings: idiots in love, miscommunication, fluff, mention of sex. no body descriptions, no use of y/n.

She didn’t mean it the way it came out–you deserve pretty things–like a plea. She intended for the sentiment to land like an observation, based on their few-and-far-between conversations across the register, like the brew of the day is Breakfast Blend or it’s supposed to rain around three o’clock.

But damn him… he flushed. He didn’t smile, quite, but his eyes flicked away and he cleared the embarrassment from his throat, handing over a bill too large for the small black coffee and the intricately frosted cupcake which had nearly given up the whole gambit to his companions, who hung at his elbow with an urgency which could only come from a post-mission adrenaline rush.

He was expressly forbidden from dating anyone inside the compound. He had made that abundantly clear as he fished the buttons of her baking uniform through the holes in the storage closet the day that pull between them became too much to bear. He had still kissed her like he had all the time in the world, and every moment they squirreled away thereafter was precious, but the longer they had to hide in the shadows… the harder it became to keep her tongue from whetting his plush lips where anyone could see. Especially when he picked out a cupcake he knew she had agonized over that morning, thanks to the hastily sent photo he received from the kitchen in the wee hours.

The way lavender buttercream would taste in a forbidden kiss… she ached for it.

He did deserve pretty things. He deserved much more than that, too. But he wouldn’t let her say it. She tried, with her legs tangled in his, to tell him sincerely what he meant to her, how lucky she felt that he would even look her way–but he had shut her down with suffocating kisses and stole all coherent thought. He went another day without knowing she loved him, without her trying to make him listen to her say it.

Maybe that’s why the comment burst out. When she couldn’t say I love you, what could she say? You deserve pretty things, like the cupcake I created because all this love has no place to go, because chamomile is your favorite tea, because it’s one part of you that belongs only to me.

Bucky motioned for her to keep the generous change from his bill, and hastened to the far end of the caf to admire her work from a safe distance. She watched him walk away for only a split second, before turning her attention back to the red-headed woman with a cold brew addiction.

Just wait, his text said. The message had pinged from her back pocket while she ascertained whether or not Captain America wanted a savory scone, so she didn’t see it until he and his cohort departed from the caf.

Clutching her phone over the stove long after the other staff headed home, she stared at the two little words from ‘Jamie.’ No punctuation to hang a hope on, ever. He wasn’t one for soft sentiments. Bucky Barnes touched her with urgency, but he didn’t speak her name with the reverence of a lover. He barely spoke at all, except to coax pleasure from her. She was starting to feel less like a choice, and more akin to a tool he used to blow off steam. It clawed at her heart, making her skin crawl with longing for just one fraction of the effort she was devoting… to a man who had never hidden that he wasn’t supposed to be fucking her.

She couldn’t take much more of such an empty arrangement. How could someone so enmeshed with her bones leave her so devoid of affection, even in the slightest? How could she love someone who stumbled away from a tryst like he’d been stung?

He never showed up before the night shift cleaners did their rounds, but he always showed.

Wait, she did. She jumped when cold vibranium fingers wrapped around her elbow, swiping furiously at her reddened eyes.

“Christ,” she breathed. “You’re a fucking phantom.” She hazarded a glance at him, but his expression was hardened and unreadable. He was frozen at the sight of her persistent tears. She rolled her eyes and eased her arm out of his grip, putting the island between them. Despite the way every hair on her body stood on end in his presence, it was no use hiding the way his silence inspired more tears. She let them streak down her cheeks. When still he said nothing, anger stirred behind her ribs.

“How was your cupcake?” she whispered.

“Um. Good.” Bucky leaned against the counter and folded his arms. The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened. “Chamomile?”

She nodded. “Your favorite. I, um. I sifted loose leaf tea in with the flour, I wasn’t sure how it would go.”

“It was good.”

“Good.” She gripped the butcher block countertop so hard, her fingers ached.

Bucky let an agonizing minute pass. “You’re crying,” he muttered. “Why?”

She snorted. “Tim’s wearing his big headphones while he does the floors tonight, if you want to risk it out here–if you can stand to fuck a woman while she’s sad.”

He was intelligent, she knew it. It hadn’t taken long to see how his mind whirred to strategize around every possible obstacle to the opportunity to take her in a dark corner, and she couldn’t dismiss the way his compatriots spoke about his work on assignment, even if she only overheard snippets of their conversations in the caf. It came as no surprise, then, when he scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.

“You wanna be alone. I’ll get out of your hair,” he said tersely.

“No–god.” She laughed, but it stabbed. “I want you. Here. I thought I had made that abundantly clear by sticking my hand down your pants at every opportunity.”

He blinked. “You’re angry.”

“Yeah. Yes, I am. I’m–I don’t know how to say this,” she struggled. “We’re better at the not-talking part of this arrangement. But if I don’t get it out, I’m going to pop!”

Bucky, to his credit, made no move to leave, though every muscle in his body seemed to tense up with the need to flee. Instead, he braced his hands against the counter behind him and nodded for her to say whatever was on her mind. It was then that she noticed that his hair was damp; he never came to her smelling of motor oil, or blood, or sweat, or any hint of whatever duty had demanded of him during the day. It made her want to sob. He came to her clean.

She studied the way his jaw flexed anxiously, and it gave her enough comfort–knowing he was uncomfortable–to make some sort of explanation come out.

“I’m selfish,” she started. “I thought that I could just be content sneaking around, because I’ve been clinging to every bit of affection I can get from you. It was fine for a while. More than fine, Jamie–god, I’m addicted,” she said sheepishly. “But it’s not fun anymore, it’s like I need a fix of you, or I can’t function. I hate that I can’t kiss you where people can see. I hate that you don’t say anything to make me think you want me half as much as I want you. I invented a fucking cupcake based on your kiss after a cup of tea. I–fuck.” She looked up at the ceiling to hold back a new wave of emotion.

“You never promised me anything, so I have no right demanding more from you,” she said. “So. I don’t think I can continue with my part of this arrangement, given that–well, considering that you can’t even show interest in a person without creating a coup with Human Resources–”

“Hang on,” he said softly. “What do you mean a coup?”

“You’ll get in trouble. Especially for sleeping with the cupcake woman–”

“I’m not following,” he said. Then, it dawned on him. “Doll…” Bucky chuckled. From the depths of his chest, a warm and wooly sound that brought heat to her cheeks. He smiled even as he swiped a thumb across his bottom lip.

“I see what this is,” Bucky said. His blue eyes flicked up to meet her gaze and her stomach flipped. Gone was the frown from his expression, and instead, a strange and unfamiliar lightness took its place. “You should’ve told me.”

“What?” she breathed.

Bucky pushed off the counter and walked around the island slowly, until he caged her back against the wood. The scent of his soap–sandalwood and cedar–filled her nostrils. He tipped her chin up.

“You seem to be under the impression that I come here to get my rocks off, and not because I have a sweet tooth. And I’m kickin’ myself for not seeing it sooner. God help me, doll: when I’m around you, I lose all rational thought.”

She wound her fingers into the front of his sweatshirt, a soft and well-worn thing with a faded SHIELD logo over the left pec. “Pardon my French, but those are the most words in a row I’ve heard out of your fucking mouth, maybe ever.”

“‘M a shy guy,” he said.

“I have tried to talk to you about this for months–”

Bucky winced. “Shit.”

“Yeah! You shut me up every time! Hey–stop staring at my mouth.”

He raised an eyebrow as if to say well, go ahead. For good measure, he sat on the stool at the lip of the counter, and bracketed her between his knees. She sighed.

“I don’t know how long this can continue if it can never be more than a secret,” she admitted.

Bucky cleared his throat.“...Are you under the impression that SHIELD has a stake in my personal relationships?”

She blinked. “You said it did.”

“When?”

“Um. The first time. In the pantry.”

He frowned again and looked at the pantry door like it might project the exact conversation they had, amidst a feverish tryst. “I don’t think I did,” he said.

“‘They’ll grill me and everyone in the compound will know–’ You were pretty clear that nobody could know about us. You kept saying it. ‘They can’t know. They can’t know.’”

“I’m not sure I was thinking about anything but putting my head between your legs,” he said frankly, which made her shiver. “Nick Fury doesn’t care about interpersonal relationships as long as they don’t interfere with our work. The guys, however, already give me shit for how often I miss my mouth with coffee because I’m watching the cupcake woman and her damned smile. I was probably talking about them. But I don’t remember, and I’m sorry you’ve been losing sleep over it.”

“I haven’t been losing sleep,” she said bashfully, though her lip slipping into her mouth revealed what a lie that was.

“Don’t you see how messed up I am over you?” The question came out of his mouth like a blessing. She stared at him in astonishment, which made the tips of his ears turn pink. “I may be bad at sayin’ it, doll, but I’m acting up like a lovesick man.” Bucky tucked his fingers into the back pockets of her jeans to pull her closer. “You’ve been hurting. Haven’t you?” When she nodded, his face fell. He huffed. “That won’t do.”

“Tell me,” she asked. “Please, Jamie.”

“You really been thinkin’ about something I said in the heat of the moment… shit, a year ago?”

“Words are precious, where you’re concerned.”

Bucky looked up at her like the sentiment struck a raw nerve. He shook his head. “I’ll be better.”

“You’ve already tripled your usual output,” she teased, letting her hands slide to his jaw. “It’s no wonder you’re good at keeping secrets.”

“What would people say if they knew?”

“Stop. You’re trying to save me from compound gossip?”

He studied her well-loved shoes and the flour which adorned the toes like a deliberate style choice. “Am I a coward?”

“Yeah,” she said, but she brushed his cheek. “For the sake of clarity… SHIELD doesn’t care, but your friends will tease you, and people might gossip, so that’s why you’ve never actually taken me to your room, and why we’ve been sneaking around for the better part of a year?”

Bucky cringed. “In my defense, I thought you got off on it.”

“I did–I do. But I spend about thirteen hours a day on my feet in this damn kitchen. It would be nice to have sex horizontal for once, and not bent over the sink I wash dishes in! Maybe even laying down on a mattress, as crazy as that sounds.”

“You wild woman, you.” He laced his fingers behind her knees. “I’m sorry. All this because I’m afraid of people thinkin’--it doesn’t matter, right?”

“Oh, you’re just now realizing that?” She swatted him on the shoulder. “We should’ve had this conversation eleven months ago!”

He didn’t say anything for a while, but he leaned into her fingers where they dug at the knot in his shoulder while he pondered where they had gone wrong. He gripped her wrist so he could entwine their fingers and study the raised veins on the back of her hand with a curious thumb.

“I always buy whatever pastry you made special for the day,” Bucky said, as if it was a revelation he was making at that exact moment. “I tip you like Rockafeller. I can’t stand the thought of stinking in your presence, so some days I shower twice. I scan the personnel report every morning to make sure you’re on the premises. I check my phone seven hundred times an hour on the off chance you text me. I dream about you. I wake up smelling your perfume. I’m–I’m your damned satellite, woman.”

“Then why are you so worried about people knowing?” she asked it, but she gleaned the answer the moment it left her lips and she pressed her fingers to his to stop him from saying it. His lips pursed behind her hand. She shook her head. “No. You’ll break my heart.”

Bucky waited until she removed her hand before attempting to say a thing. “You don’t know what I’ve done, doll–”

“I’m sorry–you think I didn’t google you within an inch of your life, old man?”

He smiled, despite himself. “My mistake.”

“Please. I would be so proud if people knew”

“Of me?” he asked, incredulous. “Why?”

She leaned in and took the softest drag from his lips, eliciting something like a gasp of amazement from the man. “Doesn’t make a lick of sense, does it?” she murmured against his mouth.

Bucky growled. “If I could have you, I would shout it from the rooftops.”

“You like me.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He stood, looming over her hungrily. “Could I, doll?”

She would have descended into tears again if her heart wasn’t bursting with happiness. “I would love that, Jamie.”

His eyes sparkle. “People will talk.”

“Good.”

“I’ll… I’ll kiss you over the counter!” He gestured to the very counter which separated them daily. “Other people will see me do it.”

She snickered. “I hope they do.”

“Sam will tell you about every time I’ve made a fool of myself watchin’ you–”

“I can’t wait.”

“You’re not ever gonna question me again, because I’m gonna just come right out and say things. All the time.” For the first time in her memory, Bucky fully smiled. Beamed, even. His eyes were lively with excitement and he reached for her hand. He laced their fingers once more.

“I’m going to walk outta here right now, holding your hand.” He backed slowly towards the door of the kitchen, tugging her with him. “Because I want to.”

“Okay,” she laughed. He was giddy, almost, at the prospect of getting to tell anyone who would listen that he was with her. Being seen together was a dream he didn’t know was within reach. It made her heart clench.

“Wait–” She held up a finger and released him so she could dash back into the pantry. When she emerged from the kitchen with the little pastry box in hand, Bucky raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Saved a cupcake for my personal pity party,” she said. “I blew through three dozen of these before noon.”

“Hmm… my cupcake is a best-seller, huh?” Bucky tucked her fingers in the crook of his elbow so he could draw her closer.

“Um. Every pastry I make is yours.” When he couldn’t speak in shock, she nodded. “You’re sort of my muse.”

“You’re jokin’.”

“God, it’s embarrassing–”

“No, no, no! It’s the sweetest thing I ever heard, doll, I promise you.” Bucky stopped in the vestibule where the hallway forked west to the parking garage (where her car was parked), and east to the residential wing of the compound.

“Well.” She shrugged. “I take how you’re making me feel, and I say it in flour and sugar. Everything I couldn’t tell you got baked into pastry. They all have names, too, but I’m not quite ready to mortify myself by admitting some of them.”

He cupped her cheek. “What’d you call it today?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t. Scout’s honor.”

“‘Jamie’s Best Kept Tea-cake.’” She braced herself for him to cringe, but he didn't.

Bucky looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “I am an idiot. Never let me forget it.” He turned on his heel and hastened down the east hall. She had to practically skip to keep up.

“Do you hate it?” she panted.

“What–no!” He punched the up arrow to summon the elevator. “I love it.”

“I love you.” The sentiment flew from her tongue like it had been waiting for that very moment to spread its wings.

The elevator dinged to punctuate her admission, effectively squashing an otherwise perfect moment… made awkward by Sam Wilson on his way back from the gym, standing in the elevator and grinning. Bucky glanced between Sam and the woman who just admitted to loving him, and pulled her into the car.

“Sam,” Bucky acknowledged. “You remember–”

“The way you poured dark roast in your lap when she laughed? Sure do. Hi. How are you?”

“She loves me,” Bucky said. She nudged his ribcage. “What? You do. I’m in love with her, also.”

“I’ve gleaned that prior to now,” Sam said smugly.

Her cheeks were hot, but she leaned into Bucky’s side in disbelief. “Hi Sam. I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. While we’re all sharing our feelings, he’s one of the best people I know, so. As far as I’m concerned, this is a fantastic development. Which I’m suspecting isn’t a new one.” Sam smirked as Bucky scratched his head guiltily.

“Wow. Thanks, man.”

“Whatcha got there?” Sam pointed at the little box in her hand.

“That’s ‘Jamie’s Best Kept Tea-cake,’” Bucky explained proudly.

She squeezed his elbow. “It’s chamomile with lavender buttercream.”

“Oh shit, the magic cupcake! He force-fed us all a bite at lunch. Five stars.”

“Thanks.” She shared a smile with Sam. The elevator arrived on Bucky’s desired floor. Sam said little else, but offered a sly salute to the retreating form of his giddy best friend and the woman he couldn’t stop talking about.

At Bucky’s door, he paused. “I didn’t–is this okay? Do you want to come in? You can use my on-suite shower. Water pressure is amazing. I have a very comfortable bed–”

She pressed up on her toes and kissed him quiet. “You love me,” she murmured, “so I’d like to go in.”

“I’m making a fool of myself right now, aren’t I,” he breathed.

“Nah. You’re just… chatty.”

“I don’t think I can stop.”

“It’s okay. 'S pretty cute.”

He smiled dreamily. “Cute is good. I can work with that.” He let them into the room, but the moment the door shut behind her, he tensed up again. “Um. This is it. I don’t have much.”

“Jamie,” she soothed. “I’m so happy to be here, but I’m exhausted. I’ll take you up on that shower, and we can talk more in the morning. Yeah?”

“Oh–of course, doll, there’s towels…” He babbled on, but she temporarily ignored him in favor of unwrapping the little box on his desk. She grabbed him mid-sentence by the front of the sweatshirt. Something had to be done to dissipate his adrenaline, which was hammering away full-throttle to force every little thought which crossed his brain to traverse his tongue, too.

“C’mere.” She held up the small cupcake and offered him the first bite. His lips grazed her thumb and forefinger, but her own chased them to capture the sugar of a kiss. He groaned into the flowery sweetness. She giggled when he dipped the tip of his finger into the frosting, only to drag it over her cupid’s bow. Warmth pooled between her thighs as he licked the purple sugar from her skin.

“Shit,” he breathed. “I’m. I–doll.”

She laughed. “That, James Barnes, is what you taste like after a cup of tea.”

“If I wasn’t already… I am, now.” He peered at her through half-lidded eyes, drunk on sugar and arousal.

“What?”

“In love.”

He said nothing else. Every sentiment which she inspired in him paled in comparison to the feeling of her. The alphabet of her body was language enough to describe the utter terror of exposing every chamber of his heart, and still come up short for the measure of awe. And as for her…

She had kept him locked away in a neighboring vein for so long, that letting the flow of Bucky Barnes through her senses overwhelmed her with the knowledge that yes, she loved him… and yet loved him more as he exposed his vulnerabilities–like his 3-in-1 shower gel, and his pleasant striped pajama pants with frayed cuffs. He would be best kept at her side, of that much she was sure. Not a dirty secret in the pantry, but softly snoring against her shoulder, with no question of whether or not he wanted her, and an abundance of pretty things… many of which came frosted.

Thanks for reading! :)

my masterlist - my bucky barnes masterlist

bucky tag list: @peterhollandkait @nahthanks @honeywithemoney @dracris33

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel

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nicoletficlibrary · 2 years

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In Every Lifetime

summary: When Bucky’s first love from the 1940′s is found alive in cyro, he begins to question whether you’d turn from him in fear or disgust.

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 5k

warnings: angsty angst (with a happy ending), bucky’s sad internal dialogue,

Bucky had half a mind to wonder whether his heart might truly escape his chest. It pounded infernally against his rib cage; violently shaking against the bones until they splintered and cracked, he was certain he might look down at the SHIELD emblem on his sweatshirt to find blood soaking through the fabric. Or perhaps the bones of his sternum piercing through his skin. Hell, he might have left his heart on the tile a few paces behind him – throbbing on the ground, exposed to the elements.

He hadn’t so much as taken a breath since he caught word of what Stark uncovered in the Atlantic. It was only meant to be an exploratory mission; a simple means of honoring his father’s legacy by scanning the ocean depths in search of a history Howard had idolized in his time. Simple, apparently, to a billionaire with nothing but time on his well-manicured hands.

Keep reading

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #angst #marvel

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nicoletficlibrary · 2 years

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Undisclosed - Masterlist

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.

Warnings: Beefy!bucky, angst, references to death/crime, injury, toxicity, eventual smut (minors dni, marked **), a bit of slow burn!!

a/n: This series is now complete 🤍

Series playlist ⍋

❆ Chapter One

❆ Chapter Two

❆ Chapter Three

❆ Chapter Four

❆ Chapter Five

❆ Chapter Six**

❆ Chapter Seven

❆ Chapter Eight

❆ Chapter Nine

❆ Chapter Ten

❆ Epilogue

Series art!!

🤍 Bucky

🤍 Bucky and Alpine

🤍Scenery

🤍 Bucky at the diner

Extra content!!

Reader gets sick (drabble)

Spring in Stowe Mills (oneshot)

The bear attack (drabble)

Come Home (oneshot)

#bucky barnes x reader #smut #fluff #angst #series #marvel

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nicoletficlibrary · 2 years

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I Need Him Like Water

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You think Bucky’s having an affair. He thinks… well you aren’t sure what he thinks. But he must notice the living room light is left on. Every night.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Angst! (w/ a happy ending!), miscommunication, mentions of infidelity

a/n: I love feedback!! Please let me know what you think, it gives me motivation to write more :)

Masterlist

The living room light was dim, just a yellow glow reflecting on bare brick walls and the satin of unused couches. You had meant to turn that lamp off an hour ago—when Bucky still hadn’t come home and the clock still continued to tick past times you refused to acknowledge.

You had meant to be in bed before his boots even clicked past the threshold of your apartment.

He threw his jacket on the kitchen table, ignoring the coat closet where your own jacket was left hanging alone. The reprimand caught in your throat, guarded behind the firm line you had pressed your lips into. You blinked at the kitchen cabinets, the glass of water nearly slipping through your fingers.

“Hey, sweetheart. You stay up waiting for me?”

Keep reading

#bucky barnes x reader #angst #marvel

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nicoletficlibrary · 2 years

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best kept

[bucky barnes x baker!reader]

For my prompts, I chose:🍦 Waffle Cone: Bucky Barnes |🧁 Birthday Cake: Baker | 🍭 “You deserve pretty things.” | 🍑 Secretly dating | 🍓 Mutual pining

warnings: idiots in love, miscommunication, fluff, mention of sex. no body descriptions, no use of y/n.

The way lavender buttercream would taste in a forbidden kiss… she ached for it.

He never showed up before the night shift cleaners did their rounds, but he always showed.

Wait, she did. She jumped when cold vibranium fingers wrapped around her elbow, swiping furiously at her reddened eyes.

“How was your cupcake?” she whispered.

“Um. Good.” Bucky leaned against the counter and folded his arms. The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened. “Chamomile?”

She nodded. “Your favorite. I, um. I sifted loose leaf tea in with the flour, I wasn’t sure how it would go.”

“It was good.”

“Good.” She gripped the butcher block countertop so hard, her fingers ached.

Bucky let an agonizing minute pass. “You’re crying,” he muttered. “Why?”

She snorted. “Tim’s wearing his big headphones while he does the floors tonight, if you want to risk it out here–if you can stand to fuck a woman while she’s sad.”

“You wanna be alone. I’ll get out of your hair,” he said tersely.

“No–god.” She laughed, but it stabbed. “I want you. Here. I thought I had made that abundantly clear by sticking my hand down your pants at every opportunity.”

He blinked. “You’re angry.”

“Yeah. Yes, I am. I’m–I don’t know how to say this,” she struggled. “We’re better at the not-talking part of this arrangement. But if I don’t get it out, I’m going to pop!”

She studied the way his jaw flexed anxiously, and it gave her enough comfort–knowing he was uncomfortable–to make some sort of explanation come out.

“Hang on,” he said softly. “What do you mean a coup?”

“You’ll get in trouble. Especially for sleeping with the cupcake woman–”

“What?” she breathed.

Bucky pushed off the counter and walked around the island slowly, until he caged her back against the wood. The scent of his soap–sandalwood and cedar–filled her nostrils. He tipped her chin up.

“‘M a shy guy,” he said.

“I have tried to talk to you about this for months–”

Bucky winced. “Shit.”

“Yeah! You shut me up every time! Hey–stop staring at my mouth.”

He raised an eyebrow as if to say well, go ahead. For good measure, he sat on the stool at the lip of the counter, and bracketed her between his knees. She sighed.

“I don’t know how long this can continue if it can never be more than a secret,” she admitted.

Bucky cleared his throat.“...Are you under the impression that SHIELD has a stake in my personal relationships?”

She blinked. “You said it did.”

“When?”

“Um. The first time. In the pantry.”

He frowned again and looked at the pantry door like it might project the exact conversation they had, amidst a feverish tryst. “I don’t think I did,” he said.

“‘They’ll grill me and everyone in the compound will know–’ You were pretty clear that nobody could know about us. You kept saying it. ‘They can’t know. They can’t know.’”

“I haven’t been losing sleep,” she said bashfully, though her lip slipping into her mouth revealed what a lie that was.

“Tell me,” she asked. “Please, Jamie.”

“You really been thinkin’ about something I said in the heat of the moment… shit, a year ago?”

“Words are precious, where you’re concerned.”

Bucky looked up at her like the sentiment struck a raw nerve. He shook his head. “I’ll be better.”

“You’ve already tripled your usual output,” she teased, letting her hands slide to his jaw. “It’s no wonder you’re good at keeping secrets.”

“What would people say if they knew?”

“Stop. You’re trying to save me from compound gossip?”

He studied her well-loved shoes and the flour which adorned the toes like a deliberate style choice. “Am I a coward?”

Bucky cringed. “In my defense, I thought you got off on it.”

“You wild woman, you.” He laced his fingers behind her knees. “I’m sorry. All this because I’m afraid of people thinkin’--it doesn’t matter, right?”

“Oh, you’re just now realizing that?” She swatted him on the shoulder. “We should’ve had this conversation eleven months ago!”

Bucky waited until she removed her hand before attempting to say a thing. “You don’t know what I’ve done, doll–”

“I’m sorry–you think I didn’t google you within an inch of your life, old man?”

He smiled, despite himself. “My mistake.”

“Please. I would be so proud if people knew”

“Of me?” he asked, incredulous. “Why?”

She leaned in and took the softest drag from his lips, eliciting something like a gasp of amazement from the man. “Doesn’t make a lick of sense, does it?” she murmured against his mouth.

Bucky growled. “If I could have you, I would shout it from the rooftops.”

“You like me.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He stood, looming over her hungrily. “Could I, doll?”

She would have descended into tears again if her heart wasn’t bursting with happiness. “I would love that, Jamie.”

His eyes sparkle. “People will talk.”

“Good.”

“I’ll… I’ll kiss you over the counter!” He gestured to the very counter which separated them daily. “Other people will see me do it.”

She snickered. “I hope they do.”

“Sam will tell you about every time I’ve made a fool of myself watchin’ you–”

“I can’t wait.”

“I’m going to walk outta here right now, holding your hand.” He backed slowly towards the door of the kitchen, tugging her with him. “Because I want to.”

“Wait–” She held up a finger and released him so she could dash back into the pantry. When she emerged from the kitchen with the little pastry box in hand, Bucky raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Saved a cupcake for my personal pity party,” she said. “I blew through three dozen of these before noon.”

“Hmm… my cupcake is a best-seller, huh?” Bucky tucked her fingers in the crook of his elbow so he could draw her closer.

“Um. Every pastry I make is yours.” When he couldn’t speak in shock, she nodded. “You’re sort of my muse.”

“You’re jokin’.”

“God, it’s embarrassing–”

He cupped her cheek. “What’d you call it today?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t. Scout’s honor.”

“‘Jamie’s Best Kept Tea-cake.’” She braced herself for him to cringe, but he didn't.

Bucky looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “I am an idiot. Never let me forget it.” He turned on his heel and hastened down the east hall. She had to practically skip to keep up.

“Do you hate it?” she panted.

“What–no!” He punched the up arrow to summon the elevator. “I love it.”

“I love you.” The sentiment flew from her tongue like it had been waiting for that very moment to spread its wings.

“Sam,” Bucky acknowledged. “You remember–”

“The way you poured dark roast in your lap when she laughed? Sure do. Hi. How are you?”

“She loves me,” Bucky said. She nudged his ribcage. “What? You do. I’m in love with her, also.”

“I’ve gleaned that prior to now,” Sam said smugly.

Her cheeks were hot, but she leaned into Bucky’s side in disbelief. “Hi Sam. I’m embarrassed.”

“Wow. Thanks, man.”

“Whatcha got there?” Sam pointed at the little box in her hand.

“That’s ‘Jamie’s Best Kept Tea-cake,’” Bucky explained proudly.

She squeezed his elbow. “It’s chamomile with lavender buttercream.”

“Oh shit, the magic cupcake! He force-fed us all a bite at lunch. Five stars.”

At Bucky’s door, he paused. “I didn’t–is this okay? Do you want to come in? You can use my on-suite shower. Water pressure is amazing. I have a very comfortable bed–”

She pressed up on her toes and kissed him quiet. “You love me,” she murmured, “so I’d like to go in.”

“I’m making a fool of myself right now, aren’t I,” he breathed.

“Nah. You’re just… chatty.”

“I don’t think I can stop.”

“It’s okay. 'S pretty cute.”

He smiled dreamily. “Cute is good. I can work with that.” He let them into the room, but the moment the door shut behind her, he tensed up again. “Um. This is it. I don’t have much.”

“Jamie,” she soothed. “I’m so happy to be here, but I’m exhausted. I’ll take you up on that shower, and we can talk more in the morning. Yeah?”

“Shit,” he breathed. “I’m. I–doll.”

She laughed. “That, James Barnes, is what you taste like after a cup of tea.”

“If I wasn’t already… I am, now.” He peered at her through half-lidded eyes, drunk on sugar and arousal.

“What?”

“In love.”

Thanks for reading! :)

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