Something Sweet: Roasted Hazelnuts
Something Sweet: Roasted Hazelnuts
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x candymaker!f!Reader // platonic!Thunderbolts* x candymaker!f!Reader
Summary: When Bucky unexpectedly brought his team to your candy shop, they were caught off guard by you, surrounded by milk chocolate with roasted hazelnuts, and how you showed them the kind of warmth they all didn't believe they deserved.
(This is a side-story to Something Sweet, but can be read on its own)
Warnings: References to the Thunderbolts* members' tragic backstories. But besides that, this is all just fluff; the reader is a sweetie who just makes the team feel good about themselves.
Word Count: 6.0k
AN: Did my best to not include Thunderbolts* spoilers here...but you should still watch the film before reading! I love them so much and I need more of them NOW.
—<><>—<><>—<><>—
You popped a piece of milk chocolate with roasted hazelnuts into your mouth and practically jumped in joy. The sweet scent of cocoa and nuts filled the air, coating the walls of your kitchen in warmth. Your shop had closed hours ago, but it wasn’t a surprise to find you still in your kitchen afterward, experimenting with new recipes or making new batches of your customers’ favorites.
But for you to be there that late? That was a surprise, but with Bucky on a mission and away from home, you decided to spend a bit more time in your second home until he came back. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were distracting yourself from worrying about him; he had told you that he’d be back in roughly two or three days, but it had now been nearly a week without hearing a single thing from him. You desperately wanted to call him, but also knew any sudden, unexpected noise from his device could get him killed.
You went to cut your last batch of chocolate bark when a sudden, unexpected noise stopped you in your tracks.
Someone was knocking, but not at the front entrance or casually; the knock came from your back door in a very, very specific rhythm. You froze, setting down your knife as the knock came again, a bit louder and more urgent this time.
This noise wasn't the kind that would get you killed.
Without a second thought, you rushed to the back, fumbling with a lock before quickly opening the back door. Your breath hitched at seeing Bucky—one hand on the frame for support, his jacket torn at the sleeve, and a cut on his forehead with dried blood trailing down his skin. His breath was heavy, but his tired eyes focused on you first, scanning behind you to make sure you were safe in his presence.
Then you noticed them.
You blinked just as Yelena, Ava, John, and Alexei all blinked back at you, absolutely confused by where they were and who you were. They all looked horrible. Dirt smudged, blood stains, tears in their outfits, disheveled hair—everything. You stared for a moment longer before slowly looking back at your boyfriend.
“Uh… Bucky?” you said, concluding that this was certainly one way for his team to finally learn about your existence.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice scratchy as if he had been running for days. “We didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Your eyes softened as you instinctively put a hand on his cheek, getting a perplexed and dumbfounded expression from the others. Every part of you wanted to cry from seeing your love so exhausted and hurt, but you knew that a bit of optimism and laughter also lifted the mood.
So, you smiled at him, your eyebrows slightly furrowed from sorrow. “No, it’s okay. Come on in. All of you, c’mon.”
They hesitated but followed Bucky into the door as you waved them in, looking side to side to make sure no one was behind them, just like how you were taught after you and Bucky became official. As they all trailed in, they looked around and raised an eyebrow or two at the copper pots, chocolate barks, and sugary scent in the air.
This place was too warm for the kind of people they all were.
With a bloody lip, Yelena glanced at you before whispering, “Who’s that?”
“I don’t know,” John muttered back, his ankle swelling and wrist aching. “Maybe it’s his sister or something.”
“Given Bucky’s history,” Ava exhaled at John’s suggestion and the pain in her shoulder, “do you honestly think he’d have a sister that young?”
“You know I can hear you, right?” Bucky turned to them with a glare, ending their conversation.
He didn't know what was more frustrating: the fact that they were whispering about you as if you weren’t right there, or that it seemed more possible to John that you were his sister than his lovely partner.
Before Alexei could break the awkward silence—as he always did—you gave a soft laugh that made the room feel lighter. “I’ll grab some bandages. One second.”
You walked away to the back room while the others continued to look around, exchanging glances with each other and peeking at Bucky, who stood off to the side with his arms crossed, absolutely unfazed. Yelena stepped around, examining the chocolate-covered knives and crumbs of hazelnuts scattered on the countertops before her eyes landed on the curtained windows into the front of the dark shop. Curious, she leaned over and peeked through the slit in the fabric.
For a moment, she was quiet, but then she let out a breath. “Whoa…”
It was enough to get the others’ attention, prompting them to try to look through the slits as well. In the dim light, they could only make out faint outlines of jars and glass cases, but it was clear that they all contained sweets of all kinds. Even in the darkness, they could all feel there was a sense of magic in your shop. Even Bucky found himself amused as he watched his team try to figure out the exact scenery of your shop.
You stepped back in and paused, noticing all of them trying to get a better look into your shop. With a soft giggle, you continued, alerting the four to immediately act like they weren’t enchanted by their surroundings. You set down the medical kit in front of Bucky, which was full of bandages, antiseptic, and gauze. It wasn’t enough, but it would do its job and protect most of their wounds from infections.
“Remind me to get better medical supplies. More appropriate for what you go through,” you said to Bucky with a teasing smile as you walked away, stepping past all of them before reaching the door to the rest of your shop.
Everyone but Bucky was confused by where you were going but then widened their eyes when you slid the curtains open and flipped the light switches on. The warm light reflected off the dark walnut shelves and counters, making the colorful candies in the glass jars pop even brighter. The main countertop with the register was accompanied by a curved glass display, protecting rows and rows of chocolate and brittles, leaving a space for where dipped fruits would be.
All of them stared in the shop, dumbfounded by the amount of comfort they felt just from candy. Eventually, John turned toward you with a raised eyebrow. “Just who the hell are you?”
Bucky scowled, a threat ready to slip from his lips for talking to you that way, but you immediately cut the sharpness in the air with a laugh.
“Me?” You shrugged with a smirk while the rest of them turned their attention toward you. “I’m just a random candy-maker.”
John blinked. Yelena and Ava slowly began to smirk with you, and Alexei was already smiling brightly at the way you teased him.
“You—” John frowned further. “You’re just a—”
“Lollipop?”
He froze, staring at the blue raspberry lollipop you pulled out from…actually, no one knew where. Even Bucky didn’t know where you suddenly got the lollipop, but the so-called ‘innocent’ smile on your face almost made him howl with laughter.
Alexei took his place, breaking into the loudest laughs while Yelena and Ava grinned at you. The whiplash of discovering you and processing your soft and sweet presence was overwhelming, but it completely disarmed them. They were used to getting disarmed amid danger—getting their knives kicked out of their hands or running out of bullets—but this was different.
Even though you threatened to break John’s stoicism, nothing about you felt threatening. You felt…comforting like you were made up of warm, welcoming hugs.
John couldn’t even get mad at you. Instead, he cleared his throat while looking away, his ears turning red. “I’m good.”
Yelena snorted. “I like this one,” she said, nodding at you.
You giggled. “Thanks! I like you, too.”
The blonde woman smiled at you again as you nudged the medical kit towards Bucky. He glanced at it briefly before pushing it away, sliding it to Ava on the other end of the countertop, silently telling them to tend to their wounds first. He crossed his arms again while you watched them slightly hesitate before grabbing the necessary supplies for their injuries, showing that it wasn’t the first time Bucky had prioritized them over himself.
But unlike him, you did, and no matter how unbothered Bucky tried to look, he couldn’t hide from you the way he leaned on one side and crossed his arms tightly to support his own body. You desperately wanted him to sit down, but knew he would hate revealing his fragility to the rest of the team when the last thing they needed was someone else to worry about.
So you just placed a hand on his lower back, smiling at him when he looked at you. His lips curled as well, and the softness you missed seeing in his eyes returned. He let out a small breath and dug into his pocket, soon pulling out a metal case that got your head tilting.
“What’s this?” you asked as he carefully set it down on the counter.
“The answer to our problem,” he replied, inhaling sharply to hide the throbbing pain in his side. “There’s an encryption key inside that will override this weapon we’ve been trying to stop. If we don't in time, then thousands are going to die.”
You gulped, looking back at the case. “Then…why haven’t you opened it yet?”
“We might destroy it.”
You looked up, locking eyes with Ava, who had finished wrapping gauze around Yelena’s forearm. Briefly, your bubbly nature made the former S.H.I.E.L.D. operative flustered, but she continued speaking, “That case was built with a specific kind of metal. It’s…just tough enough that Yelena and I can’t pry it open.”
“And just fragile enough that our super-soldier-idiots here—” Yelena glared at Alexei and John, “—would crush the whole thing if they tried.”
“Hey!” Alexei looked severely offended as he threw his hands up. “I could totally get it open, no problem!”
“I could, too,” John muttered.
“No, you two could not,” Ava sighed, pinching her eyebrows together. “Alexei, you broke that bathtub the other day—”
“It was a weak bathtub!”
You blinked before looking at Bucky, who just shrugged. “They’re right. I know my strength. But I’m not an idiot.”
Before their bickering could get worse—and man, Bucky was not joking when he told you that they bickered—you lightly chuckled and stepped toward the case. “Can I try?”
Everyone went silent.
John frowned, uncrossing his arms as he stepped forward. “You?”
“Yeah, me.” You raised an eyebrow with an amused smile. “Why? Think I’m just some helpless damsel?”
“Oh, shit— That’s not what I meant—”
You just laughed again, shaking your head. “I know, John. I know. I’m just teasing you.”
Bucky then stepped beside you, his hand finding its place on your back as he furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you thinking of?” he asked, his voice tinted with worry for you.
“Well…” you grinned at him, letting him know that he doesn’t have to panic over you immediately. “I’m assuming whoever it is you’re trying to stop knows they’re dealing with you all, right? So they would design this thinking your first and only idea is to break it open.”
“What? No.” Alexei shook his head. “We tried other methods. Like… Like… Huh…” he paused. “Never mind.”
You chuckled, reaching for the metal case when Bucky grabbed your wrist in a rush. The others flinched, startled by how overprotective he suddenly got, as if you had him wrapped around your finger. But you looked up at him, giving him another smile before tilting your head at the case.
“I’ll be fine. You got me,” you said softly with so much love in your eyes that he bit his lips.
The others couldn’t even tease him. You were unlike anyone they had come across; most people would be tense or cautious around them, immediately deciding for themselves that they were dangerous or broken people thrown into the roles of heroes. But you just smiled at them—quick to tease them and treat them like people.
Not a vicious Black Widow, or a disappointing Captain America, or a fading Ghost, or a forgotten Soviet hero.
Just people.
Little did they know, you had treated the man next to you the same when he first walked into your shop. Not the merciless Winter Soldier—just James Bucky Barnes.
And it was James Bucky Barnes who let go of your wrist, watching you carefully pick up the metal case and examine it. It was heavier than you thought, and you turned it over to inspect the seams. You lightly hummed, seeing that the seams were indeed constructed in a way that if Bucky tried to pry it open, the whole case would bend in his hand.
You glanced around, spotting one of your favorites, and smiled. “I have an idea… I think heat might work.”
“Heat?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I just have a gut feeling. I work with metal surfaces all the time. So the real question is,” you looked at the team with confidence, “do you all trust me with torching this?”
Trust.
For years, each one of them had fought for trust. To be trusted by family, friends, and the public, only to lose them due to terrible mistakes. They all had their loved ones disappear—watching them walk out the front door, get vaporized in a blast, and reappear but only as a tombstone. They had tried to earn their trust and gotten it briefly, but their actions had drawn a line between them and those they loved, and rather than erasing the line, they caused the erasure of their presence. Gone forever, because they couldn’t hold onto them strongly enough.
And yet, there you were, asking them if they trusted you to help them.
You blinked, deeply watching all of their eyes waver at your question. Your heart stung, reminding you of those days when Bucky couldn’t believe you were asking for his approval instead of it being the other way around. But you didn’t let that show, and just smiled gently while tapping the case.
“Yes? No?” you said.
Yelena nodded for them all, putting on a mask once again. “I don’t see how it could hurt. You seem reliable enough.”
You snorted as you reached into one of the drawers, pulling out a butane torch. “Hope I won’t disappoint you.”
The flame shot out of the torch when you clicked it on, and you slowly guided it along the seam of the metal case, positioning the torch afar and never lingering in one place for too long. Considering the object you were burning carried a key that literally would save the lives of thousands, you had every right to go as slow as possible, so no one said a word as you calmly worked. To the four of them, you looked too calm for the task you were executing, but Bucky knew you weren’t the type to panic, even in the most overwhelming situations.
That said, he still stood behind you, his hand still on your back as if he was supporting the weight of the tool in your hand. He didn’t interrupt you—he trusted you too much to do that, but that didn’t stop him from worrying about unexpected events. What if the case was a trap and you were unlocking something dangerous? Something that could harm you in an instant, which is why he kept his metal arm right by you, ready to block any incoming attack.
The love he had for you burned hotter than the fire you used to melt the edges of the case, motivating you to keep working with ease. Soon, when you noticed that the edges of the cases looked soft, you turned off the torch and reached for your metal tongs and offset spatula. Using the tongs to hold the bulk of the case down on the metal counter, you carefully wriggled the spatula into the seam, relieved to feel that the metal had softened all the way. Then, as precisely as possible, you bent the spatula up and up and—
The case cracked open, just slightly, but it still cracked open.
You smiled as you tilted the tool further up, opening the gap until both you and Bucky could see a small chip inside—delicate, yet powerful enough to save the world, just like you. You spun the case around so the rest of the group could see your work, and when you set your tools down, you looked up to see the stunned expression of all of them.
You snickered and turned to Yelena. “I didn’t disappoint you, right?”
Yelena raised an eyebrow, but a grin slowly appeared on her face. “Not bad.”
“Not bad?” Alexei scoffed at his daughter. “That was pretty great! A true sign of a hero in the making.”
You gently laughed. “A hero with a small torch and an offset spatula?”
“YES!” Alexei clapped so loud that you swore the windows rattled. “A hero with torch and blade! We can call you TORCH! Or…you are human so…HUMAN TOR—”
“Oh my god, lower your voice!” Yelena slammed her foot down. “You’re so annoying!”
You playfully rolled your eyes and stepped back to speak to Bucky, but something else caught your eye. Behind the arguing father-and-daughter duo, Ava had begun to focus on your tray of chocolate bark, the smell of the roasted nuts entrancing her. There was a particular look in her eyes that you’d often picked up from other customers—a sense of longing for something simple and happy.
With a soft exhale, you walked towards Ava, who quickly straightened up with her usual impassive look. But when you grabbed the tray and held it to her, her poker face immediately disappeared, knowing she had been caught in the act.
She shifted, stuttering, “I, uh—”
“Go ahead.” You then gave her a bright smile. “Something to pick you up.”
She paused, refusing to make eye contact with anyone else but you—she could already feel John’s eyebrows judging her. But still, Ava took a piece and threw it in her mouth just as you turned away, letting her have a quiet moment. And even though she was silent and still, you could still hear the way the chocolate bark broke down her walls, crumbling apart as the sugar melted away the bitterness she’d been trying to escape from.
Clearly, the others noticed her posture change, because Alexei swiftly stepped towards you. “Wait, I want one—”
You had already offered the tray to him with a laugh, getting him to smile so wide as he plucked the treat into his mouth. Then, in the corner of your eye, you saw Yelena and John walk over, both trying to look disinterested, but nothing could get past you. When the last two took a piece, you set the tray down and watched all of them doing their best to act like your creation wasn’t warming their souls.
Bucky, with his arms crossed as he leaned against the counters, observed all of them just…be people. People who were simply enjoying candy late at night, as any other person would. He looked at you and softly smiled, feeling so much pride for the lovely person who had done it again: heal some wounds through sweetness.
It was why he fell in love with you.
With a giggle, you glanced at your shop and gestured toward it. “You’re all welcome to get some treats. It’d be nice to have something sweet to snack on before you go back to…whoever you’re fighting.”
All four of them looked up, all dumbfounded by your offer.
“Why?” Ava couldn’t help but ask, shifting slightly on her feet as she struggled to look at you.
You simply smiled with a shrug. “Because it’s nice to have candy around?”
“You are right. Absolutely correct,” Alexei agreed and instantly jogged into the shop before anyone else could stop him.
Yelena sighed and followed him, though her lips did curl slightly. Ava and John exchanged glances before following them, finally leaving you alone with your boyfriend. You walked backward, making sure none of them were staring into the windows before turning around and—
You immediately giggled into Bucky’s lips, melting underneath his presence as he held your face firmly. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, and you could feel a lot of the tension in his shoulders vanish. Then, when he pulled away, he glanced up to double-check that no one was watching before fondly smiling at you. All of the sternness in his posture and darkness in his eyes had faded, as you were the only one who could light up his world.
“Hi, honey,” he whispered as if you hadn’t been right next to him the entire time.
Another giggle escaped your throat. “Hi, sweetheart. Can you sit down for me, please?”
He hummed, pulling a stool over as you dug through the medical kit. When he finally sat down, he hissed and grabbed at his side again, causing you to cup his face in extreme worry. But he just let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head at you to say he was okay.
That still didn’t stop your worry. “What’s wrong?” you softly asked, gently placing a hand on his side.
“Ribs. Can’t tell if they’re fractured or bruised. Either way, they hurt like hell.”
You sighed, kissing his temple before turning your attention back to the medical kit. “Do I want to know how you got that?”
“Probably not.” He then looked through the window, seeing his teammates on a scavenger hunt for their favorite candy. “You turned them into children.”
“Is that a bad thing?” you asked as you carefully cleaned the cut on his forehead.
“I don’t know. We’re supposed to be saving Manhattan right now.”
“It’s always Manhattan,” you murmured, making him grin. “I think a couple of kids could save a city like that.”
“Even when they’re fighting with each other all the time?”
“You and Sam used to fight all the time, but you still stopped the Flag Breakers.”
“Smashers.”
“Still a dumb name.”
Bucky chuckled as you placed gauze over his wound, your fingers light as you grabbed the roll of tape. But then you paused, realizing that you couldn’t rip a piece off without letting go of the gauze. You pursed your lips, and when Bucky watched your face change, he chuckled before taking the tape from you and starting to rip pieces off.
You giggled, taking a piece to put over the gauze. “When do you think you’ll be done with the mission?”
“Hopefully in the next few days. If not, half the city might be gone.”
Widening your eyes, you paused to look at him. “I thought this was supposed to be a simple mission?”
“It was…until it wasn’t.” He frowned. “Things are bad right now. We…we had a pretty close call and barely got out of that warehouse before it exploded.”
“Oh…” You sighed, putting the last piece of tape on his forehead. “I don’t like that at all. I…I can’t wait for you to come back home.”
“Me too.”
You gently smoothed over the tape and let your hand linger on the gauze. Then slowly, you leaned down, giving his forehead a soft kiss. Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed, his lips curling at your warmth, and he looked up at you when you pulled away with that golden smile that he fell in love with.
“All done,” you whispered, cupping his face.
He hummed. “Feels a lot better already.” Then he glanced at his team, who were now bickering over which kind of gummy candy was the best. “Sorry about bringing them here.”
You shook your head as you went to organize the medical kit. “Don’t be. I’m just glad I could help, and it’s fun to see them learn about us. Although…” You raised an eyebrow, tickled. “It’s crazy that John thought we were siblings.”
Bucky sighed. “He’s a little slow.”
“I remember you told me that, but…that slow?”
“Slow what?”
You both looked up to see John walking back in with the rest of the team, all holding a bag of sweets that suited their character. John’s and Ava’s weren’t too full, though the former’s bag was crumpled while the latter’s was neatly folded. Yelena’s bag was half-full with the top rolled into her fist and Alexei…
Bucky blinked, staring at the three bags filled to the brim in his hands as if he had won a prize. Slowly, his eyes darkened while yours widened at the sight. Your lips already itched to curl into an amused smile at the sight of the bags and knowing that your boyfriend was furious.
“Alexei. What the fuck,” Bucky said, his voice low as he slowly stood up.
The soldier suddenly felt like a target had landed on his chest, and he quickly put the bags behind his back. “What? I did nothing.”
Bucky’s glare only for worse, making Alexei sweat and give him a nervous laugh. But then your laughter broke the tension once again as you tilted your head. “You really went all out, huh?”
Your boyfriend then turned to you, his eyes immediately losing their darkness when they landed on you. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” You squeezed his arm before walking to the metal case. “I did offer, didn’t I? You all deserve a little treat while you’re out there again.”
You picked up the case, now cooled, and gently jiggled the encryption key out of it. With a satisfied grin, you handed it to Bucky, who took it carefully and examined it.
“Alright,” Ava nodded at him, “looks like we can finally do our job.”
“Yeah.” Bucky put the key into one of his belt pouches and gestured to the back door. “Time to go.”
Your heart slightly ached as you followed them to the door, watching him trail out of your kitchen and into the dark. Yelena glanced at you and nodded, John raised a hand awkwardly, Ava softly said her thank-you, and Alexei tapped you on the shoulder as he passed you, smiling brightly with his bags of sweets. You chuckled as they all exited and turned the corner, then turned to Bucky with a soft smile, drenched in so much love and yet so much worry.
“Please be careful,” you said.
“I’m trying,” he teased, smiling when he managed to make you giggle. “I really am.”
“I know.” You wrapped your arms carefully around him, being aware of his injured side, while you whispered into his shoulder, “I just need you to come home.”
You heard Bucky’s breath hitch, but it wasn’t caused by his injuries. He hugged you back, cradling your head as he quietly exhaled. “I will. I promise.”
“Don’t make empty promises—”
“I’m not.” Bucky pulled away and firmly placed his hand on your cheek, his eyes sharp as he gazed at you. “I’m coming home.”
Your lips went ajar, and before you could respond, the gap was filled with Bucky’s lips. You closed your eyes, letting him pull you closer however he’d like. He smiled into your lips, tasting a little bit of hazelnut as he finally broke the kiss.
You grinned, swiping his hair behind his ear. “Good. I’ll make you all your favorites when you come home.”
He chuckled. “You already do, though.”
“Yeah,” you huffed out a laugh, “I guess I do, huh?”
With a giggle, you two kissed one more time. Then you pulled away, placing a hand on his lower back as you led him to the back door. When your hand slipped from his body as he stepped out, you looked out and met the gaze of his team.
You smiled, giving them all a little wave. “Good luck out there.”
They all nodded—except for Alexei, who waved widely back at you—and turned into the darkness. Bucky followed them but glanced behind his shoulder one more time to look at you. Then he disappeared into the shadows, and you stepped back into your shop.
When you closed the door and locked it, you leaned your forehead against it with your eyes shut. The quietness returned, though it was lightly interrupted by your rapid heartbeat as you exhaled.
“Please come home safe,” you muttered.
After a beat, you stood up straight and faced your countertops, examining the loose gauze and bandages scattered around right beside the torch you had just used. With a soft breath, you smiled as you began to clean up, eager to wipe down the surfaces and wash your hands before you finished cutting up your last of the chocolate barks.
<><><>
“Thank you. Come again!” You waved at your customers as they stepped out of your shop.
The sun gleamed brightly into your shop, helping illuminate all the sweetness around to bring a familiar sense of comfort into your surroundings. You picked up the random wrapper from the counter and tossed it into the trash can, focused on making your shop as clean as possible before the next customers came in. After a glance at your spotless floor and glass displays without a trace of fingerprint on them, you smiled and settled back behind the cash register again. You shut your eyes, softly inhaling to let the sweet scent of sugar relax your shoulders, and exhaled when you felt your heart leap in joy.
Then you heard the door knob jiggle open, and when you looked up, your heart began to do somersaults in your chest from further excitement. Your smile bloomed more as Bucky stepped in with the familiar group of misfits, a soft smile already plastered on his face.
You walked away from the counter, lightly jogging over to them all. “Welcome back!” you said as you glanced over all of them quickly. “You all don’t look so bad this time.”
“Well, things went well this time,” Bucky replied while the others nodded. “Manhattan’s gonna be alright now.”
A wave of relief surged through your chest. “Really? That’s great.”
“Yeah, but we couldn’t have done it without that key,” Yelena said, smiling lightly at you with a healing lip. “So, thanks, you know.”
You giggled. “Anytime. If you ever need something else to be burned, let me know.”
“Careful. We might call you more often than you think.”
You shrugged. “I’d welcome it.”
Yelena chuckled before stepping back towards Alexei and nudging him against his side. You watched as the tall man stepped toward you, looking a little red in his face as he scratched the back of his head.
“Uh…” He glanced back at his daughter, who only stared at him pointedly. “I brought money this time.”
You blinked, slowly processing his words before you let out a laugh. “Yeah? Enough to pay me back for the other night or….”
“Enough for anything,” he responded, fidgeting with his hands like a little boy who got in trouble with his teachers.
With another snicker, you shook your head. “Don’t worry about that. I did offer you.” You glanced at Yelena, who looked a bit more satisfied with her father’s actions. “Tell you what, you’re welcome to take more sweets, but you’ll have to pay from now on. I have ingredients to pay for, you know?”
“That’s fair.”
“I’ll give you a discount, though.”
Alexei beamed instantly, clapping his hands together. “You are the BEST! Yelena, come on—” he grabbed her arm before she had a chance to step away, “—we shall pick our PRIZE TOGETHER!”
Yelena groaned, unable to stop him from dragging her to the jars of gummy, but you swore you saw the corner of her lips twitch into a smile. You giggled just as Ava approached you quietly.
“Thanks for your help, again,” she said.
You hummed. “Anytime.”
She nodded, though you could see some stiffness in her shoulders. The former operative glanced into your shop before her breath hitched. “Do you…have anything that tastes…like…peaches?”
A smile crept back onto your lips, warm enough that it loosened the tension in Ava’s posture. You pointed at one of the shelves. “Peach rings. On the third shelf.”
Ava gave you a quiet nod before walking towards the shelf—she didn’t have to say a word for you to know that there was a deeper history behind her and peaches. Maybe one day, she would tell you all about how she used to enjoy peach-flavored candies with her parents before she had lost them on that tragic day. Until then, you would stay quiet.
Then you looked over at John, who stood there awkwardly with his arms crossed.
Before he could say a word, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a blue raspberry lollipop.
John blinked before groaning. “You gotta stop doing that.”
“I will if you take it,” you teased.
He sighed before stepping away from you. “I’m gonna look at the chocolate.”
“Don’t get lost now,” Bucky then said, receiving a glare from the other super-soldier before he walked away.
You laughed quietly with your boyfriend before looking at the front door, spotting one last person in this strange team. Your laughter stopped as you noticed how he looked nothing like the others, who all wore uniforms and suits to protect themselves in battle. This man, on the other hand, wore a loose hoodie and sweatpants, carrying a gentle posture with wide blue eyes that held so much curiosity and something buried—something he was always anxious to address without the help of others.
He looked just as Bucky described him to you.
You smiled as you gently approached him. “Hi,” you quietly said, offering your hand. “We haven’t met before.”
“N-No.” Bob took your hand with a boyish grin. “We haven’t.”
You hummed before pointing to the rest of the shop. “You weren’t here with the others last time. I gave them all some sweets for free. Go ahead and take a bag for yourself, too.”
“Really?”
“Really.” You smiled. “Go on.”
Bob stared at you before peeking at the other four, all roaming around the candies. Then he slowly gave you another smile before walking away. “Okay.”
And as he made his way to Yelena’s side, you concluded that he would be your favorite out of all of them.
Well, second-favorite, as your all-time favorite joined you at your side. You looked up as Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer with a smile. Then, when you leaned up and kissed him on his cheek, his lips curled even more. He didn’t even care anymore if the others saw him this affectionate towards you—you deserved all the love in the world.
“I told you I’d come home,” he whispered to you.
You giggled, setting a hand on his chest. “You kept your promise. Now, I gotta make you all of your favorites.”
“You already do that.”
“I’m very aware. I just want to do it more for you.”
Bucky chuckled as you leaned your head against his shoulder, and you two watched the peculiar group explore your shop with a childlike wonder, hands picking out sweets to give them the comfort of safety, exactly like Bucky had when he first found you in this shop.
Perhaps, what every single one of them needed, after experiencing so much loss and pain in their lives, was someone who could see them for who they really were.
Something sweet, and something human.
—<><>—<><>—<><>—
Thanks for reading :)
More Posts from Spookyreads and Others
play-by-play | b.b.
pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader
summary: you can’t stop posting live updates of the civil war
warnings: avenger!reader, fox shifter!reader, comedy, chaotic dumbass reader, grumpy bucky, the team is so done with reader’s shit, mentions of bucky’s past, swearing, civil war tension?, reader is team cap, suggestive content, fluff
a/n: guess who’s back bitches!!! this isn’t a request or anything, i just wanted to write some cw!bucky x reader. i promise i’m working on all the joaquin requests🤞🏻anyways enjoy lovelies :)
yourusername added to their story —>
[caption: sokovia accords?? ho what?!]
story replies
user1: lmao
user2: girl get over it🙄
user3: y’all need to be kept in check….
steverogers: y/n delete this
user4: you’re so real for this
jamesrhodes: 🤦🏿♂️🤦🏿♂️
liked by wandamaximoff, samwilson, mariahill, and others
yourusername: throwback to that time my future husband almost killed my friends and i
tagged: @/steverogers @/samwilson @/natasharomanoff
view comments below
user5: GIRL WHAT?!
wandamaximoff: so that’s the guy you keep bringing up👀😲
user6: ho is that the winter soldier???
user7: wait a damn min—
user8: THE WINTER SOLDIER?!?!
user9: i don’t think y/n is okay…
user10: girl we been knew
steverogers: please stop calling bucky your future husband
user11: 😭😭
user12: y/n really out here tryna date cap’s brainwashed bestie from the forties
user13: honestly bucky barnes is so hot tho
samwilson: can your future husband stop leading us on a wild goose chase🙄
yourusername: that would be nice😔
user14: lmaoooooo
steverogers: please stop encouraging her, sam
user15: i’m convinced y/n was dropped on the head as a baby
yourusername: bold of you to assume i was held
user16: i—
user17: girl are you okayyyyy????
yourusername: don’t ask stupid questions
steverogers: this is why tony and i tried to get you to go to therapy🤦🏼♂️
natasharomanoff: when did you even have time to take these pics??
yourusername: uhhhhhhh
yourusername: so i may or may not have had time to prevent you getting shot….
natasharomanoff: …
nastasharomanoff: i hate you
liked by samwilson, natasharomanoff, sharoncarter, and others
yourusername: rip peggy carter but sam and i are slaying
tagged: @/samwilson
view comments below
user18: HELLOOOOO?????
user19: peggy carter: slayed. sam and y/n? SLAYED
user20: 😭😭
user21: OH MY GOD😭
sharoncarter: it’s what she would have wanted😔✊
yourusername: pouring one out for a legend😔✊
user22: peggy so would have wanted this!!😭
user23: omg i’m crying
user24: THIS is how i find out?!
samwilson: i would like everyone to know that cowboy hat did wonders for me
yourusername: save a horse, ride a cowboy
yourusername: except it’s more save a horse, ride a bird?
user25: y/n what😭
steverogers: i don’t even know what to say right now…
user26: rip to a real one
yourusername added to their story —>
[caption: HUBBY NO!!!!]
story replies
steverogers: y/n…..🤦🏼♂️
user27: so sorry babes…..
user28: rip✊
natasharomanoff: y/n. people are dead….
user29: girl, stop simping for a literal terrorist
user30: this is not it….
liked by sharoncarter, samwilson, clintbarton, and others
yourusername: my pookie and i have been reunited🥰❤️
view comments below
samwilson: awwww…..fuck your husband
yourusername: i’m trying….
user31: 😳😭
user32: y/n😭😭
user33: why the winter soldier kinda….
user34: frfr👀
user35: he’s a literal terrorist. what is wrong with you people!
user36: still hot🤷♀️
user37: convinced y/n has like a dash cam on her harness or smth bc….
steverogers: why do i even bother🙄
user38: cap’s face😭😭
user39: watched the chase on the news, you hopping onto barnes’ back to get off the building was hilarious😭
user40: omg i saw thattttt
user41: and when he just tossed her to the side after by picking her up by the scruff😭😭
yourusername added to their story —>
[caption: the fucking audacity these bitches have…]
story replies
user42: awwwww
user43: why didn’t you just shift back😭😭
samwilson: deserved
yourusername: 🖕
natasharomanoff: they leashed you???
jamesrhodes: saving this for blackmail purposes
user44: why do you look so happy tho😭
yourusername: saw the love of my life
liked by jamesrhodes, natasharomanoff, tonystark, and others
yourusername: papa y papa are fighting and my love is locked up😔
view comments below
natasharomanoff: WE TOOK YOUR PHONE??
natasharomanoff: what is this sorcery
yourusername: 🤭🤗
user45: sad day to be y/n…
user46: y/n is a child of divorce😔😭
tonystark: stop posting pictures of secure government buildings
yourusername: *bugs bunny ‘no’ gif*
user47: bucky barnes committed regicide and has murdered countless people…
user47: he deserves to be locked up
user48: wrong account to say this to babes
user49: you act like the bitch cares
user50: frrrr….y/n is horrible too
user51: she should be locked up too imo
sharoncarter: king t’challa keeps looking like he’s a second away from murdering you…
yourusername: i have that effect on people
user52: 😭😭
yourusername added to their story —>
[caption: pookilicious is evil again😔😩]
story replies
tonystark: A LITTLE HELP WOULD BE NICE
natasharomanoff: GET OFF THE FUCKING PHONE
samwilson: i hate this bitch so much….
user53: those thighs tho👀😩
user54: GIRL RUN!!!
liked by wandamaximoff, scottlang, samwilson, and others
yourusername: abouta fight, kinda nervous👉🏻👈🏻
tagged: @/steverogers @/samwilson @/clintbarton @/wandamaximoff @/scottlang
view comments below
user56: we really made this girl an avenger😭
steverogers: bucky would like you to stop taking pictures of him
user57: 😭😭
yourusername: tell him to talk to me to the face then, bitch
samwilson: language!
clintbarton: language!
wandamaximoff: language!
user58: you still a criminal🤷♀️
user59: hope you get arrested😘
user60: team whatever team ends up with y/n and bucky barnes getting married
[liked by yourusername]
clintbarton: so this is why nat’s been complaining nonstop over text about you….
scottlang: great to meet you!
yourusername added to their story —>
[caption: weird spider kid beat these bitches asses]
story replies
samwilson: you’re insufferable🖕
user61: men doing men things: manspreading
user62: they look so done….
scottlang: oh shit, bird and scary dude are down!
user63: love how you always have time to update us😭😭
liked by scottlang, peterparker, wandamaximoff, and others
yourusername: 🎶everybody was kung fu fighting🎶
view comments below
steverogers: the least you could do is get a good pic of me….
user64: poor guy has given up trying to stop y/n😭
user65: 🎶kung fu fighting🎶
user66: 🎶those cats were fast as lightning🎶
user67: 🎶in fact it was a little bit frightening🎶
scottlang: 🎶but they fought with expert timing🎶
user68: omg hawkeye!!!
user69: why’s the spider got cap’s shield😱
user70: scarlet witch deserves to be locked up for lagos!!
natasharomanoff: i don’t know how you of all people managed to escape….
yourusername: ☺️🤗
yourusername added to their story -->
[caption: little guy can be big guy!!]
story replies
peterparker: big guy big guy big guy—
user71: omg ant-man?!
user72: holy shit….
user73: the duplicity of scott lang🤭
hopepym: well….that’s new
liked by natasharomanoff, tchallaudaku, peterparker, and others
yourusername: siberia is cold
tagged: @/steverogers @/buckybarnes
view comments below
user74: slay queen💅
natasharomanoff: d-did you make barnes an instagram???
yourusername: had a spare phone and was bored on the flight
buckybarnes: i have never met someone who can talk as much as you…
yourusername: awwww i love you too hubby!!
user75: egypt is hot
user76: usa is room temp
peterparker: man this is better than my footage!
user77: not y/n making the WINTER SOLDIER an instagram😭😭
liked by samwilson, scottlang, peterparker, and others
yourusername: my dads broke up and pookie lost his arm but it’s ok bc i got mcds😌
view comments below
user78: #rip stony 2016😔✊
user79: GIRL RIP THE AVENGERS?!
user80: avengers: 2012-2016😢
buckybarnes: i LOST my ARM
yourusername: you’d think you’d be used to it but noooooo
buckybarnes: IT WAS MY FUCKING ARM????
samwilson: the raft fucking sucks bestie
yourusername: i’m so sorry bestie
user81: i’m literally speechless rn…
user82: the winter soldier being framed WAS NOT on my 2016 bingo card😭😭
user83: frfr
user84: say sike rn
yourusername added to their story —>
[caption: damn this place is nice]
story replies
steverogers: we’re literal fugitives y/n
user85: i-is that fucking wakanda?!?
buckybarnes: i’m not getting rid of you anytime soon am i?
yourusername: nope!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~two years later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
liked by buckybarnes, steverogers, samwilson, and others
yourusername: stuck for life🤍🥂
tagged: @/buckybarnes
view comments below
buckybarnes: wouldn’t have it any other way, doll
user86: omg omg omg!!!!!!!!
samwilson: prettiest flower girl by the way!
user87: STOP😭😭
user88: you’re literally glowing🫶🏻
user89: congrats!!!
natasharomanoff: you see, this is an appropriate post
user90: y/n is the manifester of all manifesters…
steverogers: i can’t believe i just witnessed my best friend get married….
tonystark: lovely wedding. only critique is the groom
yourusername: 🖕
user91: 😭😭
user92: oh my god😭
steverogers: tony i swear to god—
clintbarton: language!
© tea-writes19 do not repost, translate, or copy
The Bet
summary: The agents at SHIELD have not taken well to Bucky’s pardon. When he’s injured on a mission under suspicious circumstances, you take matters into your own hands.
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
word count: 7.7k
warnings: canon level violence, bucky’s internalized self-punishing issues, shield agents being real pieces of shit, badass reader who would defend bucky to the death
a/n: I know I’ve been really inactive lately (life’s actually been going well so I’ve been busier but that leaves me less time to write unfortunately), but I’m still lurking here! This is a fic I wrote several months ago but finally got around to editing it. Hope you enjoy!
Bucky wasn’t sure how you managed it – the punch to his gut every time you walked in the room. You were dressed in your tactical suit; black fabric draped over every inch of your body, protective layers of Kevlar and technology beyond Bucky’s years, a weapon strapped to your thigh and knives hidden in your belt and at your ankle. Your hair was tugged out of place, sweat beaded on your temple from the sparring match in the gym moments before the two of you were called to service. In your right hand, you carried your combat boots, the laces hanging low enough to touch the ground.
And still, Bucky held his breath as you approached. Stomach in knots, chest tightening until his heart threatened to stop entirely.
“My offer is fifty this time,” you announced, winking in his direction before you turned to head for the landing bay. “Take it or leave it, Barnes.”
Keep reading
Fem!reader who is going through their lipstick collection and testing how they transfer to determine which ones to keep.
She sets them out on the coffee table and plonks down next to Eddie on the couch.
Putting on one shade, a warm nude, using a small compact mirror, she kisses the back of her hand once, twice, three times, until there’s no more colour coming off her lips.
Eddie can’t help but glance at her each time he hears the smack of her kiss.
She checks her pout in the mirror again. Satisfied, she puts it in the ‘keep’ pile.
Next is red. She applies it in the compact mirror and Eddie is transfixed on the precise swipe that paints her lips a bright ruby. Once happy, she looks at the back of her hands to find them full of her previous lip prints and frowns.
A lightbulb goes off and then she’s turning to Eddie, cupping his face in soft hands and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Then a little higher up. Then his jaw. All until no colour apart from his furious blush is appearing on his face.
She checks her reflection, smiles, and adds that lipstick to the ‘keep’ pile too.
A deeper shade of red is next and the process continues— using Eddies face as her personal blotting sheet.
Twenty five minutes later and Eddie has just about sunk into the couch cushions, completely blissed out and feeling a little drunk. He has a wonky, lovesick grin on his face and his eyes feel heavy as he happily plays guinea pig for her little experiment— his skin a marbled pattern of reds and pinks from his hairline, right down to his collarbone and beginning spread to his chest.
“Sorry, Eds.” She manages to mumble as she focuses on applying the next shade.
“Only three more.”
He needs to buy her more lipstick.
all the apple cider and no more haunted houses
pairing: bucky barnes x female reader
summary: you and bucky barnes have a love-hate relationship—you love him and you believe he hates you—but when your friends insist on going to the scariest haunted house attraction in the area, the experience ends up forcing your real feelings for each other out into light
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (in a truck), dry humping, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, biting/marking, pet names, lot of emotions, enemies to loves, reader has an anxiety attack
word count: 11.1k
a/n: this is one of my halloween stories that i published last year on my ao3, but since i didn't have tumblr at the time, i'm posting them here now that it's spooky season. i think this was one of my first times writing enemies to lovers and i really loved how it turned out. even almost a year later it's still one of my favorite fics i've written, so i hope y'all enjoy!
halloween fics masterlist
-
“Are you sure I can’t just wait for you guys outside?” you asked, a whine working its way into your voice despite your best effort to hide your simmering anxiety. You looked at your best friend Yelena and her older sister Natasha with wide, pleading eyes as you stood in line for one of the scariest haunted houses in the state. When they both ignored your puppy dog eyes, you wrapped your arms around yourself, the chunky sweater you wore doing little to protect you from the crisp autumn wind blowing through the fields. Kicking the ground with your boot, you tried not to shiver in your short skirt—you’d stupidly forgone tights—but it was a near thing.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Yelena promised, knocking her shoulder with yours. Your best friend and her sister had been smarter. Yelena wore black jeans, a cropped t-shirt and a thick yellow flannel jacket to combat the autumn chill, while Nat had on dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a green army-style jacket. “I’m sure if you’re really scared, Bucky will hold your hand.” The blonde waggled her eyebrows at you while Nat snickered.
Something fluttered in your stomach at the thought of holding hands with Bucky Barnes—it was ridiculous how the idea still got a reaction out of you, even after all the years you’d known him—but you kept your face blank as Yelena and Nat both watched you closely. You’d never admitted your crush on Bucky to anyone, let alone your best friend. Annoyingly, Yelena could read you too well and she loved to tease you about your infatuation with Nat’s friend. But you still stubbornly refused to admit it.
So although you hoped with all your heart that her suggestion would become a reality, you forced yourself to make a disgusted face, ignoring the flash of triumph in Yelena’s green eyes. “Bucky would rather chop off his arm than hold my hand—he hates me,” you pointed out, reminding your best friend of the biggest reason you knew hoping for anything more with Nat’s friend would be in vain. Unable to talk about Bucky without the sting of disappointment and rejection piercing your heart, and not wanting it to show on your face, you looked around at the crowded area where you waited in line for the haunted house.
You squinted against the afternoon sun, which was high in the sky, washing the fields and orchards and various red wooden buildings in bright light. Thanks to the chilly breeze, it was the perfect autumn day, which meant everyone had had the same thought as you and your friends and decided to spend the day at the fall attraction.
All around you, groups of people milled about, some joining the long line for the haunted house while others walked past the gigantic barn that housed the spooky attraction and continued on to the rest of the farm and its attractions. The haunted house was just one of many at the Barton Family Farm. There was also a corn maze, a pumpkin patch, an apple orchard, a hay ride through the fields, and a petting zoo for the kids. But although Barton’s boasted plenty to do, the haunted house was the farm’s biggest draw—people came from all over the state to go through it. Barton’s haunted house had a reputation for scaring people so badly they needed to be escorted out by staff, there were multiple exits throughout in case people wanted to bail.
Barton’s haunted house was, of course, what attracted your friends, but you were more excited for pumpkin picking and apple cider donuts. Through a lot of pleading and begging, Yelena had managed to talk you into going through the haunted house with her, Nat and Nat’s friends who were set to meet up with you at any moment. Still, you were reluctant.
Another shiver racked your body and you tightened your arms around yourself as you turned back to your friends. “You know I hate haunted houses, why can’t I just meet you guys at the pumpkin patch or something?” you asked again, the whine in your voice more obvious as your anxiety and fear spiked the closer you got to the front of the line.
“Oh no,” a mocking voice said from behind you. “Is the little baby scared of a haunted house?”
You whirled around and came face to face with Bucky Barnes, his ice blue eyes practically sparking with glee at your discomfort. His full lips were curled up into a cruel smirk set into his scruffy, stubbled jaw. Despite yourself, you sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of him. He was just so damn hot, it wasn’t fair that he hated you so much.
Bucky and his best friend Steve Rogers pulled up next to your group and before you could stop yourself, your eyes darted down Bucky’s body. Despite how stubbornly you avoided talking or thinking about your crush on him, you were helpless when he was right in front of you. You didn’t want to, but you couldn’t stop yourself from noticing the way his chest filled out the gray and blue layered shirts he wore, and how his shoulders looked particularly broad in his black leather jacket. Your eyes trailed over his dark wash jeans and dark boots before you remembered yourself, forcing your eyes away from Bucky entirely.
Perhaps it was a little childish, but your way of dealing with Bucky—since Nat was always inviting him, Steve and their other friend Sam Wilson to hang out with her, Yelena, and you—was to ignore him. It had the double benefit of keeping up the appearance that you didn’t have a crush on Bucky, and it seemed to frustrate Bucky to no end. You never understood it. He didn’t like you, but he didn’t want you to ignore him either. You hated that his contradictory behavior only made you curious to understand him, instead of turning you off.
“Be nice, Buck,” Steve warned his best friend as he greeted Nat and Yelena with hugs. He wrapped you up in his arms last, your face squished into the cream cable knit sweater he wore over his own broad chest. Steve squeezed you tight, making you wish—not for the first time—that you had a crush on him instead of his grumpy best friend.
“Barnes wouldn’t know how to be nice if it bit him in the ass,” you sneered as you stepped back from Steve, wrapping your arms around yourself again to fend off the autumn chill. It felt colder without Steve’s warmth and you tamped down on the sudden wish to have Bucky’s arms wrapped around you to keep you warm.
“You think about my ass a lot, doll?” Bucky snarked, the pet name rolling of his tongue like an insult. His smirk grew into a full-blown grin and his blue eyes heated.
If you didn’t know better, you’d think Bucky was flirting with you, but you shoved that idea aside. Bucky didn’t flirt with you. He mocked you and teased you and did seemingly everything he possibly could to make it clear he didn’t like you. So why did you still like him—it was a question your foolish heart didn’t have an answer for. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of reacting, you looked away from Bucky, ignoring him.
“Knock it off,” Steve scolded, smacking Bucky upside the head. Yelena and Natasha laughed as Bucky’s expression collapsed into a frown while you pressed your lips together to hide your smile.
Bucky shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and Nat asked Steve where Sam was as you all shuffled forward with the line. Distractedly, you listened as Steve explained Sam had had to help his sister with something. There were only a handful of groups left between your friends and the door; panic crawled up your throat, making it hard to breathe. All of a sudden you realized that not only were you about to subject yourself to being terrified by strangers, but Bucky would be there to witness just how easily scared you were. Dread churned with the anxiety in your stomach, creating a nauseating mix.
Turning to your best friend, you tried to keep your voice low as you spoke so no one overheard. “Lena, please,” you begged, using the nickname you’d given her when you were kids so she’d know how serious you were. “Can’t I skip the haunted house?”
Yelena’s face fell. “You promised we’d do this together,” she said, shooting a furtive look over her shoulder at Nat, Steve and Bucky, who were laughing about something. “You know I hate being alone with my sister and her friends—it makes me feel left out.”
“So come with me to get some apple cider instead,” you urged in a vehement whisper, linking your arm with hers so it might look less suspicious that you and Yelena had your heads bent so close together. Not that Nat wasn’t used to you and Yelena whispering together, you were best friends after all.
Shaking her head, Yelena glanced over her shoulder again. “You know Bucky won’t let either of us hear the end of it if we chicken out now,” she argued.
You pressed your lips into a thin line as you looked at your best friend. You knew Yelena didn’t care about Bucky’s teasing as much as you did, but you weren’t sure why she was so adamant about you going through the haunted house.
Natasha’s laugh rang loudly behind you, making Yelena look back at her sister with love clear in her green eyes and you suddenly realized what was going on. Yelena’s hero worship for her older sister was nothing new to you, and you guessed she was more worried about Nat’s teasing than Bucky’s. You’d long dedicated yourself to helping Yelena live up to the pressure she put on herself to be cool enough for Nat. So if that meant putting up with a little haunted house anxiety and being scared, then it was the price you’d pay for your best friend.
With a dramatic sigh, you squeezed Yelena’s arm tighter in yours so you were inseparable. “Fine,” you relented, giving your best friend a weak smile. “But you’re buying me hot apple cider after this.” Yelena shot you a wide grin before she was distracted by Nat linking arms on her other side.
“You ladies ready to get scared?” Natasha asked in a raucous voice, like she was trying to drum up excitement. Yelena whooped loudly while all you could muster was a half-hearted cheer as fear roiled in your stomach. Steve threw a casual arm around Natasha’s shoulders, ruffling Yelena’s blonde hair a little. She ducked away as much as she could without breaking away from her sister, shooting Steve an annoyed look. He didn’t see it though, too busy reading the rules and warnings for the haunted house that were posted next to the door.
“Don’t forget,” Steve said as your group stepped up, ready to be the next ones let into the barn. “If you get too scared, there are emergency exits along the way.” He shot you a look over your friends’ heads and your face heated, shame climbing up your throat. Your shoulders tensed as you looked away from his kind blue eyes, feeling humiliated that everyone knew how scared you were of a haunted house.
“Yeah, doll,” Bucky started, the mocking way he said the pet name making it clear he was talking to you.
Before you could stop yourself and ignore whatever he was going to say, you looked back over your shoulder. His eyes were bright and intent on you—probably excited to see what reaction he’d get out of you, you figured. You were determined to give him nothing.
“Just look for the bright red exit signs,” he said in a fake nice voice. “If you need help, let me know and I’ll point you in the right direction—that is, of course, if you even make it to the first emergency exit.”
Fighting the instinct to show how much his words hurt you, you turned back forward. You bit the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from showing any kind of reaction, even with Bucky unable to see your face. Still, Yelena saw something in your expression.
“Shut up, Bucky,” your best friend snapped, glaring at the man over her shoulder.
Your best friend’s anger lit a fire in your heart and you raised your chin in defiance. You would make it all the way through the haunted house, if only to spite Bucky Barnes and prove to both him and yourself that you could do it. With your newfound courage, you threw a glare at Bucky over your shoulder, but the way he was looking at you took you by surprise.
Bucky’s blue eyes were dark with interest as he took in the determined expression on your face. As you watched, the corner of his mouth curled up into a smirk. The look on his face had something hot and needy sinking deep into your core, but before you could analyze what it was—and rationalize away the way Bucky looked at you in that moment—the worker at the door ushered your group forward.
The man, dressed like a farm worker covered in blood, pulled the door open and Steve stepped in first. Squaring your shoulders, you put on your best brave face as you followed your friends—but you held onto Yelena’s arm so tight you wondered if she’d lose circulation in her hand. Fear clawed in your stomach, making your heart beat wildly in your chest, as you stepped over the threshold.
Once Bucky followed you through the door, the worker shut it and you were plunged into darkness. Even with the sun shining brightly just outside the door, the dark antechamber was completely pitch black. You bit your lip against a startled scream, surprised at the loss of light. You felt a hand at your lower back and stiffened before realizing it was Bucky. Based on the warmth radiating just behind your shoulder, you could tell he stood close and, despite how much of an asshole he could be, having him close helped to ease some of the fear and anxiety making your heart batter against your ribcage.
Ahead of you, Steve must’ve found the door to proceed through the haunted house because it cracked open, letting weak yellow light spill into the antechamber. A moment later, you were tugged along by Yelena and Bucky’s hand fell from your back. Immediately, you missed his solidness and warmth.
The Barton Family Farm’s haunted house had a themed story, something about serial killer farm workers who murder people for trespassing in their fields by luring them into the barn. The story seemed to be an excuse to decorate various areas of the barn as torture chambers, with severed limbs and fake blood decorating every surface. You kept your face mostly buried in Yelena’s shoulder, with only one eye peaking out as people dressed like deranged farm hands jumped out at you and your friends.
When you passed by the first emergency exit sign, the red neon making a blood-drenched scene of a man hacking up a body to feed to his pigs all the eerier, pride eclipsed the anxiety for a moment. But then you moved into the next portion of the haunted house and the fear returned in full force.
You and your friends were forced through a narrow corridor, the wooden walls pushing in on either side and making you feel claustrophobic. To make matters worse, hands reached through holes in the wall, grabbing at you and your friends’ clothes. Your heart pounded in your throat, as you felt cornered, like a mouse caught in a trap just waiting to die. Anxiously, you pushed against Yelena, trying to force your friends to go faster, but in your moment of distraction, a hand grabbed at your skirt, making you scream and push harder. In the back of your head, you knew you were being a little silly. It was a haunted house, but the danger and the fear felt real.
At the end of the tight corridor, you and your friends stumbled into a large room made to look like a normal barn, with stalls along the side. Nothing appeared immediately wrong with it, which made your anxiety spike harder. You backed up, bumping into Bucky. His chest felt solid behind you and for just a moment you reveled in it. Then Steve began leading you and your friends through the room and Yelena tugged you away from Bucky. Fear was making your heart beat wildly, your breath coming in short, desperate pulls as you prepared for another jump scare.
When your group reached the center of the room, five deranged farm hands appeared out of the woodwork, all carrying threatening looking farm instruments as they rushed you and your friends with loud battle cries. You, Yelena and Nat all screamed, and even Steve let out a startled shout, jumping apart when the men ran toward you, breaking up your linked arms like an awful game of red rover.
Your panic took over and you ran to the side, realizing too late you’d maneuvered yourself into one of the fake stalls. Actually cornered, your heart beat against your ribs like it was trying to escape. You turned to run, and were met by three of the men blocking the entrance of the stall. A panicked shriek fell from your mouth when they stepped toward you in unison, backing you up against the wall. Tears sprang to your eyes and started leaking down your cheeks as panic clawed at your throat, making you feel like you couldn’t breathe. Your breaths were short, sharp gasps for air, but you felt like you couldn’t get any into your lungs. Your gaze went fuzzy through your tears.
“Hey assholes!” a voice shouted over the taunting and the jeering of the men. Blinking away your tears, you saw Bucky barreling through the line of farm hands, shoving one into another to make room for him to get to you. “Can’t you see she’s had enough?” Bucky wrapped a protective arm around your shoulders and your arms immediately went around his waist, clinging to him as you wobbled on unsteady legs. Bucky started to lead you out of the stall, but the men tried to block your path. “Get out of my fucking way,” Bucky spat, shooting them a glare so scary they shrank back.
Bucky pulled you tighter against his body as he led you through the room. Your heart was still beating wildly in your chest, your breathing still short and panicked. You buried your face in Bucky’s chest, sobbing against his shirt as your whole body shook. You weren’t sure how you even stayed on your feet, but you couldn’t think past the fear and panic and certainty you were going to die.
After a few minutes, Bucky tugged you through a door and you felt cool, fresh air swirl around your shaky legs. The autumn breeze blew through your sweater and made you shiver harder. Your feet stumbled over grass as Bucky pulled you along, but you couldn’t think about where he was leading you. The only thing that registered was your fingers ached and only then did you realize you’d been gripping the lapels of Bucky’s jacket so hard the zipper dug into your palms, leaving marks.
Slowly, you became aware of chatter around you, the sounds of car doors opening and shutting, people talking and laughing. Still, your shoulders shook uncontrollably as anxiety pulsed through your veins and you clung harder to Bucky. He smelled safe, like woodsmoke and something earthy like vetiver. The sounds of the farm and haunted house grew more distant as Bucky kept walking.
Finally, you came to a stop and the sound of a truck door opening next to you pulled your attention away from the way your heart raced in your chest. Opening your eyes for the first time since the haunted house, you glanced around and found Bucky had brought you to his old red pickup truck. He’d parked in a corner of the lot that bordered a couple cornfields. There weren’t any people around, the other cars’ owners back at the farm having fun.
“Up you go, doll,” Bucky murmured, boosting you up onto the driver’s seat, facing him as he stood next to the truck cab. His brow was creased with concern as he frowned at you. It wasn’t until Bucky shrugged out of his leather jacket and settled it around your shoulders that you realized you were still trembling. You weren’t sure if it was the cold or your anxiety, but you pulled it tighter, relishing the warmth and his smell.
It wasn’t enough, though. Before you could think better of it, you fisted Bucky’s shirt in your hands and pulled him closer, shifting to the edge of the seat and spreading your legs so you could wrap yourself around him. You clung to him tightly as you cried quietly into his shirt.
Bucky tucked your head under his chin and looped his arms around you under his jacket, one hand running up and down your back soothingly. “You’re OK,” he murmured in a low voice that sent warmth curling through your limbs, chasing away the anxiety and adrenaline. “You’re safe, I’ve got you.”
After what seemed like a long time, but was probably only a few minutes, the panic and fear started to drain out of you. Unfortunately, it was replaced by embarrassment as the full extent of the situation hit you like a brick. You hated that Bucky had seen you at your worst—scared to the point of having a panic attack. All over a stupid haunted house.
You squeezed your eyes shut against the wave of humiliation as it washed over you. There was no way Bucky was ever going to let you live this down. And to make it worse, you were still clinging to him like a scared little baby, just like he accused you of being. That reminder was enough to make you desperate to rebuild the walls you’d erected to keep Bucky from seeing you as weak—or worse, as someone who wanted him and his comfort.
As covertly as you could, you wiped at your eyes with your fingers, trying to clear away the mess of makeup your tears had created. Once you’d fixed your face as much as you thought possible, you pulled back from Bucky, a mask of indifference on your face, though it was wobbly at best. Pulling his jacket from your shoulders, you shoved it against his chest, pushing him away so you could put some distance between your bodies.
“Well you must be thrilled,” you said in a prim, sarcastic tone. You kept your gaze fixed on his chin, unable to meet his eyes. He took the jacket from you and tossed it over the back of the truck’s bench seat.
“What?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused, though you couldn’t be sure without looking at him fully, which you refused to do. So you just jutted your chin out defensively, staring at the scruff on his jaw.
“I proved you right, Barnes,” you explained meanly. “I’m a little baby who got so scared in the haunted house I had to be escorted out through an emergency exit.” You crossed your arms over your chest and looked away through the windshield of the truck, blinking rapidly to keep your tears at bay. The sun had dropped lower in the sky, painting the cornfield in a golden hue.
“You think that’s what I really think about you?” Bucky demanded in an angry tone, but there was something else in your voice, something you couldn’t name. “Seriously?”
Your frustration grew to a boiling point, enough to give you the courage to finally look at him. His blue eyes were blazing with irritation and, if you weren’t mistaken, hurt. But you pushed that aside because there was no way Bucky could be hurt by your words, you were simply telling the truth. “You literally called me a baby!” you pointed out. “It was the first thing you said to me when you got here!”
Bucky rolled his eyes so hard his head tipped back in annoyance. “You really are going to be the death of me, I swear to fucking god,” he bit out around clenched teeth, his voice harsh.
You let out an indignant screech. “What did I do?” you shot back, meeting his ice blue eyes with your best glare. “Literally what did I ever do to you to make you treat me the way you do?”
Letting out a frustrated growl, Bucky shoved his hands into his short brown hair, tugging on the strands as he stepped back from the truck and turned away from you like he could barely stand to look at you. He only gave you a momentary reprieve, though, before he whirled back and jabbed an accusing finger in your direction. “You ignore me!” he accused in a restrained shout, clearly trying to keep his voice down despite his annoyance. “You won’t even look at me unless I’m being mean to you.”
“Are you kidding me!?” you shrieked indignantly, not even bothering to have the same restraint as Bucky. You didn’t care if you drew a crowd, not that it was likely with how far away his truck was parked from the main farm grounds. “You ignored me the first night I met you,” you seethed. “I asked you how you met Nat and you literally grunted and walked away from me!”
As soon as the words left your mouth, you pressed your lips closed to stop yourself from saying more. It already felt like you’d said too much, which was confirmed by the slack look on Bucky’s face. Horror washed over you as you realized you’d probably just basically told Bucky about your crush. You remembered the night you met, you remembered the exact conversation you’d tried to have with him. He’d have to know how you felt about him after giving away that detail.
In an effort to save face, you let yourself blurt out the first thing you could think to say. “So maybe I ignored you after that, but you deserved it!”
Bucky’s eyes blazed to life as he stepped up to the truck, crowding into your space, his hands resting on the top of the cab as he leaned into you. You wanted to shy away, afraid of your body’s reaction to him being so close—already, you felt a warm thrum in your core and your legs twitched like they wanted to spread for him—but you refused and instead held your ground.
“Fucking hell, that’s what this is about? I wasn’t ignoring you, doll,” Bucky said in a low, harsh voice. His blue eyes sparkled in the afternoon light, his stare so captivating you couldn’t look away. “I was fucking tongue-tied because I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever met.”
The admission hung heavy in the air between you and Bucky, the tension between you two crackling with energy. Your heart squeezed excitedly in your chest, happy to accept him at his word, but your brain was slower to trust. “What?” you asked in a tight voice as you tried to breathe through your shock and stop yourself from getting too excited.
“You are so fucking pretty you make my head spin,” Bucky said, his hand sliding against your jaw and cupping your chin delicately in his palm. “And if I have to be an asshole to get you to look at me, then I’ll be a fucking asshole,” he explained. His thumb grazed softly over your cheek, his blue eyes reading your expression like you were a language he wished to learn.
It was too much. You and Bucky had known each other for years, you’d been ignoring him at group outings and parties for years, he’d been sniping at you and provoking a reaction out of your for years. You simply couldn’t wrap your mind around the possibility he had feelings for you.
So you settled on a different explanation, one that seemed much more plausible. Righteous anger burned through the delicate hope in your heart, but it felt safer, more comfortable than the scary prospect of having to admit you liked Bucky.
Placing both hands on his chest, you shoved Bucky back and away from you. “Are you seriously messing with me right now?” you demanded accusatorially, already having decided he was. “You’re really such a fucking asshole, Barnes, to stoop this low.”
For a moment, Bucky looked too stunned to speak. He stared at you with a blank look for so long, doubt started to creep in, souring your stomach. But then a fire lit in Bucky’s blue eyes, burning through his icy gaze and threatening to take you down with him in the blaze. Before you could realize what he was doing, he closed the distance you’d created, his hands wrapping around the sides of your face, holding you still as his lips descended on yours.
Bucky brushed a soft kiss against your lips, just ghosting against your mouth before nipping your lower lip in a teasing bite. The sting made you gasp and he took advantage of your parted lips to seal his mouth over yours, swallowing down your moan at the feel of his rough stubble and gentle lips. He pressed closer, deepening the kiss until it felt like he was determined to devour you and was simply starting with your mouth.
Bucky’s kiss was heady and all-consuming, your brain blissfully free of doubt and questions and confusion. All you could feel were Bucky’s soft lips and expert tongue. Everything else fell away as you sank deeper into the kiss, letting yourself melt in his hands. Bucky kissed you like he was tempting you to surrender your soul to him and with the press of his lips, and the slide of his tongue, you were more than willing to risk it all.
When Bucky pulled away, it took you a moment to recover, your eyes blinking open dazedly, eyelashes fluttering. You found Bucky hovering close like he couldn’t bear to be too far away from you. His own blue gaze was hooded and a soft happy smile was on his full lips. Slowly, Bucky started to straighten as if wanting to give you space, but you fisted your hands in his shirt collar and tugged him back down, kissing him with the same fervor he’d shown you.
Bucky made a surprised sound that was muffled against your lips, but then he was sinking back into your kiss, his mouth letting you take control. You slid your hands up and into his soft brown hair, arms wrapping around his neck as you held him close, unable to stop yourself from trying to devour him as much as he had you.
As distracted as you were by the kiss, you felt Bucky’s hands smooth over your back through your sweater until he reached your ass. His big hands dug into the leather truck seat to grab you firmly and drag you to the edge. Your legs spread for him, wrapping around his waist as you pressed yourself flush against his broad body. Your core met a hard bulge in Bucky’s jeans, drawing a hiccuping gasp from you that made him grin against your lips.
“Believe me now, baby?” Bucky rasped and you didn’t have to see his face to know he was smirking, the mocking lilt of his voice gave away. But though you’d heard Bucky use a mocking tone plenty of times before, there was a warmth in it now, almost a purr. “D’you believe that I’ve wanted you for years?” He rolled his hips against you, pulling a moan from deep inside you at the feel of his jeans-covered length rubbing against your slit through your panties. “D’you feel how fucking hard you make me?” he asked, his voice taking on a sharp growl that shot straight to your clit, making heat surge through your body and flood your core.
“I believe you, Bucky,” you said, but deep in your mind you knew it wasn’t the truth—or, at least, the full truth. It’d take longer to really, fully believe him, but you wanted to and that was the first step. So you pushed your doubts and insecurities aside for the moment as he rocked his hips again, making you squirm on the edge of the truck seat, trying to rub against him like a cat in heat. Even through your clothes, he was so hot and hard against your damp, swollen center. It made you dizzy, how much you needed him.
“Good girl,” Bucky praised in a gruff voice, kissing your temple. His hands clutched your ass tighter, his fingertips digging into your soft flesh as he positioned you just right so he could dig his bulge deeper into your panty-covered slit, pushing between your folds to grind against your clit.
The praise from Bucky’s lips felt so good it made tears prick in your eyes. You never thought you’d hear him say anything so sweet to you, and you loved it so much you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from begging him to say it again. But that was too pathetic, even for you, so instead you wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck and tipped your head back, moaning into the truck cab, the sound reverberating through the metal and leather. You humped against Bucky, matching his rhythm, the stimulation making you soak through your panties.
Bucky dug his hands out from under your ass, skating them up your sides and under your sweater, pushing it up until your tits were bared to the chilly autumn air. Your nipples instantly pebbled and Bucky groaned at the sight of them poking through your bra. He bent down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth through the thin lace. When he bit down gently on the sensitive nub, you cried out and rocked harder against his cock. “That’s it, baby,” he mumbled against your chest, his lips grazing along your skin as he moved to the other nipple. “Grind your sweet little pussy on daddy’s bulge,” Bucky encouraged you in a voice as rough as the gravel under his boots.
Your inner walls clenched at what Bucky called himself and you rolled your head up to look at him through slitted eyes. He caught your gaze as he sucked your tit, letting it pop from his lips so he could grin shamelessly up at you. His blue eyes raked over your face, taking in your reaction to what he’d called himself.
You’d never called anyone you’d hooked up with daddy, but for some reason it felt right with Bucky. You wanted to test it out, see how it’d feel on your lips. Something told you it’d feel dirty in a delicious way. But you bit your lip, still shy around Bucky, still uncertain.
He seemed to read your thoughts on your face, biting your nipple gently and laving it one last time before he dragged his head up to press his forehead against yours, letting your sweater drop back down. He kissed you, slow and sweet, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that matched his hips thrusting against your center. When he pulled back, he was breathing just as heavily as you. “Gotta get you nice and wet so you can take daddy’s cock, right baby?” he asked, his heated blue eyes meeting yours and holding you captive.
More wetness flooded your pussy at his dirty words, and at the way he made you feel safe in his arms. He’d saved you from the haunted house, he’d pined for you just as long as you had. He was proving you could count on him, making up for all those years of being an asshole, you just had to decide to trust him. It didn’t seem like it should be so easy, but you wanted to trust him. So you did.
“Yes, daddy,” you answered in a sweet, breathy voice. You’d been right, it did feel deliciously dirty to call Bucky daddy. The way your tongue and lips formed the word alone felt naughty, sending more heat curling through your already swollen and tingling pussy.
“Oh fuck,” Bucky groaned when you called him daddy, scrunching his eyes shut as his hips stilled. His bulge was pressed so tightly against your core, you swore you could feel him throb in his jeans. “You’re so fucking hot, you’re gonna make me come in my pants,” he accused, opening his eyes only wide enough to furrow his brow in a half-hearted glare.
You couldn’t help yourself, Bucky just looked so silly, trying and failing to glare at you while he tried not to come—you giggled. The sound was pure and sweet as it tumbled from your lips. A wide, happy grin spread across your face to match the delighted sound.
Bucky’s jaw went slack and his blue eyes rounded as he witnessed you at the happiest he’d ever seen you and, for the first time, it was because of him, not in spite of him. Before your giggle had died completely, Bucky was smothering you with kisses. He peppered them across your lips and your cheek and your nose and your eyelids—any bit of your face he could reach while you tried to bat him away. His treatment only made you giggle more and try to squirm away, but he banded his arms and held you to him.
“Bucky, stop!” you squealed, leaning back to try to escape. He pulled back, breathless as his eyes raked over your face, relaxing when he saw you were just out of breath from giggling. When you opened your eyes, you caught Bucky staring down at you, affection written plainly across his face, etched into the lines of his eyes and the curves of his mouth.
As you both simply sat there, staring at each other, you watched as doubt creeped into Bucky’s expression. “You want this, right?” he asked in a tender, rumbly voice, staring you directly in the eye as he watched for any sign of hesitation.
A soft smile curled the corners of your mouth. “Bucky,” you started, pausing to gather your courage. With tentative fingers, you brushed his brown hair back from his forehead, eyes focusing on your hand so you wouldn’t have to look at him while you confessed. “I’ve had a crush on you since that first night, I was just too scared to tell anyone—especially you.”
Bucky winced a little when he heard the truth. He knew he’d been an asshole to you for too long to deserve anything less, but he recovered quickly. He ducked down, kissing your sweetly, an apology on his lips. When he pulled away, he voiced the words he should’ve said a long time ago. “I’m sorry for being an idiot and ignoring you that first night,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on your lips when you tried to interrupt him. “And I’m so fucking sorry for being an asshole every day since then.” He sighed against your lips, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to get the chance to kiss you, which is why he did it again. “I swear on my fucking life, baby, I’ll never make you feel like anything less than the prettiest girl in the world ever again,” he promised against your lips, sealing it with another kiss.
You kissed him back, matching the vehemence in his words and his lips. When you finally pulled apart, you giggled softly. “Just please, no more haunted houses,” you begged jokingly. You smiled into his skin, dragging your mouth along the scruff of his jaw, feeling it rasp against your swollen lips. You felt the side of Bucky’s mouth curl into a smile, enticing you back to his lips.
“No more haunted houses,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your lips. Bucky’s hands digging under your thighs was your only warning before he used his grip to haul you further into the truck cab, your ass sliding across the bench seat. “But I am going to fuck you in the parking lot of this haunted house,” he said, a mischievous grin on his face as he climbed up into the truck after you. He pulled the door shut behind him to keep out the autumn chill and the distant sounds of the crowded farm.
“Bucky!” you shrieked as he covered your body with his, pressing you into the worn leather seat of his truck. His smell surrounded you, not just because he pressed close to you but because it was embedded in ever fiber of the truck. It felt like you were being cocooned in Bucky and you didn’t want to leave, but you still felt obligated to protest. “Our friends will be looking for us,” you pointed out, but you sounded half-hearted even to your own ears, especially as you parted your thighs for Bucky to slip between.
He ducked his head, kissing up your neck as his hips settled into the cradle of your thighs. Of their own volition, your knees climbed his sides, shifting until the hard bulge in his jeans pressed directly to your aching core. He chuckled when you let out a breathy moan despite your protest.
“Baby, I’ve wanted you for years,” he murmured in between kisses, tilting your head to the side so he could suck on the skin beneath your ear, drawing another moan from your lips. “Fuck our friends, I can’t wait—I need to be inside you, baby, please,” he mumbled, dragging his lips across your throat so you could feel his need spoken into your skin. It sunk down deep inside you, to your bones, your marrow, convincing you of his desire with every breath.
In response, you rocked your hips up, grinding your heat against his bulge. A broken groan stuttered from Bucky’s lips, making you smile. Your need for him was equally insatiable and you gave up any pretense of protesting when he begged you. “I’m all yours, Bucky, take me,” you whispered, dragging his face to yours and slanting your lips against his in a heated kiss. “Fuck me, daddy, please, I need you,” you begged in a desperate voice.
Bucky groaned low in his throat at the sound of you begging. “Such a desperate little slut for daddy, huh baby?” he asked in a sweetly patronizing tone, so much like the way he used to speak to you but so, so different. And when you looked up at him, his face was filled with affection.
Skimming his hand up your thigh, Bucky reached under your skirt, pushing it up so it bunched around your waist. His fingers hooked in your panties, and he pulled them down as you lifted up. He sat up enough to maneuver you in the small space to free one ankle, letting your panties dangle from the other as he undid his jeans and pulled his dick out.
Your eyes were glued to the thick cock Bucky pumped in his hand. He was girthy, with veins decorating the side and leading up to his broad mushroom tip. Drool pooled in your mouth at the sight of him, straining for you, precum dripping from the head. Your pussy clenched hard, greedy for Bucky’s cock as you reached for him.
Bucky grinned at the hungry look on your face, pushing you gently back down on the bench seat and pushing your sweater up so he could see your tits. He groped at your soft flesh, tugging on your nipples until your eyes were fluttering closed and moans were falling out of your mouth. Bucky bent over your body, planting a hand on the door above your head so he could hover over you. “Condom?” he asked.
You caught his blue gaze and held it as you shook your head. “No,” you answered firmly. “Want you bare.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky froze for a moment, going so still you could’ve sworn he stopped breathing. “You’re on birth control? You’ve been tested?” he asked in a tight voice like he was forcing the questions out.
You giggled softly, the sound more seductive than cute and you wondered for a brief second where it came from. But then you took stock of Bucky poised above you, his cock so hard in his hand it had turned an angry red color as it leaked from the tip while his eyes and lips were pinched tightly closed. You gave it a long moment before you put him out of his misery—call it a little bit of payback. “I have an IUD, I’ve been tested since my last partner, I’m all good.”
Bucky’s eyes were still pressed shut, but he let out a long breath. “I’ve been tested too—I’m good,” he forced out. When his eyes finally opened, his blue eyes blazed, the intensity of his gaze burning into you, threatening to consume you alive—and you’d happily let it. “Gonna take my cock raw, baby?” His voice was a rasp like the metal grate containing a fire. With his grip on his cock, he slapped the thick head on your clit before rubbing his length between your folds, coating himself with your desire.
You let out a gasp at the feeling of him torturing your pussy. “Yes, daddy,” you answered breathlessly.
“Good thing you’re on birth control, because I’m not fucking pulling out,” he bit out in a harsh tone that sent shivers skating down to your core. His gaze flicked to yours, checking in, and you nodded to let him know you were good with what he was saying and doing. A grin spread across his face as he returned his attention to his cock teasing your pussy. “I’m gonna fill up your tight little cunt with my come,” he promised, nudging your hole with the wide tip of his dick.
“Please, daddy,” you begged, reaching your limit with his teasing. Your hips raised in the air to try to take him into your pussy, but Bucky backed off, sitting back on his haunches. When you reached for him, he moved his hand from the door and threaded his fingers through yours. Placing a kiss to each of your fingers, he stared down at you like he couldn’t get enough of the sight of you spread out beneath him.
“I love it when you beg, baby,” he said finally. “Makes me wanna give you the world.” An impish grin pulled up the corners of Bucky’s mouth. “But you’ll have to settle for my cock—for now,” he teased, leaning down over you again, pressing your clasped hands against the seat next to your head. With his other hand, he lined his cock up at your entrance and he breathed hard as he teased you just a little bit more. “So wet for me, baby, such a good girl for daddy,” he murmured praises just before he pushed inside.
Bucky let out a long, deep groan as his cock sunk deep into your pussy, feeling your wet heat clutch at his hardness. The stretch of his thick girth stole the breath from your lungs as he slid in to the hilt in one steady thrust. He paused there, giving you both time to adjust. “Fuck,” he choked out the whispered curse, pressing his forehead to yours. “Fuck, baby, your pussy feels so fucking good gripping my cock.”
You tilted your head up for a kiss, pressing your lips to his as you pulled him closer with your legs, rocking up against him. “More, daddy, please—need you, need more,” you begged against his mouth, your breaths mingling until you didn’t know where you ended and he began. You didn’t know how you could ever get enough of this man. In such a short time, he’d made you feel safe and loved and you felt like you were cracking apart, opening yourself up to him. His sweet words and gentle touches had awoken a ravenous hunger in your heart and you wanted him closer, you wanted to consume him and be consumed in return.
Giving you what you asked for, Bucky pulled his hips back, dragging his cock along every sensitive inch of your cunt, before slamming back inside. His breathing was harsh in your ear as he let out stuttering moans, almost drowning out the sounds of his hips smacking against yours, his balls hitting your ass. “So good, so good, baby, so fucking good for daddy,” he chanted against your check, his breath hot on your face.
And yet, it still wasn’t enough for you. Your face pressed into Bucky’s neck, lips sucking on his skin until you knew you were going to leave marks, too far gone to care as your tongue darted out to taste him and soothe him. “Daddy—daddy, need you, more, please,” you begged, knowing you weren’t making any sense. Your legs locked around his waist, booted feet hooking behind his thighs so you could draw him deeper until he was fully seated in your cunt and he couldn’t pull out more than an inch.
“Fuck, baby, fuck,” Bucky groaned, his sweaty forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Is this what you needed, sweet girl?” he asked, his free hand wrapping around the back of your neck and wrenching you away from where you were sucking hickies into his throat so he could look in your eyes. “Need to be pinned down with daddy’s cock buried balls-deep in your cunt?” He settled his weight almost entirely on top of you, watching as your eyes went hooded with delight, a dazed smile curling your lips. “D’you need daddy to mark you up, baby?” he asked, ducking down and nudging the collar of your sweater to the side so he could suck your skin between his teeth until you were both sure he’d leave a mark. “D’you need daddy to take you, hard and rough and filthy?” he demanded a moment before he sank his teeth into a spot toward the back of your neck right on the edge of your hairline.
A sharp cry fell from your lips as Bucky bit you, but it dissolved into a moan when he pulled back and licked the spot. Words escaped you, your lips forgetting how to do anything but kiss and moan and whimper and whine for Bucky. Your head felt hazy, like you were buzzed, but all you were drunk on was Bucky’s cock and the dirty words pouring from his mouth.
“Fuck, jesus fuck, that’s it, take it baby, take it,” he groaned into your ear, rolling his hips against yours in tight movements, grinding into your cunt and clit until you were a panting, needy mess beneath him. “Love seeing you fucked out and cock drunk for me, baby,” he huffed as his chest heaved with his heavy breaths. “Such a perfect little slut for daddy, aren’t you baby?”
All you could do was whimper and nod, trying to keep your eyes open so you could look into Bucky’s blue gaze as he leaned up and looked down at you. He watched as pleasure contorted your face, delighting in the way your jaw dropped open when he hit a particular spot deep inside you.
“Good girl, good girl,” he mumbled, brushing his fingers over your sweaty forehead and dropping down to kiss your lips. He nuzzled his scruff against your cheek like he couldn’t get close enough to you.
You understood the feeling. Your fingers gripped Bucky’s hand still laced in yours, the other threading into his soft brown hair while your heels dug into his strong thighs, keeping him locked against your body. If you thought you could endure letting him go, even only for a moment, you would’ve begged him to rip your clothes off so you could feel his skin against yours. But you couldn’t even fathom untangling your bodies in that moment.
“My perfect girl, you feel so good,” Bucky murmured, trailing his lips to yours and kissing you deeply, thoroughly, possessively. “Need you to come for me, baby, need you to come on my cock,” he muttered, picking up the pace of his slow grinding until he was rutting into you as much as your legs would let him. “Fuck, I can’t stop, baby, ‘m gonna come.” He grunted and groaned, the sounds of his pleasure and his words filling the truck cab. “Come on daddy’s cock, baby, come for daddy,” Bucky rasped as he pounded his cock deep in your hole, grinding his pubic bone against your clit with every thrust, sending you careening toward the edge. “That’s it, that’s it, be my good girl, baby, please,” he begged.
The desperation in Bucky’s voice and the way his cock pummeled a spot deep in your pussy that had your back arching into him, grinding your clit on him, pushed you over the edge. You clutched his fingers in yours, nails digging into the back of his hand, desperate to be anchored to him as it felt like you were free-falling through pleasure. Pressing your face into the soft cotton covering Bucky’s shoulder, you muffled a scream into his shirt, sobbing your release as your cunt rhythmically clamped down hard on his cock.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, that’s it baby, that’s a good girl,” Bucky praised, rutting into you harder, fucking you through your orgasm as he chased his own. “You’re squeezing me so tight, baby, gonna make daddy come,” he mumbled, his free hand digging between your body and the leather seat to grip your ass.
His fingers dug into your soft flesh so hard you were sure he’d leave bruises and that thought only sent more warmth curling through you, joining the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Please, daddy,” you begged, your mouth finally remembering how to form words. “Fill me up with your come—need it, need you,” you whined, squirming beneath him.
“Fuck—fuck,” he grunted, thrusting hard and pinning you down to the seat with his hips. “Take it, baby, take my come,” he bit out through gritted teeth as you felt him start to come deep in your pussy. You moaned when you felt his cock twitch inside you, his come filling your warm hole. “Good girl,” he panted, as he thrust a few more times, shallowly, until he was spent. Bucky collapsed on top of you while you reveled in the feel of his come coating inside you. “So good for daddy, baby,” he praised, turning his head enough to kiss your cheek.
Your arms and legs felt heavy and loose as your full body relaxed, drifting in the aftermath of a mind-blowing orgasm, feeling sated and happy. Running your fingers through Bucky’s hair, the short strands soft against your skin, you hummed in happiness. Unable to stop yourself, you planted little kisses on his neck. He made a contented sound in his chest in response, his thumb sweeping over the back of your hand.
After a few minutes of recovering, Bucky sat up and brought your hand to his mouth, kissing it while he stared down at you, love and affection burning bright in his blue eyes. “What’re the chances I can convince you to let me take you home now so we can do that again?” he asked, a playful smile curling his lips.
You bit your lip to stop yourself from immediately agreeing. You wanted to spend time with Bucky and get to know him in ways you’d only previously dreamed—not just with more sex, but being able to talk to him without the weight of both your anger and hurt hanging around your necks. But the last you saw your friends, you and Bucky were bailing on the haunted house, and you knew you should check in with them. Plus, you’d been looking forward to all the other autumnal fun Barton’s Family Farm offered and you’d be damned if you left after just the haunted house.
“But I want apple cider and donuts,” you said, pouting up at Bucky, widening your eyes to exaggerate your puppy dog look.
Bucky immediately caved, unable to resist giving you whatever you wanted, especially since it was easily within his power. “I’ll buy you all the apple cider and donuts you want, baby” he promised, ducking down to give you a sweet kiss. When he pulled back, though, he had a greedy look in his eye. “But then you’re coming home with me, yeah?”
A grin bloomed across your face. “Yeah,” you agreed easily and Bucky gave you an answering smile, like it was a natural reaction to seeing you happy.
As Bucky righted himself, stuffing his cock back into his jeans and zipping them back up, it occurred to you that you’d never seen him so relaxed, and you didn’t think it had to do with the sex you’d just had. When he looked up, he caught you staring at him.
“What?” he asked, a little uncertainly. His fingers reached up to smooth over the burgeoning marks on his neck. “Are the hickies too noticeable.”
Shaking your head, you sat up and looped your arms around his neck. “No—well, yes, but that’s not what I was looking at,” you said. At his raised eyebrow, you went on. “You’re so handsome,” you said in a fake dreamy voice, a little bit of teasing in your words. Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t try to pull away, just smiled down at you fondly, brushing the backs of his fingers over your cheek. He waited you out long enough that what you really wanted to say finally rolled off your tongue. “You’re happy, right?” Bucky’s brow furrowed in confusion but before he could answer, you continued. “Because I’m happy—this might be the happiest I’ve been in a long time and if you’re going to take me back to our friends and pretend like nothing happened, I need to know now.
A troubled expression was on Bucky’s face by the time you stopped talking. “Hey, no,” he said, when you finished. “I’m happy—I told you I’ve wanted this for years,” he reminded you, ducking his head down so he could look at you face to face. “I’m not gonna be that asshole again to you, ever,” he promised, his eyes searching yours like he could root out all the insecurity and squash it. “If I need to spend the next couple months or years proving that to you, I will, OK?”
Stupid tears welled up in your eyes but you blinked them back and gave Bucky a watery smile, your heart feeling like it could burst you were so happy. Bucky leaned in and kissed the apples of your cheeks, first one then the other, before dipping down to kiss your lips. By the time he was done, your eyes were dry. “Ready to get back out there?” he asked and you nodded.
With gentle hands, Bucky used some napkins from the glovebox to clean you up as well as he could, then helped you fix your clothes. He took you by the hand and led you out of the truck. When you hopped out, you shivered in the autumnal chill, immediately wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the cold. Bucky noticed and reached back into his truck to grab his leather jacket, helping you into it before kissing you once more. You smiled against his lips, grabbed his hand and tugged him back toward the farm.
It didn’t take long to find your friends—they were standing near the hot apple cider stand, holding paper cups of the steaming beverage and sharing from a cardboard dish of cider donuts. Yelena was the first to notice you and Bucky walking toward the group, your hands linked and you wearing his jacket. She turned to her older sister, pointing a finger in Natasha’s face as she screeched, “I told you! I told you it would work!” Cinnamon sugar spewed from the blonde’s mouth as she yelled and she didn’t even bother to wipe it off her chin before turning to Steve, who had his hand up for a high five, slapping her palm against his.
The corners of your mouth pulled down into a confused frown. “What’re you talking about Lena?”
But Yelena was too busy executing an elaborate victory dance to respond, so Steve chimed in with an explanation. “Yelena has been determined to make you guys admit you have feelings for each other—”
“That you love each other,” Yelena butted in, finally done with her dance. She passed one of the paper cups she’d been holding over to you and you wrapped both your hands around it, basking in the warmth while Bucky slid behind you, looping his arms loosely around your waist. Yelena’s sharp green eyes watched it all.
“Yeah,” Steve muttered shaking his head at his friend’s little sister. “Anyway, she had a plan that we go through the haunted house and you’d get scared and Bucky would swoop in and protect you,” Steve finished. “Nat didn’t think it would work,” he added almost as an afterthought.
“You’re both too fucking stubborn,” the redhead said, shrugging unapologetically, but her eyes and smile were warm as she too didn’t miss the way Bucky touched you so easily. Your face heated, realizing both your friends had probably already surmised you’d slept with Bucky.
“So let me get this straight,” Bucky started slowly, his eyes fixed on his best friend, completely unaware of the knowing looks Yelena and Natasha were giving the two of you. “You deliberately tortured my girl just to prove a point?”
Yelena squealed and looked at you with wide, excited eyes when Bucky called you his girl, almost drowning out the rest of his sentence. You couldn’t help the goofy grin plastered to your face in response, nor did you want to. Yelena raised her eyebrows in silent demand for more information, and you even caught Nat giving you the same look. You shot them both a look that said you’d tell them later.
The boys were completely oblivious of your exchange with your friends. “Well she wasn’t technically your girl yet—even if you’ve had a thing for her for a couple years,” Steve pointed out, his face twisting up like he was fighting to keep the guilt out of his expression.
You felt Bucky tense behind you and craned your neck to look up at him, taking a sip of your drink. He’d tilted his head to the side and narrowed his gaze at Steve, anger simmering in his blue eyes. Even though he was facing off with his own friend, his gaze held more ire than you’d ever seen directed at you. If you thought about it, Bucky had usually had a kind of pained look on his face when he’d said those mean things to you. Sadness swept over you at the thought of all the time you’d wasted being jerks to each other. Unable to hold yourself back, you snuggled into him.
Your movement caught Bucky’s attention and he finally looked away from Steve, his face shifting before your eyes from a glare to an expression filled with affection. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and turned back to your friends with a much more relaxed look. Reaching out, he plucked a cider donut from the cardboard dish, holding it in front of you until you took it.
You took a big bite of the sweet pastry and groaned in happiness. Against your ass, you felt Bucky’s cock twitch in his pants and you had to hide your smile behind another bite of donut.
“Semantics,” Bucky said in response to Steve’s comment, a smile on his lips as he watched you eat your donut happily. “Anyway, thanks to you all, I made a promise to my girl and I plan to keep it.”
“What promise?” Yelena asked, curiosity lighting her green eyes as her gaze bounced back and forth between you and Bucky. Your best friend was practically gleeful, but you knew it wasn’t just because she had been right and her plan had worked, you could see in her face that she was happy for you. As you sipped the hot apple cider she’d bought you, you realized you’d already forgiven her for the deception.
“Well actually it was two promises,” Bucky amended. You looked up at him in confusion. “I promised her all the apple cider and no more haunted houses.” Bucky leaned down, your lips bumping clumsily against each other as you both struggled to stop smiling long enough to kiss. But then Bucky’s tongue licked some of the cinnamon sugar from your lips and you had to choke back a moan as he kissed you possessively right there in front of your friends.
“Get a room,” Natasha jeered at the same time Yelena whooped and Steve clapped obnoxiously. You laughed against Bucky’s lips, pulling apart, warmth burning in your cheeks.
That wasn’t the last time your friends teased you and Bucky that night, but you were both too happy to care too much. Bucky couldn’t keep his hands off you. Whether he was wrapping an arm around your shoulders, linking his fingers with yours, or squeezing your butt as discretely as possible, he was always touching you. He kept it up through all the fall activities—the corn maze, the pumpkin patch, and another round of apple cider and donuts.
And then at the end of the night, Bucky took you home and showed you again and again how happy you made him. Over the following days and months and years, he proved to that you could trust him to never be mean to get your attention again—and you showed him you’d never ignore him or your feelings for him. Bucky showered you with love and affection until the memories of you ignoring him and him being an asshole to get your attention were replaced entirely with happy ones.
He also kept his promises, taking you back to Barton’s Family Farm every year for all the apple cider and donuts you could eat—but always skipping the haunted house—kissing the sugar and cinnamon from your lips until you let him take you home.
Eddie Munson in Chapter One: The Hellfire Club "This year's different. This year is my year. I can feel it. '86, baby."
going on a date with bucky barnes and it all goes so nicely, so sweetly, so smoothly. you both had so much fun, chemistry and a good time. he's charming, witty and he keeps flirting and complimenting you at every chance he gets. he held your hand all night long, neither of you even noticed it, it just happened naturally, your cheeks hurt from how much you're smiling and both of your hearts are at ease.. that's until the date comes to an end, it's time to pay and you ask him if he wants to go 50/50.
that would be the first time he lets go of your hand that night, it's unintentional just happened out of pure shock. "50... what.." the confusion on his face, you'd think he's an alien seeing earth the first time.
"you know.. 50/50.. we'll split the bill between us"
"split the bill?" he asks and you just nod, he'd blink at you, "50/50.. splitting the bill.. what is this about, i asked you on a date"
now it's your turn to be the alien seeing earth for the first time, "we are on a date, bucky. this is a date"
"no, it's not a date."
"it is a date"
"you're asking me to split the bill, this is not a date"
"oh my god sam was right, you can be such a drama queen." you laugh, he just stares at you, blankly. "it might've been a while since the last time you went on a date so let me break it down for you.. these days, people who go on dates split the bill, they go 50/50" you shrug, "it's normal"
"it's normal? you've done it before?"
you nod, "every date i've been on has been 50/50 yeah"
bucky nearly flips the table. bucky who spent all of his three dollars in the 1940's trying to win a teddybear for a girl he had a crush on, bucky who used to save up most of his income in an old shoe box underneath his bed so he can take his girl to a nice diner, bucky who went to the florist to get you a bouquet of roses and didn't even ask for the price just handed his credit card because to him your smile is priceless, bucky is about to have a stroke.
"you've never been on a date" he says, face still blank.
"yes i have"
"no you haven't. this is your first date." he says, "i'm your first time." he smirks and you blush at the possible implication. "50/50.." he scoffs under his breath, "what else are you gonna tell me next? i should walk on the inside of the sidewalk? keep my jacket on when you're cold? sleep further from the door? not open doors for you? jesus sweetheart what has the world come to?"
you hide your smile, you love it when he rambles like that, he's so calm yet so offended all at once somehow, it's funny and endearing. "what's wrong with walking on the inside of the sidewalk?" you joke and he rolls his eyes making you laugh, "so.. no 50/50? are you sure?" you ask one last time, hands on your purse on your lap.
he keeps his eyes on you as he pays the bill, glaring playfully, gets up and pulls out your chair before putting his black leather jacket on your shoulders, "no doll," he offers you his hand which you quickly hold, intertwining your fingers with his, and opens the door with his metal hand, "no 50/50."
sweetheart hand pt. 2 // brian may
summary: a continuation of sweetheart hand. after the party, the (art) studio.
a/n: mostly fluff and then some smut. sorry for the delay! if tumblr hasn’t sorted out their tagging shit by now…… hm. this is around 5,400 words. i was thinking about this twombly work when i was describing the painting. also can you believe this image cause i can’t.
there’s something terrifying and invigorating in equal measure about a blank canvas. you stare the expanse of white down determinedly, crossing your arms and trying to conjure something up in your mind’s eye. it’s a beast of a thing, five feet tall and six feet wide, and anything you try to visualise comes up short. fuck it. you’ve been avoiding it for weeks. you’ll just have to dive in.
you’ve hit almost every mark of your normal afternoon pre-painting routine - the curtains are thrown back to let the natural light in, you’ve made yourself a strong cup of tea and there’s a note on the door in case anyone decides to call around. the only thing left is to take the phone off the hook. it’s an old bakelite monster with a rotary dial - you could afford to replace it, but you’re fond of its look. plus, the horrible, grating sound of its ring is reason alone to stop it from disturbing your painting.
well. not that you normally have any hesitations about it. you haven’t done anything so undignified as waiting around for someone to call since you were a teenager.
Keep reading
after skinny dipping at a lover’s lake alone, eddie is shocked to see someone else was there all along (reader) 🫶🏻
thank u for requesting anon! this prompt literally drove me insane! (in a good way)! — eddie falls in love with the weirdest stranger he's ever met in his life (wednesdayaddams!reader-esque, mentions of being naked, 18+ | 1.2k)
The edge of Lover’s Lake sits right outside Eddie’s trailer, partially visible through a thin treeline of bright orange oaks. He stumbles through it on graceless, lanky legs — high out of his mind, which is filled now with racing thoughts of boyish rage.
He’s failing English (again), for one. For another, Corroded Coffin’s been bumped to Tuesday night shows instead of Friday nights (a death sentence if he ever saw one). And ever since then, Wayne’s been on his ass about working with him at the car shop (‘cause moonlight as a rockstar isn’t a real job, apparently.)
Eddie gets angrier the more he thinks about it — which is perpetually and without mercy. It makes his pale skin feel red hot, boiling to the touch, practically repelling every wisp of autumn breeze that threatens to cool him down. He wonders, briefly, if it could be the weed fucking with him. ‘Cause everything else has been today.
He stands on the grassy bank of the moonlit lake and strips off his clothes to find out. He stumbles trying to get his pants off, right after his chin gets stuck in the neck of his t-shirt. He doesn’t think to check if anyone’s around until he’s left only in his thin, navy plaid boxers.
“Free show?” a feminine, unfamiliar voice calls from the center of the pitch-black lake.
Eddie practically jumps out of his buzzing skin. His heart lurches into his throat as his palms hurry to cover his still-clothed crotch. “Shit!” he shouts, voice echoing over the empty clearing.
You don’t flinch at the volume of the voice. He can’t even tell if you’re blinking from here. You just remain in the middle of the rippling, silver water, only visible from the tops of your bare collarbones.
Eddie swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing, and tries to catch his breath. “Sorry. I— I didn’t know anyone else was out here…”
“Don’t stop on my account,” you tell him, flirtatious words that sound strangely deadpan falling from your lips. “Lover’s Lake is big enough for the both of us.”
Eddie squints into the darkness, dark eyes flitting across the water. “You’re alone?” he concludes after a few moments.
“Usually…” you hum, lifting a naked shoulder in a lazy shrug. “…Are you?”
“Usually.”
“Want some company?” you offer, still strikingly monotoned. The strange boy with the wild hair and pale legs stammers for a response. You tilt your chin to your chest and look cautiously at him through your lashes. “…Or should I go?”
“No!” Eddie blurts, then clears his throat with a red face. Quieter, he adds, “No, it’s not that. You don’t have to go.”
A smile quirks at the edges of your lips. So faint Eddie can hardly tell it’s there. But still, it sparkles in your eyes like the moonlight does. “Just act like I’m not here,” you lilt, disappearing back into the water before Eddie can blink.
He’s not so sure how possible that is, but he gets into the water with you, anyway.
The fall season has turned the lake into silk. It’s cool and soft against his burning skin as he slowly submerges himself within its void. Eddie’s wide, attentive eyes never leave the water as he searches for your body beneath it. He follows the faint, silver ripples until they disappear completely — until he starts to worry if you’ll ever come back up again — until he starts to convince himself you were never there at all.
There’s a loud and sudden splash before him. He blinks, and your face is inches away from his own. An almost uncomfortable proximity between two strangers. “Jesus!” Eddie blurts, flailing awkwardly in fear.
“Did I scare you?” you squint, like it wasn’t totally obvious.
The boy exhales a wavering breath. “Yeah… Yeah, a little bit.”
“Sorry. Won’t happen again,” you promise with a faint smirk that tells him otherwise, as you swim slightly back from the boy ahead of you. The dark waves rise and valley at your bare chest. Eddie’s boyish mind immediately wonders exactly how bare you are underneath them.
“Actually, it might,” you continue. “But it’ll be an accident… Probably.”
Eddie struggles to tell if you’re joking or not — if you’re playing games with him, or if you’re just too aloof to know what you’re doing to him.
“You’re a strange… strange person,” he tells you, a half-compliment and a half-something-else, as the words tumble from his lips before he can think about them. His chocolate eyes narrow into thin slits at you. “Did you know that?”
The question’s mostly rhetorical, but you nod rapidly in response anyway.
“It’s ‘cause I’m not a person,” you confess, eyes wide and glittering with sincerity. “I’m a mermaid trapped in human form.”
“Aren’t mermaids already half-human?”
A contented noise sounds in your throat.
“Hm… Guess I’m already halfway there, then.”
Eddie forgets to respond, and the conversation lulls. It makes the rest of the world seem terribly loud. Wind whistles through trees. Frogs croak in the tall grass. Water sloshes softly around your bodies. He gets lost in the serenity surrounding him and drowns in the chaos in your eyes.
“You have a staring problem,” you blurt. “Did you know that?”
The boy blinks rapidly to clear the haze from his glazed-over eyes. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just—” Eddie clears his throat and shakes his head, hair damp at the edges and sticking to his freckled shoulders. “I’m just trying to figure out if you’re real, or if I just… made you up in my head or something?”
Something about that seems to please you.
A mischievous smirk pulls slowly at the edges of your mouth — into a smile brighter than Eddie thought you were capable of. You float towards him with little effort, like two distant planets now threatening to collide. He doesn’t realize how close you are until your breath fans warm across his jaw.
“How’s this for real?” you hum quietly, leaning in like you plan to kiss him.
Eddie’s stunned still. He forgets how to breathe as his heavy eyes fall to your lips. He moves closer to you on instinct, mouth gravitating to yours despite himself — like you’re some kinda siren controlling his mind with a song he’s too far gone to hear.
Through the mist in his vision, he watches your mouth curl into a cheeky half-smirk. You look on at him, at this puddle of a boy, like you’ve got him in the palm of your hand.
“You are a strange… strange boy, Eddie Munson,” you hum quietly.
Eddie shakes his head as he descends (face-plants, more like) back into reality. The water ripples faintly around you as you swim away from him. He stammers for words while you head back towards the bank. “Wait— How— How do you know my name?” the boy gapes.
Your body ascends from the silver lake, naked as the day you were born, and shining beneath the full moon.
Water drips from your skin like diamonds as you crouch to grab your clothes, lying in a discarded pile beside the dock. The sight of your bare ass would make Eddie implode if he wasn’t already reeling.
“Sorry!” you call to him over your shoulder, with your all-black clothes balled at your chest. “Can’t hear you all the way over there!”
You never cease your stride back towards the pitch-black treeline. Eddie shouts at the back of you anyway, “How do you know my name?!”
He never gets an answer.
Hold Fast | Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: A winter mission goes sideways, forcing you to cross a frozen lake under fire. The ice doesn’t hold—and when you go under, Bucky is the only thing between you and the dark.
MCU Timeline Placement: Post Thunderbolts*
Master List: Find my other stuff here!
Warnings: THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS, hypothermia, near-drowning, descriptions of drowning, blood, injuries, limb trauma, hospitalization, PTSD symptoms, emotional vulnerability, protective behavior, team banter, soft angst with resolution!
Word Count: 9.5k
Author’s Note: had so much fun with this request!! this one really reminded me of no way but through, which holds such a special place in my little cold-weather-loving heart. i loooove icy mission settings, hypothermic chaos, and painfully soft bucky barnes, so this was basically a dream to write. also couldn’t help myself and had to bring in the full thunderbolts/new avengers crew at the end. i am nothing if not predictable <3
────────────────────────
The wind off the lake bit harder than it had twenty minutes ago.
Not that it mattered. You’d stopped registering the cold a while back, after the second ridge, where the frost had started creeping into the inside seam of your gloves. Or maybe when you heard the first round of gunfire echo through the trees, half-muted by the thick snow-laden branches overhead.
Your teeth weren’t chattering. That would’ve meant your body had enough energy to waste on something so useless. Instead, everything inside you was pulling inward. Tightening. Conserving. Slowing.
“Keep moving,” Bucky’s voice snapped, low and close behind your left shoulder, and you did.
Not because he told you to. Because you had to.
The mission had gone wrong in the kind of way that didn’t leave room for debriefs. No secure exit point, no external comms, no second wave coming in behind you. Just you, Bucky, and the last evac flare tucked in Yelena’s pack two klicks east—across a frozen lake, through the trees, past whatever was still hunting you from the west ridge.
You hadn’t seen what hit the quinjet. Just felt the shockwave under your boots, then the plume of smoke curling over the horizon. Yelena had been the one closest to the treeline. She moved faster, covered more ground when it mattered, and she was carrying the extraction beacon. So when everything went to hell and the team scattered, it was you and Bucky left circling back to pull recon on the ones who shot your ride out of the sky.
Bucky walked behind you now, a half-step slower than usual. Calculated. Watching your six, probably watching your feet, too.
“Northeast ridge is clear,” Yelena’s voice crackled softly in your comms. “Found an evac point. I’ll hold position.”
“Copy,” Bucky muttered. He was closer now. You could hear the rough edge in his voice, the constant scrape of concern just underneath it. “Let us know if anything shifts.”
There was a pause, a soft click, and then silence.
It had been thirty-two minutes.
Thirty-two minutes of sprinting across a frozen forest, every breath burning in your lungs. Thirty-two minutes of feeling Bucky’s presence hovering behind you like a shadow stitched to your spine, keeping pace, always watching. Watching your six, probably watching your feet, too.
“We’re near the lake,” Bucky said quietly.
You nodded once. Didn’t slow.
The lake had shown up on recon, a massive spread of black and silver on the satellite map, completely iced over and ringed by skeletal trees. You hadn’t planned to get near it. No cover. No depth perception. And the ice…
There were warnings. Cracks. Inconsistent freeze. The warm weeks earlier in the month had made it unreliable. Solid in places, dangerously thin in others.
Your fingers flexed around your weapon. You could still feel the scabbed-over cuts along your knuckles from the last mission. You hadn’t even gotten the blood out of the gloves. It had frozen stiff.
“They’re pushing,” Bucky said, eyes scanning the treeline. “Trying to flank.”
“We keep moving.”
“You’re hurt.”
“Not bad.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Your jaw locked.
There was blood soaking into the seam of your left leg, trailing down to right where the fabric met your boot. You didn’t look down. Couldn’t. It hadn’t slowed you down yet. If it did, you’d think about it. Not now.
You didn’t tell him how deep the cut went. You didn’t need to. He could smell it by now, metallic, sharp, slicing through the scent of ice and pine. It left a trail behind you, carved like a signature across the snow. If any of the hostiles had dogs, you were as good as marked.
The lake came into full view as you crested the ridge. It didn’t shimmer, didn’t glint—it was too dark for that now. Instead, it stretched wide and waiting, flat as glass and just as merciless. A wound in the landscape, glossy and black, veins of fracture spidering out across the surface where the snow had been blown off by the earlier blast wave.
Bucky said nothing, but he stopped just behind you. You could feel the weight of his silence.
“We don’t have time to go around,” you said, voice thin. “They’ll have us before the trees thicken again.”
“There’s no cover out there.” His tone wasn’t harsh. It was worse, quiet, steady, resigned. “If they catch sight of us, we’re open. Sitting ducks. You know that.”
“They won’t.” You adjusted your grip on your weapon. The trigger guard was sticking, your blood had frozen at the seam. “There’s mist coming off the surface. It’ll give us some visual buffer if we move fast.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Which is why I can’t climb another fucking ridge.”
Your voice barely made it past your lips. It felt thinner than the air you were pulling into your chest. You didn’t need to look at Bucky to know he was staring at you again—sharp, narrowed, assessing you the way he did before a breach. Not checking for weakness. Measuring the cost.
But there was no time for costs anymore.
The crack of gunfire ricocheted off the ridge behind you.
Not the echo of distant threat, but close. Immediate.
Bark splintered off a tree trunk ten paces from your position, and Bucky moved instantly, grabbing your arm and yanking you down into a crouch behind the lip of an ice-encased boulder.
You landed hard on your knee, your injured leg screaming in protest. Warm blood surged and stuck to the inside of your pants, and it was only then that you realized the muscle was torn. Not grazed. Torn.
Bucky didn’t flinch at the impact, but you caught the way his jaw clenched. “They’ve got fucking elevation,” he muttered under his breath. “How the hell did they—”
Another round cracked off a rock to your left. You ducked lower.
You didn’t answer him. You were trying not to pass out.
The second ridge. That was where they’d circled back. They must’ve doubled back around while you were sweeping east, using the wreckage and smoke trail from the quinjet as cover. You should’ve clocked it. Should’ve seen the trail crossing itself on the HUD.
But you’d been too busy bleeding.
A comms stutter broke through your earpiece. Yelena’s voice, brittle and curt: “Multiple heat signatures—tracking southeast. Six or seven. Aggressive push. Fast. You need to move.”
“Noted,” Bucky muttered, and clicked off.
He turned toward you, and there was something behind his eyes now. Not fear. Urgency. That hard-edged tension you’d only ever seen once before, when he’d carried your unconscious body out of a compound fire and spent the next forty minutes in complete silence.
“We’re not getting around the lake,” he said flatly.
Another shot cracked the air.
You flinched. He didn’t.
“They’re herding us,” you said quietly, barely audible. “Driving us into the open.”
He nodded once. “They want the intel. They don’t want to kill us. Not yet.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
More shouts. They were getting louder. You heard the low whine of an engine somewhere, a snowmobile, maybe. Not yours. Yours was ash.
“We need to split,” Bucky said suddenly.
You turned sharply. “No.”
“I’ll draw them off. You follow the lake’s edge. Keep to the trees.”
“They’re tracking us both. They know there’s two.”
“They don’t know where you are,” he said, already rising to his feet. “Not exactly. You haven’t fired since the breach. You’re harder to trace. Let me pull them west, and—”
“No.”
It came out louder than you meant it to. It silenced the forest.
You were breathing too hard. The edges of your vision had started to smear. Your leg was going numb.
“Bucky—”
Another shot. Close. Too close.
He didn’t hesitate.
He turned and hurled a flashbang toward the sound. The white light ignited against the snow with a violent hiss, smoke billowing out and momentarily masking your position.
Then—
Movement.
From your left. Fast.
You turned, raised your weapon, but it was too late. Something barreled through the trees and tackled you full force, body slamming into yours and driving you back, pain blooming white-hot in your thigh where the wound tore wider.
You hit the ground hard, your weapon flung into the snow. The hostile landed on top of you, mask fogged, breath rapid. He went for your throat. You reached for your boot knife, fingers numb, clumsy.
The lake was right there. Ten feet behind you. Maybe less.
You heard Bucky shout your name.
The knife slid into your hand. You didn’t think. You just moved.
You drove the blade up under his jaw, hard and clean, and rolled him off you before he could finish choking.
You were on your feet again—limping, half-hopping, gun lost, blood pouring down your leg now—and the others were coming.
You saw five through the smoke. At least five .
Too many.
You could try to crawl back to Bucky. Hope they didn’t shoot you in the open. Hope he could carry you.
Or—
Or you could do the thing you shouldn’t.
The thing that would buy you time.
The thing that would probably kill you.
You turned and ran toward the lake.
Bucky was still shouting, but his voice was muffled now, lost to the scream of your pulse and the way the air changed as you broke through the treeline.
Your feet hit the ice, and it sang beneath you.
A deep, haunted groan that vibrated up your legs and through your spine. The kind of sound the earth makes when it doesn’t want to be touched.
You didn’t stop.
The mist coming off the surface curled like fingers, wrapping around your boots, your knees, your breath. It shielded you, just enough. You heard the men behind you shouting, confused, uncertain. They’d lost you in the fog. For now.
But they’d find you again if you stopped moving.
You didn’t expect to make it across. That wasn’t the point.
You weren’t stupid. You’d seen the fractures on recon. Knew the freeze was uneven, knew the surface tension wouldn’t hold under sustained weight, and certainly not without punishing you for the arrogance of trying. You also knew there were at least four men behind you, maybe more, and you weren’t going to outrun them through another ridge. Not on a torn leg. Not dragging blood like breadcrumbs.
But you could give Bucky a chance. A window.
You weren’t going to last much longer anyway. Your sidearm was gone. Your rifle was jammed. Your limbs were starting to seize—not from fear, not from cold, but from simple math. The cost of staying alive had begun to outweigh what your body could give.
So you played the only card left.
If you could get two of them on the ice. Maybe three. And if you timed it right, kept your distance, baited them into giving chase, made them run heavier than you walked, there was a chance the lake would decide who stayed topside and who went under. You weren’t built like them. Smaller frame. Lighter gear. You knew how to move soft. They wouldn’t.
They were cocky. Angry. Trigger-happy and armored to hell. That kind of weight broke tension in seconds. You’d seen it happen. Watched it once during a training exercise, how a man with sixty extra pounds of ammo sank in four seconds flat when he tried to follow a sniper across a riverbed in spring thaw.
It might kill you too. But it might not. And if even one of them went in—
That was one less gun Bucky had to deal with. One less bullet in the air. One less thing clawing for your neck.
That was something.
Your breath came faster, colder. The cut in your leg had gone numb, finally, but you could feel the wetness inside your boot. The weight of it. The imbalance.
You didn’t know how far out you were.
The fog was thicker now, curling up your spine, swallowing the tree line. You could’ve been ten meters from shore or two. Could’ve been standing over solid ice or the thinnest patch on the lake.
Didn’t matter. You had to keep going.
There was shouting again. Closer. Heavier footsteps now, rapid and uncoordinated. They’d spotted your prints. One of them yelled to the others. Someone fired, blind and stupid, too far to your left to matter. The shot cracked across the lake and echoed, turning the world sharp and brittle.
You heard the ice answer.
A moan beneath the surface. A shift. A warning.
Still, you didn’t stop.
Another shot hit near your feet, spitting a web of cracks like a warning flare. You stumbled. Went to one knee. Pain flared up your hip. You hissed through your teeth and scrambled upright.
Behind you, closer now, another shout.
And then, footsteps on ice.
They were following you.
You felt the lake notice. The way it strained. The way it listened.
You started weaving, not running, but changing angles. You knew better than to move in a straight line. Spread the pressure. Make them adjust their balance. You could almost hear their weight dragging the surface down. Could hear how reckless their strides were. One of them slipped, boots sliding, cursing and shouting, and the others answered in angry Finnish.
You adjusted again, shifting your weight to the balls of your feet as you zig-zagged across the ice, lungs straining, vision speckled with spots. The cold had crawled under your skin now—made a home in the corners of your elbows, the hollow between your shoulder blades, the soft hinge of your jaw. You weren’t shivering anymore. That would have required your body to care whether it was dying.
Behind you, the men had begun to split. Two followed your path directly, weapons raised and boots clumsy across the frost, the third veering wide, trying to cut off your arc. You didn’t know where the fourth had gone. You didn’t have the capacity to guess. You’d passed beyond the edge of tactics and into instinct.
The ice beneath you moaned again, longer this time, a groaning, glacial sound that rippled underfoot like a living thing. The cracks spidered wider at the edges of your vision, faint lines of fracture glowing pale beneath the frost-dusted sheen. You counted every step in your head, each one a wager against weight and water.
You needed them closer. Just a little closer. You needed them to get stupid again, greedy for the kill.
And they did.
One of them shouted something guttural in Finnish, laced with adrenaline and mockery, and opened fire. The shot missed your side by inches, skimming the air close enough that you felt it kiss your ribs. You dropped hard into a crouch, used the momentum to pivot left, and rolled back into a full sprint. The surface answered with another shriek of pressure.
You couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a promise.
Then another sound, behind the gunfire—something real, something known.
Bucky’s voice.
Low at first, almost lost in the chaos. Then sharper, clearer, a shout that carved through the storm like a blade. He was yelling your name. You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. You could barely see anymore, and the fog curled tighter now, clouding everything but the space directly in front of you.
A second burst of fire came from the opposite edge of the lake—sharper, faster. Controlled. You recognized it immediately. Not hostile. That was him.
He was flanking.
You caught the flicker of movement through the mist just ahead and to your right. Bucky breaking the line of trees at a full sprint, a blur of black and gunmetal, eyes fixed on you like he could will you to stop. He was shouting again, but your ears had gone dull. All you could hear was the ice. The awful, pulsing hum of it underfoot, vibrating with your heartbeat.
And then one of the hostiles did what you’d hoped. He fired while running.
The recoil jolted his center of gravity, boots sliding out from under him as he fell sideways. He hit the ground hard, and the impact buckled the surface beneath him, cracks detonating outward like glass under a hammer. It sounded like thunder.
The other two tried to stop, but it was too late. One went down to a knee, skidding, scraping across the slick, and the third barreled into him, toppling them both in a tangle of limbs and shouted curses.
For a breath, you thought it had worked.
But it didn’t matter.
Because the fourth man, the one you couldn’t see, had circled wide, just like you feared. You didn’t hear him until he was right behind you. There was no gunshot. No shout. Just the thud of weight as he tackled you square in the back.
You hit the ice with a sickening crack, elbows slamming down first. The pain stole the breath from your lungs. Your vision whitewashed. Your cheek scraped frozen mist and split open.
He tried to roll you, get leverage to pin you down, but you were already moving. Already driving the knife from your belt up under his ribs, your fingers so numb you couldn’t tell if it connected.
It did. You felt him grunt, deep and surprised, before he staggered back, and you surged to your feet, but—
But the ice had had enough.
It screamed beneath you. A seismic groan, deeper than the others, wrong in every register. You felt the surface ripple like a muscle torn mid-strain. Your knees bent automatically, weight shifting light, trying to disperse, but it was too late.
The cracks burst outward from where the hostile had landed. The seams raced under your feet, intersecting, multiplying, fracturing the world beneath you in real time.
You heard Bucky shout your name again.
Closer.
Desperate.
And then he was there, just at the edge of your sightline. His face was bloodless, teeth bared, feet skidding to a stop as he reached out like he could catch you from twenty feet away.
“Don’t move!” he barked.
You didn’t.
Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.
But the ice moved anyway.
It bowed beneath you.
Then split.
The water came up like a hand and yanked you under.
────────────────────────
Bucky saw the ice go before he heard it.
Not the split, but the way your knees flexed, just slightly, the way your arms went out as if your body knew before your mind did. That half-second of weightlessness right before everything collapsed. Bucky knew that look. He’d seen it in jump footage, in buildings on fire, in the eyes of people who understood they weren’t getting out unless someone came back for them.
He was already running.
Not thinking. Not planning. Just moving. Snow churned under his boots, breath barely fogging the air. He heard your name tear out of his throat, loud and raw and useless.
You were looking right at him. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. But you didn’t say anything. Didn’t scream. Didn’t even move.
You just dropped.
The ice beneath you opened like a mouth.
He reached the edge just in time to see the water close back over you.
The sound was sickening. One second you were there, the next you weren’t. The lake swallowed you whole, and all that remained was mist and the soft sound of new cracks racing toward him.
Bucky didn’t hesitate.
He launched himself forward, boots slamming into the ice, the weight of his landing enough to make the surface whine under him. He dropped into a slide, knees bent, palm out to brace, momentum hurtling him across the ice toward the place you’d gone under.
The cold didn’t register. Not the air, not the wind, not the water as it seeped through the cracks already kissing the soles of his boots. The serum kept his blood from reacting the way a normal man’s would. No immediate shock. No burning in the lungs. But it didn’t make him immune to the knowledge of what cold did to you.
You had maybe ninety seconds before the water started convincing your body to stop trying.
His hand was already going to his comm.
“Belova, she fell through,” he said, voice sharp, clipped. “The lake. Northwest section. I’m going in.”
Yelena’s reply came fast, static, then her voice, tight with urgency. “That lake is thirty meters deep in the center, Barnes. If you lose her—”
“I won’t.”
“You better not. I’ll find a snowmobile. If you’re still breathing, I’ll come get you.”
He reached the hole, just barely visible now. It was a jagged, black wound in the surface, already sheeting over at the edges with a thin glaze of refreeze. He dropped to his knees, leaned over, peered in—
And saw nothing.
Just black.
No movement. No sound. No trace.
“Northwest,” he repeated, already stripping his rifle off one shoulder and driving it into the snow at the edge of the break. “Tell evac. We’ll need heat. And a med kit.”
“Copy,” she said. “Don’t die.”
He could feel the press of his heartbeat in his teeth.
“Shit.” His voice cracked out of him like a whip.
He stripped the rifle from his shoulder, shoved it into the snow behind him, and without another thought, threw himself in.
The lake gripped him like a vice.
It wasn’t like diving into water. It was like diving into a vacuum. It swallowed him. Crushed him. Everything disappeared at once. Sight, sound, weight. He didn’t kick. Didn’t thrash. He let himself drop, arms out, the metal of his left dragging him faster. One breath in his lungs. That’s all he allowed.
He opened his eyes.
There was nothing.
Only black, smeared with silver light from the hole above him, already shifting, narrowing. Snow-dust had drifted across the opening. It would vanish in seconds. He needed to find you now.
He rotated once. No sign of you. Kicked again, deeper. The pressure increased, the cold turning the skin of his right arm to fire. He ignored it. Turned again. Saw—
Movement.
To his left.
A flicker. A shape. Limbs caught in the water’s drag. No fight in them.
He pushed toward it.
You weren’t moving. Your arms floated loosely, your legs bent at strange angles, one boot still half-trailing a blood-red ribbon through the current. Your head was tilted, hair haloing out in the dark.
For a split-second, something in him broke.
He reached you in three kicks. One arm wrapped around your chest, hand braced under your jaw, holding your head above your shoulders. Your face was waxy, mouth parted, lashes spiked with ice. He pulled you in, curled his metal arm across your ribs, and angled upward.
The surface was gone.
The hole was gone, nowhere near.
He turned in a tight circle, one-handed, dragging you with him. No openings. No shadows above, no light. The ice was seamless.
His vision tunneled.
He launched upward, fist first, and when his knuckles hit solid, he didn’t stop. He punched.
The sound was muffled underwater, more sensation than noise. The vibration hit his bones, the resistance of ancient ice refusing to yield. He drove his arm up again—once, twice—until the metal met fracture.
The ice split.
The hole widened just enough. He kicked upward and shoved you ahead of him, breaking the surface with a gasp you didn’t make.
The air burned. The cold above was nothing compared to below.
He hauled himself out of the water, grabbing you under the arms and dragging you with him, the both of you half-dead and slick with lakewater, steam rolling off your clothes as the air hit them.
You weren’t breathing.
“No—” he rasped. He dropped to his knees, pressed two fingers under your jaw. Nothing. His hand flattened against your chest. Still nothing. He tipped your head, cleared your mouth, and without pausing, sealed his lips to yours and breathed.
Twice.
Again.
Your body jerked, but only from the force.
He pressed down hard. His hands trembled, just slightly. Not from the cold.
“C’mon,” he muttered, voice cracked and low, barely human. “Don’t you fucking dare—”
Another breath.
You coughed.
Violent. Wet. Your whole frame arched up before collapsing into him, lungs sputtering lakewater and whatever else you’d swallowed, mouth opening to drag in air like it hurt to exist.
Bucky’s arms locked around you the second your head tilted forward.
You were shaking now. Not convulsing. Not yet. But the kind of full-body tremor that said your blood wasn’t moving fast enough. That your skin was freezing from the inside out.
“I got you,” he whispered, over and over, voice half-strangled as he pulled you close, as close as he could get without hurting you more. “I got you, I got you.”
He didn’t realize he was rocking you until your fingers clenched in his jacket. A tiny, involuntary twitch—no force behind it, no awareness—but it was enough. Enough to tell him you were still here. Still fighting. Still fucking breathing.
“Easy,” he whispered against your hair. “Just stay with me. I’ve got you.”
You made a sound. Barely anything. A cracked whimper caught in the wreckage of your throat. He pressed a hand to the back of your neck, fingers splayed wide, trying to shield as much of your skin as he could from the wind.
Your body was ice. Every inch soaked through. Your gear, your boots, the back of your neck, all of it was clinging to you like a second skin, each layer working against you now, not for.
The low snarl of a snowmobile engine cut through the trees, carving hard across the frozen ground. He didn’t look up. Didn’t shift. Just curled tighter around you and angled his body between yours and the open lake.
The engine cut off twenty feet away, skidding to a halt. Snow crunched under boots. Then—
“Shit.” Yelena’s voice dropped the usual smirk. “She’s hypothermic?”
“Full submersion,” Bucky said, barely audible. “At least a minute. Maybe longer.”
Yelena was already moving, yanking her pack off and crouching beside him. “Then we need her out of those clothes, now. You too. You’re soaked.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re wet,” she snapped. “You’re not immortal.”
“She’s freezing.”
“Exactly why we strip her down and use what’s dry. I brought a tarp rig for the back—get her on it. We’ll wrap her, I’ll drive.”
Bucky didn’t argue. He peeled his jacket off one arm, then the other, movements sharp and economical. It hit the snow with a wet slap. His gear vest followed. Then he reached for the zipper at your collar, fingers already numbing where they met the icy fabric.
“Hey,” he said softly, tipping your chin. Your eyes fluttered open for a breath, then closed again. “I know it’s cold. But we gotta get you out of this stuff. Alright?”
You didn’t answer. Just let him move you, limp and loose like your bones had gone slack. He tried to be fast. Careful. Stripped your coat first, then the soaked thermal underlayer, exposing your shoulders to the air. You flinched. He wanted to curse out loud. Wanted to punch the goddamn lake.
Yelena shrugged off her own jacket. “Here.”
He took it without looking and shoved your arms through the sleeves. It was warm. And dry. It didn’t matter if it was hers or his or stolen off a corpse. He’d have wrapped you in skin if it meant getting your body temp up fast enough.
But it wasn’t enough.
Your pants were soaked through. So were the boots. And your left leg—fuck.
He saw the blood pooled inside the boot as he started to peel it off. Frozen red around the seams. Your thigh was still bleeding, sluggish now from shock, but still enough to be dangerous.
“Yelena,” he barked without turning. “Gauze. Whatever you’ve got.”
“Med kit’s in the sled,” she called, already unrolling the tow platform and yanking the thermal tarp open. “Field wrap’s on the side.”
He ripped the second boot off, tossed both aside. The pants clung like wet parchment. He muttered something sharp under his breath and took the knife from his belt, slicing the fabric clean up the seam to the waistband. He didn’t pause. Didn’t look at your face. Just cut them free and tossed them into the snow.
Your leg was a mess. Torn muscle, ragged edge, blood sluggish but still weeping. He didn’t have time to be gentle. He grabbed the wrap from Yelena’s outstretched hand and packed the gauze into the wound, fingers fast and precise. Then he cinched the bandage tight just above your knee.
You groaned, weak and hoarse, but it meant you were still responsive.
“I know,” he muttered. “I know it hurts. Just hang on.”
Yelena was already back at the sled, lifting the flap on the side and unfurling the padding. “We’ve got maybe ten minutes before she drops out completely. Help me get her in.”
He moved without answering. One arm behind your back, one under your legs. You were a deadweight bundle of wet limbs and heatless skin.
Together, they settled you into the tow rig—padded, shielded at the sides, thermal canopy overhead. Standard evac mod. But it still looked like a coffin.
He hated that it looked like a coffin.
Yelena threw him a blanket roll, and he tucked it tight over your chest and shoulders, then your hips and thighs, arms crossed low over your ribs. Your skin was damp, your hair frozen at the ends, lashes rimmed in ice. He didn’t let himself stop moving. He kept one hand pressed just over your heart, the other ready to shield your face from wind.
His hand stayed there.
Just a second too long.
She didn’t call him on it.
“You’re going with her,” Yelena said instead, already climbing back onto the snowmobile. “I can drive. You monitor her breathing. Try and get her talking if you can. If she fully passes out—”
“She won’t.”
“I’m just saying—”
“She won’t.”
His voice was steel. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t pleading. He just knew.
Yelena didn’t argue again. She gunned the engine, and the machine roared to life.
He climbed into the tow sled, kneeling beside you, one hand on your chest, the other braced against the frame. Wind blasted past them as they launched forward, but he didn’t feel it.
All he felt was the shallow rise and fall beneath his hand.
────────────────────────
You surfaced slowly.
Not all at once. Not in a cinematic way—no gasping, no full-body jolt, no sudden realization that you were still alive. Just pressure. First behind your eyes, then in your chest. A tightness, dull and deep, like your lungs had been filled with stones and someone had stacked their weight across your ribcage to make sure they stayed there.
Your mouth was open. You hadn’t meant it to be. Something cool and artificial was feeding air through your nose, down your throat. Plastic tubing, you realized after a beat, half-formed thoughts dragging behind sensation. An oxygen cannula.
Your head ached.
Not a sharp pain. Not even pain, really. Just distance. Like your skull had been filled with static and your thoughts had to crawl through it on hands and knees to reach you. When you tried to move, just a twitch of your shoulder, your body didn’t respond. Not fully. Your nerves were slow, reluctant. Your arms felt like they belonged to someone else.
Then, light. Soft, not blinding. White above you. Clinical. Cold. You tried to blink and felt the dry pull of your lashes against skin that had been left too long without moisture.
There were sounds now. Somewhere in the periphery.
Muffled voices. Beeping.
A hiss of something mechanical resetting. Maybe a vitals monitor, maybe a heat unit.
The next thing you noticed was your skin.
Your entire body felt like it had been peeled back and glued together wrong. Your legs ached. Not in the sharp, obvious way of a gunshot or blade, but deeper. Bone deep. Joint deep. There was a dull, pulsing throb in your left thigh that you couldn’t place, and you realized after a moment that you didn’t want to.
You were alive.
You weren’t supposed to be.
A slow breath pulled through your chest. It hurt. Not like you’d broken anything, but like your lungs had fought too hard to keep you, and they were punishing you for it now. You could feel the heaviness in them, the stiffness—residual fluid, probably. You weren’t coughing, but your chest was tight, and something wet shifted faintly every time you inhaled.
Hypothermia. Near-drowning. Soft tissue trauma. Blood loss.
The words filtered in one by one like files retrieved from a burned cabinet.
You didn’t remember the evac. Just ice. The smell of pine. A scream half-swallowed by the wind. The weight of water crushing your body into stillness. And then, heat. Arms. Metal against your ribs. Something solid that refused to let go.
Something you’d stopped fighting for before it found you.
There was a voice outside the room, beyond a curtain surrounding you. Sharp. Familiar.
Yelena.
“—two hours max. That’s what the doc said. She needs rest, not another round of brooding Bucky Barnes breathing exercises.”
A grunt. Quieter. Male.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
A beat.
“Oh my god. You’re already doing it.”
You tried to turn your head toward the sound, but your body was too heavy. The world tilted and dragged behind you. Then, footsteps. Two sets. One softer, reluctant. One clipped.
They didn’t come in.
Their voices faded just enough to let the quiet crawl back in. Only the monitors kept humming, a soft rhythmic count of your survival, like the room was measuring every second you stayed alive and wasn’t convinced yet that you would.
You lay there, still and heavy, unsure if your body would obey you at all. Everything felt wrapped in gauze. Muted. Far away. But your chest remembered. The weight, the pressure, the water. The ache that lingered behind your ribs told you the lake hadn’t really let go. Not completely.
You tried again.
It wasn’t even a word at first. Just a shift. A breath caught too sharply in your throat. Your fingers twitched against the blanket. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe you imagined it. You turned your head, just barely, toward the voices outside the curtain, and let your lips part.
“Buck—”
Your voice wasn’t a voice. It was air dragged across a raw throat, shredded in the middle, collapsing before it made it to sound. But it was enough. Enough to make the effort real. Enough to make your pulse spike on the monitor. Enough to send a tremor through your lungs.
The curtain shifted instantly.
Then opened.
Bucky’s silhouette filled the space between the light and the noise. For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you, jaw clenched, shoulders set. His face didn’t change, but you saw it anyway. Relief. The kind that didn’t need expression to be known.
“You’re awake.” His voice was low. Too steady.
You swallowed—or tried to. It scraped. Burned. Your throat felt flayed.
He crossed the room in two strides, dropping into the chair beside your bed like he’d been ready to launch himself forward the whole time and was only now allowed. His hand hovered near yours, not quite touching.
“Do you need the doc?” he asked. “I’ll go get them. Just hold on—”
You moved before you could think.
Not much. Not even fast. But your hand lifted, weak and trembling, and curled around his wrist as he started to move. The motion cost everything. Your arm dropped a second later like it had been cut loose, but it did its job.
Bucky froze.
You tried to speak again. The word caught halfway up your throat and crumpled. You coughed instead, once, hard enough to burn, and his hand was on you instantly, palm flat against your sternum like he could keep you from falling apart just by holding you still.
“You’re okay.” His voice was different now. Thinner. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”
You tried.
Your chest shook with it. Your lungs were still too tight. Too full of memory. But the oxygen tubing helped, and eventually the coughing stopped. Your body settled back against the sheets, exhausted from the effort of existing.
His hand didn’t move.
“I’m fine,” you rasped. Or tried to.
The word sounded nothing like a word.
It scraped the back of your throat and shattered. You winced. He shook his head once, almost imperceptible.
“Don’t,” he murmured. “You don’t have to talk. Not yet.”
You blinked up at him.
He was too close. Not in a way that made you uncomfortable, never that, but in the way that made you aware of how much space he took up without saying a word. The way his presence made the machines quieter. The way the lines around his mouth looked carved from stone. The way his hand hadn’t left your chest.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, softer now. “I thought—”
He didn’t finish.
You didn’t need him to.
You felt it in the way his shoulders curled forward. In the way he kept watching your pulse monitor like it owed him something. In the way his eyes kept returning to your mouth, to your neck, to the shallow rise and fall that proved you were still here.
You opened your mouth again.
The words didn’t come. You weren’t sure they could. Your throat felt like someone had taken a wire brush to the inside of it. But you moved your lips anyway, slow, deliberate, shaping around the simplest thing you could mouth.
How long?
Bucky blinked.
For a second, you thought maybe he hadn’t caught it. Then his hand left your chest—not completely, just enough to curl around your wrist again, warm and solid, anchoring.
“Seven days,” he said quietly. “You’ve been under for seven.”
You let that sit. Let it press.
Seven days.
Not just unconscious. Unresponsive. Monitored. Kept warm. Intubated, probably, if your throat was any indication. You were certain there’d been a moment, maybe more than one, where they weren’t sure you were going to come back at all. Where your body might have decided to give up on the rest of you even after the lake let you go.
You let your head tip, eyes dragging slowly across the room. The motion made your neck ache. Even that, especially that, felt like a small defeat.
There was a table beside the bed. Narrow. Stainless steel. You hadn’t noticed it before.
It was cluttered.
Not with the usual medical shit. Not gauze or tubing or pill cups. Something else. Something… softer.
There were a few folded paper cranes, wings dipped in bright marker ink. A knitted square of fabric, uneven at the edges, with a giant uneven “W” stitched into the center in dark blue yarn. A cheap plastic snow globe—Branson, Missouri—with fake snow and a peeling label. A tiny flickering LED tea light. A single packet of hot chocolate. A folded sketch torn from someone’s notebook paper.
You stared at it. Confused.
Your brow furrowed, unsteady, and you felt Bucky’s eyes move with yours.
He shifted in his chair, the leather creaking faintly under him.
“Those are from Bob.” He nodded toward the cranes. “He said paper folding helps with anxiety. Sat outside your room for two hours trying to get that red one right. Said you’d like it because it was ugly. Had character.”
Your lips twitched. Or tried to. He saw it.
Bob had tried to teach you once, back when missions were lighter and your hands steadier. He’d brought a pack of neon origami paper into the rec room like it was contraband, all sheepish grin and muttered instructions, and you’d spent an hour cursing under your breath while he quietly folded a perfect flock beside you.
You never managed a proper crane, just a deeply cursed paper lump with uneven wings, but he’d kept it anyway. Called it your “battle bird.” Said it looked like it had been through something. Just like you.
“The tea light is Ava’s,” Bucky continued. “She said you always lit a candle on briefing nights. Figured you’d want one burning when you woke up.”
You did. Always the same squat little votive, tucked on the corner of your desk, flickering through every debrief while the rest of the team pretended not to notice. Ava had, though—said the sound and smell helped her keep her pacing in check, the rhythm of it steadier than her own breath some nights.
Bucky pointed at the snow globe, grimacing. “Walker. No note. Don’t ask.”
You made a rough sound, not quite a laugh, and regretted it immediately. Your chest ached. You swallowed it down.
Of course he brought Branson, Missouri.
The man had one week of leave and spent it sending you unsolicited selfies from a dinner theater called “Yakov’s Last Laugh,” wearing a cowboy hat two sizes too small and arguing over text about whether Silver Dollar City technically counted as “historic.”
You’d told him Branson wasn’t a real place. Just a Midwest fever dream built entirely out of unlicensed Elvis impersonators and knockoff Dollywood energy. He’d called it “America’s soul.”
You’d called it “a cry for help in gift shop form.”
And now it sat beside your medical chart, a tiny, glittering monument to the world’s pettiest inside joke.
God help you if it made you smile again.
“The sketch is from Alexei,” he went on. “It’s supposed to be you in the snow, fighting a bear. Or dancing with one. He wasn’t clear.”
You blinked slowly. That tracked. He’d once told you, entirely unprompted, that your “ferocity under pressure” reminded him of a Siberian she-bear. You’d assumed it was a compliment. Probably.
“And that,” he added, gesturing to the hot chocolate, “Yelena. Said hospital cocoa was an abomination and if she caught you drinking any she’d pull your IV herself.”
You smiled faintly. Yelena was the one who started it. Midnight cocoa in the mess when neither of you could sleep, hands still shaking from whatever dreams you'd clawed your way out of. No talking. No questions. Just heat, sugar, and silence until your pulses evened out again. A truce in a mug.
Your throat was still raw. You didn’t dare try a full word, but the question was there—in the slow blink, the glance toward the yarn.
“That’s from Walker too,” Bucky said, deadpan. “He learned to knit. Apparently.”
Your eyes drifted back to him. He hadn’t looked away from you once. Not really.
There was one more thing on the table. You hadn’t noticed it before. Smaller than the rest. Set slightly apart. A small matchbox-sized tin. Dark blue. Metal. Worn at the corners.
Bucky followed your gaze. His jaw tightened.
You looked at him.
He didn’t speak.
Just reached over slowly, picked it up, turned it once in his palm like he wasn’t sure if he regretted leaving it there.
Then he held it out to you. Didn’t press it into your hand, just let it rest there, cradled against his fingers, waiting.
You tilted your head toward it, but your muscles were still too slow, coordination still too shot. He noticed. Said nothing. Just flipped the lid open himself.
Inside, nestled into the tin’s base on a folded strip of linen, was a tiny object. Barely bigger than your thumb. Faintly metallic. Dull silver at the edges, matte black at the center.
It was a music box cylinder. A fragment. Something old, worn smooth. The kind used in hand-crank players—the ones tucked inside the little wind-up boxes you used to fidget with as a child, flipping them open and closed like they were meant to be solved.
You blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Bucky was watching you. Carefully. Like the weight of your reaction might crack him open.
“You said,” he said quietly, “a few months ago… that you had one when you were a kid. Broke in a move. Said you remembered the sound but not the song.”
You remembered. You hadn’t thought he had.
You hadn’t thought anyone had been listening.
“I found that in a market in Riga,” he went on, voice low, roughened at the edges. “The guy didn’t know what it played. Didn’t have the housing. Just this. It was rusted shut. Took me a few days to clean it.”
He paused.
“I was gonna wait to give it to you. But I didn’t know when the right time was.”
You tried to speak again. Your throat clenched. No sound came.
Still—you pushed the air up, forced it out like it owed you something. Like you had to say it, even if it burned.
“Why?”
It rasped out of you like broken glass dragged across stone. More breath than voice. But the word made it past your lips this time, and that was enough.
Bucky didn’t answer right away.
Didn’t look at you, either. Not at first. His eyes had dropped back to the tin, as if the shape of it might tell him how to start.
The silence stretched.
You didn’t push him.
“I didn’t know if you’d want it,” he said finally. The words came low. Barely above a whisper. “Didn’t know if it meant anything coming from me.”
He shifted in the chair like he didn’t trust it to hold his weight. Like he was trying not to lean too close.
“You said that thing about the music box and it just—stuck. I don’t even think you realized you said it. We were talking about… something else. Some mission. I can’t even remember which. You were just fiddling with your comm and you mentioned it. How the song used to help you sleep, but now you can’t remember the tune. Just that it made you feel… safe. Back then.”
He rubbed his thumb over his knee, like he needed something to ground himself.
“I remembered,” he said again, quieter this time. “And I kept looking. For months. In every market, every junk bin, every fucked-up antique shop we passed through. Most of them were trash. Broken. Stolen. Or the wrong kind. But then I found that one. Just the cylinder. No box. No sound. Just…possibility.”
His jaw twitched.
“I figured I’d give it to you when… I don’t know. When things slowed down. When we weren’t bleeding every week or crawling through wreckage or losing people left and right. But things don’t slow down. Not for us. So I waited.”
He finally looked at you.
And the look in his eyes—God. It made your breath stutter beneath the oxygen tube. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t soft, either. It was sharp. Too sharp. Like the only way he knew how to look at you was like he was still checking for exit wounds.
“I thought I missed my chance.”
He said it so plainly you almost didn’t feel it at first. But it settled in your chest like a weight. Like truth.
“I thought you were gone,” he went on. “On that lake… when I couldn’t find the surface, when I finally got you out, when your body—” He stopped himself. Shook his head. “You weren’t moving. You weren’t breathing. You were just drifting. And I remember thinking—that’s it. That’s the end. That’s where I lose you.”
Your chest tightened. Not from pain. Not from cold. Just the sound of him.
“I don’t lose people like that anymore,” he said. “Not like I used to. Not if I can help it. And sure, I’ve said that before. But this time—” His voice cracked, just once. “This time it was you.”
You blinked. Hard.
He leaned forward now, elbows braced on his knees, voice lower than before.
“You don’t get it,” he said, rambling on like the words were exiting his mouth before he even thought about them. “You think you’re just… part of the team. That you’re one of us. And you are. But it’s not the same. Not for me.”
He exhaled, sharp and tired and fraying.
“You get under my skin in ways that nothing else does. You keep me tethered when shit goes sideways. You ask questions no one else asks. You call me on my bullshit without making it feel like I’m back in some shrink’s office getting dissected. You make space. And I didn’t know how much I needed that—no—wanted it. Until I thought I’d lost it.”
You didn’t know you’d started crying until you tasted salt at the edge of your mouth. Just a few tears. Silent. Clean. Your throat hurt too much for sobbing. Your eyes hurt too much to keep them open.
But he noticed.
He sat forward quickly, hand reaching for the call button. “Shit—do you want the doc? I can get them, they said to page if you—”
You lifted your hand again. Just barely. Just enough to curl your fingers around his wrist.
“No,” you whispered. Barely there. Barely sound.
His hand hovered an inch above the call button, frozen. You felt the way his wrist flexed beneath your fingers, the way the tendons in his forearm pulled tight like he wasn’t sure whether to move or stay. His eyes searched your face again, sharp and clinical for one second—checking your color, your breathing, your pupils—and then he exhaled, quieter this time. Sat back.
Didn’t pull away.
You swallowed. The effort scraped down your throat like sandpaper, but you did it anyway. Forced air past the ruined edges of your voice until it shaped something. Small. Crooked. Yours.
“I didn’t… know you remembered,” you rasped, each word a dry scrape across something bruised and tender. “The music box.”
Bucky exhaled. Short. Quiet. Almost a laugh, except there was nothing funny in it.
“I remember everything you don’t think I do,” he said. “You always think no one’s paying attention. But I see it. All of it. The way you cover for people when they’re tired. How you pass your dessert off to Bob when he pretends he’s not hungry. That little stretch you do before every mission.”
Your lips parted, breath caught halfway to forming something else. But your throat cracked mid-inhale, so you let it go. Let him keep speaking.
He leaned forward again, this time more gently, his forearms braced on either side of your legs, like he was trying to fold himself smaller. Make himself quieter. Like he didn’t want the rest of the world to hear what came next.
“I see you,” he repeated, quieter now. “Even when you think you’re blending in. When you’re holding it together for everyone else.”
You blinked slowly. The tears had stopped, or maybe your body had just run out. Your eyes burned from the effort of keeping them open. But they stayed on him.
“I think…” You paused, tried to clear your throat, but it made it worse. You grimaced through it, blinked hard. He moved like he might reach for you, or call again, but you shook your head, barely.
“Let me,” you croaked, voice shot to hell, every syllable catching like thread pulled through torn cloth. “I think I… do the stretch… because I’m scared.”
His eyes didn’t widen. He didn’t flinch. Just watched. Still. So fucking still.
You blinked again, slow and raw. “Not of dying. Not really.”
That earned a twitch of his mouth. Not amusement. Something darker. Sadder. Knowing.
“Of what, then?” he asked, voice low.
You swallowed hard. The air in your lungs felt too thick now, heavy with what you hadn’t said before the lake took you. “Of… getting close. Of being… close. And then it ending.”
Something in his expression fractured. Not broken, not open, just bare. Like you’d peeled something back without meaning to. Like you’d stepped too close to the place he kept boarded up with silence and mission reports and one-liners that didn’t quite pass for humor.
He nodded once. Not like he was agreeing. Like he understood.
“You’re not the only one,” he said quietly. “You think I didn’t notice how long it took you to unpack after the Bataysk job? You kept your bag zipped by the door for three weeks.”
You almost laughed. Almost. But it came out too soft, caught on the edge of a breath.
“You knew?”
“I always knew.”
You looked at him again. Really looked. His hands weren’t covered by gloves like they normally were. They were bare, calloused, fingertips nicked and bruised. His left hand rested beside your blanket, the metal dull and wet-lit under the fluorescents, motionless.
Your hand moved before your brain caught up.
Weak. Slow. You lifted your fingers and reached for the edge of his sleeve, but your arm shook with the effort and dropped short. He caught it before it fell completely—his flesh hand, warm and scarred and careful—and guided your palm over the metal one like it wasn’t strange at all. Like you’d done it a thousand times. His jaw ticked.
“It’s cold,” you whispered.
He nodded. “I know.”
“I don’t mind.”
He let his thumb brush across the edge of your wrist, slow and grounding. Not a stroke. Not comforting. Just there. “I didn’t think I’d get to tell you any of this,” he said. “When I pulled you out, when you weren’t breathing, I—” He cut himself off again, jaw tightening. “I thought you were already gone.”
You wanted to say something, anything, but the only sound you made was breath.
It was enough.
“I wasn’t ready to lose you,” he said. “Not like that. Not ever. But especially not without… you knowing.”
Your throat pulled tight.
“Knowing what?” you whispered, wrecked.
He didn’t hesitate.
“That I give a damn. That I think about you more than I should. That you’re not just some mission partner I cover in the field. That you matter.”
You opened your mouth again. Closed it. Your lips trembled.
Bucky moved closer, just slightly, head still bowed low like the words had weight. Like if he spoke too loud they might splinter.
“You matter to me,” he said. “More than I ever planned for.”
Your eyes burned. Your hand twitched in his, a pathetic excuse for a squeeze, but he felt it. He held on tighter.
You swallowed again, painful and raw. “Me too,” you said, barely audible. “You… matter.”
Something broke in his face. Not his composure. Not his strength. Just the smallest trace of distance, pulled away. A breath he hadn’t been able to take until now.
You saw it in his eyes.
And maybe that would’ve been enough. Maybe in another world—one with less noise, less blood—you would’ve stayed like that for another minute. Maybe you would’ve reached for him again, said something more, pulled the words from the ruin of your voice just to hear him say your name in that same, low, wrecked way.
But this wasn’t that world.
And the curtain tore open before you could even draw your next breath.
“MY BEAR CUB LIVES!”
Alexei’s voice exploded through the medbay like cannon fire, and before you could brace for it, before Bucky could so much as turn in his seat, there were arms. So many arms. Warm, clumsy, massive arms wrapping around you like a weighted blanket made of noise and Soviet linen.
You wheezed. A sharp, involuntary gasp you couldn’t help as Alexei crushed half your torso in a rib-cracking hug.
Bucky was on his feet instantly. “Hey—hey! Easy! Watch it, she’s still—”
“Bah!” Alexei cut him off with a wave of one enormous hand. “She is strong! Like small elk! Look at this—already upright, already beautiful, skin like ice sculpture!” He reached out and cradled your jaw for a second, then kissed your forehead in a way that nearly knocked the oxygen cannula askew. “You do not die on me. You are not allowed to die on me. I would never forgive you.”
“I tried to stop him,” Yelena muttered dryly, appearing behind him with arms crossed and absolutely no remorse. “I tackled him in the hallway. Didn’t matter. He just kept bounding.”
She was flanked by three more figures—Bob, shifting awkwardly and clutching a bouquet that looked like it had been stolen from a funeral arrangement, Ava hovering beside him with a look of cautious relief, and John leaning just far enough into the room to smirk.
“Look who decided to rejoin the land of the living,” Walker called, voice light but eyes sharp. “Don’t do that again. It’s bad for team morale.”
Bucky hadn’t moved far from your bedside, just enough to make room, to stop Alexei from inadvertently crushing a vein or breaking an already-bruised rib. He was still watching you, eyes flicking between your face and your vitals monitor like he couldn’t help himself.
Alexei finally released you with a thud and an affectionate slap to the shoulder that nearly dislocated something. You blinked hard through the swirl of motion, coughing once as your lungs protested the sudden influx of people and oxygen.
“Careful,” Bucky muttered again, more to himself than anyone else.
But you caught his wrist before he could move back.
Just a small touch. Nothing demanding. Just enough.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.
The others kept talking—Yelena launching into a commentary about how ugly the paper cranes were before realizing Bob made them and immediately changing the subject, Ava threatening to install a lock on the medbay door, Bob quietly asking if you wanted him to adjust the light overhead, Walker declaring he’d brought “real food” and pulling a suspicious-looking bag from behind his back that Yelena immediately swatted out of his hands.
It was chaos. Loud and jagged and human.
But you didn’t look at them.
You looked at Bucky.
And he looked at you.
And in that small, quiet moment—under the hum of machines, under the curtain pulled halfway back, under the noise and the mess and the aching throb in your chest—you felt it settle. All of it. The tension. The fear. The distance you’d both kept because you didn’t know what would happen if you crossed it.
He stayed exactly where you needed him. Elbow resting on the frame of your bed, hand lax in your grip, eyes never leaving yours even when someone bumped the curtain again or when Yelena started swearing in Russian under her breath because she had opened the bag Walker had and apparently it smelled.
You didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
But your fingers stayed curled around his wrist, weak and unsteady, still trembling from the cold that still lived somewhere in your bones, and he didn’t pull away.
Didn’t shift.
Didn’t give you some line about rest or recovery or needing to take a break from all this noise.
He just stayed.
Not because you asked.
But because that’s what he did.
What he’d always done, quietly, behind the chaos.
tag list (message me to be added or removed!): @nerdreader, @baw1066, @nairafeather, @galaxywannabe, @idkitsem, @starfly-nicole, @buckybarneswife125, @ilovedeanwinchester4, @brnesblogposts, @knowledgeableknitter, @kneelforloki, @hi-itisjustme, @alassal, @samurx, @amelya5567, @chiunpy, @winterslove1917, @emme-looou, @thekatisspooky, @y0urgrl, @g1g1l, @vignettesofveronica, @addie192, @winchestert101, @ponyboys-sunsets, @fallenxjas, @alexawhatstheweathertoday, @charlieluver, @thesteppinrazor, @mrsnikstan, @eywas-heir, @shortandb1tchy
-
merabposts reblogged this · 1 month ago -
happiersposts liked this · 1 month ago -
nesrynwp reblogged this · 1 month ago -
nesrynwp liked this · 1 month ago
-
merabposts liked this · 1 month ago
-
riamaple reblogged this · 1 month ago -
linleigh reblogged this · 1 month ago -
akkm20 liked this · 1 month ago -
riamaple reblogged this · 1 month ago
-
numberonepenguintragedy liked this · 1 month ago -
94namkooksworld reblogged this · 1 month ago -
natsumi-lin liked this · 1 month ago -
bebhhs liked this · 1 month ago -
gonnaneedabiggerfloat liked this · 1 month ago -
theycallmeanxiety liked this · 1 month ago -
alyssakd liked this · 1 month ago -
crowscryo liked this · 1 month ago -
errormaxxy liked this · 1 month ago -
katethatbitch liked this · 1 month ago -
swimmingnightcolor liked this · 1 month ago -
apple3343 liked this · 1 month ago -
tiara-5f liked this · 1 month ago -
nelskiii liked this · 1 month ago -
actinglikewriter liked this · 1 month ago -
narcista-solace liked this · 1 month ago -
yanna81 liked this · 1 month ago -
prctty-birdie liked this · 1 month ago -
caintoyourabel liked this · 1 month ago -
supermarketsunshine liked this · 1 month ago -
elasticfragmentshrine liked this · 1 month ago -
azura-miller liked this · 1 month ago -
bokutosbabyowl liked this · 1 month ago -
mysticpenguincheesecake liked this · 1 month ago -
unsteadyunsubtle liked this · 1 month ago -
obsessivelyinnocent liked this · 1 month ago -
spookyreads reblogged this · 1 month ago -
itsnotevenridiculous liked this · 1 month ago -
river-hey-jude-phoenix liked this · 1 month ago -
omgseverepoetrycollectionfan liked this · 1 month ago
-
mcu-fic-reblogs reblogged this · 1 month ago -
allons-y-marie11 liked this · 1 month ago -
astralcorvus liked this · 1 month ago -
alex-wotton liked this · 1 month ago -
missamerica0412 liked this · 1 month ago -
sunnylyly liked this · 1 month ago -
manuulzz liked this · 1 month ago -
scrumptiousroadpalaceturkey liked this · 1 month ago -
flockoff-featherface liked this · 1 month ago -
jasfart liked this · 1 month ago -
itsvalntyne liked this · 1 month ago
r, 25, a collection of fics I enjoyed - 18+ I follow from @spookysaturn
207 posts