Foundations (#1)
Foundations (#1)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms. (Bucky)
Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.
Word Count: 8.1.k.
note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.
Next Chapter
Two years ago.
Steve crouched in the snow-dusted ruins of the Hydra facility, surrounded by the faint hum of outdated machinery and the occasional creak of the aging structure. The air in the base carried a mix of metallic tang and decay as if the building itself was holding its last breaths. He ran his gloved hand along a table coated with frost and dust before stopping in front of a row of cryogenic chambers.
Each pod told a story of Hydra’s grotesque obsession with human experimentation. Steve’s sharp gaze scanned them uneasily and when he reached the last chamber, he froze.
Encased in cryogenic suspension, there was a small boy, no older than three, with his delicate features eerily serene within the frosted glass. The sight made his stomach twist.
Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms. “Steve, what did you find?”
He pressed a hand against the glass. “It’s a boy. About… two or three years old. Cryostasis. We need to get him out of here.”
His eyes darted to a nearby desk, where he eyed a weathered folder with its corners curled with age. Flipping it open, he scanned the documents, and his stomach churned with every line. “This- he is not a kidnapped normal human boy… they’ve been using fertilization methods here. Thirty samples and only this child lived after birth. The mother died in labor. Nat-” Steve’s voice got strained. “He’s… he’s Bucky’s son.”
The line remained silent for a moment before Natasha answered cautiously. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. There’s… documentation here, DNA confirmations. God, he doesn’t even have a name. Just a designation: A-25.”
A beat of silence passed again, heavy with the implication before Natasha’s voice softened. “What do you want to do?”
Steve exhaled slowly, his breath clouding the icy air. “We can’t just leave him here.”
-----
Back on the Quinjet, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The cryo-pod rested in the cargo bay, its faint orange light casting an otherworldly glow over the steel walls. Steve sat on a bench, with his elbows rested on his knees and his hands pressed on his face, wrestling with the enormity of the decision he’d just made. Across from him, two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood stiffly, with palpable apprehension.
“Captain Rogers,” one of them began, breaking the tense silence. “Moving him to the tower isn’t viable. We don’t know what kind of conditioning Hydra implemented, or if the kid is enhanced. He could be dangerous.”
Steve’s head snapped up, pinning the agent in place with his gaze. “He’s a child. And from what I read; he didn’t inherit the serum properties. Whatever Hydra did to him, it’s on us to undo it. Leaving him here or handing him over to a government lab isn’t an option.”
The agent shifted uneasily. “And if he’s unstable? Wha-”
Steve set his jaw, leaning back against the cold metal wall with determination. “Then I’ll handle it,” he cut firmly. “But we are not abandoning him.”
----
Two nights later in the common room, Steve, Natasha, and Tony gathered to discuss the next steps. The atmosphere was heavy. Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a skeptical expression.
“Look, I’m not saying we keep this from Barnes,” he pointed out with a little hesitation. “But you’ve seen him, Steve. He’s barely keeping himself together most days. Throwing a kid into the mix?”
Steve’s jaw clenched, and he hardened his gaze. “That’s not your call to make. He deserves to know.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Even if it sends him over the edge?”
“He’s stronger than you think,” Steve countered firmly. “And he’s not alone, even if sometimes he thinks he is. If he decides to step up, we’ll help him. All of us. That boy is his only family, Tony. Bucky deserves the chance to decide what kind of relationship he wants with him.”
----
Present.
Two weeks into the new school year, she stood at the kindergarten’s gate, greeting the kids with a warm smile. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves, and shades of orange and gold framed the cheerful faces of the kids as they laughed and ran to their friends. Each day, they’d formed a routine, walking together through the small park leading to the school hall.
Nearly everyone had arrived when, just as she was about to close the gate, she noticed a figure approaching. Her gaze landed on a tall man with strikingly beautiful yet tired blue eyes. His hesitant steps betrayed a certain nervousness. Beside him walked a boy, the spitting image of him, with the same dark hair and soulful eyes. They were unfamiliar to her, but she knew immediately who they must be.
Thomas Barnes and, presumably, his father.
The director had informed her about the new student, explaining that, for personal reasons, the boy would start a bit later than the others. Now here they were, standing on the threshold of a new chapter.
She stepped forward with a warm smile. “You must be Thomas,” she said gently, crouching slightly to meet the boy’s gaze. Then she looked up at the man, her voice equally kind. “And you must be his dad. Welcome.”
The child hugged his father’s leg when he realized he had to go in alone. Bucky bit his lip, placing a hand on the boy’s head. “Kiddo, we talked about this. I’ll pick you up at three, and then we’ll go to Uncle Steve’s,” he said softly.
Then he gave her an apologetic look. “Also, what do we always say? Manners. You didn’t even greet Miss...”
Oh. She got so distracted by the pair that her clouded mind didn’t even consider the basic introductions. “Sorry! I’m Miss Y/n. It’s a pleasure to meet you two.”
The boy separated one hand from his father’s leg and, straightening his posture but with a quivering lip, offered his hand like a little gentleman. “I’m Thomas. I’m five years old, and… and I will be in your care.”
She shook his hand, surprised and delighted. “Well, aren’t you a little gentleman,” she said warmly.
The bell rang, and she straightened up. “Well, that is our cue. Would you like to come inside? There are lots of boys and girls who would love to meet and play with you,” she reassured. Then she looked at Bucky. “And, as your papa -Mr. Barnes- said, he’ll be here when we finish.”
“James,” Bucky said promptly, stretching out his hand firm but gently to shake hers. She felt a traitorous warmth rise in her cheeks when their gaze met at closer range. His tired blue eyes held more than exhaustion; something softer and more vulnerable lingered there, though it was quickly masked. Apprehension, perhaps? He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and yet, somehow, he was effortlessly handsome.
“Nice to meet you, James,” she managed, keeping her tone calm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, your little one will be fine, you’ll see.”
Bucky nodded once, briskly but slightly hesitant. “Yeah, I-I know. Alright, Kiddo,” he said, crouching slightly to Thomas’s level, in a low and encouraging voice. “You listen to your teacher and... have fun, alright? Just like we talked about.”
Thomas clung to his father’s jeans for a moment longer, small fingers clutching the fabric as if it were a lifeline. His lip quivered, and he glanced back at her with uncertain eyes. For a brief second, she wondered if he might refuse to let go, but then, slowly, he released his grip. The boy stepped toward her, tentative but brave, and positioned himself by her side.
She crouched again, offering him an encouraging smile. “You’re going to have a wonderful day, Thomas. I’ll be right here with you.”
The reassurance seemed to help. Thomas nodded shyly, though he didn’t speak. When she stood again, she noticed Bucky watching his son with an expression that tugged at her heart, equal parts pride and pain.
With a single nod of acknowledgment toward her, he straightened and turned on his heel, walking away without looking back. She couldn’t help but watch him for a moment longer than she should have, her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders as he disappeared down the path. She exhaled softly, turning her attention back to Thomas.
“Shall we?” she asked gently, holding out her hand.
Thomas hesitated, but then his small hand slid into hers. Together, they walked toward the classroom, the sound of children’s laughter welcoming them into a new day.
----
Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he strolled along the sidewalk, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. Two years. It had been two years since Thomas came into his life, and now, for the first time, he was entrusting his care to someone else’s hands, strangers, no less. It might have seemed like an ordinary milestone for any other parent, but ordinary wasn’t a word that had ever described his life.
Normalcy was a foreign concept in their household. From the moment Steve had walked into the tower with that cryo-pod and the revelation of Thomas’s existence, everything had shifted. Even in the haze of his own self-doubt and fucked up brain, Bucky had known there was only one choice to make. Despite the murmurs of alternatives offered to him -guardianship through S.H.I.E.L.D. programs, adoption options- he hadn’t hesitated.
Responsibility. He owed the child that much, even if the idea of raising him terrified him to his core. How could he possibly be a parent when he was barely figuring out how to be himself? A walking mess trying to navigate a world he no longer fit into, burdened by guilt, memories, and nightmares. But Thomas wasn’t just a child, he was his child, a fragile thread tethering Bucky to something tangible and real.
The first months had been the hardest. Thomas, scared and silent, flinched at shadows and refused to speak more than a handful of words. A traumatized child by his earliest experiences, molded by Hydra’s cruel hands, and burdened with a fragility that made Bucky’s heart ache almost everyday. He could barely bring himself to imagine what might have happened if Steve hadn’t found him in that lab.
It wasn’t a journey he could have managed alone. Living at the Avengers Tower, he had been reluctant at first to accept help from the team. Steve, of course, had been steadfast and supportive, as expected. But what surprised Bucky the most was how the others had stepped in. Natasha’s guidance when words failed him, Wanda’s ability to soothe the boy, and even Tony’s seemingly endless stream of resources, like the top-tier child therapists he’d hired without hesitation.
Thomas was lucky, in a way, that Hydra’s experiments hadn’t left him with the serum’s super-soldier effects. The organization had tried, forcing serum-adjacent treatments to awaken something dormant, but to no avail. It was a relief Bucky carried deeply, though it did little to soften his guilt for not being there to stop it sooner.
Over time, they found a constant rhythm in their lives. Bucky wasn’t perfect -far from it- but he learned how to be there for Thomas. He showed him that food wasn’t a reward to fear, that adults could offer love instead of pain, that bedtime stories were for comfort and not to kept teaching lessons until he closed his exhausted eyes. Slowly but surely, the child started to blossom, inching out of his shell, exploring the world with a tentative kind of hope.
Still, Bucky knew they couldn’t stay in the protective bubble of the tower forever. Thomas needed more: kids his age, a chance to experience life outside their small, cloistered world. It had taken time, but Bucky finally worked up the nerve to rent an apartment for the two of them and begin the daunting process of finding a kindergarten.
The search was harder than expected. On paper, the process was simple: call, inquire, and enroll. In practice, things unraveled quickly. Many schools initially expressed enthusiasm, but the moment they learned Thomas was the son of that James Barnes, things changed. “Administrative errors” cropped up, classes mysteriously filled to capacity, or calls simply went unanswered.
When Tony offered to pull strings, Bucky refused. He wasn’t about to force his son into a place where the only motivation was Stark’s money. He didn’t want Thomas in an environment where whispers followed him down the hall, or where teachers tiptoed around him out of fear or prejudice.
So, he kept searching. Two weeks into the semester, he finally found a place. It was modest, tucked into a quiet neighborhood, with no interest in his past beyond the necessary paperwork. No judgment. No lingering stares. Just a promise to give Thomas a chance, and that was all Bucky needed.
As he walked away from the schoolyard, leaving Thomas in the care of his teacher and her warm smile, he tried to shake the tension in his chest. Rationally, he knew it was the right step. Thomas deserved to experience childhood, and this was the first of many milestones.
Still, the ache of leaving was sharper than he’d expected.
----
Thomas’s first day could have been better, but it wasn’t terrible either. As expected, the transition wasn’t easy. He seemed overwhelmed by the number of children around him. Though the school was small, nine energetic five-year-olds in one room was a stark contrast to the quiet, adult-dominated environment he’d grown up in.
The morning began with a formal introduction, as she guided Thomas gently to the front of the room. “Everyone, this is Thomas. Let’s all say hello!” she announced with her ever-patient smile.
A chorus of cheerful voices greeted him in unison, and Thomas blinked, wide-eyed, shifting closer to her side. Throughout the day, he stuck to her like a shadow, quietly observing the other children. His curious gaze darted from one group to another, watching how they played together, laughed, and squabbled.
The first hiccup came when two boys got into a brief tug-of-war over a toy truck. Thomas visibly tensed, his small shoulders stiffening as he clutched the hem of her skirt. She quickly diffused the situation and offered Thomas a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Thomas, sometimes there are quarrels, but nothing to worry about,” she said softly, her voice soothing as she rested a hand on his shoulder. He nodded but didn’t move from his spot.
Flora, one of the more outgoing girls in the class, made several attempts to coax Thomas into playing with her. Each time, she would approach with a bright smile and an outstretched hand, only to be gently refused as he shook his head and clung to his teacher. “Thomas is feeling a little shy today,” she explained kindly to Flora. “But I bet he’ll join you soon.” Flora nodded enthusiastically, skipping back to her friends, undeterred.
When the day finally wound to a close, the children were picked up one by one, their parents ushering them out with cheerful waves and chatter. Soon, the classroom emptied, leaving only her and Thomas. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes past pick-up time. Not late enough to be alarming, but enough to notice the change in Thomas.
The boy sat stiffly on a bench near the gate, his small chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. She crouched down in front of him, “Hey, Thomas, it’s okay. Your dad will be here soon, I promise. While we wait, want to learn a game?”
The child blinked at her, with glassy eyes by unshed tears and then nodded hesitantly.
She held out her hands and showed him a simple clapping game. The rhythm seemed to distract him, his and his breathing slowed down as he focused on mimicking her motions. They repeated the sequence a few times, and she rewarded him with a bright smile each time he got it right.
Then, footsteps approached the gate, and she looked up to see James Barnes hurrying toward them, with a concerned expression.
“I’m so sorry,” he said breathlessly, his blue eyes flicking from her to Thomas. “Traffic was worse than I expected-”
“Papa!” the small voice broke through as he bolted toward his father, tears streaming down his face now that the wait was over.
Bucky crouched and scooped him up immediately, cradling him close with his gloved hands. “Hey, hey, I’m here,” he murmured with guilt. “I’m so sorry, kiddo. I won’t be late again, I promise.”
As he held his son tightly, he turned toward her, ready to apologize again. But when he met her gaze, something in his chest shifted, just a flicker, something too fleeting to name.
She was smiling, kind and patient, with a softness in her expression that made it painfully obvious she wasn’t upset about waiting.
That shouldn’t have stood out. But it did.
“I’m sorry for making you wait and... taking up your time. It won’t happen again.”
She shook her head with a kind smile. “It’s alright. He was fine, really. And the game helped. Don’t worry about it.”
Bucky gave her a grateful look, softening his features just enough to show how much he appreciated her patience. “Thanks... for everything.”
She was about to respond when something crossed her mind. She hesitated briefly before speaking. “Um, Mr. Barnes -James- do you think we could schedule a meeting sometime this week? I usually interview families during the first days to get to know them better, but since Thomas started a bit later, we haven’t had the chance. If you’d like, we can arrange a time that works for you.”
His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she quickly added, “Of course, if you need to check with Mrs-”
“It’s just me,” he interrupted, firmer than intended but not unkind.
She blinked. “Oh.”
Just him.
Her expression didn’t change much, she simply nodded, adjusting quickly, but something about her expression made his throat go dry.
“Alright,” she said smoothly, “how does tomorrow at 1 PM sound?”
Bucky knitted his brows, working through something in his mind. She took the hesitation as doubt and quickly reassured him, “The interviews take place during school hours. Another teacher covers my class while I meet with parents. It’s all planned out.”
He nodded after a moment, letting the arrangement settle.
“Then it’s a date.”
The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
Silence. His own brain screeched to a halt.
Shit.
The second the words left his mouth, he froze. Why the hell did he have to use that word? He shows up late on the first day, and instead of keeping his shit together, he throws that word in her face like some creep. What is she going to think? That he’s hitting on her? That he doesn’t take this seriously? His mind started spiraling as always, and he glanced at her, waiting for her reaction, expecting something-anything- that signaled she’s offended or uncomfortable.
But she only smiled. Not a smirk, not teasing, just… warm. Like she hadn’t even registered the slip, or worse, like she had and found it endearing.
“Alright, Mr. Barnes. See you tomorrow. Bye, Thomas! Have a wonderful afternoon!”
He nodded stiffly, turned on his heel, and walked toward the gate with Thomas in his arms. The tension in his shoulders was killing him, and his mind kept spiraling. Why couldn’t he have just said meeting like a normal person?
-----
He arrived five minutes early. Pressing the doorbell, he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, exhaling quietly as he waited.
A moment later, a soft buzz hummed from the side gate, signaling that he should push to enter. The latch clicked open under his touch, and he stepped through, strolling into the modest front yard where tiny footprints were imprinted into the damp soil, remnants of an afternoon spent playing.
As he neared the entrance, the building’s front door swung open, and there she was, standing at the threshold to receive him.
She hadn’t expected him to be so… put together.
Her breath hitched for half a second as she took him in, her brain momentarily short-circuiting before she caught herself. He was overdressed for a simple parent-teacher chat. His hair was neatly tied into a short ponytail, keeping the strands away from his sharp, striking features. The crisp black shirt he wore, fitted just right, framing his broad shoulders like a second skin, the mother-of-pearl blue buttons subtly gleaming under the soft afternoon light. The contrast of the dark fabric against his fair skin only made his blue eyes stand out even more.
She blinked, suddenly aware that she had been staring, like an absolute idiot, at that.
Her own reflection in the glass door made her painfully self-conscious. She had thrown on a comfortable jumper that morning, warm and practical, paired with an open wool jacket she hadn’t given much thought to. Now, under his gaze, she felt underdressed.
Shaking off the ridiculous thought, she straightened her posture and smiled, keeping her voice even. “Mr. Barnes, right on time.”
His lips twitched slightly, almost a smile, but not quite. “James. Figured I shouldn’t be late twice in a row.”
She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. “Come on in. Would you like some tea or coffee before we start?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Tea, if it’s not a hassle.”
“No hassle at all,” she assured him, leading the way inside.
As he followed her down the hallway, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. This was just a meeting, a standard conversation about Thomas. That was all. She led him into the small office and closed the door with a soft click.
With him inside, the space suddenly felt even smaller, almost claustrophobic. As he settled into the chair, she turned toward the small counter, flipping on the electric kettle. With her back to him, she absently tugged at the neckline of her jumper, then glanced down, frowning as she noticed a faint smear of green tempera near the hem. Great. Just great. She tried to rub it away discreetly, but the stain refused to budge.
Forcing herself to move on, she turned around, offering a professional -and hopefully not too flustered- smile. “So, Mr. Barnes.”
“James is really alright,” he repeated. Then he asked himself if there was a rule to use the last name, and she was trying to make him notice that fact politely by still addressing him with formality.
She nodded. “Alright, James.” The name felt different on her tongue, more personal somehow, and for some reason, it flustered her to use it. She cleared her throat, refocusing. “I’m going to ask some questions about Thomas’s daily life and family status so we can start building his file.”
At that, she caught the way his gloved hands tensed over his knees. It was subtle, just the smallest tightening of his fingers, but she noticed. His expression, however, remained unreadable: calm, polite, the perfect picture of an agreeable parent sitting through a standard school procedure.
But she knew better.
Not wanting to push too soon, she offered an alternative. “Also, if you’re interested, I can tell you briefly about yesterday and today’s steps in his integration.”
Something shifted in his posture at that. Not much, but enough. A small breath in, a glance toward her, like a man bracing for news he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.
“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding. “I’d like that.”
----
Bucky felt little beads of sweat trickling down his spine. Was he trying too much?
He shifted slightly, flexing his fingers over his knees as he stole a glance at himself, just a quick, discreet look. Then, at her, and then, at the tiny office around them, shelves stacked with colorful folders, walls decorated with cheerful crayon drawings.
Back in his time, people dressed better. If a parent had to meet with a teacher, for whatever reason, it was treated as a formal occasion. A suit, a tie. The respect was shown in one’s presentation. So, naturally, he thought the right thing to do was clean up good.
Now, sitting in that too-small, squeaky green chair, with that attractive lovely lady making him tea, he felt like a goddamn wedding cake doll.
Her jumper was slightly wrinkled, her open wool jacket practical and cozy, and there was that stubborn little stain on the hem that she’d tried to wipe away when she thought he wasn’t looking. She belonged in this space, warm and natural, while he looked like he had an appointment with a boardroom, not a kindergarten teacher.
He swallowed, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Too late to do anything about it now.
"Alright," she said, settling across from him with a patient smile. "Where do you want to start? The interrogation about personal matters or how Thomas is adjusting to his partners and environment?"
Bucky barely hesitated. "The second one."
She smiled knowingly as if she had expected that answer. “He was a little introverted at first, which is completely normal for a child his age in a new group. Most of the kids already knew each other, so he’s still figuring out where he fits in.”
Bucky nodded, listening intently.
She hesitated for a second before continuing, careful but warm. “He’s also a bit… dependent.”
That made something in Bucky’s chest tighten.
“Which, again, is perfectly normal,” she reassured quickly, reading the shift in his expression. “Especially considering his background. I have no problem giving him the comfort and reassurance he needs throughout the day. But maybe, with time, we can work on building his independence a little.” She offered him a gentle smile. “But overall, James, he’s a lovely kid. Really.”
Bucky exhaled slowly, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. Lovely. Not a problem. Not difficult. Just… lovely.
She turned to retrieve the tea, and as she was about to place his mug on the table, the sleeve of her wool jacket caught on a rough splinter in the wood. The movement sent the cup tipping, and a small splash of hot liquid spilled onto her hand and the table.
“Oh, fuc-” She caught herself just in time, trading the curse for a flustered, “Oh, dear.” She hastily set the mug down, shaking her wrist slightly as she clutched her burned fingers.
Before Bucky even registered the thought, his body moved on instinct. Old chivalry, muscle memory, -maybe both- he reached out, pulling off his glove in one swift motion and gently cradling her injured hand in his own. He wrapped his cool metal fingers around hers, as an automatic attempt to soothe the burn.
She tensed.
The reaction was so small that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But he did. The slight stiffening of her shoulders, the way her breath caught, the way she froze beneath his touch for a fraction of a second.
His brain caught up with his actions.
Shit.
This was something he did all the time with Thomas, an instinctive, unconscious movement, one that made sense when it was his son crying over scraped knees or bumped elbows. But this wasn’t Thomas. This his son’s teacher. A stranger, technically. And here he was, holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He winced inwardly, twitching his fingers slightly as if preparing to pull away, to apologize, to-
But then, she relaxed.
Just enough for him to notice. Her grip eased slightly as her fingers rested in his palm, still warm from the tea. And then, to his utter surprise, she let out a soft, breathy laugh.
“Well,” she murmured, “I guess that’s one way to handle it. Thank you,” she said, sincerily.
Bucky swallowed hard.
He wasn’t accustomed to people thanking him. Hell, he wasn’t accustomed to people wanting to share a space with him. The proof of that was in how damn difficult it had been to find a school willing to take Thomas in without judgment.
Was it always so hot in here?
The stupid shirt Steve had lent him to look presentable felt glued to his skin, clinging uncomfortably as a fresh wave of heat crept up his neck. He let go of her hand -reluctantly- and with a quick movement, he popped open a couple of the top buttons, trying to breathe. His fingers ran absentmindedly through his hair in the process, loosening a few strands from the short ponytail.
She blinked.
Hard.
His deep voice cut through the charged moment. “Don’t mention it. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” He murmured the words as he hastily pulled his glove back on, as if reestablishing some invisible boundary he had accidentally crossed.
It took her a second -maybe two- to remember how to speak after that sight.
“Oh, not at all,” she finally managed, waving her hand nonchalantly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, so you are perdoned.”
“Oh, good,” he added promptly.
“Yeah, good,” she echoed.
And then- silence.
Not the comfortable kind.
The kind that stretched for just a few seconds too long, making the air feel thick and awkward. It was ridiculous, really. She was supposed to be having a professional conversation, and yet here she was, staring at him like a flustered schoolgirl while he sat there, stiff and unreadable, probably wondering if she had a single functioning brain cell left.
Snapping herself out of it, she straightened in her chair, clearing her throat as she grabbed a folder and a pen. Professional. Focused.
“Let’s start with the questions,” she stated, determined to get back on track. “How is the family group composed?”
A faint tick appeared in his jaw. “Just the two of us.”
She nodded, jotting it down. “Do you receive any kind of support from extended family members or close friends?”
Bucky hesitated. “I have… friends.” A pause. Then, a little softer, “Oh, um… my friend Steve is like an uncle to him.”
She froze for half a second, pen hovering above the paper. Steve.
As in Steve Rogers.
And suddenly, the fact that James Barnes -Bucky Barnes- was sitting in her tiny office, answering questions about kindergarten pickup times and playtime habits, felt almost surreal.
But she pushed past it, nodding as if it was just any other answer. “Tell me about a normal day in Thomas’ life. From the moment he wakes up until bedtime.”
The questions continued, one after another. But to his surprise, none of them were invasive.
Nothing about him. Nothing about his past. Nothing about the child’s mother.
She was only interested in Thomas, his routines, his favorite activities, the people who cared for him. What made him happy, what calmed him down, what sparked his curiosity.
And he just felt… like a normal Dad.
She tapped the pen against her lower lip, scanning the notes she had just taken, furrowing her brows slightly in concentration.
Bucky tried to keep his eyes anywhere else; on the folder, on the damn splintered table, but somehow, his gaze flickered back to her.
Her lips were slightly parted. Soft. That translucent lip gloss she wore caught the autumn light just enough to glisten innocently. She didn’t seem aware of it, of the way the movement drew attention, of how effortless it was.
He clenched his jaw. Pathetic.
Maybe Sam had a point. Maybe he really did need to -what was how he had said it?- "get some." Because sitting here, staring at his kid’s teacher like the virgin Steve used to be back in the day, was not normal.
Especially when she was just… there. In a damn tempera-stained jumper, flipping through papers, completely unaware that his brain had short-circuited over something as simple as the way she absentmindedly pressed the tip of the pen to her lip.
He shifted slightly in his seat, making the little chair squeak under his weight. He needed to get a grip.
She looked up then, extending the forms she had just filled out. “Here, read it, and if it’s fine for you, please sign it, and we’re done.”
He reached for the papers, his fingers briefly grazing hers. She was already moving, sorting through more documents, rummaging inside what looked like her purse as he scanned the form.
A moment later, he signed it, handed it back, and stood up.
The room somehow felt even smaller with him standing.
She tucked the papers into a folder, then hesitated for the briefest second before extending something toward him. A small, brightly wrapped raspberry lollipop.
He just looked at it.
She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, um- it’s just a thing we do,” she explained, feeling a little ridiculous. “Teachers give a sweet to the parent who comes in for the visit. A friendly token.”
Bucky glanced at the candy, then at her.
Slowly, he reached out, taking it from her hand.
“If you feel too old to try it, give it to Thomas,” she teased lightly. “Though I must say, they’re pretty good.”
Bucky barely managed to keep his expression neutral as an entirely inappropriate image flashed through his mind involving her slightly parted lips against the bright red lollipop, swirling her tongue over the slick, glossy-
Nope. Absolutely not. He shoved the thought into the darkest corner of his brain and slammed the door shut.
Clearing his throat, he glanced at the candy in his palm. He was pretty sure the last time he had something like this was in the ‘20s, running through cobblestone streets in short, ragged pants and scraped knees. It felt oddly foreign now, a relic of a time buried long ago.
“No, it’s… it’s alright,” he muttered, tucking the candy into his jeans pocket, trying to expel the compelling thoughts swirling at the back of his mind.
Her smile lingered a moment as she straightened the papers, and again, the moment stretched just enough to make the air feel heavier than before.
She cleared her throat. “Well, the institution will be asking for another meeting in about three months to give you an update on how he’s doing. It’s the same for all the kids,” she explained, slipping back into professional mode.
Bucky nodded, adjusting his stance slightly, like he was grateful to have something to focus on.
“I’ve also added you to the parents-teacher WhatsApp group," she continued, "as a way to communicate news, the things kids should bring, upcoming events, that kind of stuff.” She hesitated, glancing at her notes before adding, “Um… it says you don’t have the app installed, so it would be great if you could download it.”
And then, silence.
Bucky barely moved, but something in his posture changed. His gaze flickered toward the small table, where his old clamshell phone rested near his keys.
She noticed.
That was not a smartphone, and it was definitely not suited for a parent-teacher chitchat group.
Before he could say anything, she quickly added, “It’s a policy here, since, well… it’s assumed everyone has it.” She smiled, small and reassuring. “But don’t worry, I can send you a normal text separately with the same information. Just… without the cool emojis, I’ll have to stick to ASCII.” She winked.
That got something out of him, a faint huff, not quite a laugh, but close. His shoulders relaxed just slightly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Appreciate that.”
----
After a couple of months, Bucky was relieved -no, grateful- to see Thomas flourishing in his new environment.
The once-quiet, wary boy had slowly started to open up. He was more talkative now, his voice no longer a whisper but something steadier, stronger. He laughed more, flinched less. When he came home from school, he actually talked about his day, about the games they played, about Flora and Matthew, about how Miss Y/n read the best stories and always did the funniest voices.
Bucky didn’t know if she realized just how much of a difference she had made.
One afternoon, while Thomas was scribbling dinosaurs at the kitchen table, Bucky’s old clamshell phone vibrated against the counter.
He flipped it open. A general message from her number.
Dear families, our annual fundraising event is coming up! Each grade and nursery group will participate by preparing goodies to sell, baked treats, crafts, and more! We encourage everyone to take part and help make it a great day for the kids!
Bucky was already closing the phone when it binged another time. It was her again.
Don’t know about your culinary expertise, but we could really use some strong dads to help build the booths this saturday ;)
He blinked.
A just-for-him message.
For a second, he only stared at it, like his brain needed to catch up. The winking face at the end nearly made him short-circuit.
Clearly, she was recruiting him for his enhanced strength.
It wasn’t like the other parents would be thrilled to have him around. He rarely talked to them, never lingered after pickup, never engaged in small talk about school trips or birthday parties. The most interaction he got was a nod or a hesitant smile. Acknowledgment, but never an invitation.
And he understood why. He wasn’t the kind of dad people naturally gravitated toward. He wasn’t friendly like Steve, or charming like Sam. He was… him. Quiet. Intimidating. A man with too much history and too little practice in fitting into normal spaces.
So why would anyone want him there?
He exhaled sharply, glancing at the message again. Maybe she’d sent the same thing to a few others. Maybe it wasn’t just for him.
But… she had sent it. With a winky face.
And despite the self-doubt crawling at the back of his mind, he couldn’t ignore the small, reluctant warmth blooming in his chest.
Because for whatever reason, she thought to ask.
-----
When the Saturday came, Bucky was sharp on time at the open kindergarten gate, with Steve.
Not that it had taken too much to convince him. Steve, being the charitable man he was, never missed an opportunity to help. But Bucky also knew his friend well enough to recognize the other reason he had agreed to come so quickly, curiosity. Curiosity about the place Thomas spent his days. And curiosity about the “winking emote teacher.”
Bucky had two reasons for bringing Steve.
One: With two super soldiers on site, setting up the booths would take a fraction of the time.
Two: He didn’t want to come alone. Not that he’d admit it outright, but walking into a social setting full of parents and staff -people he knew saw him as an outsider even if they tried to mask it- felt a little too exposed. At least with Steve there, the focus will be put elsewhere, and he knew his level of self-consciousness will drop.
Of course, Steve suspected as much. But to his credit, he had the courtesy of not saying anything.
They hadn’t been there long enough when he spotted her across the yard, balancing a few wooden planks in her arms as she walked toward the setup area. She was focused, navigating carefully, until a rogue Lego piece nearly sent her sprawling.
In an instant Steve was there, supporting her before she could hit the ground.
She let out a startled gasp, gripping his forearms instinctively. And then, the realization showed all over her face. Because holy shit, Captain America was in the kindergarten.
“Uh- thanks,” she said, letting go of his forearms, looking a little flustered.
Steve, ever the gentleman, just smiled. “No problem.”
Then, as if remembering there were other people present, she glanced over his shoulder, and finally noticed Bucky, standing just a few steps behind, looking slightly out of place.
Her face lit up with recognition. “Oh, hey! You made it. and with backup! That adds points, you know” She grinned, tilting her head playfully. “More help means more credit when it’s time to take home the leftover cakes and pies.”
Bucky blinked. “That’s a thing?”
“Absolutely.” She crossed her arms, pretending to be serious. “Hard work should be rewarded. And what better prize than free dessert?”
Steve chuckled, throwing Bucky a look. “See, now that’s motivation.”
Bucky shifted slightly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah. Um I thought some extra hands would come in handy, anyway.”
She nodded, rocking back on her heels slightly. “Well, I’m glad you did. We can definitely use the help, some of these booths have been in storage forever, and let’s just say… they’re not in peak condition.”
Steve smirked. “Don’t worry ma’am, we’ll make sure they stand up straight.”
She snorted. “That’s the bare minimum we’re hoping for, yeah.” Then she proceeded to give them a quick rundown of what was needed: booth assembly, structural support, and general heavy lifting. After making sure they understood, she left them to it, moving to a shaded corner where a group of teachers and moms were busy painting banners.
As Bucky grabbed a plank, Steve picked up another, glancing over his shoulder toward her. Then, with a knowing half-smile, he turned to Bucky.
“So… I assume she is Tommy’s teacher?”
Bucky didn’t even look up. Just gave a curt nod, with an unreadable expression.
Steve hummed. “She’s cute.”
He didn’t take the bait. Just kept his gaze firmly on the plank in his hands, jaw tightening just a fraction.
Steve pressed a little more. “Real cute.”
This time, Bucky gave him a noncommittal grunt. No eye contact. No reaction.
"Do you think the teachers might do a kissing booth?" Steve asked nonchalantly, setting a plank into place like he hadn’t just thrown a live grenade into the conversation.
That got a reaction.
Bucky’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he shot him a side glance. “…Is that still a thing nowadays?”
Steve shrugged. “Yeah. Dunno if it’s as chaste as it was in our time, Buck, but it’s still runnin’. Clint told me sometimes they have them at his kids’ school.”
Bucky pressed his mouth into a thin line, gripping the hammer a little tighter.
Steve chuckled, sensing an opening. “I mean, it makes sense, you know. A lot of divorced dads…”
“Yeah, I guess it does,” Bucky cut him off, hammering a plank into place with maybe a little too much force. The loud crack of wood echoed through the yard.
Steve just smirked. “Touchy subject?”
Bucky ignored him, grabbing another nail.
"You know, Buck, I think you should ask her out."
"Shut up, punk."
"I'm serious. What’s the worst that could happen?"
Bucky turned to him, giving him a look so dry it could’ve drained the Atlantic. His next words were slow, like he was explaining something to a mentally impaired person.
"Let’s see. First of all, she’s my child’s teacher. It’s unethical."
Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky steamrolled right over him.
"Two, I can barely deal with myself most days. I can’t trust my own mind sometimes. I’m trying to put my shit together because of Thomas, but you know there are days I can barely get out of bed. So adding another person into our lives right now?" He shook his head. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."
Steve stayed quiet, watching him.
"And three," Bucky exhaled, returning to the plank, "I don’t think she’d be interested, damn I even don’t know if she is seeing someone. And I don’t want to make our interactions weird."
Steve tilted his head, giving him a look that was both skeptical and amused but, to Bucky’s relief, he kept his mouth shut didn’t press further.
-----
After a couple of hours, Bucky and Steve eventually split up, taking on different tasks. As expected, Steve had a small crowd of parents ‘casually’ gravitating around him, helping with his station while subtly asking for pictures and sneaking in questions between hammering and measuring.
Bucky, meanwhile, retreated to a quieter corner, bending some metal pipes to straighten the framework. It was a stark contrast, really. Steve walked into a place and illuminated it, drew people in without even trying. And Bucky… well.
He worked alone, unnoticed. Or so he thought.
A sudden hand on his shoulder broke his trance, and he startled just slightly.
“Sorry!” she promptly removed her hand. “I called your name, but you didn’t seem to hear.”
Bucky just blinked, “It’s fine.”
She smiled, holding up a thermos. “Thought maybe you’d want some coffee?”
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he tried to shake off the momentary stiffness. “I, uh… yeah. That’d be nice. Thank you.” His voice came out a little rough, and his eye contact was fleeting at best.
Fucking Steve. Bringing up his nonexistent love life like an asshole, and now Bucky was hyperaware of her presence. Every small shift of her stance, every little tilt of her head. It was funny -no, it wasn’t- how their roles had completely reversed.
Once upon a time, Steve had been the one fumbling, awkward, struggling to find his footing with women. And now? He was Captain America, confident and magnetic, while Bucky was… whatever the hell this was. A fucking mess.
“Thank you for coming, James. Really,” she said as she poured coffee into a small cup.
Bucky cleared his throat. “Yeah. ‘Course.”
“And thanks for bringing help with you,” she added playfully. “It seems everyone is livelier since you two got here.”
He grumbled something under his breath, bending the pipe back and forth absentmindedly, like someone fidgeting with a strand of grass.
She caught the movement and grinned. “Showoff.”
Bucky huffed, pressing his lips into a firm line to stop the small, unwilling twitch of amusement threatening to surface.
“I’m going to miss this,” she said suddenly, looking at the thermos handle. “The community here is really nice. Luckily, I’ll still be around for the event.”
Bucky’s gaze snapped to her “What?”
She blinked. “I said, I’m going to miss-”
“Are you taking a vacation?” he interrupted, unable to stop himself.
Her brows furrowed slightly. “What? No-” Then, she realized. “Oh. James… Jane is coming back.”
Bucky just stared at her, the words not quite clicking in his brain. “Who?”
She tilted her head, looking almost apologetic. “Jane. The actual teacher. I thought you knew, I’m just a substitute. The real teacher was on medical leave, but she’s ready to return now.”
The words settled like a slow drop of ink into water, spreading, tainting something that had been perfect moments ago.
“I didn’t- didn’t know,” he admitted, quietly. Maybe because Thomas had entered late in the school year, they’d missed that little piece of information.
She seemed to notice the shift in him, the way his grip tightened around the empty cup. There was a certain distress in his expression, subtle but there.
“Don’t worry,” she said gently, trying to reassure him. “Jane is an excellent teacher and person. Thomas will be thrilled to have her in the class.”
Bucky nodded, curtly, handing the thermos cup back.
In all the interactions he’d had with her, the drop-offs, their little conversations, the parent meeting, the fact that she was just a substitute had never popped up.
"When’s your last day?" he asked, suddenly very interested in the twisted pipe in his hands.
“The Friday before the event,” she replied. “I’m still going to participate since I helped organize it, but by Monday, Jane will be here.” She paused, as if anticipating his reaction. “I can assure you, It won’t be a sudden change for the kids. This week, she’ll come for a couple of hours every day to introduce herself so they can get used to her.”
Bucky gave a slow nod, gripping the metal a little tighter than necessary.
It shouldn’t have really mattered. It shouldn’t have made him feel anything at all.
And yet, the news bothered him.
Because things had been fine. He wasn’t close to her, not in any significant way, but she was a constant. And if there was one thing Bucky Barnes wasn’t fond of, it was change.
It wasn’t like he had been expecting anything more than what he already had, which wasn’t much. Just crumbs, really. Small moments of connection. Casual chats, occasional teasing remarks that made something in his chest pull in a way he ignored. The way she talked to him like any other parent—like a man, not a reputation.
But it wasn’t just that, was it?
There were other things, little details that had wormed their way into his awareness without permission. The way her voice softened when she spoke to Thomas. The way her soft body looked like it would fit perfectly against his if he just- no. The way her eyes lingered on him just a second longer than necessary sometimes, making him wonder if…
Bucky exhaled sharply, straightening his pose, forcing the thoughts back.
It was comfortable. And, somehow, warm.
And now she was going to leave.
And maybe it was stupid, but it affected him more than he wanted to admit.
Chapter 2
Dividers by: @/strangergraphics
More Posts from Spookyreads and Others
The Love Triangle from Hell - Series Masterlist
Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader
Synopsis: Nancy is with Jonathan; Steve is still in love with Nancy; You're in love with Steve; Eddie's in love with you; Robin just wanted to have a movie night but everyone is making it weird.
Warnings: messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing; arguments; crying; angst angst angsty angst; drinking; Robin literally just trying to live her life but her friends are all idiots
This series with be 18+ in later chapters MINORS DNI
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR (18+)
PART FIVE
BONUS CONTENT:
Electric Touch
Super Soldier Support Group Masterlist
Summary : Sam Wilson starts a Support Group for Super Soldiers. You and Bucky sit next to each other during the sessions.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader
Warnings/tags : Slow Burn. Trauma. Just a bunch of Super Soldiers who really wanna get better :)
Notes : Hi all! I wrote 11 chapters of this. Each chapter is a different support group session talking about adjusting to the modern world as a super soldier, while Bucky develops a crush on you. All the chapters have been written and drafted, so I will post updates to this semi-frequently. let me know if you want to be tagged in this, or added to the General Bucky Taglist. Enjoy!
COMPLETED
Session One
Session Two
Session Three
Session Four
Session Five
Session Six
Session Seven
Session Eight
Session Nine
Session Ten
Session Eleven
Something Sweet
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x candymaker!Reader
Summary: Bucky had a sweet tooth and stumbled across a candy shop. He found sweetness inside—but not just from the candy
Warnings: Nothing, really. Just a lot of fluff!
Word Count: 8.0k
—<><>—<><>—<><>—
Bucky had a sweet tooth.
It was a weird discovery he made when he ended up in Romania—broken free of the prison he was lost in, only to stay lost but in an entirely new world. Choosing to hide as a civilian meant learning how to be one. Renting an apartment wasn't the same as breaking into someone’s home; taking the bus wasn't the same as hijacking one; going to bed wasn't the same as going back into cryofreeze.
Bucky learned what it was like to forget to eat because he was too busy doing something else. To sleep in and wake up in the evening. To allow himself a second to close his eyes underneath the sun.
To buy himself a piece of chocolate because, why not?
He had watched a little boy beg his mother to buy a piece, and a sharp memory attacked his mind, reminding him of a time when he had done the same with his mother. It gave him a tight feeling in his chest, his cold heart aching for his family for the first time since he escaped, and he eventually found himself paying for the sweets along with his fruits and vegetables. The candy sat in his pocket for hours, slowly melting away in the wrapper before Bucky finally remembered to eat it.
When the chocolate hit his tongue, something inside him cracked open.
His heart stopped aching, only for it to start weeping, longing for his parents’ embrace and sisters’ laughter. He couldn’t remember how it felt to be hugged or be surrounded by laughter, but his chest embodied a type of warmth that was overwhelmingly comforting. The sugar gave him a spark of energy, but also a brief, wonderful feeling of simply being human.
He went back the next day to buy more.
Soon, the sweet side of his basket—apples, berries, and plums—was joined by chocolate, caramel, and toffee, which all eventually went inside a little jar in his tiny kitchen. There wasn’t much, but it was just enough for him when the weight in his chest became too much—it never went away, but sweets made it bearable.
A few weeks went by, and Bucky finally accepted just how much of a sweet tooth he had. He found it amusing, thinking about how HYDRA would’ve reacted to see their prized assassin obsessing over sweets. Ice cream, cake, pie, tart, cookie—name it, he’d love it.
But candy—small, one-bite treats—always made him feel better. All Bucky needed in life was something sweet.
When he ended up in Wakanda, he didn’t eat as many sweets as he’d like. It wasn’t that there weren’t any, but readjusting to his own self called for changing his diet, leaving him in the grassy field with fruits and grains, his only company being goats. He didn’t mind, but now and then, he’d just want a singular piece of chocolate. But overall, his craving for sweets became something quieter, less urgent, but still present. Something that seeped into his heart whenever the noise got too loud.
And, to Bucky’s dismay, Brooklyn was so loud.
Of course, he had expected the city to be different from when he lived there. But the abrupt sounds of shouting and honking, lingering scents of exhaust fumes and garbage, and overwhelming sights of people and people and more people were too much for him.
Shoving his gloved hands into his pockets, Bucky grumbled as he walked home from his morning appointment, which only left him irritated as Dr. Raynor was never helpful with…well, everything. The wind blew through his hair, reminding him to get a haircut as it was his homework for a “new start,” but also because a few people had recognized him from his fluffy locks.
He hated being recognized, stopping only to see if the people who caught his attention would praise him as a hero—that he does not find himself to be—or scowl at him for being a villain—which he still agreed with. Which is why, on this particular late morning, when Bucky noticed a group of people far ahead pointing in his direction, he decided to hide. He sharply turned to his left, slipping into the closest shop without bothering to check what it was selling.
The smell of sugar shocked him.
He paused, the sweet smell almost overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It was joined with hints of caramels and…nutmeg? Whatever it was, it worked its way into his chest, making his shoulders relax instantly and encouraging him to take a deep breath. Unlike the outside world, it was quiet.
Bucky glanced around, taking in the small size of the shop that still managed to hold so much life. Walnut wood framed the shelves and counters, giving it a kind of charm that made him feel like he’d stepped backward in time, to his youth, where everything felt simple. The floor was tiled in granite with flecks of cream, and instead of the glaring fluorescents most stores used, the shop favored amber bulbs that cast a soft glow across everything.
On the top shelves, there were bundles of candy, neatly wrapped and named with care—Lavender Twists, Cashew Bits, Honey Drops—while the lower ones carried glass jars full of gummy and hard candies in every color possible, adding brightness to the walls. And at the front of the shop was a main counter where customers would pay for their sweets, but it was also lined with a curved glass display decorated with rows of chocolate, brittles, dipped fruit—all glowing like treasure.
Behind the main counter, Bucky saw movement. Through the window of the kitchen where metal tables, copper pans, and unfamiliar machinery lived, he watched the shop owner pick up a black tray with gloved hands.
You stepped through the doorway, your apron dusted with powdered sugar while you hummed. When you glanced up from the tray, you paused when your eyes landed on Bucky. Then you smiled brightly, as if your lips were sunlight on honey.
“Oh, good morning! Or, I guess—” You glanced at that clock, giggling at the sight of the large hand that had just passed twelve. “Good afternoon now. Sorry, I didn’t know you came in!” You set the tray down by the cash register and brushed your hands on your apron before beaming at Bucky again. “Welcome to Sweet Heavens. Let me know if you need any help with anything.”
Bucky didn't flinch, but he definitely was startled by your bubbly energy. The way you carried yourself seemed effortless, as if you lived on an entirely different plane of existence. He nodded politely before turning his attention to the jars and bundles surrounding him, his taste buds already starting to scream for him to buy something. But still, he pretended to study the labels, debating on whether or not he should actually buy anything.
Because after everything he’d done, he wasn’t sure if he deserved sweetness in his life anymore.
Suddenly, Bucky felt your gaze weighing him down. He was about to turn around when you spoke.
“Wait… Are you Bucky Barnes?”
Damn it.
He sighed, rolling his eyes before turning around to face you, his eyes suddenly sharp with practiced disinterest. “Yeah. Why?”
He expected the usual—fumbling awe, lingering suspicion, growing unease…but you? You didn’t bat an eye. Despite doing his best to seem intimidating, you smiled at him and pointed at a tray of samples. “Oh, you actually might be the perfect person to try this, then.”
“What?” He blinked, genuinely caught off guard, before peeking at the tray, examining the small, golden cubes of peanut-covered caramel. Nothing looked particularly crazy; they were very simple in look and design.
Left confused, Bucky turned back to you. “Why me?”
You only continued to smile, gesturing to the tray again rather than using your words. Frowning slightly, Bucky stepped towards the tray, his gaze flickering between you and the samples. You gave him a little nod, encouraging him to pick one up and pop it in his mouth.
Home. It tasted like home.
The moment the sample touched his taste buds, it was as if the shop disappeared, leaving Bucky in a place that felt familiar to him. The texture of the peanut mixed with the buttery taste of the caramel pulled him back into a memory that he was only able to grasp at. He could suddenly hear laughter and feel the smiles of his loved ones resting on his eyes. Without meaning to, Bucky shut his eyes, wanting to stay in this place forever.
Eventually, he opened them, meeting your soft gaze as you patiently waited for him to enjoy the moment. He blinked, clearing his throat to hide his slight embarrassment for getting away in his mind, his eyes immediately looking at anything but you.
You brought your hands together in anticipation. “So…what do you think?”
“I’ve had this before,” he whispered.
You laughed, taking Bucky’s attention away from the floor and back onto your smile. “That was the plan! I was trying to remake some sweets from the early 1900s. This one is similar to PayDay—how it actually tasted when it first came out. Not the overly processed stuff we get now. They taste too artificial to me… Or, I don’t know,” you shrugged as you stepped aside, suddenly feeling self-conscious of your particular ways, “maybe it’s just me overthinking it.”
“No, you’re not,” Bucky said, catching your eyes again. “I had a PayDay a couple of years ago. Tastes like shit now.”
You laughed, a hand over your heart like he’d just given you the kindest compliment. “Right? Thank you! I’ve been saying that for so many years!”
Bucky raised a brow at your dramatic gesture, then your eyes lit up. “So…do I have your approval then?”
Your words threw him off, making him frown. “Why would you need my approval?”
“Well,” you began, matter-of-fact, “considering you’re the only person I know who has actually tried PayDay when it was still good, if you say it’s good, then I did something right. Clearly, I have to impress you.”
And yet, you were already impressive to Bucky.
Your tone was playful, but it still did something strange to his chest, like you were letting him be something other than a weapon or a soldier. Just someone with buried memories worth preserving. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt this…good.
Bucky took a beat before giving you a curt nod. “Approved.”
You let out a laugh, clapping briefly. “Yes! Guess I’m adding this to my inventory.”
Bucky didn’t laugh, but his lips couldn’t help but slightly curl at your excitement. His eyes were locked on you as you grabbed your notebook. Unlike Dr. Raynor, he enjoyed watching you scribble away in your notebook, reminding yourself to adjust the layout of your display case to make room for the new treats.
You clicked your pen before looking back at Bucky. “Well, enough about that. I’m sure you came in here for something specific. What are you interested in?”
He didn’t tell you that he didn’t plan on coming here, nor know the shop even existed. Instead, he hummed and glanced around. “Some chocolate would be nice.”
You smiled as you stepped towards your glass display case full of chocolate, Bucky following your movements closely. “Are you looking for something simple or more unique…”
And you kept talking, showing him the different kinds of chocolate you had crafted. Dark chocolate with sea salt, white chocolate with raspberry filling, and milk chocolate with a hint of coffee. Without asking you to, you offered him a piece of every one, letting him savor each tiny explosion of flavor. He took his time with each of them, and you let him take all the time he wanted.
After all, of all people who deserved time to enjoy the moment, it was he.
You continued to let him try whatever caught his eye, even if he didn’t say anything, while you talked about sugar and cocoa powder as if it were the most important thing in the world. And, unlike most customers, Bucky let it be that way.
When Bucky was at the door, you waved at him with a silly wink. “Come back anytime! I’ll save you the best of the batch.”
Bucky grinned, giving you a small wave back before heading back out into the loud, chaotic world, but it didn’t bother him this time. Unlike that morning, when he wandered with a scratch in his heart, Bucky found comfort in the white paper bag he carried, filled with vanilla-cream-filled chocolate and peanut-covered caramel.
He might’ve found his new favorite place in this new world, and it just happened to smell like caramel.
<><><>
“Oh god—” Bucky winced as his eyes shot open, making you laugh as he continued to chew on the gummy candy. “What is this?”
“You’re not a sour candy person, huh?” you said, setting down a cup of water near him.
“No, I do like them. Just…” A shiver passed through his body as he swallowed the candy, making you laugh more. “That was a lot.”
“That was barely anything,” you teased as you wrapped up another order, tying it with a yellow ribbon before writing the name of the customer. “You can try the cherry one. It’s not sour at all.”
“You’re lying.”
You playfully gasped, pretending to be offended. But then you immediately dropped the act. “Yeah, I was.”
Bucky chuckled before taking a sip of water to wash down the sour taste in his mouth. By now, he had stopped by your shop a few times, claiming that he was just passing through, but you knew better. Every visit, he’d lingered a little longer, asking more questions about the sweets you’d made and even learning how to say the names of certain candies. It amused him to see how stunned you were by his flawless accents as he switched languages. After a couple of visits, you stopped pretending he wasn’t your favorite customer, and he stopped hiding himself, hence feeling the freedom to take off his gloves when it was just the two of you.
The sun was getting low, meaning it was almost time for you to close the shop. You were wiping down the countertop, peeking and giggling at Bucky having what looked to be a staring contact with the sour candy—you knew teasing him about his staring problem would not do anything in the end to stop it. Then you heard the door open, and you looked over to see a family of three walk in.
You smiled right away, walking over to them. “Hi! Welcome back!”
The parents gave you a polite smile while their son immediately rushed to the jars of gummy candy. Bucky stepped away to give you space to help them out, and he turned around to quickly slip on his gloves. But when Bucky looked up, however, he froze at the man staring straight at him, hard, as if he saw something vile. The man’s eyes flickered to Bucky’s left hand, making the soldier turn away again. He walked to the chocolate display to act like he was just an ordinary civilian, but cursed to himself when he heard footsteps approaching him.
He looked back to see the man in front of him, his wife in the background, concerned and confused. “You’ve got some nerve, showing your face in public,” he snapped, just quietly enough that everyone else couldn’t hear.
Bucky didn’t say anything, keeping his eyes on the man but also his jaw tight. He learned that silence always worked the best.
You slightly frowned, walking over to both of them with the woman. “Hi, is there a problem—”
“I don’t care what they all say—you’re a monster.”
You froze while Bucky showed no reaction. The woman reached for her husband and tried to pull him back, but he wouldn’t budge. Their son looked mortified by the jars, feeling extremely uncomfortable and embarrassed. But Bucky continued to stand still, simply waiting for the moment to pass like every other time.
Because, in the end, was the man really wrong?
The answer was yes, according to you, as you suddenly stepped in between the two men, shielding Bucky from your customer.
“Don’t be rude,” you firmly said. “You don’t get to speak like that to anyone in my shop.”
The man scoffed. “You know you’re standing in front of a killer, right?”
“I’m standing in front of my friend, actually,” you quickly responded, your voice stern and hard.
Bucky was startled—your usual warmth was gone, replaced by the sharpness of a knife. He’d only ever seen you golden, full of laughter like maple syrup drizzling over a stack of pancakes, offering him and other customers sweets on rainy days that reminded you of sunrises.
And yet, there you were with your shoulders squared and voice solid. You weren’t angry, but you were unshakable like melted sugar cooled back into a hard shell. This strength was always within you—you just never had a reason to let it out.
And Bucky’s chest tightened, realizing that the reason was him.
The man looked at you in disgust. “Friend? He’s killed—”
“—Saved half of the universe,” you quickly cut him off. “He’s the reason why you’re back.”
There was no flame in your voice, but it was boiling with conviction, which somehow was louder than if you had shouted. Bucky continued to stay quiet behind you, but his lips were ajar by your ability to go from bubbly and bright to firm and still.
“You’re welcome to buy candy, but as long as you’re in my shop, you will treat everyone with respect.” You crossed your arms, never once breaking your gaze from the man.
The silence was heavy, as if someone had poured molasses all over the shop. The man looked like he wanted to argue, but instead scoffed. “We’re not coming back.”
“Fine by me,” you replied immediately.
The man snarled before storming out of the shop, his wife and son both flustered. The wife looked back at you and Bucky. “I’m so sorry… Uh…”
Not sure what else to say, the two of them left quickly, leaving just you and Bucky in the shop. You exhaled, dropping your shoulders as you walked over to your door, flipping the sign from “open” to “closed.” You then looked back to see Bucky in the same spot, his eyes now finding the floor interesting.
“Hey,” you walked back to him with concern, “are you okay?”
Bucky didn’t look at you, but muttered, “You didn’t have to do that.”
You frowned, shaking your head. “I wanted to, Bucky. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”
When he didn’t look up again, you softly sighed. You reached for his wrist, finally getting him to lift his head and see your smile, bright as always, but this time flavored with sorrow. “Don’t ever listen to people like him. You’re not what he said.”
“But I—”
“You’re not what he said,” you repeated, your voice stern yet still soft. “You’re not a monster. You’re my friend.”
Bucky looked at you, and something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. “We’re friends?” he asked quietly.
You let out a giggle. “Of course. That is, if you’re fine with us being friends instead of just a candy-maker and their customer.”
At first, he didn’t reply. He only continued to look at you, and you knew he was even considering whether it was allowed for someone like him to have a friend. So you gave him a gentle squeeze on the wrist, and slowly his lips curled into a small, yet very warm, grin.
You tried to offer him another sour gummy just to mess with him, and his grin turned into a laugh.
<><><>
Bucky was already at your shop before he realized where his feet took him. He knew your shop wouldn’t be open until eleven o’clock, yet there he was at your door at six in the morning. His hands were deep in his pockets—he didn’t even think to bring gloves in the middle of his desperation to get out of his apartment. His shoulders were stiff against the cold air, while the sting on the back of his neck wished he had never cut his hair to begin with.
He kept his eyes shut, letting the silence and memories stained with sugar pull him somewhere warmer.
But then, the door opened behind him. “Bucky?”
He flinched before spinning around, locking eyes with your confused ones. You blinked at him—you were both wide awake, but he looked rough compared to you.
You glanced at the sky, which was still dark. “What are you doing here?”
“I…” Bucky’s eyes flickered away, his cheeks warming up from embarrassment. “I couldn’t sleep, so I…I was just walking around.”
You gazed at him, almost trying to look into his mind, which made him curl away further. But then you smiled and opened the door wider. “Come on. It’s cold out here.”
“Oh,” Bucky shook his head, “it’s okay. I didn’t—”
“Come inside, or I will throw a marshmallow at you.”
He blinked.
“I mean it.” Your smile curled into a bigger one. “They’re really sticky. It’d be a shame if one got caught in your hair.”
At that, Bucky let out a huff tinted with amusement and stepped inside to let the warmth and smell of sugar envelope him. But instead of stopping at the counter, you walked towards the kitchen and looked back at him to silently tell him to follow you. He briefly hesitated, but walked into the kitchen with you, taken aback by the liveliness around him—pots were warming up, trays were laid out, and a new batch of white and pink treats sat near him. He had only seen your kitchen through the window, so it felt like you were letting him into your dream world.
Bucky paused at the new treats and raised an eyebrow. There were small, soft white cubes with pink swirls next to a large sheet of it that had yet to be sliced, all of it smothered in powdered sugar. He stared at them while you put a new pot on the stovetop, turning on the heat and pausing to see Bucky’s puzzled expression.
You chuckled, “Never seen fresh marshmallows before?”
He glanced up at you. “You weren’t kidding about throwing marshmallows at me, were you?”
“Maybe.” You winked as you carried milk and heavy cream back to your stove, quickly yet efficiently measuring out the liquids before pouring them into the pot. “I decided to make marshmallows for once.”
“Have you made these before?” he asked, watching how you moved with such comfort in your second home.
“A few times,” you replied before adding vanilla extract, brown sugar, and cocoa powder to the pot—the aroma slowly melting away the ice in Bucky’s chest. “It’s rare, but I had the sudden urge to experiment last night.”
Bucky slightly smiled, crossing his arms. “When are you not experimenting?”
“On Mondays.” You grinned, slowly whisking the mixture. “Those are my day-offs.”
He quietly chuckled before peeking at the marshmallows again. You noticed his eyes and giggled, stepping away from the stove and carefully grabbing a sliced piece. “Here.”
Bucky went to grab it, but you pulled your hand back. His eyebrows furrowed while you chuckled, “Sorry. These haven't been coated yet—you’ll get it all over your fingers.” You showed him how you held the treat only by its powdered sides.
Then you smiled, raising your hand towards his face. “Open wide.”
To say Bucky was overwhelmed was an understatement. His body froze, yet his mouth opened without thinking, and you popped the marshmallow in. You giggled before turning back to the stove, whisking the chocolate concoction while he continued to stand still behind you.
He couldn’t even process the taste of strawberry and vanilla—his mind was working twice as hard to process what you had just done, his hand sweating over just how close your hand was to his lips.
He shifted, clearing his throat before swallowing the treat. “Strawberry and vanilla?”
You hummed while grabbing two mugs. “It sounded good in my head.”
“It is good,” he said, finally realizing you had been making hot chocolate.
You poured the sweet drink into the mugs and dropped two marshmallows in each. With the smile that Bucky had grown to find comfort in, you offered him a cup. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he accepted the drink, smelling the chocolate melt away the vanilla and strawberry.
“It’s like Neapolitan ice cream,” you said before sipping your drink. “At least, I hope it is.”
Bucky took a sip as well, and it was the best hot chocolate he’d ever had. The marshmallow was melting into something smooth, joining the silky liquid to welcome some sweetness back into his system. He sighed into the mug, holding it tight to further warm up his right hand.
He smiled and went to thank you for the drink, but you instead whispered, “Nightmares are rough.”
He immediately stiffened, his eyes widening as he stammered, “I, uh, I didn’t say—”
“You don’t have to lie,” you interrupted gently, swirling your cup a little as you stared into it. “Nightmares are the worst.”
Bucky paused, affected by the sudden change in your demeanor, like you were remembering your own nightmares. Then quickly, you softly smiled at him, not necessarily hiding your own fear, but expressing it clearly to him.
“Hot chocolate helps me. It reminds me that there’s something sweet to look forward to.” You took another sip, letting the silence speak for itself.
Neither of you said anything else—there was no need to. The kitchen filled the silence and comforted the soldier. He didn’t say thank you, but it was because you already knew.
<><><>
You were anxious.
You tried to keep yourself as busy as possible, but no matter how long you’d spent time in your kitchen, interacting with customers, and doom-scrolling on your couch, you continued to stay worried for Bucky.
Bucky came by your shop at least three times a week now, either to satisfy his craving for sweets or exist somewhere he didn’t have to be anything for anyone, where he could just be Bucky, and that would be it. He’d always stick around, chatting with you for however long he wanted because clearly, though he’d never talked about it, he had no one else in his life to casually talk to.
He was able to do so with Steve Rogers, but then he disappeared.
You made a note to yourself to ask Bucky where he went, but also knew that it would’ve been a while before you could. He had mentioned Steve only once when you had asked him about other kinds of candy he ate as a child. He talked about Steve’s favorite—butterscotch hard candy—for only a minute before his words fell apart and silence took over. You never asked him about Steve again, and instead offered him truffles and peppermints to cheer him up.
Whatever happened to Steve had hurt Bucky, so when the news broke out that there would be a brand new Captain America, Bucky himself had disappeared.
Not once did he show up at your shop, and now it had been almost two weeks since you last saw him.
Of course, you tried to text him—you said you hoped he was well and to stop by for new experiments to try if he wanted to. But you didn’t get a reply, and he stopped coming to your shop.
You thought about texting him to hang out, but the timing felt off now. You had only now gotten Bucky’s number as you let him take charge of moving your relationship further—you were always afraid of being too pushy, considering some people had told you that your energy was too much for them to handle. You knew it was silly to be insecure about such things, but every person out there always had something haunting them, didn’t they?
But still, you wanted to text him and see if he was okay. You sighed, telling yourself that you’d contact him after work. Your customers, a loving, elderly couple, approached the counter, and you smiled, ringing up their little bag of hard candy when you heard the door open.
You glanced up, and your breath hitched.
Bucky stood in the doorway, his eyes already locked onto you. You could tell by his eyes alone that he was tired—and maybe a little guilty—but he still smiled at you.
For the first time in two weeks, the glow in your smile returned.
You finished checking out the couple as if everything was fine, though your hands moved a little quicker as you handed back their credit card and waved them goodbye. Bucky gave them a little nod as he walked past them, and the moment the door closed, you marched right toward him.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” you teased.
Bucky raised his hands in surrender with a chuckle. “Sorry. It’s been a minute.”
“A minute?” You crossed your arms with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve been gone for two weeks. I was about to call the police on you.”
“It takes you two whole weeks to do that?”
You both laughed, the shop feeling more cozy than it had ever been since you’d first opened your business. Then your laughter softened as you took in his face, noticing a faint scar on his nose. Your smile remained, but you stepped closer to get a better look, making Bucky’s cheeks slightly red.
“Are you okay?” you asked.
Bucky nodded. “I’m fine. I got busy.”
“Okay, but like…” You stepped back, but continued to stare into his eyes. “Are…are you really okay? After…the news, you know.”
This time, Bucky didn’t respond right away, though you noticed a shift in his stance. He stared back at you for a moment before humming, his lips curling into a soft smile again. “Yeah. Had to take…a minute to figure that all out.”
You nodded, not pushing any further as usual, which Bucky always found charming. “Good. Well, while you were gone, I made something for you.”
Bucky’s smile immediately faded, but he didn’t hesitate to follow you to the jars of candy. “For me?”
“Yeah.” You opened one of the jars and took out a golden, circular hard candy, wrapped in clear plastic, and then held it out for him.
The shade of gold made Bucky freeze in his steps.
It was beautiful. Not shiny in the way actual gold gets in the form of jewelry or bars, nor light like sunlight hitting thin curtains. It was as if amber glowed within the treat, chasing the darkness around them away.
It was a beautiful color, embraced by the hand of the most beautiful person Bucky knew.
You lightly chuckled at Bucky’s awe, “Butterscotch candy. I figured…you know, with the whole new Captain America thing, you could use a little—”
For the first time in a long time, you felt a different kind of warmth. Not the one you felt when you stood near a pot of melted chocolate, or when you poured liquid sugar onto your metal countertop, or when you stepped outside briefly when you opened your shop, letting the sunlight hit your skin.
You blinked, inhaling Bucky’s cologne as he hugged you close. The butterscotch candy nearly slipped from your hand from shock, but you quickly gripped it tighter before gently wrapping your arms around him as well. The warmth you felt was the kind that only appeared when you realized how much someone trusted you.
It felt nice.
Bucky had his eyes closed, holding onto you like you were the only thing left in the world.
The past two weeks had been too much.
Learning that Sam had given up the shield. Meeting John Walker. Fighting the Flag Smashers. Pretending to be the Winter Soldier.
Losing the trust of the Wakandans. Losing his arm. Losing the symbol of the shield to a man who lost a friend and himself due to the serum.
Recapturing Zemo. Apologizing to Sam. Learning to embrace his fears rather than fight them.
So, there he was, welcoming fear as he held you—something he had wanted to do for so long, but was too scared to. But after everything that happened in just two weeks, he found that fear couldn’t stop him from understanding that you were just what he needed.
Something sweet.
“Thank you,” Bucky whispered, and you could hear a slight tremor in his voice.
Hugging him tighter, you smiled into his shoulder and exhaled. “You’re welcome.”
You only let go when Bucky pulled away first, and you both locked eyes once again. You grinned, holding out the piece of candy again, and he took it happily. And when you watched as his shoulders relaxed at the taste of nostalgia, you lit up.
You didn’t realize how seeing him made you feel at ease.
Glancing at the clock, you hummed as you walked to the front door. “Wanna go on a walk?”
Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you. “Doesn’t your shop stay open for another hour?”
You flipped your sign over, letting the outside world see that your shop was now closed. With a smirk, you winked at him. “Nope.”
He chuckled, shaking his head while walking towards you. “Sure. A walk sounds nice.”
Neither of you acknowledged aloud that this was the first time you decided to spend time together outside of your shop. You both knew and just let the moment speak for itself. Bucky took a few more pieces of the butterscotch candy before you two stepped out, and you let him talk about his chaotic two weeks.
<><><>
The lights in the front of the shop were dim, toning down the bright colors of the candy jars and signifying that the shop was closed. Only the kitchen was bright, as you decided to spend another night messing around with some leftover chocolate.
You sprinkled sea salt on your dark chocolate caramel swirls. It wasn’t necessarily a brand-new recipe, but it was a good one. Picking one up, you went to try it, but instead jumped from a loud knock on the front door. You blinked, feeling a bit nervous because who would knock on your door at this hour? For a moment, you wondered if you should even open the door, but knowing that your kitchen light was visible to the outside, you couldn’t pretend no one was there.
Maybe it was ridiculous for you to check the door—what if there was just bad news waiting for you? But when you stuck your head out of the entrance of your kitchen, you saw a familiar silhouette standing at the front door. Even the window’s glare couldn’t stop you from recognizing the figure outside.
“Bucky?” You smiled, jogging to the door and unlocking it quickly. “Hey! What are you…”
You stilled when you saw a smear of red on the left side of his face.
“Oh my god—” You immediately grabbed his upper arms, standing straighter to get a better look at him. “What happened to you?”
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he watched the way you looked, so concerned for someone like him. Soon, he smiled. “I was in a little fight.”
“A little?” You shook your head, gently pulling him into your shop by his metal wrist. “Let’s get you fixed up.”
Bucky blinked. “Oh, I didn’t come here to—”
“Nope!” You huffed, not exactly angry but definitely not happy. “C’mon.”
You led him to the back room where you kept your first aid. He sat down on a stool while you rummaged through the kit, pulling out ointments and gauze that you only ever used whenever sugar hurt you. None of what you held was meant for battle wounds, but they would have to do.
“Who exactly were you fighting?” you asked, grabbing a clean cloth and wetting it.
Bucky couldn’t help but huff out a grin. “You didn’t hear about the Flag Smashers at the GRC voting?”
“What?” You shook your head as you sat down in front of him, pressing the cloth to his head. “You know I don’t go on my phone when I’m in the kitchen.”
He nodded, his face slowly turning red as you cupped one cheek with your hand while the other wiped the blood off his face. For someone who worked with boiling sugar and metal tools, your hands were incredibly soft, gentle, and steady, just like you.
“So…they finally showed up, huh?” you said, setting the cloth aside and grabbing the ointment.
“Yeah. Sam gave me the heads-up, and next thing I knew, I was already in a fight with them.”
“Hm.” You paused, eyeing him down before smirking. “Did you win?”
Bucky chortled. “Of course we did.”
“I don’t know. This wound says otherwise.”
“It’s the most minor wound I could’ve gotten.” Bucky then grinned, almost proudly. “But hey, it was worth it… We got the Captain America we deserve to have, now.”
You widened your eyes with a wide smile. “Really? Sam did it?”
Bucky nodded, closing his eyes while you pressed a bandage gently against his temple. You dropped your hands, briefly admiring your little handiwork before taking in Bucky’s face. There was exhaustion under his eyes again, the kind you saw frequently, but you had since come up with a solution for it.
“One second,” you said while squeezing his shoulder, quickly walking to your kitchen.
Bucky watched you leave and exhaled, bringing his hand to the bandage. His heart raced and fingers slightly trembled, but not due to the fight he had just returned from. He inhaled deeply, letting out the strained breath as you returned.
You sat down again and held out a piece of chocolate. “Dark chocolate with caramel and sea salt. Sugar is the best medicine.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, though his smile was still present as he took it from you. “No doctor would ever say that.”
“That’s why I'm not a doctor.”
He gently laughed as he examined the chocolate. “Experimenting again?”
“Not this time. I was just messing around with leftovers.”
Bucky tossed the chocolate into his mouth, immediately humming in glee. “And it still tastes great.”
You softly laughed, your cheeks getting redder. “Thanks.”
Then you both went quiet and stared at each other.
Because it seemed like the only place they could go now was into each other's eyes.
There were no words Bucky could’ve used to describe the color of your eyes—the shade was of pure beauty, just like you. Despite already being alive for over a hundred years, he could get lost in your eyes—your warmth—for a hundred more.
And the way you looked back at him made something in his chest bubble.
So, casually, Bucky broke the silence. “You know, there’s this new Thai restaurant that opened near my apartment. I never had Thai food before…so I was thinking about trying it.”
You tilted your head, your voice now gentle and full of care. “Yeah?”
He nodded, his smile getting a bit wider. “Yeah. And…I thought it might be nice if…you know…if someone came with me.”
You blinked, then quickly leaned forward. “James Bucky Barnes… Are you…” you grinned with a hint of amusement and mischief, “asking me out on a date?”
He smiled back just as wide. “It can be, if you want.”
You giggled before continuing to tease him, “Depends… What’s with the timing? Why now?”
He gave a half-laugh. “Figured if I’m brave enough to go fight an entire group of super-soldiers…then maybe I should be brave enough to ask you out for dinner.
Your eyes stayed on him, filled with something tender, something amazed. Then you hummed, leaning back with admiration in your eyes. “Well…I’m glad you’re brave enough for both of us.”
Immediately, Bucky lit up, his smile wide as he went a little breathless, almost relieved that he had been right in feeling your warmth for him.
“But,” you added as you tapped his knee, “we’re only going when you’re all healed up. No earlier than that.”
He lightly shook his head. “I’m really fine—”
“No earlier than that!” You pointed at him with a grin, pretending to scold him. “If you try to pick me up before that wound is gone, I won’t have it!”
He chuckled, raising his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine.”
But his eyes stayed on you, full of something deep and steady—something that made the ache in his temple fade just a little. And he thought, not for the first time, that maybe this was the safest he’d ever felt.
<><><>
Your laughter carried Bucky’s heart.
The sun was dipping low as you shared stories about humorous interactions you’d had with customers. The golden hues radiated off the water and your skin, making you glow even more than Bucky thought was possible. He watched you wave your hands around, making everyone around you laugh, their shoulders sagging out of relaxation and peace.
Peace. It was so peaceful.
Bucky smiled softly, then turned to his side when he felt someone hit his shoulder.
“Careful, man,” Sam smirked, “you might fall over there.”
“Shut up,” he chuckled, standing up straight while putting down his empty bottle.
“Is her laugh making you weak in the knees?”
“I wasn’t gonna fall, Sam.”
“Sure.” Sam began to laugh. “Seriously, though, she’s the sweetest person I have ever met. Literally.” His smile grew larger. “How the hell did you wrangle her?”
Bucky rolled his eyes, though his smile still lingered. “She wrangled me.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, amused by his friend’s answer. Then Bucky grabbed his bottle and gave him a little nod before walking towards you. Tossing the bottle in a bin, he made his way to you. When you saw him approaching, you smiled brighter than the golden sun itself.
“Hey,” Bucky grinned, “walk with me?”
You blinked before giggling. “Sure thing.”
You both waved at the others before stepping away, your arms brushing as Bucky led you down the dock. Then, when you two reached Sam’s boat, you smiled once again. It was a peaceful spot, not entirely quiet as the cookout was still bursting with energy, but still calming. Bucky climbed aboard first before offering you his hand, and you took it while appreciating the coolness of the metal. The boat gently rocked as you walked to the other side, leaning over the edge to laze in the sunset. Bucky followed your lead, deeply exhaling at the smell of the water that radiated the sunlight.
“I have to say,” you started with a smile, “you can’t get a view like this in Brooklyn.”
Bucky hummed in agreement and moved closer to you. Even though it wasn’t the first time he’d done so, you couldn’t help but blush. You looked at him and smiled while rummaging through your pocket.
When you pulled your hand back out, he laughed. “Really?”
“What?” You giggled as you handed him a piece of caramel. “You should’ve expected this.”
He lightly shook his head while his smile widened. “I guess I should’ve.”
As you slowly peeled away the wrapper, you watched the sunset and softly grinned. “Everyone always needs something sweet in their lives, you know? Caramel’s a good choice for that.”
For a moment, Bucky didn’t respond. Instead, he glanced at his caramel, and then back at you. And without realizing, he was already speaking before his body could stop it. “Maybe caramel isn’t the only choice,” he said quietly, almost like a confession.
His cheeks immediately flushed as you froze before slowly turning your head, meeting his widened eyes with your own. Then, slowly, an amused grin began to appear on your face. “What are you implying, Bucky?”
“I— Uh—” He cleared his throat as he looked back at the water, unable to meet your playful expression. “I mean, I—I didn’t mean it like— You know, you— Uh—”
His words melted against your lips.
Was he surprised that you tasted like caramel? No, not at all. It was a given that you’d be sneaking in some sweets between conversations and meals whenever you could.
But he was surprised that the caramel on your lips grounded him. That, while his words disappeared, his heart still hummed against your hands on his chest. That you allowed yourself to drop the caramel—a piece of your creation—onto the floor to rest your hands on his chest to begin with.
That you touched him as if his heart belonged to something you’d made, but always wanted for yourself.
Something sweet.
All Bucky needed in life was something sweet, but like as you said, everyone needed it.
And you needed him the most.
His hands that hovered around your body finally found their way to your face, securing you to him as if you already hadn’t linked his heart to yours months ago. The kiss was not hurried, but rather slow like tempering chocolate—delicate and balanced. It was as if you were each following the other’s recipe with care, only to try to let your bodies memorize every detail of it.
When you both pulled away, eyes still closed, the silence between you two carried the weight of your feelings for one another. Finally, you looked at him and met his blue eyes, and you gave him a teasing smile.
“Well,” you tilted your head, “I’m assuming I’m one of the other choices.”
At that, Bucky softly laughed as he adjusted his hold on your face, his thumb tracing the edge of your lips. “You,” he quietly began with a smile so gentle that it felt the world around you was smaller, “are my first and only choice.”
It was a simple phrase, but the depth of the emotions behind each word made you speechless. You felt warm, but it wasn’t just the sunset that showered you with light and comfort.
Your face softened, shocked by what he said, while your smile grew. “Bucky… Do you mean that?”
“Every bit of it.”
The boat rocked slightly underneath you both while you looked at him. You stared at the man who stumbled into your shop and stuck by your side like sea-salted taffy that’s been slightly melted—the man who took your kitchen tools and carved into the empty spot in your life, and you realized that it fit him perfectly.
“I love you,” you quietly said, almost carefully as if you didn’t know what he would say back. “I’ve loved you for a while.”
His heart swelled as he leaned in closer, trying to look at you closer than before. His eyes were wide at your confession, and you could feel—hear—his heart pounding at a fast pace.
And then, softly and gratefully, as if he still believed he wasn’t allowed to have something as wonderful as you, he whispered, “I love you too.”
Then he pulled you into another kiss, and you two lingered in each other’s presence for the rest of the evening.
Bucky had a sweet tooth. That, he knew of. It took a while for him to accept how much he loved sweets—how much he needed them to feel human. He loved all kinds of sweets.
Out of all of them, candy always made him feel better.
But you? You made him feel the best.
—<><>—<><>—<><>—
Thanks for reading :)
Unwanted Masterlist
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader
Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn't be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust. WIP
Warnings: 18+ Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here. "*" indicates explicit sexual content (each chapter will feature its own warnings as needed), language, alcohol/drug use, drunk!Bucky, pick-me!oc, angst, mentions of CSA, angst, emotional affair, angst, physical infidelity (dependent on your pov), canon-level violence, emotional trauma, did I mention angst?, some fluffy moments, destructive behavior, injury, medical conditions, poorly translated Russian. More will be added as the story progresses, and some chapters will have specific warnings that I will keep under wraps to avoid spoilers. When we get to those sections, I will let you know, so if there is a specific trigger that you absolutely cannot handle, let me know and I will tell you if the section is safe. As always, please let me know if I miss any warnings.
Word Count: Currently 113.5k; Total TBD
A/N: And here I present unto you, my beloved, the fruit of my labors these many past moons. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to wait to completely finish this and post it all at once, or if I'll trickle it out while I continue to write it. I guess it depends on how generous my muse is to me, lol. Tagging @jmeelee to make her start reading this ;) I love you with custard and a wooden spoon! Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917
Part 1 (Posted 3/6/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/6/24) Part 3 (Posted 3/6/24) Part 4 (Posted 3/6/24)
Part 1 (Posted 3/8/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/8/24) Part 3 (Posted 3/9/24) Part 4 (Posted 3/9/24) Part 5 (Posted 3/9/24)
Part 1 (Posted 3/10/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/10/24) Part 3* (Posted 3/10/24)
Part 1* (Posted 3/11/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/12/24) Part 3* (Posted 3/13/24)
Part 1 (Posted 3/15/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/15/24)
Part 1 (Posted 3/16/24)
Part 1 (Posted 3/17/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/17/24)
Part 1 (Posted 3/18/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/19/24) Part 3* (Posted 3/19/24)
Part 1 (Posted 3/21/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/22/24) Part 3 (Posted 3/23/24)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Part 1 Part 2
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Part 1 Part 2
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Graveyard
summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too. pairing: bucky x healer!reader word count: 10k warnings: canon level violence
As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.
It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.
They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.
Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.
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Super Soldier Domesticated | Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: Domestic scenes with Bucky Barnes, because Bucky Barnes deserves to be HAPPY.
A/N: I have returned to pray at the altar of James Buchanan Barnes. Thunderbolts dropped and flooded my insta feed. Oh, how past me would have rejoiced in all of this Bucky content.
Word count: 3.1k
Warnings: fluff, implications of smut, language, possible misinformation about various contraceptive devices (please inform yourselves lol)
-
Bucky Barnes was the fist of Hydra.
He’d spent decades being shaped into the perfect asset—ruthless, detached, the ultimate killing machine. He was cruel. He was dangerous. He was violent.
He’d been tortured. He’d been torn apart and stitched back together, and only when barely an inkling of the man he used to be remained, they’d set him loose on the world.
It was almost funny, Bucky thought now as he looked down at his working hands. To think what this arm—this near indestructible artificial limb—had been created for. It had squeezed the life from many a target, had pulled the triggers of guns and survived explosions. It had brought unspeakable pain upon his victims.
And yet …
“Not too tight, Bucky.”
Her voice had come quietly, softly, and from where he sat on the edge of the bed, Bucky could tell that her eyes had slipped closed a while ago. She sat on the floor between his legs, with her own legs crossed and her back straight.
Bucky loosened his grip at once, the strands of her hair now looser in his palms.
“Like this?” he asked, only taking his eyes off her face once an approving hum resonated through her chest.
“Perfect.”
A smile tugged on the corners of his lips as he went back to work. Right strand over, pull the middle to the right, then repeat with the left. It was tough to keep each of the three strands separated—nimble work, delicate. This was his second attempt after the first had ended in a merging of the left and the middle strand. It had been chaos.
“I can’t believe you manage to do this behind your head,” he spoke quietly, fingers moving a little faster with every inch he managed to braid successfully.
“Years of practice.” There was a smile in her voice. It warmed Bucky’s chest. “Hey, Buck?”
He hummed to signal that he was listening, concentrating on getting the bottom of the braid right. She’d warned him that it could get tricky to avoid shorter strands of hair from sticking out at the side.
“Would you mind running to the store later?”
“’Course not, doll,” he mumbled, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he pinched the end of her braid between his fingers to carefully slip on the hair tie he kept on his wrist. It was one of his, but ever since he’d cut his hair, he didn’t need them anymore, and so they’d long been adopted by Y/N, merging with her own hair accessories in the small bathroom they shared.
When he finished, he carefully draped the braid over her shoulder, succumbing to the urge to touch her with a single finger brushing along her neck.
“What do you think?”
Delicate fingers found the braid, and Y/N turned her head far enough to peek down at his work. Bucky found himself holding his breath in anticipation of her verdict.
When she looked up at him, she offered a smile. It was the wide kind—the beaming kind. It was the kind to touch the corners of her eyes and have Bucky’s heart stutter in a way that would be worrying if it wasn’t for the serum in his veins that pretty much prevented cardiac arrest.
“Perfect job, baby,” she said, craning her neck towards him. Bucky smiled when he leaned forward to meet her in a kiss.
-
Left hand clutching the handle of the shopping basket, Bucky stuck to an empty aisle to study the yellow post-it note she’d written him.
Granola
Eggs (2 dozen)
Apples
Tomatoes
Grated cheese (Gouda or Cheddar)
Toothpaste (2x)
Tampons
Ice cream (!!!)
He smirked at the three exclamation marks behind ice cream, carved deep enough into the paper to leave grooves on the other side. There was exactly one type of ice cream she loved, and ever since he’d bought the wrong one once, she’d taken to reminding him on every note she wrote.
By now, he knew the layout of the supermarket well enough that he could find his way in the dark. They were good for him, these mundane tasks. He needed routine, needed something to do. It gave him peace to do something that was important but did not include guns, or bombs, or mission reports. It gave him peace to function in this little bubble he inhabited with Y/N.
He stood before the shelf with the period products now, two cartons with a dozen eggs each already secured in his basket. They were mainly for him. He ate four each morning.
Bucky could not recall a time when he didn’t know everything there was to know about the absorbency of Tampons. He knew the brands, knew the sizes, knew that Y/N preferred the ones without the applicator because she thought the extra piece of plastic was an unnecessary waste.
Two purple boxes fell into his basket before he moved on to the ice box.
-
The headboard pressed into Bucky’s back as he held out the tub of ice cream for Y/N to dig her spoon in. They’d agreed it was best he hold it, as his was the only hand that would not eventually freeze.
He loved these moments with her. He lived for them.
She lay next to him, one leg stretched before her, the other bend at the knee. She was wearing one of his shirts and a thick pair of socks, leaning most of her weight against his shoulder. Bucky found it soothing.
“It’s one of the only options without hormones,” she explained before her spoon vanished into her mouth, then adding with her mouth full, “But it’s supposed to hurt like a bitch when they put it in.”
Bucky gave a grunt, scraping some off the top of the ice cream with his own spoon. “I read that it increases bleeding. Makes your cramps worse, too.”
“Well, that only leaves hormonal birth control then.”
Bucky frowned.
It had taken some explaining for Bucky to fully understand the intricacies of new age contraception, but he found that he didn’t like the idea of something messing with her hormones—with her health.
“There’s nothing I could take?”
She thought about it for a moment, lips clasped tightly around her spoon. The sight almost took Bucky’s mind off the topic at hand. Almost.
“Afraid not,” she finally said with a small sigh through her nose. “Unless you want to get snipped,” she added with a pained smile.
Bucky offered her the tub and watched as she dug a large spoonful from the centre.
“I might be sterile anyway, darlin’,” he finally said quietly.
They’d spoken about it—the possibility that the serum had done some irreversible damage to Bucky’s system. He’d already gotten tested before he’d met her, but it had been hard for the doctors to tell. No one was accustomed to a super soldier organism. The best they’d been able to tell him was that it was likely either one extreme or the other.
“Sterile or super-soldier-fertile,” Y/N repeated what he’d told her. “And your body would likely just heal you if you got a vasectomy.”
Bucky tilted his head as he looked at her. “I don’t actually mind us using condoms.”
It had been Y/N who’d brought up the possibility for her to start taking birth control, but Bucky could not quite shake the feeling that she’d mentioned it mainly for his sake.
Y/N hummed in thought, lifting her free hand to push her fingers through his hair, tugging gently at the ends. Bucky’s eyes slipped close for just a second.
“Forever?” she asked pensively, pursing her lips. “It seems easier for me to just get something permanent. An implant, or an IUD.” A thought crossed her mind then, and she narrowed her eyes at him with interest. “What did you do in the 40s?”
Bucky pulled a face. “Ah, couldn’t tell ya. Pulled out and hoped for the best.”
Truth be told, Bucky had never really bothered with it back in his youth. He’d known that they were experimenting with jellies and creams—he’d heard it from a girl he’d been going out with. There’d been condoms of course, but they weren’t nearly as common as they were nowadays, and frankly Bucky wouldn’t have been able to afford them even if they had been.
Y/N snorted. It was a delightful sound.
“So what you’re telling me is you might have some unknown descendants scattered around the world?”
Bucky smirked down at the ice cream, a cold drop of water trickling in between the vibranium tiles of his hand.
“I would’ve heard,” he said. “Wasn’t like I was sleeping with the whole neighbourhood.”
She hummed, grinning when she pressed her nose into his cheek. “I don’t believe you for one second. Not with that charm of yours.”
“I don’t want you taking hormones,” Bucky said suddenly, turning to meet Y/N’s gaze. “Not for me. I read some horror stories online, doll. About blood clots, embolisms, heart attacks. I know they’re rare, but I would never forgive myself if something happened.”
She considered him for a moment, smiling when she lifted a hand to squeeze his chin between her thumb and index finger.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Condoms it is then.”
-
“I can’t believe this!”
There was anger in her voice, a deep crease between her brows when she turned to look at Bucky, throwing her arms up in exasperation.
“You are one hundred years old,” she snapped. “How are you this fucking good at Mario Kart?!”
Bucky felt his lip twist at the corners, smirking as he flicked through the different racetracks on screen. They’d been playing for a little over an hour, and so far, Bucky had managed to beat her in every single round, scoring first place with a substantial lead each time.
“How about this snowy one next?”
At her silence, he turned to find a deadpan expression adorning her features.
“Yes, Bucky,” she said, words dripping with sarcasm. “Let’s do the fucking snow track.”
Bucky couldn’t stop his grin from widening, reaching out his human hand to pinch her cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re competitive.”
Swatting after his hand, Y/N harrumphed and turned back towards the TV. She sat straight-backed as a soldier with her legs crossed beneath her, while Bucky lay back against the couch with his legs stretched out on the plush ottoman before him.
“I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense,” she muttered to herself. “You pause Netflix movies by clicking the pause button with your cursor. You shouldn’t be this good at a video game.”
Bucky snorted, pushing at her shoulder with the back of his wrist, to which her cheeks lifted, betraying her grin despite her attempts to hide it.
“Today’s youth is rude,” Bucky muttered.
He thought he heard her giggle, which had warmth seep through his chest. But of course, it felt nothing as good as the rush of triumph he experienced at the large golden 1 appearing on his side of the screen after a few minutes spent racing in concentrated silence.
“Unbelievable,” Y/N half-yelled at the TV, waving her hands so much, Bucky feared for a moment that her controller would go flying into the screen. “Un. Fucking. Believable.”
While Bucky’s little green dinosaur celebrated by waving from his motorcycle, Bucky lifted a shoulder. “I’m a good driver.”
“This game in no way reflects real life driving skills.”
“Sure, it does.”
Y/N opened her mouth, and Bucky could tell that she was readying herself to argue. Before she could, however, he discarded his controller and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her down towards him.
At once, she began to laugh, struggling against his grip as he attempted to wrestle the controller from her hands.
“You need a time out,” Bucky announced, dodging her elbows as she attempted to keep the controller out of his reach.
“One more!” she gasped, twisting and turning in Bucky’s hold, giggling as she did so. “I need to beat you at least once.”
“You’re gonna have a heart attack with that road rage of yours.”
She scoffed in mock outrage, but Bucky lowered his lips to hers before she could continue. She was laughing against him, wiggling when he finally got hold of her controller without looking, pushing at his shoulder when he began to scatter small kisses across her face.
But with every second, her resistance lessened, her body melting into his hold, her laughter softening into amused hums, until finally, her fingers curled into the hair on the back of Bucky’s head, and she met his lips with enthusiasm. Her controller—finally acquired, but already long forgotten—slipped from Bucky’s grip to clatter to the ground.
-
Bucky’s fingers pressed into the flesh of her hips, jaw tight and head tilted back into a pillow as the tension in his body slowly ebbed away to make room for a comfortable, cushy daze that warmed his body from head to toe.
She shook in his hands, the last of her breath rushing from her lungs in a hitched gasp. She tensed, thighs pressing firmly on the sides of his hips, and then it seemed her bones turned into something soft, pliable, as her body sank to his for her lips to rest in the crook of his neck.
For a moment, there was just their shared breathing to be heard—fast, choppy, warm. Bucky lifted his head only far enough to peer over her shoulder, watching the black metal of his hand detach itself from her skin without a mark left behind. Ever since those first times, those first bruises when he hadn’t yet gotten used to the strength of his arm in a context such as this, he paid extra attention.
With a soft groan, she pushed to her hands to look down at him with a glint in her eye. Bucky pushed the hair from her face, running his thumb along a swollen bottom lip, along the bridge of her nose, and the arch of her cheekbone.
Y/N pushed her face deeper into his palm, eyes slipping shut.
“I won’t ever get tired of this,” she breathed, to which Bucky smirked.
“I sure hope you won’t, dollface.”
Her nose scrunched at the drawled pet name. She’d always found it corny, but the corners of her lips curled higher nonetheless.
“I’m—”
“Hungry,” Bucky finished, sitting up with a groan of his own, one arm curled behind her back. “Comin’ right up.”
Y/N gasped in mock offence. “That’s not what I was going to say!”
Bucky rose a single brow, one arm pushing into the mattress behind him to keep him upright. She was always hungry after. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But most times ended in a late night snack shared on the couch, in the kitchen, in their bed.
“What were you going to say, then?”
She pursed her lips, letting a few seconds tick by silently, and Bucky knew then and there that she had nothing.
“I wanted to say,” she declared importantly, lifting her hands to hold his face between her palms. “That I’m in love with you.”
“I’m in love with you too, darlin’.” Bucky couldn’t help his rising cheeks. “I’m just gonna lay back down then—”
“And also,” she interrupted, pausing by kissing him deep enough for his mind to buzz when she pulled back with a satisfied smirk. “That I might just be a teensy bit hungry.”
A husky laugh slipped from Bucky’s throat, and with his arms wrapping around her tightly, he stood in a swift move, taking her with him as he went.
-
“So what I’m saying is,” Y/N said, swinging her legs as she lifted another piece of orange to her lips, chewing as she continued. “While I do agree that a beach vacation would be nice, I think going to Scotland would be a lot more interesting.”
Bucky kept his attention on the board before him, chopping tomatoes into somewhat uniform little cubes as he listened. She sat not far to his left on the countertop. The smell of citrus crawled up his nose.
“It rains a lot in Scotland.”
“Yes, but think of the castles. The highlands. The cows.”
“If we go to Portugal, we could lay in the sun all day. Swim. Fool around.”
An amused sound left her throat, her thumb pushing into the orange to break off another piece. She held it out to him, and Bucky leaned over to take it with his teeth.
“Fool around?” she giggled. “What are we, teenagers? Besides, we can do that anywhere. And it would be a lot cozier in a little hut in the highlands when it’s raining.”
Bucky weighed his head from side to side, considering her words.
“Think about it,” she added. “One is sweaty, sticky, and hot; the other is cozy and cuddly.”
“I honestly can’t tell which of those you think is the less desirable option.”
She laughed at that, chewing while Bucky scattered the tomatoes into the pan already holding a still liquid layer of egg, followed by shredded cheese, salt and pepper.
“I thought you didn’t like heat.”
“What made you think that?”
There was a moment of silence.
“Well, you always kick away the blankets, and you never notice when it’s too cold in a room. I thought it was part of the whole supersoldier shebang.”
Bucky rose a shoulder. “I don’t mind heat. Especially not when a pretty dame is involved.”
She burst out laughing at that, and Bucky smiled as he watched from the corner of his eye.
“Fine, fine. You win, Barnes,” she chuckled, offering him another piece of orange that he took with a quick kiss to the back of her hand. “I will fool around with you at the beach. But if we get kicked out of Portugal for public indecency, we’re going to the highlands.”
“Deal.”
After flipping the omelette with a skilled flick of the pan, Bucky folded it in half and placed it carefully on a nearby plate. Y/N beamed as he handed it to her.
“You’re the bestest,” she said, craning her neck for a kiss. “Thank you.”
Bucky stepped between her legs, opening his mouth when she offered him a forkful of omelette, already chewing herself. His palms found her thighs, her skin covered by a plush bathrobe to match his own in both colour and pattern.
The fist of Hydra, standing in a dimly lit kitchen with his love and an omelette. He could get used to this—he already had gotten used to this—and as he looked down at the black metal thumb he ran along the smooth skin of a thigh, he wondered how this limb had ever been used for something other than making omelettes for his love.
-
A/N: Can you believe it's been three whole years since I wrote a Bucky fic????? TF
Boom Clap
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader
Word Count: 1,063
Summary: Before tonight you wouldn't have been able to label your relationship with Bucky but after he gets home earlier than expected from a mission and shows up at the bar everything changes.
Author's Note: Just because, I love him and this look ends me every time and it's lightly based on this song Boom Clap by Charli XCX. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you 🥰
Warnings: it's just Bucky being irresistible and soft too
“Well, something clearly more interesting than this conversation is going on in your mind. Would you like to share it with the rest of us?”
Two pairs of glittering eyes stare at you, twin knowing smiles gracing your friend’s lips and you frantically try to recall what the three of you had been discussing.
“There’s only one thing that can be giving her that look,” Nat laughs. “A man.”
“And not just any,” Wanda adds.
“Bucky,” both women say simultaneously and with devious grins.
You sip your drink to hide your smile.
“You must miss him since he’s been away on the mission all week,” Wanda muses.
You don’t say it but you do miss him. A lot.
“So what exactly is going on with you two?” Nat asks
With a nonchalant shrug you sip your drink again and try to figure out how to label your relationship with Bucky. Your friends wait, expressions expectant but playful.
If you had a definitive answer you would share it but ever since the two of you started hanging out neither of you had given it a label. You were just enjoying each other. In every way. You were happy being with him, that much of which you were sure.
“Umm…” you start.
That’s the only word you get out before you see Wanda and Nat’s drinks pause halfway to their mouths. Their eyes are trained on something just beyond your shoulder, toward the entrance of the bar.
Several other women at the bar pause their own conversation and you sense the shift in energy.
He’s here.
You place your drink down on the bar and turn. Bucky stands just inside the doorway, his black jacket draped over his broad shoulders and his covetous blue eyes focused on you.
Awareness races across your skin coupled with a heat only he can set ablaze. Your pulse quickens and you fight the urge to run into his arms.
He wears all black, from his tight fitted shirt down to his leather boots and his strong jaw is shadowed with dark hair. When he walks toward you at the bar, he moves with such sensual purpose that you notice another woman swooning.
He looks hungry and determined.
And he’s here for you.
You reach out and grab your drink, downing it in one long sip.
Without removing his gaze from yours, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, turning it over and kissing the inside of your wrist, then your palm, then finally, your fingertips.
This time, you hear the breath woosh from Nat and Wanda but Bucky shows no reaction, appearing oblivious to anything else but you.
“Guess he’s back,” Nat whispers to Wanda. You barely catch the words as Bucky consumes your every thought.
“I missed you doll,” he whispers against your wrist.
“I missed you too,” you reply breathlessly.
He lowers your hand from his mouth and keeps hold of it between your bodies. With a soft tug he brings you closer, leaning into your neck and whispering along the shell of your ear.
“Come home with me?”
“You don’t even have to ask,” you murmur.
“Yes, I do doll. I would never take you for granted.”
Your free hand slides up his chest to his jaw, tracing the outline before you softly press your lips to his. His eyes fluttered closed and he breathes you in.
“I’m just going to use the restroom and say goodbye to Nat and Wanda. Meet you back here in five.”
“Hurry,” he murmurs, letting his eyes sparkle with words of unspoken want.
You rush off toward the bathroom, Nat and Wanda right behind you and after relieving yourself and filling your friends in you search for Bucky’s tall figure.
You find him standing at the bar, taking to someone. As you get closer, you see that the woman is standing close enough to brush against him. Unable to see Bucky’s face, you watch as she runs a hand along his arm with a gentle squeeze of his bicep, smiling at him flirtatiously.
Your heart drops into your stomach and you feel your eyes well with unshed tears but you can’t stop your forward movement. Bucky’s face comes into view. His eyes aren’t on the woman but furiously scanning the room. He looks uncomfortable, backing away from her and saying something you can’t hear.
You consider turning and running out but that wouldn’t be fair. You and Bucky have no official label, have never agreed to be exclusive. You can’t even blame the other woman for approaching him. He’s impossible to resist. You should know.
But then his eyes meet yours and you see all the emotions rushing through them, but mostly you see relief.
Taking a deep breath, you continue to walk forward. Bucky holds his arm out, his eyes begging you to walk into his embrace.
You slide into his side in time to hear him say, “here she is. This is my…”
“Girlfriend,” you finish, smiling and extending your hand with your name. “Nice to meet you.”
“Wow, lucky girl,” the woman says as she shakes your hand. “You deserve an award for landing a man like this.”
“I don’t need an award. I’ve got him,” you say as you reach down and take his left hand in yours.
Your eyes meet Bucky’s. “Ready to take me home Buck?”
“Always doll.”
Your hand stays tightly tucked in Bucky’s as you walk down the street toward his apartment. You turn toward him, the warm breeze caressing your skin and the city lights dancing in your eyes. His breath catches in his throat as your lips spread into a wide and reassuring smile.
He stops walking in the middle of the sidewalk and pulls you flush against his chest, his eyes wandering over your face.
“Are you really mine?” he asks as he dips his head. “You’re really my girl?”
“Yours Bucky. I have been from the beginning.”
His fingers spread across your lower back and he slowly drags his hand along the curve of your spine, every inch he covers pressing you closer against him until he reaches your neck and traces the delicate column before cradling your cheek.
He sweeps his thumb along your skin and holds your lips just centimeters from his, whispering, “mine,” as his eyes close and his mouth captures yours.
@randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @goldylions @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @lizette50
Warrior/Worrier (Bucky Barnes x Reader)
Summary: After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.
Words: 5.3K
Fluff, fluff and fluff and a lil bit of angst. Classic hurt/comfort and friends to lovers
Through the darkness, there's a knock on your bedroom door, so soft, so cautious, that if you hadn't already been half-awake, you're not sure you would've caught it.
Legs quickly swung over the side of your mattress, you stop and focus at a fixpoint in your moonlit room.
According to the big mission schedule hung in Steve's office, you should be the only one at the compound, so you cannot for the life in you figure out who would rap on your door at 3.30 in the morning, but it wasn't just something you'd imagined because there it is again. A knock, not much louder than before, but definitely there.
For a brief second, your foggy brain ponders that it's likely someone who's been sent to kill you in the dead of night, but before you've even reached for your bedside Beretta, rationality reminds you that they probably wouldn't have had the curtesy to knock first - and then it dawns on you.
"Nat," you sigh with a roll of your eyes and let your bare feet hit the floor while you rub the sleep from off your face. It's not the first time she's forgotten the lock combination to her room after post-mission drinks.
Slowly, you walk across the cold floorboards and over to the wooden door where you can hear ragged breathing from the other side of the wall. Hand lazily pulling the door open, you start talking before you've seen who's on the other side.
"It's only four digits and you're panic breathing?" you chuckle but is immediately taken aback when you're not met by Natasha but instead by your best friend. "...Buck?"
He's back from his mission a day earlier than you'd expected and you're just about to crack a witty comment on how you'd told him that Sam couldn't stand to be alone with him for more than thirty-six hours, but then you notice the state he's in.
His entire body is slumped over as he clutches his right arm tight to his chest, eyes droopy and blank, cheekbones dotted by freckles of soot and framed by thick strands of auburn hair caked in dried blood. "Doll," he breathes painfully and takes a step closer, looking only mildly relieved to see you.
"Buck!" you hiss in fear and grab both his cheeks, but his dirty face just drops further, and he can't even look at you though you're standing mere inches apart.
"I know it's late," he mumbles with his gaze downcast, "but can I come in?"
It's as if you don't hear him clearly enough to respond. His voice is under water and at the same time layers above you while you're far too concerned with every look of horror splashed across his handsome face, your hands frantically clutching his bloodied cheeks as you desperately search his eyes though he still won't look at you. "What happened? Where's all this blood coming from?"
"It's - it's not mine..." he croaks with a small shake of his head.
Fear ripples through your entire body one more time and you can barely speak as you imagine the worst possible scenario that might have caused Bucky to behave like this. "Is it... Sam?" you whimper with tears already burning in your eyes, fighting the urge to throw up.
"He's fine," Bucky quickly interrupts with a small nod, "I dropped him off at his girl's place twenty minutes ago," he croaks and finally looks up at you, his eyes more broken than you've ever seen them before. It makes your heart crack in two. "Sweetheart, can I please come in?"
"Oh god," you pant anxiously and reluctantly let your fingers slide off his cheeks as you step to the side and finally let him inside your bedroom. "Yes, yes of course you can come in."
Immediately, he's on your bed, his face buried in his vibranium hand as the pads of his fingers start rubbing circles over his dusty forehead.
"What happened?" you barely manage to croak as you sit down beside him and carefully place a hand on his rigid thigh. "Last time I heard from you, everything was going according to plan."
"I don't want to talk about it," he gulps and starts rubbing his face even more agitatedly, looking over at you with an apologetic look on his face. "- not right now... I just had to see you. I'm sorry I woke you up."
You grab his vibranium hand and bring it down to his lap to get him to stop his frantic movements and he immediately squeezes you tight, letting out another heart-breaking sob.
"It's okay, Buck. I'm glad you're here."
Over the last year, you've seen Bucky on his darkest days a handful of times, and he usually has the same look on his face, but this time, it's different. It's deeper. Despondent and morose, the anger that's usually posessing him om the bleaker days replaced by a different kind of sadness.
Something really bad must've happened...
"Do you wanna sleep in here tonight?" you ask, unsure how to tackle this the best way possible if you don't want him to shield himself off in his room the way he usually does when he's not feeling his best. He shouldn't be alone under any circumstances.
You're half expecting him to protest, but to your surprise he starts nodding, relieved. "Thank you," he whispers and squeezes your hand tight again.
You make an attempt at a comforting touch as you brush over the soot on his cheeks, making a strand of dirty hair dipped in dried blood fall from his forehead. "You want a shower? I can draw you a bath."
He nods again.
"Come on, love," you say quietly and watch as he gulps hard at the sound of the tender pet-name that you've been wanting to call him for months now but haven't had the guts to say out loud until it accidentally slips past your lips. Surprisingly, you're not even embarrassed by yourself. You suppose there are more important things to worry about than an accidental profession of love in a moment of gentle affection.
Bucky seems taken aback too, frozen, and full of wonder, but he shakes it off and lets you pull him to your small bathroom, accepting your fluffiest towel without a word as he continues staring at you.
"I'll be just outside, okay?" you say reassuringly as you turn on the water in your bathtub, making sure it's the right temperature before putting in the drain stopper.
He's still looking at you with huge eyes, flesh arm clutched to his chest while the fluffy white towel gently supports his elbow. You silently wonder if he's hurt but before you can ask him, he speaks.
"Can you... stay?" He asks quietly, biting his inner cheek, unsure if his request is too much.
Still, it's your turn to be taken aback. You and Bucky are close but not like that.
"Stay?" you instinctively furrow your eyebrows, "while you shower?
He immediately clenches his jaw shut and shakes his head while small patches of pink appear on his cheeks underneath all the dirt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"No, no it's okay," you quickly stand up from your position by the tub spout so you're once again levelled. "- I was just surprised, that's all," you want to smack yourself for making him doubt himself. "Of course I'll stay."
Ice blue irises slowly find yours while the rose tint of his lower lip is being pulled between his teeth. "Are you sure?" he hesitates while sucking in some air, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."
"You're not," you touch your hand to his sternum to underline your words and watches as the crease between his eyebrows slowly reduces as he gradually relaxes under your touch. You can't help but think that even through all the dust and the grime, he looks incredibly beautiful.
"Let me give you some privacy," you unwillingly let go of him and turn away so he can undress in peace.
From behind you, you can hear the ruffle of his tac pants being pushed down his legs before the belt buckle clangs loudly against the tiles of the floor. It's followed by a series of loud painful grunts and hisses a few seconds later.
"Are you okay?" you ask and turn your head to the side, careful not to look directly at him as to not break the trust he put in you when he asked you to stay. "Buck?"
"Yeah, sweetheart," he sighs in embarrassment behind you, "it's just... do you think you could... help me?"
You turn around slowly to find him standing in the middle of the bathroom still wearing his torn t-shirt and Kevlar vest, bare-legged in boxer shorts and black socks pulled high up on his calf while his pants are lying crumbled on the floor beside him. He's awkwardly shifting the weight between his two feet, still clutching his right arm tightly. "It's my elbow."
Immediately, you furrow your eyebrows and walk over to him, taking his right hand in yours. "Yeah, I meant to ask you earlier. What happened?"
He doesn't answer but just silently lets you examine the swelling and black-purple skin that's half-hidden underneath dust and blood.
"Shit," you breathe and hear him give out a sharp hiss when you turn his arm over so you can examine the other side, "Buck, I think your elbow's torn."
"Me too," he gulps, "- I heard it snap."
At the mere thought of the sound, a wave of nausea hits you square in the chest and your stomach starts to churn. You can feel the tang of acid push up on your tongue when you imagine the pain he must've been enduring - still is enduring - but you fight it relentlessly and eventually manage to swallow down the bile. You should be taking care of him, not the other way around.
"We should go down to the infirmary," you say and keep your gaze firmly placed on the purple bruising, so he doesn't notice your discomfort. "I know it probably won't take too long to heal with the serum and all but just to make su-"
"Sweetheart," he gulps from above you and it makes you stop mid-sentence. "Not tonight, okay? I just wanna stay here tonight."
You look up at him, about to protest, but the words quickly die in your throat when you notice the look he's wearing. He's begging. Anxious. Heavy-hearted.
"Okay," you reluctantly agree and carefully let go of his arm while he sends you a grateful look. "Come on, let me help you out of this," you say quietly in defeat and unstrap his vest beneath his ribs, pulling the Kevlar plates over his head while he groans loudly.
"Ah!" he hisses and clutches his elbow tight, squeezing his eyes shut when you try and pull his t-shirt over his head. "Fuck!"
"You good?"
"Mm-hmm" he hums displeased with lips pressed so tightly together they're forming a thin, white line. "Just get it over with."
You pull on the hem again so the dark fabric rides up his stomach, revealing scarred skin pulled tight over the bulging muscles you've spent so many warm summer days discreetly staring at. "Can you reach your arms just a little higher?" you ask and watch how his diaphragm heaves in small electric shocks when he cannot control the loud gasps that escape his throat.
"Fuck me!" He hisses and squeezes his eyes so tightly shut that his entire face pales. "Just rip the damn fabric off," he hisses angrily, "I can't extend my fucking arm."
"Are you sure you don't wanna get it checked out in the med wing?" You let go of his t-shirt and look him deep in the eye, hoping your concerned gaze can convince him that it'll be worth the trip just to get your jumping nerves under control.
"Just... get me out of this thing," he sighs in defeat. "Cut it open, I don't care."
Disinclined, you dive down in the drawer underneath your sink, pulling out a small flat-legged scissor that came with a roll of gauze you bought last year when you had a nasty wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. "Are you sure?" You look up at him as you put the blade underneath the hem of his t-shirt.
Through the fingers you have placed over his chest, you can feel how his pulse quickly falls again when your eyes meet.
"S'just a t-shirt," he mumbles quietly while nodding, "I'm sure..."
Though you want to stay in this position forever, you slowly look away from him and down at your hands as your hesitantly start cutting, careful not to pierce Bucky's flesh with the sharp scissors.
The blade runs through the fabric like a hot knife through butter and you can feel every tense muscle that the edge of the scissors encounters as they travel over his warm stomach and chest. It makes the blood roar in your ears as more and more skin is revealed underneath your fingertips.
Concentrated on not hurting him even more, you keep your gaze firmly placed on his heavily panting chest as you cut open the front of his black shirt and carefully peel the fabric off his bruised arm until he's standing in front of you in nothing but black boxers and socks, his left hand carefully reaching out for yours as if to comfort both of you.
You've seen him bare chested several times before, but it's never been in this close proximity, never been this intimate, just the two of you holding hands and looking each other deep in the eye as you silently try to assure the other that everything is going to be okay.
"So..." you clear your throat, embarrassed by the fact that you have to hold yourself back from leaning forwards, planting a small kiss on his dusty cheek. "- I take it you can shimmy your way out of those on your own, right?" You nod down towards his boxers and he blinks as if he's just woken up from a trance.
"Yeah," he nods and lets go of your hand while the pink patches make a reappearance on his face.
Slowly, you turn around facing the running spout in the tub to the soft sound of cotton hitting the floor behind you. Involuntarily, you give out a gulp and flusteredly grab the box of bath salts just to give your shaking hands something to do. You cannot believe that your extremely fuckable best friend is standing naked in your bathroom no more than two feet away, begging you to stay close to him.
Eyes still firmly placed on the water in the tub, you point over your shoulder to the rainfall shower in the opposite corner of the bathroom. "You wanna rinse off first?"
"I better," Bucky hesitates behind you. "Don't you think?"
"It'll be a much nicer bath if you do," you awkwardly clear your throat.
"Yeah, you're right," he sighs and turns on the shower, immediately stepping inside and closing the glass door behind him so you can finally breathe freely again.
Through the mirror above the sink, you can make out his naked silhouette behind the matte glass and how the tension in his shoulders first tenfolds and then completely disappears the minute the water turns warm and he relaxes. He lets his forehead fall forwards so it's pressed up against the cold tiles while the water runs over his defined shoulders and down his sculpted back, and you literally have to force your eyes away from him and the shape of his handsome torso.
With your gaze fixed firmly on the fuzzy bathmat at the foot of the shower, you hear the sound of your bath gel being opened, followed by a series of painful grunts as Bucky desperately tries to lather himself with the soap.
"Fuck," he mumbles quietly and before you've even voiced a single word of concern, he continues. "Sweetheart, I know it's a lot to ask..." he says a little louder, the embararssement still evident in his voice, "- but I'm gonna need a little help in here... it's - it's this damn elbow," he sighs, "I'm useless. Can you...?" his voice trails off and the question hangs thickly in the air between you.
He wants you to join him.
To wash him.
Take care of him.
The thought alone makes you nervous, you have to admit, but he needs your help and you're willing to do anything for him.
"Give me a minute," you gulp and strip down to your panties, pulling on the bra you wore earlier so you're not completely bare in there. Several times, you've dreamt of you and Bucky naked together, but not like this - never like this - and you'll be damned if the first time he sees you without a shred of clothes is because he needs help and not because he needs you.
With your pyjamas neatly folded on top of the toilet seat cover, you take a final look at yourself in the mirror, brushing your hair out of your eyes before nervously reaching for the shower door with shaking hands.
He's still standing with his chiselled back towards you, letting the water rinse over his dirty hair and down between his shoulder blades with a slightly pinkish hue. "I'm so sorry about this," he mumbles uncomfortably and hands you your loofah behind his back. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."
"Come on, Buck," you say as you dribble a little soap on the sponge, fighting the urge to let your gaze run all the way down to his thick thighs. "Don't beat yourself up, you know I'm always here for you."
"Still," he mumbles and goes silent as the loofah gently runs over his tense shoulders and traces down his spine.
The white soap bubbles work magic on his dirty skin and you make sure not to leave out a single square inch of his scarred backside as you wash him while fighting the urge to wrap your arms around his torso, telling him how glad you are that he not alone came home, but also that he came to you seeking help instead of barricading himself in his room. It seems significant that he's here, as if something's changed between you though you cannot put your finger on it.
Completely lost in thought, you accidentally run the loofah a little too vigorously over his right tricep, sending shockwaves down his broken bone and resulting in a painful hiss falling from his open mouth.
"Sorry," you mumble, and scrub down his lower back, this time more careful with your movements though there aren't any dirty or bloody spots left on either side of his spine. "There we go" you conclude quietly when you realise that the rinsing water has finally lost its pink and grimy hue. "Turn around," you ask and hope he cannot hear the nervousness straining your voice. No matter what, you're not looking down.
Bucky seems just as jittery about his compromising position as you do, and he slowly spins around, revealing pink cheeks and heaving pecs, his gaze glued to the ceiling as he looks as if he's ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff. "God, sweetheart," he mumbles and breathes hard, "I'm so sorry for all this."
"Bucky, come on - what'd I tell you?" you touch the loofah to his chest, careful not to look anywhere than at the sponge itself as it traces over his collar bones and down his handsome stomach.
He merely sighs and stands completely still while you rinse the crevices between the metal plates over his left clavicle, careful not to move his torso so much he hisses in pain again.
"...You're a good friend," he mumbles after a few focused minutes where you've carefully been scrubbing the gold-plated lines in the vibranium, "- I ever tell you that?"
"All the time," you smile genuinely for the first time since he knocked on your door earlier that evening. If there's one thing you can count on, it's that Bucky Barnes appreciates you more than anything.
"I mean it," he says, "never doubt that."
You look up into his eyes.
He looks so soft and innocent as he stands before you, face finally clean, wet hair sticking to his forehead while he professes his love for you. Even if it's just platonic, it makes your heart skip a beat.
"I know, Buck."
"Good," he nods and blinks a few times with heavy, wet lashes framing his cerulean eyes. The air between you is thicker than ever and for a brief moment, it looks as if he's about to lean in and kiss you, but you break the tension by looking away. You don't want to take advantage of his vulnerable state no matter how badly you want that kiss.
"You ready for the tub?" You ask him in a weirdly shaky voice.
He nods while an almost inaudible sigh escapes his lips. "Yeah," he says and turns off the water, quickly exiting the shower before you can take notice of the disappointment burning on his skin.
You dry your feet on the small fuzzy mat, carefully watching Bucky's naked backside as he tests the temperature in the tub by dipping his toe in the water before stepping over the porcelain edge, sitting himself down.
Immediately, he gives out a content sigh, and drapes right arm over his chest, supporting his broken elbow with vibranium fingers, and you finally deem the situation safe enough to approach him again.
"Want me to wash your hair?"
"Mmh" he hums with closed eyes, immediately more relaxed now that he's covered by water. "I don't deserve you."
You grab your shampoo bottle and push out a decent amount of liquid, pressing it to his warm scalp to the sound of an alleviated sigh falling from his lips as you carefully start massaging it into his roots.
"Does that feel good?" you ask through a smile.
"Yeah, sweetheart," he groans quietly, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter awake, "- feels amazing."
You're slowly lathering shampoo into his long hair, enjoying the feel of him underneath your fingertips, how his soft hair slips through your hands while also trying not to think too much about the kiss you robbed yourself of in the shower. You can hear how his breathing slowly steadies and you think that maybe he's in the early stages of sleep but then he unexpectedly heaves a deep breath -
"You know... I haven't been scared of death for a long time," he says so sudden, so seriously that you're immediately brought out of your trance as your every muscle freezes at his austere tone of voice. "I used to not care if I lived or died but... tonight didn't go as planned," he swallows thickly and you can see how his jaw tenses up as his voice becomes husky, "- they... had me."
"What?" you pant with mortification, your every skeletal muscle paralysed as your breathing picks up. You don't have to ask him who he's talking about.
"Sam and I, we were so sure of ourselves," he shakes his head with his gaze fixed on the wall straight ahead. "We thought had the perfect plan... I - I'm such an idiot, nothing ever runs smoothly with Hydra."
You can feel your heart thumping in your throat. "What happened?" You whisper.
"Sam was on the look-out while I got the hard drive," he mumbles, "it was so easy. It didn't even take me five minutes before I was heading back towards the safehouse," he gulps, "- of course it was an ambush. I should have realised the minute I set foot inside that building."
"You couldn't have known," you whimper softly and stroke his scalp, but he doesn't listen.
"- I thought I was..." the words drown in a heavy sigh, and he stares blankly into space while blinking the tears away.
"Buck," you whisper and can feel the pain radiating from every fibre of his entire being when you wrap your arms around his wet torso and hold him close to your chest.
"They took me to a room. Strapped me down," he takes a ragged breath, and you hold on to him even tighter, "I was sure that was it. I never thought I'd find myself home again."
"You're home now," you whisper and softly kiss his shoulder, hoping that he doesn't feel the tear that lands on top of his clavicle. "You're home now with me."
"I know, sweetheart," he leans into your hug with a sigh, "trust me, I know."
"Everything's gonna be alright, love," you whisper against him and stroke your hand over his hair, "it's you and me against the world, always."
"You and me," he quietly confirms and leans back into your chest with a deep breath.
You continue stroking him over the hair, hold on to him for dear life, not willing to let go as you feel him relax more and more in your arms until he starts snoring slightly, finally warm and safe in your embrace.
"Buck, come on," you instinctively kiss him right below his ear, "you're sleeping. Let's get you into bed."
"Sorry," he mumbles groggily and lets his head fall back against your shoulder. "m'just so fucking tired. Been up thirty-six hours..."
"We'll talk tomorrow," you kiss him again and unwillingly unwrap yourself from around his chest, standing up straight beside him. "I'm not going anywhere. Promise."
He's looking up at you with puppy eyes, gaze slowly travelling down your body and up again as if he hadn't realised you were in your lingerie until that exact moment. "You look beautiful," he says quietly and you half-expect him to laugh it off, but his face stays serious.
"...Thanks," you croak while handing him the fluffy towel, not sure how to react to his sweet words. He's called you many things, but he's never downright called you beautiful before.
"I can take it from here, sweetheart," he nods slowly and steals one last glance down at your body, "you just go to bed. I'll be in in a minute."
"Okay," you whisper and peel yourself away from the tension between you by swiftly turning around, exiting the bathroom.
Back in your room, you barely have time to get out of your wet underwear and put on a fresh set of pyjamas, before a boxer-clad Bucky joins you on the bed.
"Are you still okay with me staying the night?" He asks, nervously.
"Of course I am," you answer immediately and find his vibranium hand underneath the covers, lacing your fingers between his as you scan his weary features. "See if you can get some sleep, okay? You need it," you brush a strand of wet hair away from his face and make sure he's fine by gently cupping his cheek before closing your eyes, hoping he's following your lead, doing the same.
The dark room goes completely quiet for a few minutes where the only audible sound is of your synchronised breathing.
You can feel yourself grow impossibly tired too as you lie there hand in hand with Bucky, and you're just about to succumb to sleep, when suddenly, his quiet whisper breaks the silence.
"I thought about you," he says softly, and it makes you open your eyes again.
You're staring straight into his handsome face, his beautiful blue eyes scanning over your features as he slowly clarifies.
"When they had me strapped down, I thought about you," he moves his fingers against the palm of your hand and completely engulfs you. "The thought of not seeing you again was..." the words die in his throat, and he looks as if he's seconds away from whimpering. "- Sweetheart, you make me so afraid of dying."
You breathe hard with quivering lips, huge eyes matching his as you let his confession sink in.
"I was so desperate to come home, I snapped the restraints in half. Snapped my own elbow along with them," he winces slightly at the painful memory that once again makes your stomach churn. "Sweetheart, I fought like hell. I don't think I've ever been so angry... I - I killed everyone I could get my hands on, I just had to see you again," he brings your hand to his soft lips and kisses the delicate pulse point of your wrist.
"Buck..." a slow whine escapes your throat as you try to blink away a stubborn tear that slowly starts rolling down the side of your nose.
"I love you," he whispers so softly against your thin skin that you almost don't hear. His eyes are closed and he looks relieved to be lying here with you, so you carefully pull his hand to your chest, placing his vibranium palm above your heavily beating heart.
"I love you too."
"Sweetheart," he whispers above you and moves his hand a little on top of your soft pyjamas while lightly shaking his head with a sigh. "No, you don't understand..." he gulps and searches your face, "I love you."
Your breath hitches in your throat.
"- I want more than this," he slowly admits. "I want to be more than your friend. I'm in love with you."
You squeeze his hand and move a little closer to him, scared that he'll stop confessing his love if you say something to throw him off track.
He holds on to you and can feel how your pulse starts racing underneath your pyjamas. "I hope I'm not scaring you off."
"No, no you're not," you say in a hoarse voice, "not at all. I - I think about you all the time."
"You do?" He breathes hard, clearly not believing what he's hearing.
"Yeah," you merely nod and move your head a little closer to him while he does the same. "I'm in love with you too, Buck. Have been for quite some time."
With a serious look, he moves his hand from off your chest and up to your face where he brushes a finger over the delicate features of your cheekbone and down to your jawline. "I'm gonna kiss you now," he warns in a whisper and waits for you to give him a nod before he reaches his head forwards, finally claiming your mouth with his lips.
His hand snakes down the length of your spine and you press your entire front up against his hard chest and stomach while he caresses the small of your back, slipping his soft tongue inside your mouth. "God," he moans and gently grabs hold of your hips, pulling you impossibly close to him. "You make me feel whole again," he whispers against your skin and kisses a small line from your earlobe and down to the base of your clavicle. "What do you say sweetheart?" he mumbles and nibbles at your skin, "can I take you out?"
"Yeah, Buck, you can take me out," you squeeze his hand, and he smiles for the first time that evening, setting everything inside of you aflame.
He's finally smiling and it's because of you.
"I wanna do it the old-fashioned way," he says, beaming, "bring you flowers. Take you dancing. Show you how you're supposed to be treated."
You can't help but chuckle at his soft innocence. "You're an old man," you brush him over his hair, "nobody goes dancing anymore."
"I'll teach you," he chuckles back but lets it turn into a sharp hiss when he accidentally moves his broken elbow.
"That sounds lovely," you admit with a smile, excited at the prospect of having his hands on your hips while he tells you what to do, "- though I'm afraid we'll have to get that elbow sorted first if you want to manoeuvre me around on the dancefloor. I know you don't see the point in going but... med wing tomorrow morning?"
"Okay," he rolls his eyes with a laugh that makes your stomach go all warm and fuzzy. "If it gets me to go dancing with you just an hour earlier, it's worth the trip... Will you go with me?"
"Yeah, I'll go with you," you kiss his hand, and he chuckles so warmly your stomach lights up again. "I'll go with you always."
Closer To Home Series (Masterlist)
A love story built in stolen glances, late-night conversations, and the quiet understanding of two people learning how to find a home in each other.
Bucky Barnes wasn’t looking for a place to belong, but somehow, in the warmth of your presence, he found one anyway. As the team’s “girl in the chair,” you provide support from a distance—until a simple walk home turns into something deeper.
Through snowstorms, whispered confessions, and playful afternoons, your connection grows in the little things—until suddenly, it isn’t so little anymore. Because maybe, for Bucky, home has never been a place. Maybe it’s you.
Closer To Home
📖 Word Count: 5.5k
As you settle into your new role as the team’s “girl in the chair,” helping Sam and Bucky with their missions, you find yourself increasingly drawn to Bucky's intense presence. His brooding silence is matched only by his watchful eyes, and despite his gruff exterior, your kindness begins to chip away at his walls.
When Bucky insists on walking you home one night, you chalk it up to his old-fashioned sense of duty and think nothing of it. But as the night unfolds, you realize there’s far more behind his actions than just good manners, and your growing feelings for him may not be as hidden as you think.
[Read Here]
Closer To Home II
📖 Word Count: 12.4k
Somewhere between stolen glances, late-night conversations, and the careful way he protects your space, Bucky Barnes has quietly claimed a part of your heart. His brooding silence gives way to tender moments in the warmth of your apartment on a snowy night, where shared vulnerabilities reveal the man behind the soldier.
Slowly, you navigate the spaces between his old-fashioned values and your modern perspective, learning each other one touch, one laugh, and one unspoken promise at a time. As trust deepens and emotions stir, the fragile connection you’ve built feels both delicate and undeniable—something neither of you is ready to let slip away.
[Read Here]
Closer To Home III
📖 Word Count: 8.9k
Snowed in with Bucky Barnes, you find comfort in playful banter, lingering touches, and the quiet intimacy of a morning spent wrapped in each other. But beneath the teasing smiles and warmth of shared laughter, something deeper stirs—something neither of you are ready to name.
When a visit to his empty apartment reveals just how much he still struggles to believe he deserves more, your carefully guarded feelings come crashing down. And as walls crumble, as confessions slip through the cracks, Bucky begins to understand: maybe, just maybe, he was always meant to find home in you.
[Read Here]
Closer To Home IV
📖 Word Count: 8.7k
The storm changed everything. A week spent trapped together, moving around each other like it was second nature. Mornings spent wrapped in his warmth, nights spent unraveling under his hands. And now, the words you’ve been swallowing for months are fighting to break free and you don’t know how much longer you can keep them in.
You love him. And he knows it. But love has never been easy for Bucky. And if you say it—if you let yourself finally speak the truth—will it pull him closer, or will it send him running?
[Read Here]
EXTRAS:
Navigating the Ordinary
📖 Word Count: 1.4k
What starts as a lunch invitation quickly spirals into an unexpected errand to the local CVS, where playful banter about modern absurdities and a deep dive into his dating history lead to unexpected revelations.
Between teasing smiles, lingering touches, and an embarrassing encounter in the Family Planning aisle, you realize that the quiet intimacy you share with him runs deeper than either of you might admit.
[Read Here]
For Science
📖 Word Count: 3.1k
Science demands answers. And when your boyfriend happens to be a genetically enhanced super soldier, well… some questions are simply too intriguing to ignore.
The challenge is set, the air between you electric. Bucky might have super-soldier stamina, but you? You have determination. And there’s only one way to find out who taps out first.
For science, of course.
[Read Here]
Defenseless in Love
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader
Word Count: 3.6K
Summary: You've been friends with Sam for a while and you've trained with him here and there but never really got to the point where you feel you could properly defend yourself and when you ask him to teach you self-defense his new job as Captain America makes him a little less available so he directs you to his friend Bucky.
Author's Note: I always loved the thought of Bucky teaching us to be badass and even though he's lethal he's gentle and patient and wonderful! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: lots of fluff and flirty things and tension and a minor (totally fine) injury, soft Bucky
“Why me?”
“Why not you?” Sam raises a brow, setting his hands on his hips.
Bucky remains quiet with a shake of his head.
“She doesn’t want to take a class. Says it makes her uncomfortable and she would rather train one on one with someone she trusts.”
“Then you do it,” Bucky sighs.
“I can’t.”
Bucky pins Sam with an incredulous glare.
“I’m kinda busy at the moment,” Sam explains with a lopsided smirk. “You know…Captain America and all.”
Bucky’s jaw tightens and he mindlessly stirs the spoon in his coffee.
“How do you know I won’t make her uncomfortable?”
The words are quietly spoken, and Bucky’s eyes stay fixed on the dark liquid in front of him.
“Buck,” Sam says softly. “I told her I was going to ask you to do it and that I trust you completely.”
Bucky looks up to meet Sam’s eyes.
“She was fine with it. She said, ‘if you trust him then I do too.’”
He’s tall, with tousled dark hair and a strong jaw covered with dark stubble. He stands and waits, his arms crossed over his torso in a way that makes the muscles in his chest and forearms shift deliciously. And his eyes…his eyes are a shade of blue that rivals the ocean. They’re gorgeous-like the rest of him.
Taking a deep breath, you remove yourself from the hidden shadows just outside the gym door and grab the handle.
His head snaps in your direction, his gaze turning fully on you and making your heart skip a beat.
He says your name; his voice is low and gravelly, and it skates down your spine with a tingle. You nod and say hello.
“I was wondering how long you were going to stand out there.”
You suck in a breath and your lips remain parted.
“First lesson,” he continues, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, “always be aware of your surroundings.”
“Right,” you manage to say as you step inside and let the door shut.
An hour later, after stretching and taking the time to talk through any jitters you’re standing in front of Bucky in your best defensive stance.
“That’s really the best you’ve got?” he says, his tone neither mocking or malicious.
“I’m more dangerous than you think,” you bluster.
The corners of his mouth rise into a challenging smirk.
You hate how beautiful he is. It’s a distraction and if you really want to learn you’re going to have to steel yourself against it.
He wiggles his fingers in your direction, and you pause.
“Shouldn’t you be attacking me first?” you ask. “Isn’t that why I need to learn to defend myself…you know self-defense.”
“I just want to see what I’m working with here,” he replies, keeping those perfect lips titled upward.
You let out a long exhale and rush toward him, barely able to register what happens before you’re wrapped in his arms, your back pressed tightly to his chest. You struggle in his grip, moving against him to try and loosen his hold.
He goes still and you swear he stops breathing for a heartbeat before he let’s you go.
You spin and face him again, breathing heavily and not from exertion. This time he moves toward you, and holy shit he’s fast. You try to swipe his feet out from under him in a move that he artfully dodges and captures your arm. The earth spins and you brace for the impact of your back smacking the mat but instead all you feel is the strength of his arms behind you as he holds you up and slowly lets you sink down. He leans down so his face is only inches from yours, “you’re strong,” he whispers, “but you’re gonna need more finesse.”
You huff in response, but he releases you and stands, offering you a hand. “We’re not done yet. We’ve barely gotten started.”
He tugs you to your feet, then twists your arm behind your back and yanks you against his hard chest, pinning your joined hands before you even catch your balance.
“Shit,” you snap, trying to steady your breathing.
He releases your hand and steps back and you whirl, going for a punch to his throat. He knocks your hand aside easily.
“Good,” he says with a smile, deflecting your next blow without even breaking a sweat. “Going for the throat is always a good option as long as it’s exposed.”
You kick out again, mostly from frustration, and he captures your leg, this time, holding it for a second before dropping it to the mat with a frown. “I expect you to learn from your mistakes.”
Your frustration turns to fury, and you glare at him, noting the way he stands there with loose arms, rocking back on his heels.
“You’re not even trying,” you grit out.
His lips curve into a smile and this time you don’t think, you just act, going low and kicking out the backs of his knees. He goes down hard, and you pounce, trying for a headlock. Doesn’t matter how big someone is- they still need to breathe.
Instead of going for your arms, he twists, grabbing a hold of the backs of your thighs so you lose your leverage and your bodies careen into a roll. Of course, he lands on top.
His forearm rests against your throat and his hips have you pinned; your legs useless on either side of his as he lies heavily between your thighs. Your body becomes so acutely aware of him that he’s all you can feel. Your breath catches and your body warms.
“Where did you learn that move?” he asks with an approving smile.
Your chin lifts. “Sam taught me a few things here and there.”
“If your opponent is bigger you need to stop going for moves that will expose you,” he explains, keeping you pressed to the mat with his weight. “A rib shot would work just fine.” He gently pulls your hand free and drags your fingertips down his side. Then he guides your hands around his back. “Kidneys are a good fit from this angle too.”
You swallow hard, refusing to let your mind wander to other things that are a good fit in this position.
He leads your hands to his waist and you’re sure you feel the muscles of his abdominals tense under your touch. “There’s weakness here too. Three easy places to strike.”
You stare at him, your fingers still pressed against his shirt and feeling the hardness beneath.
“You hear me doll?”
You nod.
“This looks promising,” Sam says with a mischievous tone.
You’re suddenly reminded of your surroundings and the realization of your current entanglement with Bucky makes your skin heat.
“Sam!” you say as you try and get out from under Bucky.
Bucky presses up from the mat a few inches and then slides your hand away from his side, slowly, inch by inch.
“That’s it?” you ask, surprised at the disappointment you feel.
“I hate to break it up, but I need Bucky,” Sam says.
Bucky pushes up all the way, removing his weight from your body and offering you another hand. You don’t take it this time and rise from the mat with ease. His approving smile makes you feel warm all the way down to your toes.
Sam’s smile is wide and knowing but you ignore it, focusing on Bucky.
“I’ll be right there Wilson,” Bucky says, the short dismissal enough to get Sam to give you two privacy.
“You did well,” Bucky says, filling the space in front of you.
Your head drops and you scoff, kicking at some invisible object on the mat. Warm, strong fingers press gently under your chin and raise your face until your eyes lock with ocean blue.
“You did,” he says again.
“Thanks,” you whisper, mourning the loss of his fingers when he drops his hand.
“I’ll be more organized next time…if you want to do this again.”
“I do,” you answer quickly. “I want to feel safe. And strong.”
Bucky nods. “You will doll.”
The next week you’re back at the gym, feeling more confident and even more comfortable. After your first session you and Bucky exchanged phone numbers, the text messages flowing easily between you the past few days. This time you open the door without hesitation and find Bucky leaning against the far wall, cutting the pieces off a plum with a knife. His eyes lift and lock with yours just as he opens his mouth to pop a bite in.
Your entire body tingles.
He didn’t lie when he said he’d be more prepared and organized for this session. He works you through some stretches and a warmup and then takes you through several take downs step by step, each one building on the next. You’re moving faster and even getting a few hits in here and there. The confidence fuels you and coupled with some adrenaline you really push yourself, pressing Bucky to work you harder.
He does but when you try something new, something he wasn’t anticipating, you end up ramming your ribs into his metal forearm. It’s completely by accident but knocks the wind out of you nonetheless and you fall to your knees to catch your breath.
“Shit doll,” Bucky says, falling down next to you and grabbing your shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”
You wheeze out an “I’m ok,” and when you look up to reassure him, the lines of worry etched into his features make it even harder to breathe.
“Let me see,” he says, the panic in his eyes softening your own before he looks down at your side.
“I’m fine,” you say.
His focus snaps back to your eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”
“It hurts,” you admit after a stuttered inhale.
“Let me see,” he says again.
“Is that a request or a demand?” you ask, trying to sound teasing.
“You pick as long as I can check to see how bad it is.”
You swallow, then nod, reaching for the hem of your shirt. He stops you with a soft hand and then with surprising gentleness his fingers skim your bare skin as he slowly lifts your shirt. You suppress a shiver, locking your muscles so you don’t melt against him.
“Sorry if my hands are cold,” he says, clearing his throat as more of your skin is exposed.
Your eyes meet and warmth flutters in your stomach. He drops his eyes and inspects your side, gentle fingers stroking your ribs before they prod carefully.
“You’re gonna have one hell of a bruise doll. I really am sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong and thanks for checking.”
He drags your shirt back down, letting his knuckles graze you skin in the process. He waits for you to stand, watching you closely and letting out a relieved exhale when he notices your breathing is more even.
Your eyes widen when he drops to his knees in front of you. “Your shoe is untied.”
“Oh.”
Your hands twitch at your sides, his long, soft strands of hair at the perfect level for you to run your fingers through.
“Thank you.”
He gives you a real smile, not a cocky smirk or a teasing tilt to his lips. A real, honest, heart-stopping smile that you’re anything but immune to.
“It’s the least I could do after…that.”
“Not your fault Bucky,” you assure him again. “It happened by complete accident.”
Bucky texts you at least forty-seven times over the next week, constantly checking in and asking about your ribs. But you’re still surprised when the day before you’re next session he calls, asking if you want to meet for breakfast beforehand.
“This place has the best coffee. And muffins. And scones,” he says as he holds the door open for you.
You laugh and walk through, instantly soothed by the smell of coffee beans and baked goods. “And you know this because you’ve tried them all of course.”
“Of course,” he says while rubbing his stomach.
Your eyes track the movement and you’re positive you can see ridges of muscles beneath his shirt. It takes all your concentration to tear your gaze away and focus on the menu. After ordering your drinks and two of everything baked you head for your seats.
You try it all and let Bucky eat the rest, marveling at how he packs it away and doesn’t even seem fazed.
“I wish I could eat like that and look like you.”
The comment comes out before you can stop it, and your eyes widen slightly when they meet his narrowed ones.
“You look perfect,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Eat whatever you want. You’re gonna need the energy today.”
He gives you one of his signature teasing smirks and you stand. “Bring it on Barnes!”
The walk to the gym is short but the weather is warm, and you can feel a light sheen of sweat coating the back of your neck. The hot coffee you’re drinking doesn’t help either but it’s too good to not finish.
He holds the door open for you and then walks in, sipping his coffee as he goes. You bend over to retrieve something from your bag, and he takes a misstep, his focus on your ass instead of where he’s going.
With a tumble forward his coffee follows suit, his momentum forcing the liquid out of the cup and onto his shirt. He catches himself before he looks like a complete fool, but the damage is done. His shirt is soaked through on the front with the last of his coffee.
“AH shit,” he sighs, pulling the wet material from his stomach.
“What happened?” you ask, your brows furrowed as you turn toward him. “Did you trip?”
“Um…yeah, something like that,” he says. “I have to change.”
He reaches behind his back and starts to lift his shirt, slowly revealing tanned skin that’s all sharp lines and barely restrained power. You’ve seen shirtless men before. Many times. But never Bucky Barnes. You’d start counting his ab muscles if the rest of him wasn’t just as good to look at. Your mouth waters when he turns around and you see the muscled expanse of his back. Even the gold and gray metal plates of his arm move beautifully as he searches for a new shirt.
“Sam usually keeps some stuff stashed in here,” Bucky says.
You think you heard what he said but you’re shamelessly wondering how his skin would feel under your fingertips, how your body would react to having every ounce of him on top of you, over you…in…”
The slam of the small storage door draws your attention downward, and you shake your head to snap out of it.
“Ready?” he asks, a new shirt securely in place.
You walk to the mat and wait.
“Are you sure you’re not still in any pain…?”
“Bucky,” you sigh. “I’m really ok. I have been for days. I appreciate your concern but I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to be able to work through pain sometimes. I don’t think anyone who attacks me will care if I’m injured…”
“You’re right,” he says, pride shining in his eyes. “Let’s go…but first…”
You watch with rapt admiration as he pulls several hidden knives free, his smile growing when he takes the last one out from his boot.
“I want you to learn how to use a weapon. You can carry it with you…just in case.”
He hands you the blade and you hold it in your open palm, noticing the weight of it and how the handle seems just right.
“Wow,” is all you can think to say.
“I had it made for you,” he explains. “Most blades are made for men…you know, big hands, long fingers.”
As if to drive his point home he splays his hand in front of you, showing off just how big and long they can be.
“Right,” you whisper. “I don’t know what to say…thank you Bucky.”
He smiles again. “Now let me teach you how to use it.”
Before you can prepare or react he has you on your back, his weight settled between your thighs. It takes all your willpower not to reach up and brush the stray lock of hair from his forehead.
“You didn’t even give me a heads up,” you whisper, leaning up slightly and letting your lips brush the shell of his ear.
He jerks up, and the heat in his gaze makes you all too aware of everywhere your bodies are touching.
“You know…” he says, his eyes glittering, “distraction is a great way to do some damage.”
His eyes drop to your mouth.
“Are you distracted?” you murmur.
Before he can answer you use a move he taught you and roll him on to his back.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” you sing song.
His eyes meet yours under the fluorescent lights of the gym before dropping to your lips. His metal arm slides up your back, but not in a way to remove you, it’s slow and purposeful for a completely different reason. You can feel the warmth of his touch through your clothing, your skin unbearably hot.
When you shudder in his arms his smile is like a caress and his free hand moves to your cheek, brushing across your skin.
“You have incredibly soft skin,” he murmurs. “I’ve been aching to feel it again since I checked your ribs.”
The admission makes you suck in a breath, and he studies you with an intensity that makes you sway closer. His thumbs stroke along your cheekbones and his heated gaze moves to your mouth. Hands flexing, he draws you forward a few inches before he stops.
“I…” he starts, groaning when your tongue traces your lower lip.
“Bucky.” His name comes out like a whispered plea and it’s all he needs to close the distance. He was just out of reach and now his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent. He cradles the back of your head, trapping you against him as he lays on the mat and you feel every hard line of his body. You clutch the material of his shirt at his chest, parting your lips when he angles your head for a deeper kiss.
“Fuck baby,” he moans, and the sound makes you ravenous. Your hands lift to his hair and it’s just as soft as imagined, your nails scraping lightly over his scalp.
His hips tilt upward, and you gasp at the friction but it’s not enough and in a move that rivals all the others you’ve seen him do he flips you onto your back, the impact so soft you gasp into his mouth. You surrender completely, going pliant beneath him as he claims every line and curve of your mouth with a reckless edge that makes your body sing. He breaks the kiss, sliding his mouth across your jaw, your neck, whispering words of praise as he explores every inch of your skin his lips can find.
The sound of the gym door startles you enough to pull away, but your eyes never leave Bucky’s and when you hear Sam’s voice you let out a giggle.
“You look like you’re…defending yourself well,” Sam says from above you.
“Your timing sucks,” Bucky sighs. “And she could have totally handed me my ass right now if she wanted to.” He smiles down at you with a wink.
Sam pulls Bucky away once again but before he leaves he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth then one to your lips, lingering until Sam starts shouting from the doorway. Later that night you get a text from Bucky-‘I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again.’
You read the words over and over again as your body continuously reminds you exactly what it feels like to have his mouth on yours. Your stomach flutters and you actually press a flattened palm against it, hoping to calm the eruption of butterflies.
After washing up and throwing on some pjs you’re just about to spend the rest of your night watching something streaming on Netflix when you hear a knock at your apartment door. You check the time. It’s late and you’re not expecting anyone…maybe it’s your neighbor?
Standing on your tippy toes you check the peep hole and barely stifle your gasp of surprise.
“I’m glad you checked to see who it was first,” Bucky says when you swing the door open. “That’s part of smart self-defense.”
You stare at his face, then the flowers in his hand, then back at his face.
“Is it too late? Were you asleep?”
His eyes fill with worry but before you let him fret too long you grab his free hand and drag him into your apartment, slamming the door shut and pushing him against it. Without a word you kiss him, softly at first, just a brush of your lips, but he instantly takes over, resting the flowers on the small table by the door and taking you in his arms, spinning you and caging you with your back to the door.
“You always get the upper hand,” you smile against his lips.
“Better get used to it,” he teases, resting his metal hand next to your head as he leans back in, letting his eyes do a warm sweep of your body from head to toe.
“You look magnificent,” he murmurs.
“I’m in my pajamas.” Your reply comes out breathless.
His fingers drops to your shoulder, tracing the soft curve before ghosting down your arm and sliding to where the hem of your tank sits just above your shorts.
“Magnificent,” he repeats, slipping one finger under the material to touch your skin. “And So. Fucking. Soft.”
“Bucky,” you whisper.
“I know doll,” he says, “but I need to take my time…I want to get my hands and mouth on every inch of you.”
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r, 25, a collection of fics I enjoyed - 18+ I follow from @spookysaturn
207 posts